#i love how jack pretends not to have feelings but he's a fucking sap

[aerodaltonimperial]

Hook/Jack/Darby prompt: only one bed

(I KNEW YOU WOULD COME THROUGH 💚🧡⚰️)

"Oh my god, it's so fucking hot in this room."

"Jesus, Hook, just turn the damn thermostat down. Did you know you can control that? Amazing how they offer little boxes on the wall for—ow!"

"Not sorry. I meant to get the pillow zipper in your eye."

"Guys, stop. Look, Hook, just get up and turn the temperature lower. This bed isn't really very big, and we're just gonna have to get snuggly."

"Snuggly?"

"Don't even pretend like you don't fucking love it, Darby, you absolute sap."

"Whatever. Jack, your elbow is in my spleen."

"You do not know where the spleen is."

"Sure, I do. It's right there where your pointy-ass elbow is digging into my side."

"Fine, I turned it down, but seriously, it's so fucking hot. Jack, why do you run at like a million degrees all the time?"

"Probably because I'm so sexy."

"Hah. Good one."

"You know, you're very rude, and I will push you off this bed without a second thought."

"If you do, could you scooch over a bit, cause you are taking up way too much room."

"He's got two pillows, too."

"Jack, what the fuck."

"I need the pillows! I need to feel cradled and supported when I sleep."

"Oh my god, shut up."

"No, that was one of those wiggly eyebrow comments he expects us to pay attention to."

"Well, to be fair, I kind of expect you to pay attention to all my comments, Hook."

"Jesus. Fine, fine; c'mere."

"Thank god, you got his elbow out of my side."

"Well you're supposed to move over, too, what—no, this way. Why are you like this, Darby, I swear."

"But you're so fucking hot. Are you on fire, how."

"Just—what are you doing? Why are you getting up?"

"I'm taking my pants off, Christ. I'm going to spontaneously combust here."

"That'd be kind of neat to watch."

"Hook, I will shave all your hair off when you sleep."

"Blah blah, you big talker. Hurry up, he's all squirmy."

"Ugh. Okay. This cannot be the optimal way to do this."

"Is there an optimal way to do this? Plus, c'mon, we can't even figure out how to take selfies right. It's gonna take us years to get this configuration settled."

"Years, huh."

"You plannin' on going somewhere else, Darbs?"

".... not really."

"Sap."

"Fuck off, Hook."

"Stop. Seriously. Okay, let's just—good lord, you don't—ow, don't kick me."

"Fuckin' hell."

"Okay, okay. I think we're good."

"Yeah, we are."

"Now shut up and go to sleep."

"Yes, mom."

"That's a horrible mental image, thanks."

"Heh."

"Mm... hey, did someone set an alarm? The free breakfast ends at 9:30."

"... I can't reach my phone."

"Well I can't reach mine, I'm in the middle!"

"You demanded to be in the middle."

"Not the point, Hook. Grab your phone. I don't want to miss breakfast."

"Yeah, you get pissy when you don't eat."

"I have to get up to reach my phone."

"Oh my god, this is the worst."

"Okay, okay, we'll just wake up. Somehow."

"Yeah, cause we're so good at that."

"Whatever. I'm tired. Can we please go to sleep?"

"You're hogging the pillows."

"It's cause he's got two."

"Jack!"

"Why are we so bad at this, seriously."

[happyandticklish]

ohohoho ed n stede for the headcanon game pls 🥹💕

Of course, I love them so much <3 I apologize for how ungodly late this is, I completely forgot this was in my inbox 🥲

Who has the cutest tickle laugh?

Probably Stede, tbh. I feel like

What are their tickle spots?

I think the fandom has collectively agreed that Ed's worst spot is his stomach, but I would like to add on that his ribs are a close second. Stede's absolute worst spot are his thighs, but basically everywhere serves as a walking tickle spot tbh.

Who is ticklish in unusual places and where would that be?

Ed's calves are ticklish, especially to that tactic where you grab the muscle and just squeeze. It's not even his worst spot, but it's unbearable in this very specific way where he can't stand it for very long.

Who gets cheer-up tickles?

They both do because they're saps (affectionate).

Do either of them try to hide their ticklishness?

I feel like Ed would due to his reputation. It can't really get out that the infamous Blackbeard is ticklish, after all. Stede does not, and also does not realize why that information would be something that you'd try to hide.

Who takes advantage of the other one getting their arms stuck while trying to take off their shirt?

Ed does, because it's so fucking easy. The sheer amount of fancy clothing and frocks and undergarments on Stede's person makes it impossible to get it all off in one fell swoop, and often he'll get stuck in the process and Ed's not not gonna take advantage of that opportunity.

How did they discover each other's ticklishness?

Stede found out through Jack. Out of all the shit that Jack brought into their lives, that particular piece of information that he left slip was the one good thing he did for their relationship. Ed found out when they first really got together; Stede's far too ticklish for his own good, and it would crop up in cuddling a lot.

Who can't take tickle bites/raspberries?

BOTH they turn into giggly piles of mush and it's adorable 🥰

Who has to be tickle-forced out of bed in the morning?

Okay, so Stede most of the time, because he's not an early riser and it's the only way to wake him up without him getting crabby. Ed, on the other hand, is used to getting up early, but he'll pretend to be asleep just to give Stede an excuse to tickle him awake.

Who initiates tickle fights?

They both do ^^ They have a very playful relationship and love fucking with each other, so it comes up a lot lol

Who gives up in tickle fights?

Weirdly enough, Ed. Stede's is a goddamn glutton for tickling, and he could go endlessly without any breaks. Ed isn't used to tickling though, so he gets overwhelmed very quickly and has to take a break.

Who's in danger of getting hurt when attacking the other?

They both are! Ed could genuinely hurt someone on accident, and Stede's just really fucking squirmy. Ed has definitely walked away with a black eye from one of their tickle fights lol.

Who always provokes the other into tickling them and how?

They both do omg. Ed gets extremely playful and will get into arguments about everything, poking Stede in the side and pretending nothing happened when he looks over at him. Meanwhile, Stede fully just asks, my man has no shame.

[spellcastersjudgement]

scoopshipping #20 😊

hm yes the second 5ds otp so now yall gonna see the other part of the 5ds world i’ve created in my head and it’s gonna be another headcanon dump with a side of hella feelings 

#20: a kiss on a scar 

Carly peeled herself off of the dining room chair, cursing the weather with every bead of sweat that ran down the back of her neck. It was the end of August, classes had just begun, and now the air conditioner had decided it wanted to break. Jack, who was usually an endearing level of insufferable, had now passed into flat out insufferable. Several loud phone calls later, hollering at the top of his lungs, sweating to death in the leather outfits he adamantly refused to take off because it’s what the fans want, Carly (even though they were at home where there were no fans), the HVAC company had agreed to come out–on Saturday. It was Thursday, and Carly was not looking forward to sweating through forty-eight hours with renowned duelist and diva Jack Atlas.

As she watched the water dispense into her cup, she thought about crawling into the freezer. Jack could lift her up, stuff her in there–she could probably fit if she dislocated a few joints, but it would be relief. Unfortunately, Jack wasn’t here to lift her up, and there wasn’t any light in the freezer for her to finish her assignment–what kind of professor gave homework during syllabus week?–so the table would have to do for now.

Shorts were supposed to make it easier to tolerate the heat, but as Carly sank back down into the chair and all she could think about was how if she were wearing leggings she wouldn’t be sticky. The laptop seemed to be a space heater, only adding to the discomfort, and as Carly put her glasses back on to stare at the video editor she thought of how Akiza would never be subject to the horrors of an overheated computer. This would be the one situation where she’d rather stare at books than look through a camera lens, and she texted her best friend as such.

Akiza responded after a moment, telling her to come down to Yusei’s shop and work with her, the air conditioning worked and she could come over afterward, Jack was welcome too.

That wouldn’t be a bad idea–the going to Akiza’s afterward. Going to the shop would end in a very unproductive evening, as when Jack and Yusei got together they did more arguing or running off to some corner of the garage to tinker with Yusei’s latest pet project. Either way no work got done and Jack would get a smudge on his shirt or get a pimple on his chin a couple days later and blame it on the impure air of the shop.

She texted Akiza asking if she and Jack could come crash in their living room tonight, thinking about the sweat sliding down her spine, making her shiver in disgust. Jack would be home any minute from training–or was today interviews? There was too much to keep track of in Jack Atlas’s schedule and Carly could only be bothered to remember his matches and tournaments so that she could attend and cheer for him.

Pushing sweaty bangs back with an equally sweaty hand, Carly thought about convincing–or well asking, because it’s not like Jack would need to be pushed–him to call the HVAC company back and demand that they come out today instead of Saturday. This was a hostile work environment, the phone nearly sliding out of her fingers as she sweat.

The sound of a motorcycle in the driveway made Carly stand up–bad idea, she thought as once again she felt her thighs peeling off the chair–walking over to the door, opening it to lean against the door frame.

Jack turned off the engine, pulling his helmet off and running his fingers through his choppy blonde hair, cheeks glistening with sweat–it looked like highlighter, like he’d carefully, artfully applied the sweat to his face to accentuate his cheekbones. Of course, he looked absolutely miserable as he swung his leg over the motorcycle, the tight pants barely allowing him to bend his legs enough to walk. Carly, who lived in leggings and oversized t-shirts, most of which she stole from Jack who wouldn’t be caught dead leaving the house in them, never understood her boyfriend’s need to be fully dressed and made up, especially in such horrible weather, but watching his clothes hug every bit of muscle as he walked toward the door made her thirsty, and not for water.

It was too hot to even think about that, ugh.

“Hey!” she tried to inject her usual energy into greeting him, but just lifting her arm to wave was exhausting, the humidity making everything heavier, harder.

He didn’t say anything, only towered over her, putting a gloved hand on her head to ruffle her hair, his standard greeting. Today she’d tied it back in a ponytail, leaving only her bangs free to move, which annoyed him–she could see by the slight narrowing of his lilac eyes, the downward quirk of his mouth. He was fond of her hair, had even helped her dye it last time–she could feel another rant about the stupid repairmen and how it was their fault she was wearing her hair up coming on.

“Shorts,”

Carly shut the door. “Oh yeah–unlike you I’m not interested in dying of heat stroke,”  

“Hmph,” Jack set his helmet down on the dining table, next to her laptop, crinkling the edge of her notebook.

“Take your clothes off,” Carly followed him into the kitchen, reaching out her hand to tug on the back of his shirt.

“Aren’t you being bold today,” Jack quipped. “It’s too hot for that, Carly,”

Somehow her face managed to get hotter as she realized the innuendo. Jack opened the fridge, and from where she was standing behind him she could feel he blast of cold air, making her think of crawling in there and dragging Jack with her. “That’s not what I meant, you ass! Looking at you in long sleeves and pants–it’s making me sweat and I’m tired of looking at you in it,”

He popped open a can of that horrid sparkling water he so loved, turning back around, looking down his nose at her as he took a long sip. She looked up at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jack, come on–we’re going to Akiza and Yusei’s tonight, but for right now, please take that off,” 

“If I didn’t have a headache, I would be throwing you over my shoulders,” Jack put down the can, stripping off his shirt without pretense, dropping it on the counter. “You picked a horribly inconvenient time to be so demanding,” 

“I’ll remember that for when the house is at a normal temperature,” she laughed, even getting a small smile from her boyfriend that he tried to conceal behind another sip. 

“When are we going over?” he asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Um, uh–I guess when Akiza gets home,” Carly said. 

Jack nodded, looking down, but not quite at her, something slightly to the left holding his attention. Carly looked to the right, expecting to see a mirage of a swimming pool or a bathtub full of ice–her head was certainly foggy enough to start hallucinating. There was, unfortunately, nothing but the air waving as light poured in from the kitchen window. Maybe Jack wasn’t looking at anything–he did say he had a headache. 

“What’s that?” 

Carly looked up at him. “What’s what?” 

His hand landed on her shoulder, pulling the thin strap of her tank top down, his fingers tracing a thin, raised line that ran from her deltoid to her clavicle. His palm was searing against her skin as he rested it on her forearm, still rubbing the spot with his thumb. 

“Oh, oh–in high school I played volleyball. I tore my rotator cuff and had to get surgery–never played again but I was the manager and worked with the coach and stuff. Got to take lots of pictures and go to all the games and write about them in the yearbook,” Carly explained, the fond memories bringing a smile to her face. “I thought I told you about it,” 

“You did,” Jack said, crushing the can with his right hand and tossing it into the recycle bin, not even bothering to look, still staring at her scar. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before,” 

“Hey, when I’ve got my shirt off in front of you it’s not like you’re looking at my shoulders,” she laughed. “It’s not a big deal, I mean, it’d disqualify me from military service since I have the full range of motion, but I’m not too beat up about it, y’know,” 

Jack was silent, still stroking the scar with his thumb. Carly couldn’t figure out why he was so entranced, but she knew her boyfriend well enough to not interrupt him in his musings. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“The surgery? I mean the physical therapy was annoying but not too painful. If anything it was great because I got out of so many tests and stuff because I couldn’t use my dominant hand–oh, oh! And my mom finally bought me that tripod for my camera because I couldn’t hold it steady with my left hand, so actually, no I don’t think it was painful,” she answered. “I mean, that’s when I really started getting into photography and stuff, and–”

She stopped talking as Jack bent down, pressing his lips to the scar, bringing his right hand to rest on her other shoulder. His bangs tickled her neck, the heat radiating off of him adding to her discomfort but she was not going to move away–Jack was pulling back, looking down at her, eyes uncharacteristically soft, the slightest frown on his face. 

“Jack?” she asked. 

“I hate thinking about you hurting,” he whispered. 

“Don’t worry,” she reached out to tug on one of the strands of hair that came down well past his pectorals. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, I promise,” 

“Will you tell me if it does?” he asked. 

She twirled the blonde strand around her index finger, smiling up at him. “Of course, Jack,” 

His hand slid up her shoulder, her neck, laying on her face, and Carly thought she was going to faint from the affection in his eyes, the way it was making her blush, only adding to the heat in the room. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Jack broke the moment by picking her up without warning, his shoulder digging in to her ribs as she yelped, his hand resting on her backside, making her blush even more. 

“Where? What are you doing?” she asked, kicking her legs as Jack started up the stairs. “Jack! I can walk!” 

“My headache’s gone,” he said. “It’s hot, and after telling me to take my clothes off I want a shower. With you,” 

Carly’s feet hit the bathroom floor. Jack was already stripping off his pants. 

“Get in. We can’t show up to Yusei’s smelling like this, and I’m not interested in christening his couch,” 

“That’s a lie, Jack,” Carly laughed. 

He looked at her, thoughtful. “You’re right. I would love to see his face. You know what, Carly? Put your clothes back on,” 

That wasn’t usually what he told her. “What?” 

Jack looked up from where he was re-buttoning his pants, a devious grin. “We’re going to Yusei’s–we’re going to destroy his couch, then we’re going to steal all of his hot water,” 

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[cognitosclowns]

Im sorry for what I'm about to ask, but I have a weakness for assholes in suits.. nsfw JR hcs?

ANON I FEEL YOU <3 DONT EVEN BE SORRY

a TOUCH of angst <3 but mostly just nsft goodness!! MINORS PISS OFF!!

SO SO SO SO HES A KINKY MF RIGHT??

AHEM

According to metro.co.uk, a pay pig is defined as * adjusts glasses*

a submissive person (generally speaking a man) who gets sexual gratification from being financially exploited. ... Sometimes it goes alongside other types of humiliation, with the added frisson of paying the person who is inflicting it.

SO WE HAVE PROOF THAT THIS MAN WANTS TO BE DOMINATED <3 IM GONNA RUN WITH THAT INTO THE SUN OK?

Listen he might put up the Big, Powerful Corporate Bigwig routine but in private? nah he's the most obedient little lap dog

(a scene where he pretends he’s paying you for sex? Being held hostage for money? <3 that’s his type of jam. huge lover of BDSM in general!)

Humiliate him!! Degrade him!! Insult his cowardice, his appearance (his cock especially <3), how pathetic he is for bowing down to you so easily <3

Massaging you, kissing up your legs and grinding on them - he craves things that make him feel shameful <3

he just gets,, this perfectly dazed look in his eyes. Pure calm <3

the punishment and fear is always controlled - he doesn’t need to worry about being in danger when you two are together <3

he doesn’t mind getting bruises on his knees - kneeling is his favorite position to be. Looking up at you?? seeing you confident and in control is very soothing for him.

-

COCK TIME

It’s like a fucking?? switch flips?? when he’s the one in control??

Like sure he’s an arrogant asshole most of the time but this is another level of asshole.

You’re definitely gonna have some crescent-shaped scars on your hips from how hard he’s grabbing you smdnsd

and just?? saying the most vile shit tbh? he will most definitely degrade you <3

he’s panting like his heart is gonna give out (which it probably is bc he’s old as fuck-) and keeping you pinned to the best of his ability <3

LISTEN He is under the constant stress of possibly being Scooped up and punted like a football into Shadow Prison X so,,, he needs some serious avenues for chilling the fuck out smdns and,,

railing you to high heaven is one of those avenues

Afterwards though? depends on how close you two are

if this is just a hookup, he’s definitely a lot more clinical. Maybe a kiss on the cheek, gets dressed, and leaves (well, with a bit of money on your kitchen counter, for your trouble)

if you two are actually in a relationship? He just holds you. Not a lot of talking - he gets very quiet and contemplative? maybe worrying about what the council would do to you if he was removed from the picture? you’ll never quite know </3

Some soft kisses on your neck, rubbing his hands down your back. He doesn’t offer you anything, because he expects you to know that whatevers his is yours at this point.

Also, he’s a total hedonist! he wants, wants, wants! he’s greedy for the things that make him feel good <3 which means he’s especially greedy for you. If you visit him at the office don’t be surprised when you’re bent over his desk lmao.

- ALSO I JUST REALIZED AFTER WRITING THIS THAT YOU DIDNT SPECIFY X READER IM SO SORRY SO

IN TERMS OF MISC HEADCANONS, I’ve already referenced a few of em but like,,

he pretends to be dominant but he’s the most submissive man alive lmao smdsd he just wants to have a place where he doesn’t need to worry yk?

honestly he’d probably love to be pegged/anal in general - lots of very intense sensations.

Not even slightly afraid of being loud lmao. Very vocal in general, lots of little comments. 

His eyes get pinpoint. One of the only times ppl can see how bright his eyes are, bc usually they’re pretty blown out and dark!!

Finishing his day with some whiskey, cigars and jacking off? <3 that shit saps the stress out of his bones.

i am gay for him

I am going to kiss JR on his stupidly large forehead <3

[adhdeancas]

For @theangelwiththewormstache, I kind of went all out and searched through your blog to see what you like and headcanon, sent a few sneaky asks to find out more, and wrote in all the things I wanted for everyone’s happy ending. it got... unbelievably long.

Merry Christmas and enjoy :) 

Love, Cas over at @let-me-live-in-peace and @samwinchestersleftshoe

PS: thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for organizing this!

Click.

Dean sighed and nodded, pulling the phone away from his ear so he could stare at it expectantly. Right about…

It rang. 

“Cas,” Dean said languidly, like an asshole who didn’t know why his boyfriend was calling him back.

“Sorry. I forgot again.” 

“I know.” Dean couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice if he tried. And he tried.

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 

“Dean.” A hint of well-earned annoyance. 

“I love you too, Cas.” 

“Bye.” And another click. Dean grinned and pocketed his phone. The dumbass was still too impatient to wait for an answering goodbye. Guess they’d never be the couple to argue about who should hang up first. Then again, Dean kinda liked it this way. It was just a few more seconds of teasing and a special call to say I love you, that was kind of nice, right? Jesus he was a sap.

“Earth to Dean? Wanna stop daydreaming about your boyfriend for a sec and get back on task?” Claire was standing there waving a hand in his face, bitchface firmly planted. Dean gave her one back.

“Don’t be homophobic.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gay.” 

“Yeah.” Dean kept walking, looking around at the rows on rows of Christmas trees. He stole a glance back at her. “Where is Kaia anyway?”                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Claire blushed and crossed her arms over her chest. She would never tell him, but Kaia had hung back to give her some alone time with Dean. “She wanted to hang out with Jack. Guess she didn’t want to stare at your ugly mug all day.” A grin then, as Dean laughed at her joke.

“Fine, fine, guess you’re stuck with me.” 

They roamed around a bit, both insisting on cutting down their tree themselves, Claire winning the fight to get to carry the ax. (Yes, Sam had suggested they bring a chainsaw. They had both refused because they needed to “earn the Christmas tree.”)

“Cas wanted a fraser fir.” Dean remembered, pointing to the section marked for them. 

He felt, rather than saw, Claire roll her eyes, which, that’s exactly what Dean had done when Cas first told him. “Dork. Do you always do what your boyfriend tells you?” 

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much. You?”

“Yeah.” They shared a soft smile before going back to their regular shit-talking. It was just The Dynamic. They searched a little bit more before they found one, the perfect tree that was big enough to make them both giggle over what Sam’s reaction would be when they brought it home.

It… takes longer to cut down a tree than you would think. Than either of them thought. Especially when you bring an ax and especially when you choose an obnoxiously large tree. They took a break about halfway through, sitting down in the snow and passing the thermos of hot chocolate Jack made them take back and forth (Claire spiked it with Bailey’s, which Dean chose not to comment on but was grateful for).

“Hey Claire… is it weird? Seeing me and Cas,” 

Claire looked at him warily, seeming to consider what possible ulterior motives he had. Then, figuring she was the one with the ax, she answered. “A little. But I never saw my dad this old. Or this gay.” She gave him a grin and Dean flipped her off, taking the ax out of her hands to get back to the tree. “It’s good.”

Dean paused. “What is?” 

“You and him. You’re good for each other, you can tell. Don’t overthink it.”

Dean’s lips curled up. “Sounds like something Cas would say.” 

“Yeah, well, sometimes the dork is right. Don’t be an idiot.” She shook her head at him. “Jody had to remind me all the time at first.” 

“What?”

“That I… y’know. Deserve it. Her. To be happy.” She put the last bit in quotes, saying it sarcastically, but Dean could see the truth of it in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, Jody’s smart like that.” He took another swing at the ax and tried to believe it for himself. It got easier every day.

------

Cas was left at home with Kaia and Jack while Dean and Claire got the tree and Sam and Eileen got food supplies. (Dean had protested, but Sam had -correctly- said that if given free rein, he wouldn’t get any vegetarian options and would get 10x more junk than they needed.) Jody, Donna, Alex, Bobby, Charlie, and the rest wouldn’t be here until the next afternoon. Christmas afternoon.

“So what should we do first?” He was a little bit nervous, being once again put in charge of the kids. 

“Paper snowflakes?” Jack suggested, his excitement all too obvious from the smile on his face. Kaia glanced at him, amused by his obvious enthusiasm. Claire had braided his hair before she left while Kaia painted his nails (black, because they don’t own any other color of nail polish). It was clear they were pretty bonded.

“Sounds good to me.”

Kaia had to teach both of them how to make paper snowflakes. Cas tried to make perfectly symmetrical snowflakes; Jack kept cutting his in half on accident which made a bunch of smaller snowflakes. Hey, it worked.

“So… what’s the deal with you and Dean?”

“Deal?” Cas flushed a little. Everytime someone asked it thrilled him all over again. He was dating Dean. Dean. Was his. Had told him so, straight to his face. And he got to kiss Dean whenever, and sleep with him, and make him make noises only he got to hear, and listen to all his worries and weird fears and recaps on the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy.

“Cas?” Jack was knocking on the table lightly. Kaia had two raised eyebrows and a little smile. 

“That good, huh?” She could relate. Everytime she thought about Claire she felt all warm inside, and going home to her at the end of the day was like a dream, especially after being apart for so long. 

Cas looked down, called out. “That good.” he agreed.

“How disgusting are they, Jack, on a scale of cute to rip your own face off cute?” Kaia leaned over the table now, shit-eating grin plastered firmly on her face. Jack looked delighted to be in on the joke, which made Cas happy in spite of himself. Jack really needed this time with kids his own age. (Well, kind of. He was technically three.)

“Well, they do cook together…” 

“Do they do that thing where one of them comes up from behind and puts their head on the other’s shoulder?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Dean or Cas?”

“Cas watches. He can’t cook.”

“Hey!” It was true. Cas was just arguing for the principle of it.

“But the movie nights are the cutest. One of them always falls asleep on top of the other one.”

“Probably at like 10 o’clock. You guys are so old.” Kaia teased, shifting her attention back to Cas. 

Cas shook his head and pointed his finger at the two of them. “I never should have had children.” Kaia stuck her tongue out and Jack followed suit. Proving his point. Kids.

---------

“Hey, you dorks just gonna let us do all the work, huh?” Dean shouted from the garage.

“Yeah motherfuckers, get in here!” 

Cas let out a half-hearted “Language!” before following Kaia and Jack through the halls. Claire pulled Jack into a side hug first before tugging Kaia in for a kiss. Dean would’ve followed suit, except Claire had actually left him to carry the whole fucking tree himself, which Dean, like an idiot, had actually attempted. Cas hurried over to help him, which earned him a glare lined with gratefulness. 

“Oh yeah, have a happy little reunion over there, don’t mind me or this giant tree!” Dean griped at the kids. “Let the old men handle it!”

“Hey, you said it first.” Claire raised an eyebrow at Dean and pulled Kaia and Jack off into the bunker, probably to go find Miracle. Dean sighed heavily, muttering under his breath.

“You brought that on yourself.” Cas informed him, grunting under the effort of holding up half the tree. 

“Thank you, babe. Very helpful.” Dean rolled his eyes. Cas pretended he didn’t feel a jolt of happiness at the most sarcastic ‘babe’ he’d ever heard.

-----

They managed to haul the giant-ass tree into the library and set it up, barely. It did almost crush Cas, but Dean tugged it upright at the last moment, prompting a joke about Cas dying again. (“Hey, you’re not allowed to make those anymore, you’re human now, dick.”) And a kiss that all the kids whooped and hollered at.

Then Cas showed Dean and Claire around the decorations they’d made while they were out. The greatest hits included paper snowflakes, ornaments, and a Christmas tree on the wall made out of old license plates. Dean clapped Jack on the shoulder to congratulate him on his crafts while Kaia held Claire’s hand and pretended not to be affected by the praise sent her way. 

By the time Sam and Eileen got back, they’d decorated the tree, all the chairs in the bunker, and the stair-rail with lights and tinsel. Sam let out a whistle when he came back in, which brought Miracle, Jack, and Cas to greet them. (Claire and Kaia were busy telling Dean all about their local gay bar. Which, considering they lived in South Dakota, was quite the story.) 

Dean’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw his brother and Eileen come in the kitchen with their bags. “Okay Dean, before you ask, we went with apple, pecan, pumpkin, and cherry.” Sam looked at Dean warily, who stared back at him over the girls’ heads with narrowed eyes, deciding whether or not to fight. The amount of pie ingredients he’d put on the list had been truly outrageous.

“Would like to remind you that the kids are making cookies and cheesecake too.” Eileen reminded him. Dean continued to look around suspiciously until Cas sat down on his lap.

That’s great, Eileen. Cas signed to her. He will be fine.

Eileen rolled her eyes. Whiner. Sam let out a snort and Cas grinned at her. Dean glared. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“Learn to sign better and you’d know.” Sam smirked.

“I’m working on it!” Dean protested and wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, tugging him in possessively. He was going to try to sign something else but settled for a middle finger pointed straight at his brother. Hey, it was sign language.

Cas leaned back and kissed him on the cheek for his efforts. His memory landed on one particularly frustrating night for Dean when they’d been practicing his ASL (Cas knew every language of course) and Dean just couldn’t remember the most basic of things. Lamp, field, tree. The more frustrated he got, the more words started to leave him. He’d started swearing under his breath and stomped out to the porch to cool off, followed by Cas a few minutes later. Cas still remembered the drained look in his eyes as he looked at Cas. 

“I feel like such a fucking dumbass, Cas. I know it’s not that hard, it shouldn’t be that hard, Sam makes it seem so easy…”

“Dean, you are learning. It’s okay if it takes you a little time. Sam has experience with ASL, doesn’t he?”

Dean had sighed and conceded this. “Yeah, he took some in college I think. I just… I never took any language, you know? Didn’t seem as important as woodshop or sex ed.” He grinned half-heartedly at his own joke.

Cas smiled back and pointed at him, signing o and k. You’re okay.

He repeated the signs, nodding. I’m okay.

I love you.

I love you too.

-----

After the pies were made and chicken noodle soup in the crock pot, Cas and Dean relinquished the kitchen to the kids and retired to the Dean cave. Sam and Eileen were cooped up in their room until they were allowed back into the living quarters by the kids. They didn’t want their creations critiqued or tasted before they were ready.

Cas waited patiently while Dean typed away on his phone, eyes narrowed to see the text. He refused to get reading glasses or enlarge the print on his phone, even though he sorely needed it. Cas kept his complaining about it to a minimum though because he liked the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he squinted. It reminded him that he got to grow old with Dean.

Dean looked up finally to see the fond look on his lover’s face and blushed, guilty. “Sorry, just checking with Kara.”

Cas nodded understandingly. As always. “The bar will survive without us for a few days.”

“I know.” Dean looked down, a little pleased he could admit it. “I just miss it.” Wow, to have a life he could miss, and to miss it from a peaceful holiday vacation surrounded by his family. It was… surreal. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

Dean sank back into the cushions, thinking. “Die Hard?” 

Cas smiled at him. “Is that what you want to watch?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped around so he could lay his head in Cas’s lap. “No.” He admitted it grudgingly. Cas could read him like a book. It was inconvenient sometimes and other times, like now, it was nice. “Just seems like the thing to watch. Y’know, Christmas Eve.” 

Cas shrugged. He put a hand in Dean’s hair, just like he liked it. Dean closed his eyes almost at his touch; he’d gotten much more comfortable letting his guard down like that lately. It had taken a while though, months of Dean staying rigid in his arms before he could relax quicker. “There are other things to watch.”

Dean reached a hand up and cupped Cas’s jaw with his hand. “Whaddyou wanna watch, sweetheart?” 

Cas couldn’t help but turn his head to kiss Dean’s hand. Dean only called him sweetheart when he was feeling particularly tender, usually a few whiskeys in. This time he happened to be both. Cas loved it. “What about a double feature?”

“Hm,” Dean scrubbed his hand along Cas’s stubble and thought. Cas’s stubble was one his favorite physical things about him; sometimes Cas accused him of petting him like a cat. “What ones?” 

“First… It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

Dean cracked a grin and opened his eyes. “Clarence?” 

Cas blushed. “I miss her sometimes.” 

“Should I be worried?” 

Cas tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Considering she’s a demon? Probably.” Meg was banished to hell with the rest of the demons that had gotten out of the Empty, but given their old friendship with the Queen of Hell, that didn’t mean much for them.

“Psh, demon-shmemon. Been there, done that.” Dean pulled Cas down into a kiss, making him bend over into an awkward position that made Cas giggle. “Being a human is much sexier.” 

“I agree.” 

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. “Wanna make it a triple feature? Little hanky panky for intermission?” Cas rolled his eyes, which Dean interpreted as a solid yes. “What is our second movie, anyway?” 

“Huh.” Cas booped Dean on the nose. “Love Actually.”

A slow, dopey smile spread over Dean’s face. “Okay.” He paused, thinking about it. He’d pushed Cas into watching it years ago, when they were still just friends, by ‘accidentally’ adding it to his Netflix Queue and then letting Cas loose for movie night. He’d watched Cas for his reactions the whole time (and only gotten distracted by looking At Cas a few times). It had been a couple months ago when he told Cas about that. “Second favorite thing about being queer is being able to watch sappy shit like that.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “You were able to before, Dean.”

Dean ignored him. “Ask me what my favorite thing is,” 

“What’s your favorite thing?”

“This.” He burrowed into Cas’s lap. A sap and a flirt.

“I thought you were gonna say Taylor Swift.” A dry witted old queen.

Dean snorted into his stomach. “That’s my third favorite.”

----

“Alright, gang, what do we say? Same place tomorrow morning, let’s say… 5?” He spun around to look at everyone, a wide smile on his face. Everyone seemed less enthused than him, although Sam seemed to think his situation was amusing.

“Dude, I’m not twelve, I’m not waking up at 5 am to open a few presents.” 

“Like hell you aren’t!” Dean was smiling but it was less of a happy smile and more of a disbelieving one. Cas squeezed his arm then, stopped him from continuing his argument. Dean glanced at him and he just stared and gave him another squeeze. 

Dean knew what that look meant. It meant ‘Dean, you’re overreacting again, calm down and think about it’ and also ‘stop being such an asshole’ and probably also ‘wow you’re eyes are really pretty’ knowing Cas.

He took a deep breath and pecked Cas on the lips. “Alright, princess, what time are you willing to drag your lazy ass out of bed?”

Claire smirked and sent a look at Kaia before leveling back at Dean. “Eleven.”

“Eight.”

“Ten. Final offer.”

Dean considered a moment then extended a hand. And shook. “You have yourself a deal.”

----

After they went to bed, they talked about it. These days, they always talked about it. It was one of the things Cas had brought home from his shrink appointments, and, as much as Dean hated to admit it, it worked. Helped.

Cas changed into pajamas and stretched, sending a look back at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and started before Cas could prod him to. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “You hate the morning.” 

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head, then pulled down his pants, because you should never have a conversation with your boyfriend with pants when you could have one without pants. These things he was learning. “Yeah, I do, it’s just… it’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is. Isn’t it supposed to be a day of relaxation and fun?”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be exciting! Kids jumping on their parents bed at the asscrack of dawn to go to the tree, that kinda shit!” He shrugged, getting stupid worked up over it, he knew. He knew. Cas pulled him in by the hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on, tell me how I’m being an asshole.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “What part of ‘you do everything for love’ do you not understand?” 

“How is me freaking out over Christmas morning ‘for love’?”

Cas didn’t flinch away from the self-deprecation. “You want them to have the Christmas you never got.”

Dean sank his head onto Cas’s shoulder, thinking about it. He was right, of course he was, he’s always right. Cas can read him like a book, even when Dean himself didn’t know what he was doing. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s admirable. But the Christmas they deserve, same as you did, is the one they want. Which might not be the one you wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” he sighed heavily. More than he wanted his kids to have a motherfucking Christmas-card Christmas, he just didn’t want to be the ruin of it. Didn’t want to be John. “Sorry you have to shrink my head all the time.” Dean muttered softly. Cas pulled him away and kissed him, slow and soft. 

“You pay me back tenfold.”

“You’ve got a shrink.”

“I meant with sex.” Cas met his eyes, face stoic as always. He would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for the glint in his eyes. It gave him away.

Dean threw back his head and laughed.

“Motherfucker.”

“I don’t have a mother.” 

Dean shook his head, grin splitting open his face. Cas himself was trying to hold it together; he kept having to push down the corners of his mouth so he wouldn't break. Dean crowded closer, determined to ruin that composure. He walked his face right into Cas’s, only reaching for his lips once they were already bumping together. Then he fell into it, pulled Cas toward him to get more, settled into the easy mesh of their bodies until Cas ended up knocking his knee against the bedframe with a loud thump.

They dissolved into a pile of breathy giggles, too giddy and soft to work up the energy to get frisky. Dean just shrugged off his shirt and pulled Cas closer to him. “You know you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Dean told him seriously. He didn’t know where it came from; it was way too mushy to even possibly be from his mind. Maybe it was something about the holiday, and the family, and the safety that all of it brought. 

“And so are you.” Cas replied simply, eyes glinting. 

“Even though I’m an asshole sometimes?” He had to ruin it. Had to put in that little bit of doubt, of insecurity. But it wouldn’t be truthful if he just swallowed it, so he let it be said.

Cas kissed his nose, which made Dean feel like a child but also like something so special and precious he didn’t complain. “Even though you’re an asshole sometimes.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and chased Cas’s lips, nipping at him in offense. He sank onto the pillow and stared at Cas where he sat up. Cas just looked down at him, adopting that alien-like quality he could still summon. “Marry me.” 

“What?”

Dean smiled fondly at him, for once not at all concerned. “I dunno, dunnit ‘boyfriends’ sound way too young to you? I mean you’re practically 5 million years old, you can’t have a boyfriend.”

Cas pursed his lips, seemingly deciding between protesting his age or agreeing to his proposal. He laid next to Dean during his decision, letting Dean watch him consider. “Suppose you’re right.” He shrugged, offering up a tiny grin. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes’ and then burst into tears.” 

“Dean.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, that’s just how humans do it!”

“Okay, I take it back.” 

Dean laughed and pulled him into a giddy kiss. “I love you.”

“I hope so, you’re marrying me.” Cas couldn’t contain his smile anymore; he stopped trying and just stared at Dean with the kind of wonder that used to make Dean feel uncomfortable. Now, it just made him feel lucky. “I love you too.”

---

A phone rang, a bizarre ringtone Dean didn’t recognize. Sam jumped up and ran off to the map room, apologizing quickly. “What the hell, man!” Dean yelled after him and sent a look at Eileen.

Hunter call, probably. She signed. Sure enough, Sam was in the other room picking up a landline with an annoyed tone. 

He listened for a few minutes, asking follow-up questions before Dean heard him say, “Rugaru, yeah, that’s what it sounds like. Yeah, you gotta burn ‘em. Nasty, sorry. Yeah, no problem. Good luck.” He hung up and headed back into the room, signing and talking. “Sorry, hunting doesn’t care about holidays.”

“So glad we’re not doing that anymore.” Dean sighed happily, wrapping an arm around Cas. Sam smiled at him and nodded.

“Me too. I had to burn those clothes after the Rugaru thing.” He shuddered, the memory of the stench enough to make him happy for an empty stomach.

Eileen shrugged. Never had to deal with one of those. 

“Lucky.” Dean promised her. Cas nudged him, nodding toward Jack. He was shaking a wrapped box with his name on it, a look of deep concentration on his face. 

“Whaddya think it is, kid?” 

Jack shook his head. “No idea. Can I open it?” 

“Go for it.”Jack tore into it, no regard for the painted newspaper (yes, it was recycled, Cas and Sam both agreed) as he got to the box underneath. “Open the card first, heathen!” Dean joked, pointing out the card tucked onto the bottom of the thing. Jack scowled but complied, opening the card to find a nice note from him and Cas and a key taped in. 

“What’s it for?” 

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, excited about this part. He had been the one who came up with it, after all. “Our place. We wanted to make it official, since you been, you know, visiting around a lot lately.” Dean turned a little pink in the cheeks. Jack had indeed been drifting between Sam and Eileen’s, Jody’s, his and Cas’s, Donna’s, and Claire and Kaia’s. But he always spent the most time at his and Cas’s house, trying to copy Dean and always ending up enjoying Cas’s hobbies more. Sam had told him a while back that Jack confided he wasn’t sure he was welcome there, not for the long term. So Dean wanted to let him know he was welcome. Except now, looking at the uncertainty on Jack’s face, he wasn’t so sure that’s what the kid wanted. “Uh, you know, you can just spend however much you want with us, but… you know.” He poked Cas desperately in the side, trying to get him to save the sentence.

“We’d like you to have a ‘home base’ with us, Jack. However often you are willing to stay.” Cas said simply. He squeezed Dean’s knee to reassure him.

Jack looked up at them with a stunned expression. “Does this mean I can take out the trash? And do the dishes?” He looked thrilled at the idea. 

Dean chuckled. “We never would’ve stopped you before, kid. But yeah, sure.” 

Sam cleared his throat, offering a smile to Jack. “That better not mean you stop coming around here though, Jack.” When Dean had called and told him his idea for the present, he’d almost teared up. His brother had come a long way with Jack. Still, he wanted to reassure his kid that he always had a home with him and Eileen too, no matter how busy he was. (And nowadays, between online classes, cataloguing lore onto an online database, and being the New Bobby, he was really busy.)

Jack jumped up, clearly about to go for a round of hugs, but Dean waved him off. “Keep going, you haven’t even gotten through one present yet.” 

Jack grinned and complied, taking a bit more time with the box. He pulled out a Scooby Doo phone case, marked for Extra Protection, with Scooby and Shaggy on the back.

“That one was my idea.” Cas told him proudly.

“I helped.” Dean piped up.

“You did not.”

“I helped you pick which case!”

“You wanted to get one with Fred and Daphne.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Not everyone has a crush on them like you do, Dean.” 

Dean flushed scarlet and went silent, pouting. Jack ignored their bickering and beamed up at Castiel. “I love it, dad. Thank you.” 

Cas looked like he could’ve gone for round 4 with the Empty with how happy he was, but he just nodded. “Of course.” 

The rest of the gifts went by with lots of shouting, laughing, smiling, and hugging. And a few tears all around. Dean got Claire a flamethrower without consulting anyone, and Cas got Kaia a rose and lavender scented pillow fragrance (“It helps ensure good dreams.”), which prompted a comment from Claire (“How’d he know you’re a pillow princess?”) that everyone pretended not to hear. Dean got Eileen a Woojer, a wearable speaker that lets you feel music’s vibrations in your body (“Because no one should have to live without Zepp available to them 24/7. Also, now you can cry with me when the sad music cues come on Dr. Sexy,” - one of their favorite activities together). 

Dean jerked a head at Sam to get him out of the room, so Sam snatched his gift while Dean detached himself from Cas. They went to the kitchen, sending a couple soft looks back at their family gathered around the tree with all their new possessions. It was nice, and they both felt it.

“So, uh, Sammy, I been thinking a lot about what to get you for Christmas and everything. I didn’t want to go with the classic-”

“Skin mag and candy bar?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, damn, now I feel bad.” Sam mimed hiding his present (obviously bigger than a skin mag) behind his back, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I finally got money, you know? Not a lot of it, but… I got a house and fucking, Cas, and… anyway. We’re finally doing Christmas and I wanted to do it right. And I want you to be as off-the-wall happy as I am, dude.”

Sam smiled widely, not even able to come up with a little-brother bitchy comment to that. “Thanks, Dean, that means a lot.” 

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, so, I, um, I wanna pay for your school.” Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand. “No, listen, I know you’ve been stressed about it, and I know you’ve been working really hard on the hunting catalogue stuff. That shit’s important. And I can pay for some crappy internet school classes. No offense.” 

Sam laughed and pulled his brother into a hug. “Thank you, man.” He said, muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Dean patted Sam on the back, expecting Sam to pull away, but he didn’t. “Uh, Sammy.” Sam ignored him. “Sam. Dude, get off me. I want my present.” 

Sam snorted and finally pulled away. Dean tactfully ignored the wetness of his eyes in favor of snatching the gift from Sam’s hands. He tore it open with all the grace of a rabid dog, unveiling a thick, leather bound scrapbook. “A scrapbook? Really?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s gay, even for you.” 

Sam pulled a bitchface. “Who sucks their boyfriend’s dick every chance he gets?” 

Dean flipped him off. No need to argue, Sam would see right through him. It was true though. Not that he would know. Dean flipped open the cover and grinned immediately. It was Sam and Dean as kids, in a mall photo booth, being dumbasses with their tongues stuck out and their faces all crazy. Dean mooned the camera in one, and you could see the psychological scarring on Sam’s face in the next picture. A little note slapped on the page next to it said “I have more nightmares about this than about hell”. Dean laughed, glancing up at Sam before he continued. Sam’s eyes were hopeful with a glint of mischief. That was never good.

Dean flipped through the next pages. It showed them through the years, all with little notes of Sam’s internal monologue. “Grumpy because he hasn’t gotten his coffee this morning” “That’s for the itching powder incident, asshole” and more and more. There were even some pictures in there of just him that Sam had obviously taken without Dean’s knowledge, pictures of him sleeping with comments about his snoring, pictures of him singing obnoxiously in the car with jokes about ear damage. Pictures of him and Bobby shooting the shit with notes about the pair of “old men.”

Then the pictures started to change. There started to be pictures of him and Cas. Mostly just him and Cas. Standing, talking, watching TV together (this one says “angel’s first porno!” with a bunch of hearts next to it). Comments talking about personal space (“he never stands that close to ME”) and the like. One of Dean in Bobby’s panic room where Dean has a speech bubble drawn on his serious face that says “Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid” and then just a selfie of Sam pulling his bitchiest bitch face. 

Dean turned a little red at that, recognizing his complete obliviousness at the time, and kept going. The pictures continue, lots of fun-loving pictures of them on the road and the occasional movie or bar night, Charlie and Kevin and even Crowley and Rowena. But without fail, there is picture after picture of him and Cas sharing a publicly private moment, all with little snippy comments from his little brother. More than three of those comments are “Just kiss already!!!” Dean finally looks up to see Sam crossing his arms and staring at him with a smug, self-satisfied smile. 

“When the hell did you make this?” Dean sputtered. These are a lot of pictures, Sam must’ve kept them on his crappy cell phones for years. 

Sam blinked. “I started it in 2006.” 

“No, I mean, when did you go back and add all these bitchy little comments?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “2006.” 

Dean blinked right back. “But you… you’ve got all these dumbass comments about me and Cas.”

His smartass little brother started to smile then, a big shit-eating grin he wanted to smack off his dumb face. “Yeah, man, you weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

“Hey, fuck you, what does that mean?” It was said in jest, but Dean’s volume control went out the window.

“Dean? Sam? Everything okay?” Cas’s voice reached them from the other room. Dean sent an offended glance back at Sam before answering.

“Yeah babe, I’m just finding out how much I wanna punch my brother in here,” 

“Okay, well, leave it till tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

“Nah, isn’t fighting with your family a holiday tradition?” 

“I think you’re right. Okay, continue.” 

Now Sam was just watching him with such a knowing expression it made him annoyed. He was watching him flirt with his boyfriend- no, technically, husband. Oh yeah. He lowered his voice back down to a reasonable volume to talk to just his brother again.

“Yeah, so, I should also tell you-” He closed the book and set it on the counter. “We uh… Cas and I, we’re gonna get married.” He looked down at his feet and blushed a bit, could feel the rising heat in his cheeks. Honestly, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. He was getting married. To Cas. “Obviously, you know, we can’t really, with one of us being a legally dead terrorist and the other a former angel in the body of a missing family man,” Dean and Sam both  laughed at that. “But I asked him and he said yes.” 

“You asked him?” Sam seemed more surprised by that than the actual news. Dean shrugged and nodded. “Wow. Congrats, Dean, really.” Sam pulled him in for another hug, which Dean happily returned. “Can I walk you down the aisle?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s getting walked down the aisle, it’s Cas. He might get distracted by a butterfly halfway down, he’ll need the guide.” 

Sam grinned. “Come on, it’s not like you weren’t always gonna give me away.” 

Dean frowned at him. “Me? Why?” 

“Dean, you’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” Sam says it like it’s obvious, like he isn’t forgetting about-

“You had Dad.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making his big brother look him in the eyes as he repeated it. “You’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” 

Dean wasn’t gonna get choked up. No, he wasn’t, damn it. He’d made it this far in the visit without getting choked up, he could- 

“Sam?”

Eileen appeared around the corner, making them both realize how long they’d been away from the rest. Sam looked at her apologetically, signing Sorry. Dean was just telling me he and Cas are getting married! 

Eileen turned to Dean, barely giving Dean time to process a quick congratulations sign before she enveloped him in a hug. Dean laughed and hugged her back, pulling away to sign thank you. At least he knew how to do that. 

Big church wedding? Eileen teased. 

“Only if Cas wears a poofy dress,” Dean joked back. He only knew the signs for Cas and dress, but between that and lip-reading, Eileen got it. She shook her head with a grin and grabbed Sam’s hand. They all went back into the living room and to the rest for another round of hot chocolate and a marathon of all the Home Alone movies, per request. 

------

Dean snuggled into Cas’s side and ruffled a hand through Jack’s hair and he tried to think of something more perfect than having his family all together for Christmas. He couldn’t.

[angelic-holland]

First Premiere

Summary: Tom and you attend the Far From Home Premiere together and reminisce of your first night in a special way. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: smut and fluffy boyfriend Tom

A/N: check out the rest of the Miss Yer Kiss Series in my masterlist! 

Sport’s first plane ride! Wish him luck!

You posted a photo of Sport in the empty seat next to you before putting him in your lap and putting on your seatbelt, getting ready for takeoff. 

Tom tried to upgrade your ticket to first-class and you laughed. 

What could you possibly do with that much room on an airplane? 

You giggled at Tom’s comment, “can’t wait to see sport, and you, miss you” followed by several different heart emojis.

Normally you’d call him a sap, stick your tongue out at him and giggle. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Your heart reminded you that you loved the silly heart emojis because they were so Tom. Reminding you of his feelings through silly emojis. 

***

You didn’t think you looked like a stupid cheesy romance movie at the airport. You were in sweatpants and your Tattoo Dice T-shirt, stained with tattoo ink, hair a mess, you were looking for a curly mop of red hair, Harry was supposed to pick you up,  as you dragged your small carry on suitcase behind you. 

“Y/N?” You heard a woman with a British accent call out.

Hmm?

“Y/N!” You turn and a tan woman waving her arms all around recognizes you. 

“It’s Nicki! Tom’s mum! Oh hi, it’s so nice to meet you! Oh my goodness!” 

“Hi, nice to meet you too?” Your voice raises in a question, just not expecting her to meet you while you looked like this, after a flight. 

“Oh you look fine darling, should’ve seen me when I got off the flight here, Tom should be back any second he just ran to the bathroom,” she says her arms are raised slightly like she wants to hug you. 

She must’ve taken in your confused look because she laughed and pulled you in for a hug. 

“Oh!” You laughed, letting go of your suitcase to hug her back.

“Harry was supposed to pick you up but I insisted me and Tom come, he couldn’t stop talking about you the car ride here, or like ever.”

“Mum! Y/N! Hey!” You hear Tom’s familiar voice ring out from the crowded airport baggage area as you pull away from Nicki.

“Thought someone was busy,” you tease.

“I was but mum worked her magic and switched things around, so here I am,” he says, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, you can’t help but giggle as he lifts you into the air, spinning you around slightly as he kisses you. 

“Missed you,” you grin as he sets you down, lips still ghosting against your own.

“Missed you more,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you grab your suitcase. 

***

You arrive at the hotel and you hardly have any time with Tom to just be, before he’s being swept away for an interview, kissing you quickly before telling you that you can meet up later in the day and go shopping for the night.

“Y/N, do you want to get your nails done with me?” Nicki asks as you stand in the lobby, a book in your arm, small backpack slung over your shoulder.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

Truth is, you were sort of terrified of the prospect of spending time alone with Tom’s mother. How much of you has he shared with her? Do moms and daughters normally get their nails done together? Is this the type of bonding that people did? 

***

She must know at least a little bit about you because she goes on and on about how she’s been watching Ink Master with Tom and how Tom’s been trying to learn more about tattoos.

“And he talks about the first tattoo you did, the Spiderman mask, and how you’ve done so many beautiful ones since I follow your Instagram and the ones you post are amazing. I can't believe you’ve only been doing this for what is it now, a month?”

“Thereabouts,” you nod, you let her take control of the conversation as you get your nails done, something you’ve never done before. 

You got a pretty red, something that matched Tom’s outfit for the premiere. Speaking of his outfit for you still had to figure out where you were going to find a dress that one, internet trolls wouldn’t call cheap, and two was actually ridiculously cheap.

She starts to grill you on your life, school, your family and it’s clear that Tom hasn’t told her that side to you, which you’re grateful for. She’s not exactly grilling you, that was a bad choice of words, but she would ask question after question. It was clear she just wanted to get to know you, the girl her son was seen with at some sleazy club once and was now here in LA as his girlfriend, going to the premiere of his movie with him. 

“Does this reminds you of getting your nails done with your mom as a kid?” She asks and you sigh. 

Now came the hard part, you could skirt around the truth, just say that your mom never took you to get your nails done. It wasn’t a lie, your mom never took you to get your nails done because you didn’t have a mom.

“I uh, never really went to places with my mom.”

“Oh, okay, well, I think we can have a lot of fun today, if you’d like, think of it as a girls day before Tom can meet back up with us.”

“Sure,” you smile, partly because you wanted to make his mom happy, partly because you secretly wondered what spending time with a mom was like, not that you’d share that.

After she insisted on paying for your nails, “think of it as a present for your first premiere.”

That’s where Tom must’ve gotten his generosity. 

The two of you have lunch and you let yourself lead the conversation, talking about your art and your plans as a tattoo artist, how you want to eventually specialize in portraits and how hard it can be to accurately tattoo the human face onto human skin, getting the texture and depth of a face on a two dimensional space that bleeds was a challenge. 

“I’m sure you’re going to do fantastic,” she encourages. 

“And I guess I think it would be cool at some point to go on Ink Master, or meet Ryan Ashley, wow it’s my dream to meet her, her work just takes my breath away every single day.”

“She’s the one that does the super realistic jewelry pieces?”

You nod surprised that she knew Ryan Ashley’s work.

The two of you walk around downtown LA, you’re used to the crowded sidewalks, much like the ones of New York, but a little hotter.

She points out places she recognizes, you stop at what looks like a ridiculously expensive clothing shop and you’re surprised to see Tom so early.

“Hey princess,” he says, wrapping his arms around you.

“Hey Tom,” you mumble against his neck as he let’s go of you, hand slipping down your arm to intertwine with your own.

“Ready to go shopping?” He asks, tugging you farther into the store.

“Uhhh, I was hoping we could go to Macy’s or Old Navy or something,” you rub the back of your neck. You most definitely did not fit in here. Eyes roaming the racks of absolutely beautiful dresses, knowing that they’d be approximately a month’s rent or more.

“Nonsense, lemme treat you princess,” he whispers, hand squeezing your side.

You’re about to argue when you remember the conversation you had with Lily after you and Tom fought that one night.

***

“You know, if he wants to buy you stuff, just fucking let him.”

“A bed? Really?”

“Yes a bed, come on, he’s fucking loaded, a bed means nothing to him.”

“And that’s what I’m afraid of! Because a bed means more to me and you know that.”

“Start smaller though, just let him buy you little gifts here and there. That’s what boyfriends do, especially ones that are kind and have the means to. I’d just be grateful he didn’t straight up offer to pay your rent.”

“Argh, I’m gonna have to relearn what it’s like to be in an actual relationship won’t I?”

“As opposed to Jack? Yeah, let’s just say you and Tom will have plenty of firsts that you and Jack never got to.”

“How’d you know? See my future?”

“No, I just see the way your eyes lit up when your phone buzzes and you see that it’s him. The way your voice goes up an octave and you talk really fast when you talk about him. So let him treat you, like I said, lots of firsts, you just needa adjust to being able to fully rely on someone.”

“It’s gonna take some time.”

“Just go with it. Be like uh, Jennifer Aniston! In Just Go With It! You know? She has to pretend to date Adam Sandler’s character and he takes her shopping and she buys a bunch of expensive stuff? Like I know you’re dating for real, but like have that same attitude.”

***

“Okay,” you say and you can feel Tom’s hand squeeze your side and you see he’s got an excited giddy grin on his face. 

“Really? Okay, so my suit is red,”

You nod, wiggling your free hand in front of his face, to show your red nails.

“That’s the exact color basically how’d you get it just right?”

“In art school I took a whole class on colors and color matching was one of the units,” you say, hand pausing at a long dress, floor length with a slit up one side, an open back, a low neckline but still classy. It seemed to match the pictures of Tom’s suit that you’ve seen. 

“Wanna try it on?” He asks and you nod, checking the size. 

“That is going to look absolutely amazing on you,” Nicki says, watching as you furrow your eyebrows.

“I’m not 100% sure what size dress I am,” you frown, and Tom calls over a woman who was working. 

“They can take your measurements,” Tom says.

“Yes, if you come with me, I can measure you in our dressing rooms and then pick the size that will suit you best,” the woman says and you nod, letting your arm fall from Tom’s waist as he rubs one last circle against your hip, kissing your cheek before you’re ushered away with the woman.

“You and your boyfriend are very beautiful together,” she says and you can’t help but laugh. Tom looks amazing in a tight blue shirt and dress pants. You seemed a little worse for wear, you changed out of your sweatpants but was just wearing ripped jeans and the same t-shirt from earlier.

“Thank you,” you say.

She has you get undressed, using the measuring tape around your waist, your hips, chest. You wait while she leaves, coming back with two sizes.

“So you might be this one, but it might be just a tad too tight, so I got one size up, don’t wear a bra in it, it’s got plenty of padding and support.”

She leaves you to try it on, you are a little confused because there are multiple thin straps that might be where your arms go but you’re not sure. You eventually get it on and it seems to fit just right, you tug the small zipper and spin for the mirror. It shows off all your tattoos and you feel a stupid fear bubble up inside you. 

What will people say?

Then you thought about what Tom would say when you stepped out of the dressing room and suddenly nothing anyone online could say bothered you. Because you looked hot and you knew he would agree. 

“How’s it going in there?” The woman asks and you gulp, pushing the dressing room curtain back.

You didn’t expect to see Tom and Nicki sitting on the small bench right outside of the room but you felt a giggle rise in your throat when Tom’s eyes lit up. It reminded you of that kid from Home Alone 2, when he saw his family again on Christmas. Pure excitement and glee, eyes wide, lips upturned into a toothy smile, blushing slightly. Tom made you watch that movie, absolutely baffled when you hadn’t seen it before. 

You figured that’s how most kids looked on Christmas when they were surrounded by their family and got to open up present after present. You wondered how spending Christmas with Tom would be like.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

His eyes shone as his jaw dropped and he stood up.

“Wow, you look, wow,” he says, eyes roaming your body. 

“I didn’t know wow was an adjective?”

“It is now,” he says, kissing you quickly before spinning you in his arms. 

“I think that’s the one,” Nicki says.

***

You were nervous as fuck as you and Tom sat and had your makeup done. Your hand holding his so tightly he actually laughed, “never thought you had this tight of a grip before.”

“Just a little nervous,” you sigh.

“Don’t be, we’ll be the hottest people there.”

“But Jake Gyllenhaal will be there.”

“Shit you’re so right, second hottest people there.”

You don’t let your nerves get to you however, you were grateful for Tom’s grounding hand on your hip as you got out of the car, stepping up to the red carpet. You had to shut your eyes a few times, the flashing cameras made you shiver.

He introduced you to his other brother, Sam, as well as his friends Harrison and Tuwaine and you couldn’t help but swoon a little when he introduced you to Jake Gyllenhaal.

“So this is the tatted minx Tom would talk about nonstop throughout the press junket, nice to finally meet you,” He says and he hugs you and holy shit if you weren’t falling for Tom you’d risk it all for Jake right then and there. 

He pulls away and Tom’s arm is back around your waist, a tighter hold than before, thumb rubbing a circle against the fabric of your dress.

You watch as he signs things for fans and greets them, your heart swells at how excited he seems, which only makes you excited, seeing him in his element.

Thud, thud, thud.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you whisper in his ear, getting an idea.

“Oh, yeah, let’s try to find it, we’ve got some time before the movie starts,” he says as you both wander, he waves goodbye to the eager crowd as you slip into the huge stadium where the movie would play.

Your eyes find the sign for the bathrooms and you all but drag him towards it. 

“I can wait outside while you oh-,” his voice drops as your hand edges along the front of his suit pants. 

“You could, or you could uh, join me,” your eyes sparkle with your idea as he, in turn, pulls you into the bathroom, locking the door before kissing you, mouth insistent and sloppier than earlier, he didn’t have to hold back. He wasn’t in front of everyone and didn’t have to be short and sweet. Tongue tracing your lips before pushing inside your mouth, playing a delicious game as your hands gripped his shoulders.

“Careful, gonna mess up my makeup,” you whisper as his hands roam up your sides to rest against your breasts. 

“I can kiss ya somewhere else,” he whispers against your lips and you whimper as he kisses down your neck, fingers slipping down to the slit in your dress as he pushes you firmly against the door, fingers playing with the edge of your panties before kneeling in front of you.

“You know what this reminds me of,” he whispers, pushing your panties to the side as his fingers stroke through your slick folds.

“Our first night, I know,” you laugh, glad he’s caught on, “that was the plan.”

He circled your entrance, kissing your thigh above your tattoo, “only this time I know your name.”

“Fuck,” you cry out as he pushes two thick fingers into you as he nips at your thigh. 

The only sounds you can hear is your breathless pants and your heartbeat as his tongue circles your clit, mouth and hands pushing you quickly over the edge.

He pulls his fingers out of your clenching core, kissing your thigh as he pulls your panties back in place. 

Your eyes peek down at Tom, sucking his fingers wet with your juices into his lips, moaning around them as he stood up.

“Holy shit let me suck you off,” you mutter, hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back for a kiss, groaning as you taste yourself on him.  

You’re about to turn the tables, push him against the door and devour him but there’s a knock on the door that makes you both jump.

“Hey, uh Tom? If you’re in there, everyone’s kinda running around looking for you, so if you’re uh, finished, we’d love to have you join the rest of us and watch the movie,” Harrison, you think at least is the accent behind the door.

“Shit,” he says, body shaking with laughter as you giggle against his shoulder.

“Raincheck?”

“Always,” he kisses your cheek and you try your hardest not to blush as he unlocks the door, the two of you try to look presentable and like you weren’t just doing what you were doing as you come face to face with Harrison’s cheeky smile.

“For the sake of Nicki and the rest of them, you were looking with me, and we found Tom together,” Harrison says you the two of you nod, playing along as Nicki runs up.

“We were looking everywhere for you Tom, thought the pair of you slipped away, everyone’s waiting, let’s go watch the movie.”

“Yes, let’s,” he says, kissing your cheek and intertwining his fingers with your own.

Thud thud thud.

***

Taglist: @la-bellezaa @tom-hollands-blog @unicornsyy @rageyoudamnednerd @sunnydays0803 @jackiehollanderr @khhbby @lousimusician @amyalpha @musiclover1263 @relise-thefury @euphorictom @lkd2505 @peteunderoos @saysomethingspiderman

[eddieeatsass]

A Certainty of the Universe

Summary: Eddie and Richie had been flitting around their sexual tension for years, but now that they're rooming together they're finding it increasingly harder to ignore it. One accidental sext ends up being the inopportune ice-breaker they needed all along. Pairing: Reddie Rating: E Warnings: Smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier had been college roommates for five months and counting. Their first year at college, Eddie lived with a randomly selected student named Stanley Uris; a tall Jewish boy with cleaning habits that were happily on par with Eddie’s standards. They were a good fit, and soon became good friends as well. They would probably still be rooming together if it weren’t for Richie’s roommate, Bill Denbrough. Richie had been lucky enough to get paired up with one of their oldest friends, but after Eddie introduced his roommate to the pair, any hope of living with Stan for an extra year went out the window. Stan and Bill began dating and got serious pretty quickly. So when second year came around, they decided to live together, leaving Richie and Eddie to either fend for themselves in the roommate system or move in together.

They, of course, chose the later. Despite having glaringly different personalities and hygiene habits, they were best friends, and figured that could carry them through any bumps they might have while living together. One bump that neither of them anticipated, however, was years of sexual tension coming to a head. It became increasingly harder for Eddie to ignore when Richie pranced around their room in low slung sweat pants, the clear outline of something tantalizingly off-limits staring Eddie down. Likewise, Richie had to suffer watching Eddie’s toned thighs squeezed into shorts so short it should be illegal, forcing himself to shut his eyes anytime Eddie bent over, for fear of combusting on the spot.

This unspoken tension led them both to seek release elsewhere. Richie began going to parties more frequently, often sleeping over at whoever’s house he’d slept with that night. Eddie preferred a more controlled approach, downloading Grindr and spending most nights teasing whatever poor sap popped into his inbox.

Eddie had met a few interesting guys on the app, going as far as to meet two of them in person, but nothing much came of the encounters. He stayed in touch with one of them, a tall slender boy named Ricky. The two of them would call on each other when they got too pent up.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was nearly the end of the semester and Eddie had just finished writing a paper and sending it off to his professor. He felt the familiar restless stir of exhaustion clouding his judgement just slightly, just enough to make the idea of putting on whatever movie he could find and cuddling up to Richie sound like a good one.

He glanced over at his clock, which indicated that Richie wouldn’t be home from his class for an hour. Eddie groaned, irritated that he wouldn’t be able to torment his love-struck brain for another 60 minutes. So, to kill the time, Eddie did what any horny young adult would do.

He began palming himself through the stiff jeans he’d been wearing all day, quickly shucking them to the ground and ridding himself of his pink polo as well. Once more comfortable, he was able to get a better grip on his length through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs, starting with teasingly slow movements that set his nerve endings on fire.

Once he’d stroked himself to full hardness, he got an idea. Reaching for his phone, he opened a conversation with Ricky and started typing out a message.

Thinking of you. Pretending your huge hands are wrapped around me, your warm mouth taking me apart.

He opened the camera and snapped a quick picture of his erection straining against his briefs, a noticeable wet spot front and center where his head was leaking pre-cum against the fabric.

After attaching the picture, he sent the message, setting his phone aside so he could pull his briefs off and finally get a hand on his aching cock.

It took less than a minute for him to receive a reply.

fuck fuck fuck holy fuck 

Eddie should have noticed that Ricky wasn’t typing the way he usually did. He also should have noticed that the contact name said “Richie”, and not Ricky”… But he was too fatigued, his tired inhibitions lowered just enough to make the conscious mistake and ignore it.

Stroking himself with one hand, he fumbled to type with his other.

That all you have to say? He taunted, following up with another two messages. You don’t want to tell me what to do with myself? He sent, followed by another picture, this one much less restricted.

jesus fucking christ eddie don’t stop touching that gorgeous cock of yours. show me a little more. have you stretched yourself out? The reply read.

Eddie flushed as his arousal took over. Keeping one hand glued to his phone, the hand stroking him ventured lower to his puckered hole. He fingered himself regularly, so pushing one digit in to the knuckle right away was easy. He worked himself for a while before finally being able to push in a second finger. After that he wasted no time in angling his camera to snap a picture of his filled asshole, sending it off as requested.

The reply came immediately, as if Ricky had been watching his phone intently. oh baby, that’s cute but you’re gonna need to add a couple more fingers to take me.

Eddie remembered Ricky being about average size, so he chuckled to himself at the boy’s cockiness but chalked it up to dirty talk. And besides, it was working. Eddie’s cock twitched at the idea of being filled with something so big he’d need four fingers just to get himself ready. He decided to play along.

Why don’t you come over here and stretch me out yourself?

The reply took longer this time. In the meanwhile, Eddie grabbed the lube from his dresser, retracting his hand to coat his fingers generously before lining himself back up and plunging those same two fingers deep into himself. He fucked down onto his hand, picturing himself bouncing on Ricky’s cock. Lacing his fingers into that long black hair, staring into those deep blue eyes that reminded him so much of-

His phone buzzed with an incoming message, and Eddie nearly knocked it off the bed as he scrambled to grab it.

fuck i’ll be there in 5 i’m leaving class early

Eddie stared down at his phone with confusion. Ricky didn’t go to the same college as Eddie, how was he going to get to him so fast? He was at least a fifteen-minute drive away. He shrugged it off, not really caring how long it took him to get there as long as it meant Eddie was getting laid.

With the promise of sex in his near future, Eddie slowed his mannerisms, opting for measured, languid strokes on his cock and teasing twists of his fingers. He’d brush his prostate every so often, hissing at the contact, but forcing himself to ease off.

Suddenly he heard a key in his door. He frantically began grasping for his sheets in a desperate attempt to at least cover himself up before Richie came barging in. “Holy fuck, spaghetti man! Were you trying to give me a heart attack in class?” Richie barreled through the door, tripping as he struggled to get his jacket and his shoulder bag off at the same time. He was completely out of breath, his curls falling into his eyes but also sticking up in dishevelment as if he had been touching it too much.

Eddie stared at him bewildered, clutching his sheets to his body in a vice grip as his brain swam to try and piece things together.

“I mean, listen I’m all about public sex, but public boners are another thing.” Richie continued as his breath evened out. He hopped side to side while trying to get his shoes off and nearly fell over himself in the process.

“Ask me to bend you over a desk in the middle of class, I’m there for ya babe. But jacking one out by myself under a desk? Definitely not as sexy.”

Richie had gotten himself down to his boxers in an impressive amount of time, the grin never leaving his face even as he rambled through his nerves.

Finally, the pieces fell into place. Eddie glanced at his phone, still face up and open to his conversation with, yep there it was, Richie. 

At Eddie’s obvious hesitation, Richie’s face became somber.

“Do you not want to do this anymore? Fuck - did I - was it something- god one sec, I can just put my pants back on and-” Richie’s voice had gone back to frantic, but what had been excitement had now shifted to guilt. Eddie found his chest clenching at the idea that Richie might think Eddie didn’t want to sleep with him, because, god that was absolutely not the case. It may not have been the plan from the start, but seeing Richie in his underwear, thinking back to the texts that he now knew were sent by Richie, it had him speaking before he could think twice.

“No! No, I- I want to. I just needed a minute.”

Richie turned back around from where he’d been leaning down to gather his clothes, his shoulders visibly loosened but he stayed in place, wanting to give Eddie his space.

After a few deep breaths, Eddie was able to fully grasp the situation unfolding before him. And instead of the intense panic he thought he’d be feeling, he felt overwhelming exhilaration at the prospect of what was about to happen. With one last shaky breath, he spoke. “So, you wanna put that trash mouth to good use or what?”

Richie shot over to him in an instant, hovering over him so nothing but the thin sheet and Richie’s boxers separated them. Eddie could feel the heat from Richie’s body, feel the tickle of his breath against his skin, but nothing compared to the look in Richie’s eyes as he gazed down at him. Eddie could feel it in his bones.

Richie seemed to be feeling the same excited thrum, glancing from Eddie’s deep eyes to his plush lips and back again. It was clear he wasn’t sure how to approach this, I mean, is there an algorithm for kissing your best friend for the first time?

Eddie took pity on Richie’s obvious hesitation, reaching his hands out and fisting them in Richie’s hair to pull him forward. Their lips slotted together eagerly, and any lingering reservations melted away.

Their mouths opened to one another welcomingly, encouraging a deepening of the kiss with tongues and teeth.

Richie settled his hands on Eddie’s chest, just above the edge of the sheet that Eddie had used to cover himself. His fingers grazed at hardened nipples and Eddie keened in response.

“You like that?” Richie inquired between kisses, repeating his movements on both of Eddie’s pink buds.

“Hnnnng- yes, fuck.” Eddie moaned, grabbing Richie’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbling.

Their actions were playful, a lead up to the main event, but they indulged in the feeling of one another for as long as they could. They explored new expanses of body, got to know one another in the most intimate of ways, until Eddie could describe exactly how Richie tasted and Richie could recreate the sounds of Eddie’s moans perfectly.

Wriggling bodies had led to Eddie’s sheet moving downwards, inch by inch, letting their warm bodies connected in new places over and over. It was when it finally lowered that last inch, and Richie felt warm wetness smear on his stomach, that he finally let out his first groan.

It was guttural, filling the room with desire. He peered down the length of their torsos, seeing just the tip of Eddie’s pink cock peeking out at him. Pre-cum was smeared across the head, and it stretched across to Richie's own stomach in a thin line.

Richie threw his head back, an intentional whine leaving his lips to convey just what Eddie was doing to him.

“Good god Kaspbrak, I’m about three seconds away from cumming in my pants like a middle schooler.”

Eddie’s face flushed, the idea of Richie cumming in his pants not all that unenticing. But he also wanted to get fucked, get to see and feel that infamous cock Richie always boasted about.

As if reading Eddie’s mind, Richie began switching their positions.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Eddie went along with it, leaving himself pliant so Richie could adjust him however he’d like.

They ended up sprawled across the bed, Richie on his back, pulling Eddie up over his chest with his legs spread on either side of his head. Eddie was facing away from him, having to crane his neck to look over his shoulder just to watch the way Richie took him in. With slow, steady hands, Richie parted Eddie’s cheeks, a groan leaving his throat as he let his head drop back against his pillow.

“Do you know how many times I’ve pictured this?” Richie punctuated his thought by kneading Eddie’s cheeks. “Every time you wear those tight little red shorts, it’s like you’re on full display for me but I can’t touch you. I’d lay awake at night, fantasizing about what you’d taste like, how you’d feel clenching around my tongue, writhing above my body.”

Eddie’s body responded to the words like a command, beginning to writhe in his spot on its own accord.

“Mmm Richie…” Eddie’s hands tried to find purchase, desperate to center himself before Richie’s words alone took him away. He settled for leaning forward slightly and bracing himself against Richie’s chest, strong and stable and grounding. That feeling was fleeting as Richie began placing open mouthed kisses across Eddie’s thighs, cheeks, and then settling over his heat. The first flick of his tongue sent Eddie soaring, unimaginable warmth spreading through his body.

Eddie ground down involuntarily, chasing the fire that was igniting his bones. He received enthusiastic licks in return, and the feeling of Richie humming in delirium beneath him.

“You taste just as sweet as I imagined.” Richie purred.

Eddie decided he also wanted to taste Richie. In fact, he wanted so much more than that; he wanted to absolutely devour him, strip him of everything he was until all Eddie could taste, see, hear, feel was RichieRichieRichie.

He knew Richie had meant for this to be a cool down period, so he could catch his bearings before fucking Eddie as mind-numbingly as he’d promised. But Eddie was so close, just a thin layer of fabric separating him from what he wanted.

Eddie reached forward and palmed at the bulge straining for freedom. He felt bad for it, all it wanted to do was play, and Eddie was so willing to indulge it.

“Eddie…” Richie warned from behind him.

Eddie didn’t listen. He slipped Richie’s cock out of hole of his boxers, ignoring the barrage of cautions from Richie.

Eddie regarded Richie’s cock, veins straining against flushed skin, head beading with pre-cum, bobbing against his stomach every time Eddie did something that particularly wound him up. It was right there, a mere three feet away. All Eddie had to do was lower his head, reach out and lick a hot stripe against it…

“Oh fuuuuuck-” Richie growl rang through the room as Eddie enveloped him in his warm mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Eds.”

Richie had stilled his movements in favor of recalling every swear word he’d ever learned, but Eddie didn’t mind. The interruption gave him time to focus, swirling his tongue around the head of Richie’s cock tantalizingly. Emboldened by Richie’s vocal praise, Eddie sunk down as far as he could, letting his chin rest against Richie’s abdomen for a moment before pulling back up and then repeating the action. After a while of deep-throating him, Eddie felt Richie’s tongue prodding back at his hole. His moan was muffled by the intrusion in his throat, but it only aided the vigor with which Richie began attacking him.

 What had been languid licks before had now turned into determined laps, as if Richie was searching for treasure and it was buried inside Eddie. Richie introduced a finger easily, slipping into the last knuckle and crooking it upwards as he licked around his digit. Eddie’s knees buckled as Richie found the treasure he was looking for and began stroking it mercilessly.

“Richieeee!” Eddie wailed as he pulled away from his cock, a line of spit connecting the two.

He heard a dark chuckle escape Richie, but otherwise there was no indication he’d even heard Eddie’s cry. He continued to rub at the spot that made Eddie see stars, only stopping momentarily to add another finger. Richie’s fingers were bigger than Eddie’s, longer too. They were able to reach places inside him that Eddie simply couldn’t. Two of Richie’s fingers easily felt like three of Eddie’s, stretching him open with a delicious burn only soothed by Richie’s tongue.

He felt himself quickly approaching the point of release and tried to pull away. “Stop, ‘Chee, I-I’m gonna, an’ I don’t wan’to yet- Richie p-please.” Eddie slurred, trying to get the message across through the frenzy of his mind.

Thankfully Richie stopped a moment later, keeping his lips moving down Eddie’s thighs while stilling his fingers completely.

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, huh?” Richie teased.

Eddie was panting heavily enough to warrant a soothing hand down his back. Memories of Richie using that same tactic to soothe Eddie during Freshman year when he’d have panic attacks flooded his mind. Even back then Eddie wanted him so badly, but he was so quick to push away his desires before even acknowledging them.

“Richie, I want you.” Eddie said, voicing his thoughts. “I need you.” He was scrambling around now, trying to face Richie as his heart led his limbs. “I need you, I need you, I need you.” Eddie’s voice was insistent, it held desperation and lust, but they both heard the longing in there too.

“Hey, hey.” Richie grabbed Eddie’s face, stopping his near frantic movements. “You have me.”

Their eyes bore into each other, mapping years of untold confessions.

“Then prove it.” Eddie begged.

It took a beat for Richie to nod, but then he was peppering kisses all over Eddie’s chest, flipping them over so Eddie was the one with his back flush against the mattress. Eddie wasted no time before running his fingers through Richie’s mop of hair, combing it back from his face so he could watch as he gazed up at him with fire burning in his eyes. When Richie reached Eddie’s hips, he began leaving love bites in his trail, moving lower until he had Eddie’s legs thrown over his shoulders and two fingers deep inside him, repeating their ministrations from before. He took Eddie’s cock into his mouth as he pushed a third finger in, trying to distract Eddie from the mild stretch. He worked Eddie open while exploring his cock with his mouth, finding out that Eddie would jump a little every time he flicked his tongue against his frenulum.

When Richie finally deemed Eddie stretched enough to take him, his actions slowed down. He climbed up Eddie’s body with intent, stopping only to push his boxers down his legs and kick them off the bed. Fixing his eyes on Eddie’s, he lined himself up with Eddie’s heat, the head of his cock receiving kisses from Eddie’s hole trying to clench around nothing. Suddenly the fever they’d been working through had dropped and Richie found himself flooded with nerves.

What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he couldn’t please Eddie? What if it all went to shit, and he not only lost any chance he had with Eddie, but their friendship too? Years of emotions came crashing into his chest like a sinking ship against the storm’s eye, his mind spiraling.

The feeling of Eddie’s hand on his brought him back to the moment. He realized with a frown that his hands were shaking. Eddie was gazing at him with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry partner,” Richie tried to joke, taking on an awful rendition of a southern accent. “Got distracted by this here beautiful behind!” He tried to smack Eddie’s ass but Eddie’s hold on his hand held him back.

Eddie sighed as he propped himself up on his elbows. “What’s wrong, Richie?” He asked in a voice that’s intimacy sent another pang straight to Richie’s heart.

“Whaddayamean?” Richie shot back with a shrug and a grin that didn’t meet his eyes.

They held each other’s gaze for a few challenging moments before Richie let his posture fall, along with his façade.

“I’m scared I won’t be enough for you.” He whispered, heart clenching around his vulnerability. They both knew Richie wasn’t just referring to this moment, the promise of more an underlying theme in everything they’d been doing.

Eddie lifted his hand to Richie’s cheek, cradling his world in his palm. His smile was warm and gentle, nonthreatening in its existence, an immediate cure to Richie’s hammering heartbeat.

“You’ll always be enough...” Eddie murmured, matching Richie’s quiet tone. “Always have been enough.” He added calculatingly, watching Richie’s face for signs that he’d said too much, gone too deep, despite them both knowing how true the sentiment was. Eddie Kaspbrak was in love with Richie Tozier, and Richie Tozier was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. It was a certainty the universe had known for years.

Eddie thought he saw a glisten in Richie’s eyes, but it was blinked away swiftly. Richie leaned in, capturing Eddie’s lips in a tender lock.

“Thanks Eds.” Richie whispered against his mouth before pushing forward just slightly, letting the head of his cock breach Eddie’s opening.

Eddie’s responding moan was unexpected, surprising them both. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time, or any time, that he’d felt like this. He could feel Richie pulsing inside him, warmth just beginning to fill his channel, and already it was overwhelmingly comforting.

Sex had been a lot of things for Eddie; pleasure, relief, a means to pass the time. Never had it been soothing, like a breath of fresh air, like a warm hug from your best friend.

Eddie instinctively wrapped himself around Richie, ankles locking behind his back and arms behind his neck. He couldn’t let Richie pull out, couldn’t let him leave Eddie feeling empty again now that he knew what it meant to feel whole.

“More.” Eddie begged, trying to pull Richie closer with all his limbs.

“Okay, okay I’ve got you, don’t worry.” Richie tried soothingly, noticing the change in Eddie’s composure. Richie let himself be led by the pull, sinking deeper into Eddie until he was seated fully inside.

A sudden puff of air against the crown of his head signaled that Eddie had been holding his breath.

“Hey,” Richie pulled back slightly, cupping Eddie’s cheek so he could keep his gaze fixed. “I need you to breath for me.”

Eddie nodded compliantly, taking in a few steady breaths and relaxing around Richie. His arms and legs still clung to him like a koala, but the grip was loosening, becoming less frantic.

“I’m gonna start moving now, okay?”

Eddie nodded, adjusting himself on the bed so Richie had a better angle to pull back from.

And just like that, a languid rhythm was set.

Every drag of Richie’s cock made Eddie’s heart race, his belly filling with lava that threatened to overflow.

Richie was bigger than anyone Eddie had ever been with, and he hated to admit that he knew he’d feel an ache in his muscles tomorrow, even with Richie’s attempted softness.

So, if he was going to feel it regardless…

“Come on Richie, that all you got?” Eddie prodded, swiveling his hips for emphasis.

Richie’s eyes flashed with determination, always one to be easily provoked with a challenge.

“You want more?” Richie’s voice was lower suddenly, the kind of low that gritted through his throat and right into the twitch of Eddie’s cock.

Richie grabbed Eddie’s legs, unhooking them from around his waist and pinning them next to Eddie’s head in an instant. The result had Eddie folded in half, his lower back no longer touching the mattress. He thanked whatever god blessed him with such flexibility because if it was any other person in his position, he thinks they might’ve snapped.

The new position gave Richie full control over Eddie, holding him in place and pulling out slowly, watching as his cock stretched the skin of Eddie’s tight hole before thrusting back in roughly.

Eddie screamed as Richie hit his prostate dead on.

“This what you want?” Richie asked, repeating the slow pull and hard thrust.

“Faster.” Eddie begged, letting his eyes shut as tears collected in the corners.

Richie obliged, but only marginally, the pace still not fast enough.

“Richie, faster.” Eddie insisted.

Once again, Richie picked up his pace just slightly, leaving Eddie scrambling for more.

“Richie, please, I need-” Eddie couldn’t finish his sentence, the wind knocked out of him as Richie began ramming into him in earnest.

“Hmm, this what you want baby? You want to be fucked?”

Eddie felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head, the tears spilling freely now that Richie was hitting his prostate with every thrust. The moans were being knocked out of him consistently now, getting increasingly louder as Eddie approached the edge.

Richie had already been ready to combust the moment he’d felt Eddie’s cock against his skin, had been even closer when Eddie had introduced the warmth of his mouth, and now he was tight rope walking above his release, one wrong move and he’d be cutting things short.

But his resolve to make this good for Eddie kept him going, kept his muscles clenched and his mind focused. However even the most determined individuals have their breaking point, so when Eddie began whimpering that he was close, Richie almost cried in relief.

He was quick to grasp Eddie’s cock, pumping it in succession with his thrusts. The combination of stimulation left Eddie no time before he was cumming in streaks across both their chests, his mouth forming a little O as all noise was knocked from his lungs.

Richie came along with him, spilling into Eddie in quick bursts that left his legs trembling.

Their bodies deflated along with their cocks, softening into one another as their breaths evened out. Richie pulled out eventually, watching a trail of cum follow him out of Eddie’s body.

Richie was tempted to lick him clean, but if he was honest, he was far too spent to be instigating any more activity. So instead he opted to grab a tissue and wipe them up as best he could, deciding they would shower off the rest later.

Eddie watched him with smile crinkled eyes as he crawled back into bed, turning to face Eddie with a matching smile of his own.

“So uh, any time you wanna sext me again, you know, feel free to.” Richie joked through a dry throat, his words cracking slightly.

Eddie snuggled in closer, resting his head on Richie’s bicep and letting his eyes close from fatigue.

“Mmm.” He hummed sleepily.

“Unless, you know, you’ve got other options.” Richie added, the joke falling flat as the insecurity eased into his voice.

“No one else comes to mind.” Eddie promised sincerely.

And it was true, now that he had what he’d always wanted, no one else would ever compare.

[sunshinexlollipops]

Sorry to bother but I am dying over your alpha Arthur headcanons. They’re perfection. Low honor Arthur got me feelin some kind of way. 😍 was wondering if u could write some more for that? Preferably with a omega reader????

you’re good anon! a lot of people have been really enjoyin’ themselves some alpha Arthur. he’s pretty wild— and in general ABO has been some fineeeeee work on him.

like damn son, G I D D Y U P.

alrighty sooooo we’re gonna make some magic as we did of this last time— high and low honor alpha!Arthur hc’s comin’ up! ;)

—————

A L P H A A R T H U R

Low Honor

has a neck thing. def a biting kink. but he loves marking your throat up, not just as a possessive gesture, but because he likes the way it riles you up. it’s always his go-to to get you feeling right, and how he likes you best— pliant and floating.

(also low key into collars but the surface is all we shall skim today, class—)

THICC. APPRECIATION. he loves him an omega that’s packin’. thicc thighs are what he wants— he likes soft, pillowy thighs more than anything else, and if you got ‘em? gonna be like Moses parting ‘em too. expect A LOT of beard/scruff burn.

no doubt into dominance play and some obedience “exercises.” he likes to take complete control in bed more often than not, and you’re left to his whim. he’ll ask you if you’re a good omega. and if not? well, he’s just gonna have to do something about that ain’t he?

usually tops, but he does let you too from the bottom or occasionally will bottom for you. but you have to earn that shit, you best believe. ;)

you wearing his clothes. sets. him. off. he comes into his tent and see you in nothing but his blue shirt? you’re gonna see more than just a vein bulge in his forehead, m’kay?

(and if you wear his neckerchief????? he’s done for)

loves to show you off. around the campfire, in town, to Dutch or Micah or anyone who remotely showed/shows any interest in you. you’re HIS omega, and he’ll let them know by practically making you mewl in front of them.

(at the campfire he’ll have you sit on his lap and just widjwixjwkfje)

his gifts to you are often clothes, jewelry, or something extravagant. how it was sourced or found is none too important, but damn don’t you look good— and damn if Arthur won’t show you just how much he appreciates the view.

obsessed with your heats. he keeps track of that shit, and sometimes knows your cycles better than you do. can also tell when it’s coming on before you realize what’s up.

loves your scent, especially when in heat. you’re like a siren to him, and any time he smells even just a trace of it on you? it doesn’t matter what honor level he’s at, he’s going buck wild

he knots you in Dutch’s tent once, after the man pisses him off. it enraged the man for days but the only time Arthur gives a fuck is when he’s laying into you. :)

will surprise you with random trips out into the wilderness. not for anything in particular except that it’s pretty much just to worship you while you’re out there. plus, he loves to have you walk around naked, and the camp doesn’t exactly appreciate it like he does

(not that it’s also a bad view, but it usually leads to Arthur fighting Micah or some shit bc he stares)

(also can just envision him laying out a fur on the ground and just laying you there on it, grabbing quick sketches for his special o t h e r journal)

loves pinning you to things. the wall, a table, the floor/ground. gets you by the wrists, your neck, holds your hips. he’s always got a hold on you, one way or another.

whenever you wake, you’ll always find him ready to truly get you up with the way he kisses you and let’s his hands wander

touches you whenever he can— he can’t get enough of you physically, and he’s constantly running his fingers down your sides, loves to pinch your skin lightly in his hands. he studies your body like he’s holding the right bumper

angry. sex. you best believe it’s a thing between the two of you. he’s always a hothead, even without ABO, and when his temper is riled? when you keep pushin’ him? it looks like he’s going to snap but he will literally just grab you by the nape and he’ll work it out by workin’ you up. 9 out of 10 arguments are solved this way.

doggie style is his favorite position ;)

he talks a lot during sex— like expect him to not shut up. he’ll tell you how you feel, how good this is, how good you are. he also growls a lot and he is NOT quiet.

gives you a necklace or something to adorn your neck that rests by his mating bite— it’s all to draw attention there, and this is his form of a ring to announce it.

loves it when you tell him how good of an alpha he is, and how much you love being his omega. he takes pride in that, and the way he can take you apart so easily underneath him. it’s a talent. ;)

into watching you. whether you are feeling promiscuous or he’s in the mood, he enjoys watching you do certain things like undress, bathe, or feel yourself. you pop one button off and he’s immediately like 👀

definitely has Charles Châtenay paint a nude portrait of you. shit is worth more than a pile of gold bars to the man.

High Honor

has Jack make a flower crown for you when he takes him fishing, and he puts it on you as soon as he gets back to camp

he tries his hand at cooking with you, and I mean really tries. he’s not awful per say, but unless it’s in a can or can burn over a fire he is really at odds ends with himself.

(can make coffee like a pro tho)

he always rises before you, and you usually wake to him bringing you breakfast among other things. he also loves to surprise you with gifts then— the way your face goes from sleepy to wide-eyed is his favorite

loves you in any way you come. he doesn’t care, as long as you’re happy and you give him the honor of loving him back :,)

S O F T. everything about Arthur is cuddly and welcoming, despite the tough facade he puts up. he is a rugged cowboi, but he MELTS when you snuggle up next to him. he is a bear, but the teddy kind, much to his dismay

(he sometimes acts like he doesn’t want to cuddle or doesn’t like being sweet, but you can tell he loves doting on you and being gentle— he’s tactile after all)

(you also get the man to sleep on more than just the damn ground or a table bc like??? seriously??? this man could literally sleep on fucking train tracks like his name is Thomas.)

(^^ when you introduce this man to the novelty concept of, I dunno, a BED, you also show him the magic of blankets and how it’s really nice to wrap yourself up in one. it quickly becomes his favorite thing to do.)

(^^^ you find Arthur literally wrapped up to his nose in a blanket cocoon one day, and you have no idea how to handle it)

(You: Did you use literally all of our blankets? Arthur: *nothing but his eyes visible from the mound of cloth heaped into your bed* . . . no.)

some nights he just holds onto you. there’s no funny business involved, but he tugs you close, puts your foreheads together, and simply exists with you. that’s all he really wants

loves it when you tell him how happy you are— he loves seeing you smile, and he’ll go out of his way to keep one on your face

also tries to get you to laugh to the point of snorting

(and he decks Micah when he jokes that you sound like a pig and then goes right back to making you giggle)

if you have a bad day or someone in camp was rough to you, Arthur will try and cheer you up or tell that person off. the last thing he wants is his omega upset.

puts you first, always. even if he needs something more, if it costs him, if he’s got to go as far as saying no and disobeying Dutch, you’re his number one concern.

and around the times of your heats? Arthur is like a chicken with his head cut off. he panics sometimes, fretting that things won’t be safe, that you’ll need this and that— he stresses himself by trying to make it easy for you, and drives himself up the wall in an attempt for perfection

(he doesn’t believe all you need is him alone to have it be that way, he’s just that obtuse)

any Arthur in bed means you will hear a lot of stuff from him— he is never quiet. but, this one will whisper praise into your ear, will tell you how much he loves and adores you. it is all emotional and sweet. :,)

he makes sure you’re comfy, and always worried he hurts you when he knots you. his concern always gets a loving giggle out of you, especially when he blushes after you tell him just how nice it is

takes you on small trips to do things like stargaze or to just be alone with you.

he gets you a ring for when your mates. call him pine, because he’s a sap like that

always puts his jacket on you when you’re cold. legit it can be like Chapter I: Colter outside and Arthur would give you his entire outfit bc he’s a loving dumbass like that

sometimes, when he genuinely doesn’t know what you’re saying, he pretends to understand even though he’s got no damn idea what’s going on

(You: Have you tried spaghetti? It’s good! Arthur: uh... I’ve tried huntin’ one once, with my bow.)

(^^ he goes and tries to read books to learn more about shit bc he’s never been so mortified in his lifeeeee)

has Albert Mason take a beautiful photograph of you. he keeps it by his bedside, framed and loved.

[aevus-blogging]

Expand that fahc au you wrote? The urban fantasy?

Expand upon the Urban Fantasy au (Of Fakes and Myths), Of course! I’m actually really in love with that au rn so here we go, the immediate aftermath!

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

Gavin remained silent the whole ride home. He had never expected the day would come when he would have to spill who he really was. At least not until an event like the apocalypse, and certainly not to his crew. He could feel Ryan watching him, he hated the feeling of eyes on him. He also knew Geoff was waiting for them to explain what happened in the apothecary. 

“Ryan, what happened in the apothecary.” The witch asked, full attention on the reaper.

“Why don’t you ask Gavin?” Ryan responded, Voice a touch colder than usual. Gavin flinched at the tone and if his wings could fold in any more they’d have entered his body. Geoff raised an eyebrow and turned to the ‘chimera’. No more hiding.

“Ryan teleported in and when he opened the door an alarm went off. So we started trashing the store early while Ryan searched for the clan’s nomicon. He found it but there had been a sigil or spell that was on it. When Ryan destroyed the book it activated. The sigil was to trap and sap all magical energy from the victim, anyone who touched the sigil would be doomed to the same fate. For any magical being that obviously meant death. Micheal went to call you in to break the sigil, but it would have taken too long and Ryan and I knew that. Ryan tried to convince us to leave. I did not. I broke the sigil. We then left and met up with you.” Gavin said plainly, voice purely in work mode and Geoff could hear it.

“How did you break a seal like that? If it was strong enough to trap a soul reaper a Chimera should have never been able to touch it.”

“You’re right. A chimera would have died. I’m not a chimera.” Gavin said, messing with his golden choker. The silence was pretty telling as every eye was now on him, even Jack who should really be paying attention to the road. 

“I’m a Seraphim.” 

“Seraphim and angels aren’t fucking real.” Jeremy said and Gavin leveled a look at him.

“Your father is a Seraphim.” Gavin said plainly

“No, he’s the Greek god Hermes.” 

“Yes. Gods of old are Seraphim.”

“Explain’ Geoff said, face a careful neutral that was only used when dealing with other gangs and negotiations. 

“There is no God, but orders of angels are very real, though we are called Celestials. There are four types of Celestials. The classic Angel everyone knows are souls that were blessed with celestial magic when alive. They are the weakest of the four. Next are the Virtues which are the the children of Thrones and Seraphim that have tapped into their true potential. Thrones are the second strongest. They are the “angels” that have monstrous depictions, they are also some of the eldritch horrors.” Gavin paused, taking a steadying breath. 

“Then there are the Seraphim. We are the strongest of the Celestials. Some decided to portray themselves as gods, some are the rest of the eldritch horrors, some like me just do our own thing, The rest…. They order about the other celestials, pretend that god exists. Every Seraphim has a dominion over something. For example Hermes and all his iterations, He’s the Seraphim of Mischief and Travelling. As for me, I’m the Seraphim of Light and Fire.” Gavin wasn’t looking at his crew, waiting for them to reject him, or to be angry that he had hid all of this.

“Why did you never tell us?” Jack asked, thankfully with their eyes on the road.

“I haven’t been a seraphim in millennia. Most seraphim are awful and want nothing more than to destroy what they deem is unsightly, which is most creatures on earth. I never agreed with them, I’ve always cared about living things. I hid myself as a chimera to hide from my siblings. I never thought to say anything. I’ve outlived everyone I’ve ever even thought about telling. The crew would be no different..”

“Not me though.” Ryan muttered. Gavin didn’t look at the reaper. This was no news for him. Reapers after all had been created long ago by Thanatos to aid in the collection and guiding of souls. The others were silent as they stewed in the new information that Gavin had dropped on them.

“No more secrets. We are a crew. We are a family.” Geoff said. 

“No More.” Gavin agreed. “So, do you have like a halo?” Michael asked and Gavin nodded, tapping his choker.

“All celestials do. It’s a sign of our power. To hold a celestial’s halo is to hold control over them. They can vary in color depending on seraphim, and the seraphim chooses what form their halo takes. I chose a simple gold choker. Easy to defend.” Gavin answered.

“Is this your true form?” 

“Not really. It’s the form I most enjoy, but my true form would be too blinding to mortals. It’s made of pure celestial light. Good to break out if I want to proverbially nuke a place.” Thus the questions kept flowing in, Gavin answered as well as he could. Though Ryan stayed silent the rest of the trip. When they finally arrived at the safehouse and everyone was shuffling in Ryan grabbed hold of Gavin’s shoulder, stopping him from leaving the suv.

“Did you ever plan on telling me?” Ryan asked him softly.

“It would have been an inevitability. I would have, I promise. But I’m just so used to not saying anything that sometimes I do forget.” Gavin said. Ryan stared at Gavin for a few more seconds before letting go of the Seraphim’s shoulder. Ryan silently left the suv and Gvain watched him, slumping a bit into the seat. This honestly went better than he expected.

[icequeen-shiva]

alright, you know what

about two weeks ago maybe by now, i made a post about how i’ve recently hit 200 followers and i’d like to do a q&a again, and even with a reblog from someone more ~*popular*~ than me, and multiple reblogs once a day for a few days by myself, i didn’t get a single fucking question. not one. earlier today i posted two pictures of myself where i felt pretty (i’ve since deleted them) and nobody i actually know of liked it and i got asked by a stranger who doesn’t even follow me if i had any nsfw pictures. i don’t get asks anymore, i don’t get shit. and that tells me that, you may be following me, but you aren’t connecting with me. and i feel that. i get on tumblr and i don’t feel like i’m friends with fucking anybody. and i did that. i know i did that. 9/10 times i let my fear of rejection and embarrassing myself overcome my desire to talk to people, so i don’t do it, or i let it fizzle out and we go our own ways and we don’t become friends. 1/10 times i actually function as a human being and make a connection or at least something that sticks a little.

so here, below the cut, is a comprehensive (loosely) list of things that i like, in no particular order at all, besides tickling, because apparently both sides of this need a little help connecting on any front.

scooby-doo

beetlejuice

the addams family

the sims

the mcu

classic disney animations; my favorites are dumbo, the great mouse detective, the rescuers, sleeping beauty, and oliver and company (it’s old enough that i consider it in the classic category)

~modern disney animations too; my favorites are treasure fucking planet, coco, and... i’m a sap, beauty and the beast. rise of the guardians too even though it isn’t disney.

musicals; i can’t pick a favorite just fucking ask me, but i don’t know a lot of newer ones honestly

empire records

the greatest showman still

cats (i mean the animals but i also like the show even though it is Weird As Hell)

my cat in particular

alice in wonderland

stranger things

space jam

tsum tsums

elvira, mistress of the dark

dice

kiki’s delivery service and specifically jiji things

winnie the pooh i don’t even fucking care i LOVE HIM AND ALL OF HIS FRIENDS

silly hats

playdoh

interesting earrings

exploring libraries or big bookstores

true crime mysteries; my favorite youtuber for this is georgia marie, bless her. i also watch bella fiori and kendall rae

fictional mysteries too

i have a kind of fascination with jack the ripper and with the lizzie borden case

shipwrecks! i don’t know why but shipwrecks fascinate me! why did they go down? all the stories that went with them!

i once read a novel that was told as a series of letters, or journal entries, by people on the titanic, including the iceberg and it was THE absolute saddest book i have ever read in my life. like, obviously i knew what was coming, but i got attached to the characters, the letters made them alive and it was just like... NO. NO I DON’T WANT THEM TO DIE. I KNOW THEY’RE GOING TO BUT THEY CAN’T. and it was awful. i had to put it down and cry.

cryptozoology

the bermuda triangle theories (i’m not saying i believe sOmEtHiNg’S gOiNg On but i think some of the theories are interesting)

ghosts

the nancy drew computer games

monopoly

i still play a lot of my snes games; my go-to time killer and head-clearer honestly is kirby’s avalanche. i also play a lot of super mario rpg legend of the seven stars, super mario world, kirby’s dreamland 3, and donkey kong 2 and 3

final fantasy x in which i’m guaranteed to call almost (i can’t stress that enough) every character at some point “my child”

hyrule warriors, i know it’s not a tRuE zelda game but it’s fucking fun

same with fire emblem warriors

red dead redemption

kingdom hearts

the uncharted series

splatoon but i don’t have it wahhhhh

mind you i am not very Good at videogames, i just like to play them anyway

game grumps

ninja sex party

jacksepticeye

markiplier

monty python

crocheting

tea

harry potter

classic rock. pretty big on queen lately. i like tom petty and the heartbreakers. i like joan jett and the blackhearts.

i just... like rock. across the board. i like the offspring. i like some rage against the machine songs. acdc on the radio makes me happy. def leppard on the radio makes me happy. beartooth, starset, powerman 5000, as long as it’s got a good beat and good stuff going on behind the vocals then i’m gonna be happy. i’m way more into the guitars and the bass and everything going on instrumentally than i am vocally, honestly. the whole big guitar solo to van halen’s “you really got me” and then that bassline that comes in, that bassline is sexy. it’s so simple but i LIKE it.

anyway music as a whole gets me right in the heart and can lift me up when i am at my literal worst point

it’s hard for me to name a favorite or specific bands that i like because there’s so many and i’m not really picky about it. 

pop vinyls

good ol’ vines

buffalo wings

mac and cheese

grilled cheese

dr. pepper

i drink a l o t of dr. pepper

pretending i know how to do makeup well

history; i watch a lot of expedition unknown and mysteries at the museum, and sometimes i’ll watch a free documentary on youtube if it catches my attention. last weekend i explained the donner party to my boyfriend. just.. on a whim. because i’d just watched a thing on it and he said he didn’t really know what it was. i’m that person.

OH I SHOULD HAVE MENTIONED THIS BACK AROUND TRUE CRIME BUT I READ A BOOK ABOUT H.H. HOLMES AND HIS MURDER CASTLE AND THE CHICAGO WORLD’S FAIR. it was by erik larson, i believe. larsen? i could google this. devil in the white city. there’s been talks to make it a movie. it’s a good read though i will admit i skipped a lot of the fair parts because i was there for the murder.

i also read a book about the lusitania by the same author and i was like ohhh my goooood what. it got a little boring sometimes, i had to push myself to keep going, but i would read dead wake again.

csi: miami reruns are the greatest thing don’t @ me

dark purple and black aesthetics

just like... witchy aesthetics. those colors and black cats

if you haven’t noticed by any selfies i’ve posted, i do have my lip pierced and i love finding new lip jewelry. i have a new opal stud in and i love its look

leather jackets

combat boots; i have a galaxy print pair and a pair with classic marvel comics stuff printed on the inside and you can fold down the sides to show it. they’re my faves.

owls

drunk history

the first 5 seasons of supernatural and i still have a soft spot for the winchesters and castiel

i’m slowly making my way through watching the librarians

i’m also making my way slowly through watching the magicians

(american) football

nature walks

going to the zoo

going to the aquarium

like really take me to either of the above and i will lose my shit

road trips

savannah, georgia

the smokey mountains

last august i drove by myself from ohio to boone, north carolina for a friend’s wedding and that wedding was smack on a mountain top and it was the coolest thing i think i’ve ever done

roller coasters BUT NOT EXTREME ONES baby steps ok

log rides tho, i don’t know why, i always love the water rides

ren faires!

cosplay, even though i’m not exactly active in it myself (but i want to be; one of my offline friends is an actually-getting-kind-of-internet-famous mei from overwatch cosplayer)

cards against humanity

foosball

pool but i suck at it

speaking of pools i love swimming ... but i suck at it, i just like boppin’ along in a pool

cookouts

summer

there is nothing like being out in the middle of nowhere in summer when the evening starts to fall and the sky is dark, dark blue and there’s a sea of shimmering lightning bugs out over a field. it’s beautiful. it’s peaceful.

there’s nothing like sitting outside on a calm spring night and listening to the spring peepers (they’re frogs) either.

if you couldn’t tell, i live in the middle of nowhere. i have to find enjoyment in the little things.

campfires

dancing around said campfire, you cannot have a campfire without good music. this is when a lot of my classic rock education came to pass.

elephants

my favorite books are the abhorsen trilogy by garth nix, tied with the serpent’s shadow by mercedes lackey

i am trying to get into comic books by way of the youtube channel comicstorian. they break comic books down for you and read them aloud with the images, altered slightly to avoid copyright strikes (and that’s all made very clear, it’s not done sketchily), and it’s been really easy for someone like me who doesn’t just have a comics store close (and i would otherwise continue on as i have been, forgetting to ever look for them on the internet). i listened to injustice 1 and 2, and they covered the game. i’m actively following scooby apocalypse, and there was some teen titans stuff i went all the way through up until now. i don’t think it’s finished yet from what i remember.

i love museums

candles

i actually kind of collect tea sets

i also have a collection of sand art bottles AND IF I’M EVER AT A FESTIVAL OR A FAIR WHERE THERE IS A SAND ART STAND YOU CAN BET I AM GOING TO MAKE ONE

yugioh duels; i’m definitely just a novice and it’s just a fun pastime my friends got me into when they found their giant binders of cards again

i’m not actually that big on pokemon, i don’t know a lot of them but it’s still fun and i know some. but i did love pokemon go when my friends still played it (don’t really have time anymore, and it kept crashing way too badly on one of their phones anymore anytime they tried to join a raid and it just wasn’t fun as a group then)

i don’t have any but i like the ~look of crystals and would like to have some, not for my own aesthetic but i just... like having pretty things!

listening to the rain

how the air smells (at least where i live) after a long rain and everything is just cleansed

depression has stopped me from writing for a long time but, in my heart, writing has always been something that has touched me ever since i knew how to do it and could put my stories down on paper instead of having to just talk about them... so i’m going to include that here

root beer floats

hotdogs

hard dip ice cream (if you don’t know what hard dip means... as my boyfriend didn’t... it means ice cream that you have to use a scoop with, not soft serve)

soft serve’s good too tho don’t get me wrong

strawberry milkshakes

this isn’t even stuff that anyone would need to know on this site to befriend me at this point, nobody’s gonna message me like HEY I READ YOU LIKE STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKES ME FUCKING TOO

you’re cool if you do that lmao

so bad they’re good creature features from the 50s and 60s

the old godzilla movies

i like the moon more than the stars, but i like them too

flower crowns

bouncy balls

original skittles

this has gone on way too long, nobody is reading this, your mom’s a hoe, goodnight

no she’s not, i’m sorry, if you got this far then i hope your mom is a nice person

[daizyredz]

Okay, but Frank and Matt getting married while Frank’s in prison for something. Maybe there’s an AU of some kind where Frank’s in prison for something he won’t be put away for life for, there is light at the end of his tunnel of conviction and it isn’t a train.

I’m not sure how they meet, though. There are so many ways you can do something like this. Maybe Matt worked on Frank’s case at one point, or maybe not. Maybe he’s completely unrelated to Frank’s case and heard about him and decided to write him a letter and Frank surprised him by replying and they became pen pals, sort of, and things just escalated from there. Maybe it was some kind of program that Matt was involved in, either for college or one of those things where you can help a prisoner out with giving them someone to talk to (even if it’s just letters or whatever) during the holidays. Or maybe he actually came *into* the prison for some kind of prison program (maybe Frank was working with dogs and Matt had something to do with that, or hell I don’t know maybe it involved rehab through knitting or crocheting stuffed animals for kids or hats for preemies and omg don’t even pretend that Frank Castle knitting a preemie hat or baby booties wouldn’t be the most adorable fucking thing). I don’t know, the possibilities are endless and I don’t know how to pick one, so I’m just gonna say whatever floats your boat. This isn’t a fic, it’s just a “man you know what would be neat?”

Anyway, somehow they get to know each other and send letters. Which turn into phone calls and probably in-person visits. And I like the idea that Matt maybe sends Frank care packages where reasonable (prisons have rules about that, after all).

And also, can I just...make this an AU where Jack never died? Because, I like AUs like that and there aren’t enough of them. And I can see Jack being proud of his son and also kind of worried because he can see where this is going even if Matt denies it at first and he just doesn’t want his baby boy to get hurt. Listen, he’s a dad and he loves his son and no matter how old Matt gets or how experienced there will always be a huge part of Jack who looks at Matt and remembers playing blocks with him when he was 3. He knows his son has to be allowed to be an adult and live his own life and make his own decisions, but as a dad he can’t help worrying, especially if he sees Matt stepping up to a precarious fork in the road where the wrong choice could lead him to a steep cliff overlooking a deep ravine. It has nothing to do with Matt being blind and everything to do with Matt being Jack’s son.

I don’t know, I just like the idea of a prison wedding and maybe Jack showing up for an in-person visit to size Frank up. Not so much a shovel talk (because Matt would go ballistic) but he does want to see this guy who his son has fallen in love with for himself. Probably way before the wedding is even talked about. :p

Am I the only one who thinks something like this would be interesting? I’m especially into the idea of the back-and-forth letters because I’m a sucker for that sort of thing. The first letters feeling each other out, morphing into friendship, then confidantes, and just on and forward until they’re full out love letters. DON’T TELL ME THAT ISN’T SWEET, YOU LIARS.

I don’t know, this is pretty far open for what stage in their lives they’re at when they meet, whether they’re younger or more in line with their ages in the show when they meet. Mostly because this kind of thing can be done in a million different ways and I just want the sap so how old they meet isn’t a big deal to me so long as I can get weighed down in all the adorable sap.

[mariomandzho]

THE FINE LINE, PART TWO word count: 1,297

He can’t stand her. He drives her insane. The only other thing they have in common? They’re crazy about each other.  /  MANDZO AU:  Mario falls in love with a reporter.

Natalia Pavlović is an American journalist currently documenting spots data and seeking to make a name for herself in the journalism industry.  Enter Mario Mandžukić,  who seems hellbent on stopping her from doing that.

AESTHETIC.

The beady-eyed reporter who had, moments ago, attempted to hit on her could only muster up enough strength to stare in bewilderment at Mario, like a deer caught in headlights. 

And who could blame him? 

Whether on or off the pitch, Mandžukić’s eyes could burrow holes in someone’s skull–or soul–and though he wasn’t staring at her, Natalia had to wince when the reporter cowered away, nearly feeling sorry for the poor sap. She was certain Mario could make even the strongest of men run away with their tails in between their legs, and she was no exception to the principle. 

The reporter adjusted the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, drew in a deep breath (as if to make himself look larger than he actually was), and retreated like an army raising a white flag. He scrambled pathetically to get away from Mario’s hawklike gaze, but not before stuttering, “Didn’t realize. Won’t happen again.” 

Natalia stood in stunned silence as the usually impassive soccer player stood next to her, towering above her, his features barely revealing a glimpse of the thoughts that brewed within apart from the slight crease of discontent forming in between his brows. 

She glanced up at Mario, their proximity allowing her a rare look at his features–relaxed, yet hardened; stony, yet expressive all at once. He was even more handsome up close, she had to admit. He was very tall, and she wasn’t surprised at all that her co-workers fawned over his messy brown hair and dark, honey-colored eyes. 

But she narrowed her eyes at him and flashed a disapproving leer, still harboring a hint of sympathy for the reporter. “I can fend for myself.” 

He shrugged the broad width of his shoulders, obviously unmoved by her snappish remark. “Didn’t look like you were doing a great job at it,” he rasped, English flowing from his tongue perfectly. 

“I was attempting to be polite. They do teach that where you’re from, yes?” 

“I think the term you’re searching for is ‘thank-you’. In that case, you’re welcome.” 

She muttered begrudgingly, “thank-you, I suppose.” A thought sprung to her, and she rose a brow curiously upon her forehead, “Aren’t you supposed to be in the VIP lounge?” 

“There was a minor... disagreement,” he prevaricated, cocking his head to beckon her to follow him as he strolled toward the bar. Unable to say no, or understand why she couldn’t, Natalia followed blindly.

“Color me surprised.”

“What?”

“It’s an expression–it means, well, never mind. A disagreement with whom? And how minor?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“Just on days that end with ‘y’. I am a reporter, you know.”

He chuckled at that, sidling up to a bar stool and pulling one out from under the countertop for her. She lifted herself onto her seat with some difficulty, pretending not to notice the smirk growing on his lips as he watched her nearly topple over, disregarding the sudden heat rushing to her cheeks. 

“S-so,” Natalia managed to stammer out. She was a writer, why were words suddenly failing her now? “What does Đilkoš drink at a bar?” 

Mario was quick to answer, “He doesn’t. He doesn’t exist. Mario, on the other hand, prefers a jack and coke.” Something over the curve of her shoulder caught his eye and he pointed unabashedly, “looks like your friend is back for blood. What’s his name?”

Natalia discreetly craned her neck to glance at the reporter sitting at the end of the bar, pointing to the margarita on the counter and then at her, as if to offer it. Natalia released a low-sounding groan, her teeth biting into her plump lower lip. “I have no idea. He looks like a... Willis. Doesn’t he? Curly hair, glasses, cleft chin?”

“Willis,” Mario said slowly as if sampling the name. He shook his head. “What a tool. Well, you know there is one way to get rid of him if he persists.”

Natalia swiveled back around to glance at the athlete, allowing a grin to grow on her features

Was he suggesting what she thought he was? Could this be her big break? How much would he divulge? Would it be a conflict of interest for her to be sitting at a bar with him? Was he even sober?

She retaliated, “Will you do an interview for me?” 

“Will you sleep with me?” Mario’s voice was smooth and husky, spoken hushedly to maintain their privacy. Of course–he was the most private man known to earth. 

Natalia’s cheeks instantly bloomed a deep scarlet. The nerve! “I can’t believe you’d ask that!” She practically squeaked, “this violates every rule of propriety–I hope you know that! I could have you reported for this!” 

“You’re not on the job right now,” he shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down at the expensive watch latched onto his wrist, “it’s almost one a.m.” 

She frowned, “work never sleeps.”

“Touché.”

“I don’t know what sort of woman you take me for, but I’d certainly never sleep with a man who can barely remember my name,” she pointed. “You haven’t even asked what I want to drink yet.” Natalia sniffed.

Groaning, Mario nearly rolled his eyes, “let me guess–some fruity drink that girl’s drink with ten thousand grams of sugar?”

“That would be incorrect. You have two more guesses.”

His eyes shifted toward her. This was a game to him, and if she knew anything from documenting his career, it was that there was nothing he loved more than a challenge. He never backed down from one–and he always played to win. 

She’d have to keep that in mind.

“Vodka,” he suggested.

“Getting warmer.”

“Gin and tonic.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Natalia said in a sing-song voice, “I like mine dry, and don’t forget the lime wedge.”

“What a piece of work,” Mario muttered under his breath, “anything else I can get you, princess?”

She winked at him. “I’ll let you know when I think of something.” 

Drumming her fingertips against the lacquered bartop, her blue eyes trained upon his profile as he ordered their drinks in effortless Italian. Out of all the guys she’d met at bars, he was unquestionably the most handsome. 

A comfortable silence descended upon them as he pushed the glass of gin and tonic her way. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I meant for saving me from Willis. It can be a little difficult to break through in this industry with so many men–and so many men like him specifically. It’s a shame, really. All of us are so passionate about language, and he uses his degree to say things like ‘call me Mr. Right’.”

“He just wanted to get in your skirt.” Mario shrugged, an impish glint shining in his eyes, “I don’t know, I thought he was a catch. Maybe he’d be a good fuck.”

“Should I go back and ask?” 

“Definitely. Let me know how it goes.”

As she was opening up her mouth to speak, Domagoj Vida sidled up behind Mario and tugged on his white linen dress shirt, attempting to pull him off his seat. “What are you drinking?”

Mario snapped, “Nothin–.”

Without awaiting a reply, Vida lifted Mario’s jack and coke and downed it in a single gulp. His face contorted in disgust, and his blond head gave a vehement shake as the acidic liquid traveled down his throat. “Fucking vile, tastes like radioactive piss, mate,” Vida garbled in his drunken stupor.

“It’s a jack and coke, you pussy. What do you want?”

“You,” Vida said, “don’t know why–but you’re missing the fucking rager upstairs. C’mon. Next thing you know Luka’s going to do shots off Dejan’s arse at this rate.”

Mario glanced at Natalia sympathetically.

“Go, have fun.”

“Another time?” He asked, with a slight measure of hope in his voice.

“Another time.” 

PART ONE. PART TWO. 

TO BE CONTINUED.

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tagging system.

@marilyn-mandzukic @iceandbone @collapse-the-stars @saraalexissanchez, @von-hammett, @ditezadarsko, @crazycroatianntfan, @letowolfie, @abegaelle, @bestemmiedigigi, @chriss9561, @samwiltson, @roseszymczak, @arduango, @insecurities-broker, @blindlymadridista, @simplyandamazingx3, @vatreniworld, @living-lovren

[hamilton-one-shots]

Hamilton High School AU 33

John came upstairs soon after and scooped him up, holding him close and rocking him. "What happened?.. Are you okay?"

"I'm a jealous dirt bag.." he muttered. He didn't want him to think that Mary had done anything wrong, it was supposed to be all in good fun, but he had to tell him how he felt. "I'm just so used to you saying I'm the cute one. It's stupid and dumb and I.." He paused for a bit. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.."

John frowned and cupped Alexander's face. "Hey.. Breathe. It's okay, I'm right here for you. I didn't mean to hurt you, you are cute to me. You're my boyfriend and I love you so much." He kissed his forehead. "You have my complete attention right now."

"I just feel bitchy... Mary didn't do anything and I just.. I.. Stupid moments!"

"Hey, hey.. It's okay. Deep breaths, Alexander."

Alexander nodded and took deep breaths with John, feeling himself calming down. He sat up after a minute and kissed him, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting his forehead against John's as he pulled away. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to have a moment like this.."

"I know. I understand." He pecked his lips. "Have you been taking your medicine?.."

Alexander frowned and grabbed the tube from his backpack, knocking back a pill with some water. "I think I forgot yesterday.. But not on purpose, I promise."

"I believe you. I was just asking. You're trying and that's all that matters."

Alexander smiled and put the tube back in his backpack. They'd done wonders for his usually erratic mood lately. "So.. What did your siblings say?..." He knew getting their approval was crucial.

"They were just worried and wanted to make sure you're okay." He kissed his forehead. "We can stay here as long as you need."

Alexander smiled and shook his head. "I think Mary would break my neck if I stole you for too long.."

John's phone buzzed and he checked to find messages from Hercules coming through.

[Herc: yo] [Herc: my parents are throwin a sort of 'welcome home ma' thing 2moro nite] [Herc: you guys in?] [Herc: wait im dumb] [ Herc added Alex to the chat ]

Alexander's phone began to buzz in sync with John's now.

[Herc: party @ mine 2moro] [Herc: bring booze :P] [Herc: also sorry in advance for my terrible, terrible parents]

[Laf: Ooh! Sounds like fun!]

[John: I'm down.]

John smiled. "I think it sounds fun. We can be here for the rest of the day and the day after or find something to do with all of my siblings."

[Laf: Can't wait to get drunk with my friends again 💗]

[John: You're such a sap.]

[Laf: You hush.] [Laf: Can I bring Rosie, please?]

[Herc: I'd be offended if you didn't bring her, kitten! <3]

[Alex: r u calin laf kiten or rosy?]

[Herc: I dont think I called anyone 'kiten' ]

[Alex: u suck] [Alex: OMG] [Alex: LAF] [Alex: bring moer of teh wine frm last tiem if u hve any 💗💗💗] [Alex: it was so goooood]

[Laf: I don't, but I can definitely find another good bottle.]

[Herc: Dad says he's got whiskey and cola if u guys want some]

[Alex: ew]

[Herc: ma's got prosecco?]

[Alex: i forgt how much i love ur mom]

[Laf: You can bring that vodka you were hiding in your room.] [Laf: Unless I wasn't supposed to mention it.] [Laf: Then nevermind.]

[John: Now its sounding like a party.] John chuckled and turned to Alexander with a devious grin. "Hiding vodka in your room? Such a rebel." He teased, repeating what Alexander had texted him during class. "If Laf wasn't supposed to tell me, I could keep it quiet for a kiss." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully and leaned in for a kiss.

[Alex: dam it laf] [Alex: sfine tho] [Alex: #canttameme]

[Herc: hah!] [Herc: Did you use fake id to get it? ;)]

[Alex: No, i told them i was ur son, buyin it 4 his old man]

[Herc: ...touche] [Herc: Jack's gonna be wrecked <3] Alexander laughed at the conversation before turning to John. "What are you gonna do? Tell the teacher?" He smirked back, mirroring John's response before granting him that sweet kiss. He lingered his lips lovingly over John's for a few seconds more than usual before grinning into them and pulling back. "Is my deep, dark secret safe?"

John smiled and kissed back, cupping Alexander's cheek gently. "Your secret's safe. For now. But you owe me more kisses later, once I don't have four kids waiting downstairs for me. Right now, what do you say to going downstairs with them and getting some food?"

[Laf: Glad you're not upset! : D] [Laf: I give it ten minutes before John will be wasted.]

[John: You guys need to fuck off.] .

[Herc: We did that last time and you guys complained ;D]

[ Alex has left the chat ]

[ Herc added Alex to the chat ]

[Alex: dnt traumaties me!] Alexander shoved his phone into his pocket before nodding to John's suggestion.

[Laf: : O] [Laf: Herc has no shame!] [Laf: And neither do I!] [Laf: I was the most sober one and I clearly remember John banging on the door and asking us to stop about halfway through.]

[John: I] [John: was] [John: drunk!] [John: So shut up!]

[Laf: Whats the fun in that? : P]

[John: We'll see you guys tomorrow.] He put his phone in his pocket and held Alexander's hand as he led him downstairs. "Pizza time!" He gave everyone a plate of pizza and they ate in the living room, the kids putting on Moana and John singing along to every song like a kid.

Mary sat up on the couch with Alexander, everyone else on the floor. "Are you okay?"

Alexander nodded. "Of course. John made me feel better." He smiled. "You've got the best big brother in the world."

"I know." She smiled proudly.

Alexander returned the smile and kept eating as he watched the movie, occasionally rubbing his leg against John's side to say 'I'm happy you're here' without being too mushy.

After another minute, Mary couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why does dad hate Johnny so much?.. All he did was like a boy.."

It took a lot of self-restraint for Alexander not to go on a rant about how much of a homophobic ass their father was, but it wasn't up to him to tell her. "Things are complicated.. They won't always be like that, but you have to be strong for him right now."

Mary nodded, accepting that answer. "Okay.. You'd better take care of him until then..."

Alexander smiled. "Of course. But.." He upped his volume since the movie was over. "Does that mean I can't kick his butt at Super Smash Bros?"

John grinned and turned around, the other boys already turning the game on. "I'm going to destroy you."

"We'll see about that," he shrugged as he stretched, smiling at the empty plate in his lap. He only ate one slice, but progress was progress.

John took the plates to the sink and put the pizza in the fridge before coming back and sitting beside Alexander, kissing his cheek.

The boys gave them both a controller and let them duke it out, wanting to watch before joining.

"Promise to love me after I destroy you?" Alexander teased as he chose Jigglypuff.

"I would if you had a chance," John shot back, choosing Kirby before starting the game. For the most part, he only attacked when he had a weapon, button mashing the fan seeming to be his favorite, or when Alexander was weak enough to just be thrown off the side, in which case he just spat his character off the edge of the stage. "So close, but so far." He grinned before leaning in for a kiss.

"Says Mr B-down Kirby," Alexander whined, refusing to give John a kiss in mock heartbreak. "Woe is me," he sighed dramatically. "I'm left so defeated, I can hardly look at you. Mary will have to be my new best friend."

"Yay!"

John pouted, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling as Alexander got along with his baby sister. "You're just going to replace me like that? If you're too tired to kiss, the least you can do is let me kiss you," he whined in response before draping himself over Alexander, covering his face in a flurry of kisses.

Alexander laughed before finally letting himself kiss John, smiling lovingly as he did. "Alright, I guess you can still be my best friend. Only because you buy me food." He glanced over at Mary. "You're a close second, though."

She, like the boys, pretended to be heartbroken, groaning. "I guess that's okay."

John chuckled and kissed Alexander again, catching him off guard.

And he was never going to stop loving when he did that. He knew it. But he was a bit embarrassed being around John's siblings. "We're going to gross out your brothers."

"They're all zoned out. They'll be fine." John smiled and kissed Alexander's cheek. "Besides, I've got you trapped." At some point, he had, in fact, trapped Alexander under his weight, though he was careful not to hurt him.

Alexander rolled his eyes playfully and let John be, taking his word for it.

Before long, at least, before what felt like long, all four kids were asleep on the floor and the two older guys were close behind.

"I'll get them up to bed. You go and wait for me." John pecked Alexander's lips one last time before letting him free. He got his siblings one-by-one and put them all in bed, making sure Alexander was upstairs resting as he did. He smiled when he saw him fast asleep in his bed and did one more check on his siblings, finding Martha sitting up, now wide awake.

"Hey.. You okay?.."

She shook her head, tears falling from her eyes.

John frowned and shut the door behind him, going towards her and sitting right in front of her. "What's wrong?.."

"You're going to have to go again.." she whimpered, leaning towards him. "I'm so tired..."

John held her close, cradling her like she was three years old again and he was seven, both adjusting to their new lives. "I'm so sorry.. You are so strong..."

"I'm not as strong as you.. Nothing bad even happens anymore and I can't take it sometimes.. I just want to be a kid.."

"I know.. I'm so sorry.. I promise things will get better. I promise you'll be able to be a kid. You don't have to burden yourself so much.. They're all older than we both know and you know that..."

"I miss mom.."

John held her closer, unable to stop a few tears from hitting her head. "So do I.."

The pair stayed like that, using each other's strength until they both ran out and fell asleep. Early the next morning, John woke up and kissed Martha's forehead before going back to his room and laying with Alexander, sleeping for another few, peaceful hours. Peaceful.. He'd have to take advantage of that.

Naturally, Alexander was the first to wake up after that. He smiled as he saw John's sleeping, peaceful face and took it in for a minute, kissing his forehead. He slowly sat up and got up, wincing lightly as his injured leg felt the pressure of his weight. He took a deep, silent breath and got to his feet, going to the bathroom and taking a quick shower before going downstairs and making breakfast. John did it for him so often, it was only fair. He smiled and made some eggs and bacon, then took the plate up to John's room. He sat beside him and kissed his cheek, gently waking him up. "Hey.. Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.."

John woke up easily and smiled at Alexander, kissing his cheek. "Is that for me?.."

"Yep. I wanted to make you breakfast."

"Thank you." He sat up and ate his breakfast, giving some to Alexander. When he finished, he kissed Alexander's cheek and got up. "Alright. I've had breakfast from my amazing boyfriend, now I'm back to being a spoiling older brother." He went downstairs with Alexander trailing behind him and began going around, making breakfast for the other four Laurens.

Alexander watched him dash expertly around the kitchen. It was as if he never left. And it was heartbreaking. How anyone could tear him away from that, he'd never know. No wonder he was so eager to keep things to himself. His siblings seemed happy as they came downstairs and ate and, to John, that must've been worth the world.

By the time he finished, Alexander began texting in the group chat again.

[kitkat1003]

What you wanted; what you got

@asrisartarena AHHHHHH

TW: Attempted suicide, self harm, gore mentions ish

Anti’s got one fucked up past lmao

Anti appears after Jack finishes uploading his video “Say Goodbye.”  He’s been around, flickering in and out of existence as his popularity grows, so he knows Jack’s face.  There’s excitement to be had, to see his creator, to see the person who made him now face to face with his creation.

Anti finally takes form as millions upon millions of fan scream his name, and he falls right onto the barely cleaned table as Jack turns around to grab a cloth to wash off the gunk.

The resounding crash of Anti falling onto the table makes Jack jump, and Anti takes the millisecond he has to look presentable to glitch into a crouch, so when Jack turns around they are eye to eye.  For a second, nothing happens, and nervously Anti gives Jack what should be a disarming grin.

Jack screams.

Oh, right, Anti has sharp teeth.  Whoops.

Jack all but sprints out of the room, shrieking his head off, and Anti feels his heart leap into his throat, hears the snarling voice in his head go ‘What did you expect’ and his own inner dialogue is ‘No no no no wait please!’ as he hops off the table and speed walks after his creator-brother, Anti imagines, because aren’t they twins?-going just fast enough to catch up but not too fast as too seem looming because he doesn’t want to scare Jack any more than he has.

“Jack, wait!” And Anti winces as he hears the sharp static that accompanies his voice, and he sees Jack flinch and run faster, scrambling through the house and darting into the kitchen. Anti follows dutifully, though his heart begins to ache and cry and he can fix this, he knows he can fix this and it’ll be okay, even though his chest is tight with Jack’s fear-he can feel it, like the aftertaste of bitter wine, lingering but present around his heart-and he walks into the kitchen behind his creator and tries to fix the mess he’s made.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Jack shouts, and Anti’s tail twitches; Anti flinches back before he reaches out again, despite his scary appearance and odd eyes and scary voice he tries to do something right.

“Jack-,” CLANG

Anti falls face first backwards to the floor as the pan hits his forehead with deadly accuracy, pain blossoming all in his head as he hits the floor and the shock fades to the sound of Jack’s heavy breathing.  Blood drips down his face, and Anti doesn’t even have the strength to look at Jack’s fearful, hate filled eyes before he glitches away, away to somewhere.

An alleyway of sorts, somewhere private where grey, clawed hands reach up and press onto the wound, feeling the red liquid, warm on his fingers and spreading across his palms. It hurts his head and his chest and his throat because there’s a lump in it that makes it hard to breathe.

‘Did you expect anything less? Don’t you remember what role you play?’

And Anti starts to laugh, loud and dangerous and cracking like his heart, splintering as the perfect vision of some sort of family breaks into a million pieces, and as the laughter turns to something like sobs the lump in his throat becomes all too apparent now, all too much.

The first thing he does when the laughter and sobbing peters out is summon a knife to cut the lump out, and when the blood spills his neck feels beautifully, painfully warm.

He stumbles through life, finding poor saps that are in the middle of doing something illegal or are sleeping in prison, finding the end of his knife stuck into them or sliding across their throat before he makes it seem like a suicide.  Anti hardly remembers those days, barely remembers the faces save for when he dreams.  He doesn’t eat, and gets horribly thin, but who’s around to care?  He steals when his body demands it and he can’t refuse, and that’s it.  With a body of demon, he can go without for months, so he manages.

He flickers over to Jack’s home, sometimes, to see if he is happy.  He doesn’t actually have to look to know, not when his heart starts to ache whenever Jack starts to feel scared, or sad, or angry.  It’s a barrage most days, thinly veiled in his videos with not fake but exaggerated happiness, and Anti doesn’t sleep because his chest burns with Jack’s nightmares.

He does get a new feeling, sometimes, form someone else.  It feels different, earthier, grounded but always flickering in and out of existence.  Eventually, his mind connects the person in his heart to a name, one that feels familiar but out of memory.

Angus.

Anti sees him one day, in the woods.  He’s staring up at the sky, watching the stars.  Even then, Anti can feel his pain, the agony of being barely remembered and mostly forgotten.  

But he is not sad. There is no anger, no despair. When Anti does not feel the negativity, he peeks at Angus’s face to see an expression pensive, thoughtful, quietly accepting.  Anti cannot understand it, but Angus pats the ground next to him for Anti to sit on, and Anti complies with the silent request, looking up at the stars as if they could hold the answer to his questions.

“It’s always nice as long as it lasts, so long as I get to see this,” Angus sighs, voice soft and deep and kind.  It’s without the Irish accent, and Anti remembers that Jack used to hide it, way back then.  It’s weird to have memories of Jack before Anti was even real, but it’s a thing they all have, he thinks.  Angus and him, anyway.  He sits silently with Angus, and Angus doesn’t tell him to leave, nor does he wish for Anti to stay.  He just sits, and Anti follows suit, and in the morning Angus disappears again, like dust to the wind.

Anti doesn’t try to find Angus again.  He feels too much like the home Anti can’t have.

Jack doesn’t forget Anti, though he tries.  Just like with Angus, he pretends that it was a nightmare, though the dent in his pan tells him otherwise.  If he thinks about it too hard, something that feels like shame rises in his chest when he thinks of the way Anti looked at him.  Something that looked like hurt and betrayal before he’d disappeared.

The second time, or third, that Jack comes face to face with a doppelganger is when Jackieboy Man appears, right in the middle of his recording room.  Jack, without dignity, screams in surprise, and Jackieboy Man jumps at the sound, turning around with hands up in the universal sign of peace. As Jack’s heartbeat slows from its frantic staccato, he is reminded of how eerily familiar this feels.

But Anti was made to harm him, and Jackieboy Man is a hero.  Surely that means there is a difference in how he should treat them? Surely he was never at fault?

So, when Jackie proudly introduces himself, when he swears no harm and holds out his hand for Jack to shake, Jack swallows that guilt and shoves it in the back of his mind so he can give Jackie his hand and a smile.

He dreams of Anti’s face, eyes wide and blood dripping down his head, what looked like tears in his mismatched eyes.  He can’t sleep for a long time.

Anti feels Jackie appear through the confusion and a pinch of fear that disappears as joy takes over. Anti doesn’t feel the joy, but he knows the absence of it sadness or fear means happiness has taken place. Then, as quickly as it disappears does the fear come back, nervousness that Anti knows all too well.

With a grim look, he waits for the sadness to take hold.  Waits for Jackie to be rejected, cast aside like Anti was all that time ago. He waits, and believes it is inevitable.

Then, joy comes, and sadness never appears, and Anti is left knowing, with heartbreaking certainty, what that means.

‘See?  This is what you are.  A monster no one loves.’

The coil around his heart squeezes and Anti himself clenches his teeth, and disappears to find someone else to spill their blood.  Blood is warm, and Anti always feels cold.

When Anti starts to fade, he panics.

His hands turn near translucent as fans turn their eyes away from him back to Jack, and he speeds to Jack’s home faster than he can dream, waking him up as he slams the Irishman into his wall.  Jack doesn’t scream only because Anti has a hand over his mouth, but he whimpers into Anti’s palm, eyes wide and terrified.  Anti feels the fear spike and it hurts, it hurts and he feels guilty he doesn’t care, because Jack did this to him, Jack wanted this.

Something manic and mad glimmers in Anti’s eyes as he speaks, words spat through gritted teeth.

“I. Want. A. Video,” There is no room for argument, though Jack mutters things that sound like arguments. Anti all but snarls.  “Figure it out, Jacksepticeye,” He hisses the word out like its trash, and it is, to him.

Jack gulps, and Anti summons a knife-you remember this one, don’t you Jack? From the beginning, that first video together.  Isn’t it fitting?-to trace around Jack’s head, carving his silhouette into the wall. “Well?” he asks, voice static and venom and edging around the lump that’s come back to rest in Anti’s throat because it hurts, to do this, to be this.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Jack scrambles to find breath before speaking.

“P-Pax, we can do something there, like a surprise-,” Anti lets Jack go, watching with some sort of satisfaction that Jack’s legs cave and the youtuber falls to the floor.  He turns away, tail swishing back and forth, and when Jack can no longer see his face Anti let’s his expression crumble into something pained.

“Glad we could come to an agreement,” His voice is level, refusing to be broken in front of the person who broke him, and as he leaves he hears Jackie running to Jack’s room, the hero most likely sensing the presence of a villain in the house of heroes and liars.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

A villain, Jack; that’s what you wanted?

“Jack?!” Jackie swings open the door and Anti gives him a grin of knives before glitching away.

First impressions are everything, after all.

More egos come, and Jack welcomes them with open arms, much to Anti’s growing resentment.  A doctor, a magician, an idiot; they all have so much joy inside them, and it makes him feel hollow to not feel their pain in his heart, to feel their sorrow and regret and anger.

The idiot-Chase, he thinks-does provide a good sense of pain, constant and empty with depression that soaks into Anti’s bones like a drug.  Pain is good, it means you exist and it means you deserve it and Anti deserves it, because that’s what they want.  They want a villain and they want suffering and they want the mad man that cuts his throat open so they can watch him bleed.

The Pax video makes him dizzy with power, with attention, and Anti doesn’t know what to do with it. He can’t keep killing people anymore; the police are curious, and it doesn’t do anything but make him regret. He hates regretting, sitting still and ruminating and knowing, in every fiber of his being, that he means nothing to the people who know of him other than a cheap character, and for the people who know him he is a villain undeserving of love.

He doesn’t need love. He doesn’t.  There’s no requirement, and he doesn’t want it, he swears, but the anger only grows as the other get more screentime, more attention, more love love love love and Anti wants to scream, wants to tear his hair out and break his horns and crush his own neck in his hands so he can feel it all fade from existence, but at the same time there’s comfort in knowing he’ll never die.

The doctor grows popular. A name and a designation and a personality and an accent to grab attention and suddenly this sham of a professional is taking his spotlight with a grin and a mouthy attitude and Anti feels something akin to jealousy and fear mixed in with pain blossom in his chest, and his sanity scatters to the wind a bit more as the channel grows farther and farther from reach.

He still has attention, but not enough, never enough, because when it’s over he’s left with nothing but himself and that’s the worst punishment possible, the most torturous of sentences to be given out.

He wants what the doctor has so badly, he just might take it.

When Anti hears of Jack’s project-what can he say, he learns to be quiet and watch and hide- he feels something dark and dangerous rise up in him. Really, with the name Kill Jacksepticeye, how could Anti not find himself intrigued?  It was almost as if Jack was asking for it.  As if he doctor wanted this to happen.

Anti has never possessed someone before, not like this, and it feels like falling into water, into the sea of someone’s mind, and you must become the moon, the puppeteer pushing and pulling thought and action while the person who was once in control becomes lost to the tide.

And it’s so easy once Anti takes the reins, though Schneep fights as best he can.  The video ends but Anti does not let go, he lets Schneep believe Jack is dead and feels Schneep anguish mixed with the rest of the egos fear and concern and it hurts and Anti feels alive and he wants to know how to die.

He finds someplace private, wire gripped in Schneep’s palm, and he prepares the noose, prepares the end like a final act in a play, a perfect scene.  Schneep is screaming, drowning in his own head as Anti works, and it all hurts so fucking much and Anti feels so peaceful, so chaotic and peaceful and in perfect equilibrium.

He summons a stool, from somewhere, and steps up.  Places the noose made of metal wire around his neck and makes the stool disappear and in a moment he feels helpless, helpless but in control of the helplessness and he’s so excited, feeling the wire dig into skin that isn’t his, only skin that he’s wearing like a suit as he remembers that the body he’s in isn’t his own, and when he feels ready for a ending, when his control slacks just an inch, Schneep bulldozes a mile and suddenly they are on the floor.  

Schneep is pulling the wire out of his neck and coughing as Anti scrambles back to find his strings to pull Schneep back, and fury comes so quickly, because it was almost over, he was nearly done and Schneep ruined it and Anti steps back into control with a vengeance and he stands up as the egos come in the room-a closet, hidden near Jack’s room-and Anti uses Schneep’s mouth to grin, teeth stained red from the blood he’s choking on, and he drinks in the expressions of horror and anger and he blips away to somewhere else, and he uses Schneep’s powers to heal the cut on his neck.

His own cut, on Anti’s body and not Schneep’s, will never heal, but Schneep’s body is left with only a scar.

The emotions Anti feels from everyone burn him from the inside out, and he laughs anyway, angry and tired but far too alive to think of resting and Schneep’s body aches in his hold, so he stumbles into someone’s house.  They live alone so despite Schneep’s pleading he slits the person’s throat and drags their body into a closet before collapsing onto the now dead person’s bed.

And Anti is furious, angry because he wanted to know what death felt like but that was stolen from him so he plans and stews and decides that blood is fun to spill and the doctor hates it so why not?

The next morning he opens up a clinic, free and private but willing to do any operation with no charge. Schneep knows, Schneep has every bit of space in Anti’s head as he has in his own, and when he sees Anti’s plan he sadness and terror he feels is enough to tear Anti to pieces.

Three months pass this way, with more blood on Anti’s hands than he can dream of.  He does some operations correctly, if in the most painful way possible.  The anesthesia is only knocking the person out before the operation, so usually the person wakes up with a gag tied in their mouth to muffle screaming.  He has them all sign waiver forms so they can’t say a word, and even if they tried he’d probably just run and open shop elsewhere, and besides, who’s going to tell someone about the undocumented clinic they went to?

Most of the people who come through are criminals anyway, so if they struggle it’s of no consequence to Anti.  Schneep tiredly gives Anti tips hrough every operation, though Anti rarely listens to them, simply guess and messing around to find what works and what doesn’t. Schneep’s arms are caked in dried blood up to the elbows, and Anti refuses to clean them so when Schneep sees himself he feels pain.  Anti feels pain too, which is good.

One day, during those three months where Schneep is lost in the tide in his own mind, one day Schneep looks up at the puppeteer and tiredly, weakly asks him-

“Why?  Why do you do this?  Why are you like this?”

-And Anti would love to say the truth.  He’d love to screams and tell Schneep every little thing that hurts him, that makes his heart ache so that he can only respond through violence.  He’d love to tell Schneep about the creator that turned him away and left him to die alone before Anti had become strong and evil, how it’s not fair that everyone else was welcomed with open arms while Anti was shoved onto the streets, how Anti can feel everyone’s fear and anger and sadness and negativity and how much Anti fears death but at the same time how much Anti wants to die but he can’t, he can’t.

He would tell Schneep all of these things, but-

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

-instead he grins, sharp and dangerous and full of malice just as is expected, and Schneep shudders. It hurts.

“Because it’s fun.”

Anti doesn’t remember when it became so easy to lie.

After three months pass, the cavalry comes, the egos bursting into the makeshift clinic as Anti is cleaning up, and Anti barely has time to turn and wave before Marvin is blasting him with magic, burning him out of Schneep’s body with magic more powerful than Anti imagined the magician had.

Still, Marvin does a half-assed job of it.  Anti has barely enough time to leave correctly, so instead of the strings being untied they are ripped from Anti’s grip and left on Schneep’s soul.  Any 2-pint demon or ghost has free rein of Schneep now, and Anti would explain that if he had the time or care to.

And when Schneep falls to his knees and starts to cry, tired and happy because he’s free, Anti turns and runs off without a word, allowing himself freedom in the chaos.  He sees Jackie make a valiant attempt to grab him, but it’s not like Anti’s an amateur escape artist.

What interests him, before he leaves, if the way Marvin looks a little less solid, how the magic he used causes him to tremble slightly.  The pinched expression on Jackie’s face-Anti is far too aware of the hero and magician’s relationship-shows a different paradigm than previously known, and Anti disappears with a smile.

Jack never learns, never truly cares, and now that Jackie and the others are becoming aware of it, it’s only a matter of time.

As Halloween rolls around, Anti waits to see Jack’s plans.  A new ego, he proposes, and of course he leaves Anti out of it.  That’s fine, Anti thinks.  The more egos he has, the more the attention is stretched thin, and the more likely the egos will realize how horrible Jack is to them.

But Anti won’t be left out. Anti won’t let himself be thrown aside, left behind.  He’s still here, after all.  Always here. Always watching.

Shouldn’t Jack know that by now?

He doesn’t kill anyone, this time.  No, he pulls back because he remembers Schneep and he remembers guilt and so he just gives the fans a taste of what he can do, a taste of who he is, and a reminder that he won’t be leaving any time soon.

More egos are made. Overnight watch happens, with Jack seemingly in on the Anti craze.  Anti thinks that Jack using him for charity is the most paradoxical thing he’s ever done, but Anti doesn’t mind.  He has power, has attention, has the world at his fingertips.  Never mind that he’s lonely, never mind that he hasn’t slept in a bed since that one night in Schneep’s body in the house of a dead man.

He’s in control. That’s all that matters.

That’s not true, because Anti is constantly spiraling, constantly running from his own thoughts because they are so loud, so mean and cruel and true because Anti is worthless, he knows he is worthless, is cruel and terrible and mean and evil and everything the world sees him as.  He tears his skin open, slides his fingers beneath the wound in his neck and pulls at his bones, laughs and cries and hides and becomes a cryptid spirit story in the town because of his wailing and screaming and giggling and static.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Anti wants home.

A break.

Jack declares a break.

On egos, on Anti, on everyone’s favorite boys and Anti is furious.  Anti is angry beyond words, angry and fearful and he can feel the rest of the egos’ shock, can feel a sense of terror, but what interests hi is the bright, hot anger coming from a particular ego.  A sense of helplessness, fear, tinged upon that fiery rage that burns in Anti’s chest, delicious and nearly terrifying.

He bides his time, knows exactly what Jackie is angry about and knows exactly what Jackie is scared off. Anti waits till night time and sits up at a building he knows Jackie loves to stand on for look out purposes.

Tonight, Jackie hops up to the roof and slams his fist into the stone entrance to the building from the roof, the foundation around the door.  He slams his fists over and over until he tires and then he stomps around the roof and growls in a fury that beats in time with Anti’s heart.

“Rough night?” Anti speaks up from his own place on the roof, sitting on its edge, and Jackie jumps, turning around in a fighting stance to face the demon watching him. Anti waves, nonchalant despite the flickering green energy that curls up Jackie’s arms.

“What the fuck do you want, glitch,” Ooo~, isn’t that new.  Anti would give Jackie points for originality, if not for the fact that pretty much every single tumblr user and their mother has called him that at some point since his creation.

“I feel like the better question would be, what do you want, Hero?” Anti tilts his head to the side, giving Jackie a small grin, fangs poking out from behind his lips.  “I mean, your boyfriend is looking a little…translucent, don’t you think?”

Jackie flinches, and his fists clench tighter.  “Shut up,” he mutters, but Anti shrugs.  

“Hey, I’m not the one killing him.  Blame our dear old creator for that,” He leans back so he’s laying on the edge of the building, legs crossed and eyes shut. “Why do you think I hate the guy?” He continues, and after a few moments of silence he peeks over to see Jackie’s reaction.

Jackie has his head turned to the side, as if in thought.  His eyes glow that radioactive green, now mimicking the look of Jack’s famed Septic Eye Sam.  Anti can feel his anger spike erratically, going up and down as if he’s trying to calm himself but is failing spectacularly.  “You know, I could help,” He says to the air, and Jackie’s head whips back to face him so fast Anti’s surprise that his neck doesn’t snap.

“What do you mean, help?” He demands, and Anti sits up with a sigh, disinterest placed perfectly on his mask of a face.  He yawns and stretches, much to Jackie’s anger, before turning to face the now fuming hero.

“I mean, Jack isn’t going to listen to you, if you nearly breaking your hands against a wall is any indication,” Jackie flushes red at the words, but doesn’t interrupt, “So, we make him listen,” Anti grins then, wide and sharp.  “We won’t kill him, just show him who’s in control.  A little…physical persuasion, you know?” Jackie looks away in thought, and Anti can almost feel the anger war against his conscience, the desire to be the good guy battling against the anger toward Jack because of Marvin’s situation.

“I don’t think…,” Jackie trails off, and Anti shrugs again, tail swaying back and forth in a relaxed motion.

“Hey, you don’t want to, that’s fine.  I got better things to do than help save your dying magician,” He turns away to jump off of the building and disappear.  He could always teleport away, but he needs to give Jackie time to stop him, because Anti knows exactly what his words do, how Jackie’s fear spikes at the word ‘dying’. Anti knows that Jackie can’t let this go, but he also knows that Jackie wouldn’t do something like this alone.

Jackie doesn’t have the resolve to be an anti-hero, but Anti can put his name in there just fine.

“W-wait!” Jackie calls out, almost scared, and Anti grins where Jackie can’t see in victory, something feral and pleased flickering in the back of his mind, a mantra fulfilled as the guilt he feels from manipulating Jackie is squashed by the knowledge that vengeance will be served.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Anti stops his descent, turns back with a bored expression, raising one eyebrow.  ‘Well?’ His expression says, and Jackie clears his throat and shuffles his feet awkwardly.  “If I do this, what do you want out of this?  What do you get for helping me?” Jackie’s eyes are sharp, and Anti sighs.

“I just want a little control myself.  I always have to take my screentime, you see. I’d like to have a say in when I show up without being hated for it,” It’s not a lie, it’s not fully the truth, but it’s the closest to truth that Anti has ever gotten.  That’s not all he wants.  He wants Jack to suffer.  He wants Jack to beg for forgiveness, for life.

He doesn’t say that, though, and lies of omission can’t be seen behind his eyes.  Jackie stares into them to try and find evidence of lies, but finds nothing.  “I’m going to share your body though.  That’s part of the deal,” Anti speaks up, and Jackie stares at the floor.  Anti waits, and waits, and waits some more.  He’s half tempted to do the whole ‘pretending to leave’ bit again before Jackie looks up, eyes resolute and anger burning hole in Anti’s chest.  Honestly, the amount of rage Jackie has is not good for his health.  Not that Anti cares, but still.

Anti reaches out his hand, and lazy grin on his face, and he meets Jackie’s eyes with ease.  “Well?”

After a moment, Jackie takes grips Anti’s palm in his own, and Anti’s grin grows wider.

Jackie’s head is different than Schneep’s.

Schneep’s was, to be fair, erratic with fear and sadness and guilt, so the waves were crashing with each thought bouncing off the inside of Schneep’s skull.  Jackie’s is calmer by comparison, but the waves flow differently. Smoother, but with higher peaks and valleys, like it’s constantly on overdrive.  Anti sits down where Jackie is sitting in a boat on the water, and without a word he motions Jackie where to go, lending him his powers of teleportation.

When Jackie isn’t looking, Anti places his strings on the hero’s mind, a hold to tighten the more Jackie loses himself in anger.  Anti sits and waits for chaos in the clear sky of Jackie’s mind, smelling the scent of Marvin’s hair instead of salt that would usually accompany seawater.

Great, the hero is a sap. Anti is not surprised.

Jack isn’t expecting Jackie to be back that night, but he is, and when he appears Jack jumps in surprise.

“Oh, hey Jackie. Look, about earlier, I-,” Jackie waves him off, smiling easily.  It’s plastered on with practice that Anti has, not Jackie, but it disarms Jack anyway.

“No worries.  I had to go off and blow some steam, but I got to thinking, and I get it.  You need a break,” Anti has to clamp down on the stream of interjections that Jackie wants to shout out, about how Marvin might be dead before the break is over and what not, because they need to be calm and collected for this to work. Jack smiles, relief pouring over his features as he relaxes.

“Thanks man, I really mean it.  It won’t be for too long, I promise, and once it’s over the stuff I have planned is sure to grab everyone’s attention,” It’s not enough for Anti and it certainly isn’t enough for Jackie, but on the outside Jackie’s grin only gets wider.

“Cool!  Hey, can I show you something?  I got this new move that I learned when I was punching some assholes earlier, and it’s awesome!” Jack’s eyes widen, and a grin splits his face in two.

“Yeah, dude!  Let’s go!”

Jackie walks Jack down the hall towards the door that leads into the nebulous place that is the ego dimension, and Jack doesn’t notice anything off.  He doesn’t even hear the crackle of static that accompanies the summoning of Anti’s knife, or the sound of Jackie’s arm raising the hilt above Jack’s head.

Jack crumples to the floor in one swift movement as the hilt of the blade crashes against his skull, and Jackie moves to drag him off, before Chase opens the door to walk into Jack’s house.

“Jackie?” Jackie panics, so Anti takes the reins, picking Jack up and tossing him over his shoulder. He gives Chase a Cheshire grin, one Chase recognizes with ease.

“Anti-!”  But Anti doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise, simply waves Jackie’s hand and disappears in a rush of static.

Forget them, he tells Jackie as the get to the warehouse and tie Jack’s limp body to the chair.  Don’t forget, we have work to do.

And when Jack wakes up Anti doesn’t let Jackie cave to Jack’s pleas, doesn’t let him waver to Jack’s begging. Anti knows, now that Chase is aware of this and is going to tell everyone and most likely fight back, that this will be his last hurrah.  He knows that he won’t be around when this is over, won’t be able to control them, won’t be able to be near them.  This is his final act, his last performance, the end to an ironic tragedy full of blood and laughter and emptiness.  He’s balancing on a tightrope, and the string is going to be cut, and Anti is just waiting for the fall.

But first, Anti is going to give them a show.

Link to lyric comic pls look at for context because I’m not writing out the scene I already mcfuckin drew thnx.

The motley crew of egos plus the ever famous youtuber Markiplier rushes in as they step forward, knife aimed at Jack’s face, and Jackie stutters in his head as Marvin rushes to the scene.

“Jackie, stop,” Marvin’s voice is loud and resolute, and Anti feels Jackie subconsciously strain against the strings, unsure, anger disappearing for a moment.  He could almost stop this, but he’s halfway a puppet and all it takes is a few sweet whispers.

Look at how pale he is, how translucent.  Look at the sweat on his brow, how weak he is just from getting here.  He’s dying, you’re doing this for him, and he just doesn’t understand that.  You’re doing what’s right.

You’re the hero.

And Jackie’s anger rears its beautifully disgusting head so that Anti’s grip grows tighter on his mind as Jackie’s power crackles around him.

“No, he deserves this! He’s killing you!” Jackie’s voice cracks painfully, and Anti feels it in his own chest, wherever it is inside Jackie’s mind.  The cavalry, the ground behind the Marvin and Wiishu duo, take a step forward, and Anti is insidious in his words.

They’re helping him kill Marvin.  You have to stop them.

“And if you all try to stop me, then you’re in my way,” Jackie growls, low and cold as Anti’s infection spreads, and Marvin ducks as Jackie speeds forward slams into Chase, knocking him back into the wall.

All hell breaks loose from there.  Anti likes that.

As the battle begins, Signe and Mark dash to Jack.  The camera is swiftly turned off, and the livestream dies as Signe rushes to Jack’s side, undoing the ropes tying him to the chair while Mark handles getting the gag off of him.  Jack falls into Signe’s arms with a near sob, and she pulls him up and thinks of an escape plan, watching the battle with wide eyes.

Jack stares at the mess of a man that was supposed to be his hero, and wonders where it all went so wrong.

Chase gets up with a groan, raising his weapon and firing, and Jackie moves out the way just fast enough to only have it nick him in the side.  Still, that anger rises again, with the added weight of betrayal, and he rushes forward to grab the father by the throat, rising up and away from the crowd so no one can interrupt.

“Look, it’s the little snitch,” It becomes hard to tell whose words are whose, what sentences are Anti’s and what sentences are Jackie’s, but regardless Chase flinches as he squirms to get out of the vice grip on his neck.  His red face is beginning to turn blue, and his gun drops out of his hand, clattering on the floor some ten feet or more below.  He does a rather nice fish impression, Anti thinks.  “You know, it’s a gift that your kids aren’t real.  They won’t have to worry about losing a father-,”

“Anti!”

They turn their head as they feel the tip of a sword against their back.  Schneep stands alone on the metal walkway near the ceiling.  The sword just barely trembles in his grip, but his eyes are sharp.  Anti notices the black sclera in one, was that him?  Must’ve been, because he can’t imagine anyone else got to the doctor while he was gone.  They move with lightning speed to counter the blade with their own, knife dangerously familiar, if Schneep’s wide eyes are any indication, and their grip on Chase’s neck tightens.  Chase coughs and chokes, and Schneep only gets angrier.

“You will give me mein friend, right now!” And with the end of the sentence comes are harsh swing of the blade.  They counter again, easily, but Schneep continues to strike.  It’s obvious that he isn’t very well trained in the weapon, but he does have some skill, and they can respect that.

“Oh Doctor, don’t you remember the last time you tried to save someone?” They purr, and Schneep falters, but only for a moment.  His swings become more violent, and their eyes flick back to Chase for a moment to see him limp in their grip.  Hmm. Well, he won’t die, Anti knows that. He’s got enough attention to survive this.

In a lapse of judgment, they get a gash to their side for their troubles, with Schneep barking out a laugh of victory.  They hiss, crackling with power and static, but say nothing.

“Let him go!” Schneep demands and they tilt their head to the side.

“Okay,” They say, before they open their hand and let Chase fall.

“NO!” Schneep screams, lunging over the railing of the walkway to reach down, as if he could grab Chase before he hits the floor. Schneep doesn’t see that Chase hits a person instead of the floor, but that’s just as well, because now the fear and guilt are ripe for the taking, or should they say manipulating?

They laugh, and Jackie disappears a little more as they say “Poor Henrik.  You just can’t save anyone, can you?”

Schneep stumbles back as they move forward, falling and crabwalking away from them to a dead end. His free hand clutches the eye with the black sclera and he’s trembling all over.  The sword is gripped tightly in his other palm, but it doesn’t seem like he has the strength to swing it.  They close in with a predatory grin, and Anti sees the strings still left from last time, strings he just needs o grab before Schneep will be anther puppet and-

They dodge a blast of ink before they even notice themselves teleporting, and they turn to see Shawn-an ego made by the community with only a voice and a name, how odd-glaring up at them, arms made black and white by his power.  They glitch down to see him, dodging more blasts of ink on the way, and they see Jameson behind him, and they smile.

“Just ink?  Is your other arm just for show?” They tease, and Shawn’s face gets bright red in anger, and he swings both his arms to fire at them as they glitch around, running him in circles before he dizzily stops to take a breath.

He doesn’t even notice that the hits he misses just might hit someone else.

They float lazily in the air, smiling far too wide to be normal.  “Oh toymaker, I think your boyfriend might be hurt~,” Shawn jumps at the accusation and turns to see Jameson with a glob of white acid on his chest. It eats away at his clothing, and then his skin, and Jameson falls to his knees.  The black tar ink keeps him in place, most likely the reason why he didn’t move out of the way.  Just as planned.

“I-I’m fine Shawn, I’m okay-,” Jameson tries to sign more but he winces in pain, and Shawn backs away in horror, his mind ripe for the taking.  They move forward, and Anti feels Jackie slip away as they reach to get a grip on Shawn’s mind, to use that fear and guilt to get him to let go and be controlled, but Jameson’s hands seem to buzz with magic and he signs a single word-

‘Rewind.’

The pocketwatch in the breast-pocket of Jameson’s rises and glows bright green and blue, and they watch in wonder and confusion as light floods their eyelids-

They float lazily in the air, smiling far too wide to be normal.  “Oh toymaker, I think your boyfriend might be hurt~,” Shawn jumps at the accusation and turns to see Jameson…

Jameson is not where he’s supposed to be, off to the side instead, both  unharmed and giving them a cheeky wave- he looks exhausted, sweat slick on his brow-, and the anger from that makes Jackie vanish as Shawn turns back with a glare, mind shielded from manipulation.  Oh well, plan B.  They grab Shawn before he can make a move and spin him around, throwing him into Jameson. The two lovers are pushed into the wall, away from the fight and no longer a threat.

They turn again, eyes searching for Jack, before their-no, no his, it’s just Anti now, Jackie’s been thrown over the boat and is drowning just like Schneep was-before his vision is blocked by the giant fucking bear that jumps in the way.

He teleports out of the way of the sharp teeth and claws that accompanies the bear, circling the man-turned-animal with Jackie’s power now at his control, and firing blasts at the bear with ease.  Said bear jumps out of the way and slashes forward, getting him in the chest before the bear shifts to Angus to a wolf, sprinting forward.  Anti jumps back and continues to fire blasts of green electricity, and Angus dodges every one.  The wolf jumps, and Anti fires, blasting the wolf back to the twitch on the floor and whimper.

Another one down, he thinks. Just a few more.

His eyes sweep the room, before he locks onto Signe helping Jack out of the building.  With a snarl, he rushes forward, knife clenched tight in his hand, but he’s blocked by a blue and orange wall of code, holding him back. A firewall to stop a glitch, he thinks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he turns to see Mark, one eye blue and one eye orange, staring him down in a fighting stance.  Anti cracks his neck on either side, cracks his knuckles as well.

After all, it’s his final show.  Might as well be dramatic.

Mark surges forward first, eyes flashing pink as a revolver is summoned in a flash of pink smoke, and Anti dodges the bullets and reaches forward to grab the gun, throwing it away and kneeing Mark in the stomach in the process.  Mark hunches over, but when he looks up he tilts his head to the side and his eyes turn blue and red, his shadow curling and rushing forward with a haunting chill that makes Anti laugh.  His hands burn with Jackie’s light, and he uses it to send away the darkness and to rush forward and grab Mark by his shirt collar.

Mark’s eyes turn red, and a katana appears in his hand.  Anti jumps back to dodge its slice, before he counters it with his own, once more engaging in a sword battle that brings in the scent of cherry blossoms, before the katana is snapped in half between Anti’s fingers.  Mark shuffles back, and Anti can see the colors of his eyes shift and flicker rapidly, like too many personalities fighting for control.

Amateurs.

Mark finally looks up with brown eyes, and they widen in fear as Anti is suddenly too close, before a sharp kick to his chest sends him flying.  Mark hits the floor, clutching his head and curling into a ball.  The firewall flickers out of existence, and Anti sees Jack stumbling towards a portal of magical making, Signe not too far behind.  With a roar, he teleports forward and then runs to Jack, watching Signe turn and shield him.  Anti’s going to rip out her throat, he’s going to tear Jack to pieces, he’s going to-

“ENOUGH!”

Anti is frozen in midair, in mid stride, as the word reverberates in his head.  Jack and Signe do not stop and are gone in a blink and he roars again, this time in frustration, before turning to see the magician that started all this mess, the reason Jackie was so easy to control.

Marvin’s eyes and freckles glow green, not unlike Jackie’s powers, but where Jackie has electricity Marvin has fire, burning over his hands and wand.

Anti is ready to rush forward, to tear Marvin to pieces to just to watch Jackie squirm-because Jackie is able to see what Anti is doing with his body, see and watch in horror- but Marvin slashes his wand diagonally downward, and a cuff of green magic appears on his right wrist.  Marvin does the same to the opposite side, and in another swinging motion, Anti finds himself on his knees, his wrists stuck to the floor.  He growls, jerking his head to the side and trying to pull himself up, but Marvin’s magic is powerful, and Anti has fought some six other bastard before this, and he’s fucking tired.

“You are going to give me back my boyfriend,” And Marvin raises his wand, and Anti thinks ‘This is it, this is how I go’ and decides that it could’ve been worse.

One final show.  One last hurrah.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

“Right,” And Marvin starts to swing down his arm.  Anti closes his eyes.

“Now!”

…

…?

Anti opens his eyes, or well, not his eyes, but whatever, that’s semantics.  He opens his eyes to see Marvin still pointing the wand at him, but Marvin’s hands are shaking.  The bright green glow that had overtaken Marvin’s eye has disappeared, and Anti notices the tears.  Great, Marvin is also a sap.  Weak.

He laughs.

Marvin raises his wand again, as if he is going to try one more time, but he gives up after a moment of deliberation, falling to his knees so he’s at eye level with Jackie’s eyes. Anti is the one staring back, but still. Marvin surges forward, wrapping his arms around Jackie’s neck, and Anti freezes.  The magic on his wrists disappear, but Anti can’t move.  He’s never been hugged before, and even if it isn’t him who Marvin is hugging, it feels...

“I love you,” Marvin whispers, and Jackie fights harder, pulling against the strings, and Anti is frozen before a wall of green magic in the shape of an eye appears behind Marvin’s back.

The eye opens, and with it a rush of magic surges past Marvin and into Jackie’s mind and soul, and Anti is burning, Anti is losing his grip as the strings are burned and suddenly Anti is being thrown out of Jackie’s body with a strength Anti knows Marvin doesn’t have, and in the back of his mind he recognizes the feeling of dark magic that is so similar to his own, but he doesn’t have time to think as he crashes so hard into the wall that he makes and indent of his silhouette in the stone before he falls to the floor, face first.  From his body smoke rises, and Anti tries to get up with a groan of pain before he falls back to the floor, utterly spent.

He doesn’t hear Marvin scream Jackie’s name as the black and green of his corrupted suit turns back to red and blue, nor does he see the others get up and smile at the scene.  He notices the zombie character-Robbie, was it?-holding Chase up, though his vision is blurred through half lidded eyes.  He doesn’t see much else after that, because familiar jeans and black and white sneakers that are characteristic of a certain doctor come into view, and one shoe collides painfully with his skull before his vision goes black.

He wakes up in a grey room.

Not room.  Cell.

His body aches, his mind scrambling to remember the whole fight before he sits up and looks around. A cage of sorts, bars on all sides that are carved with runes to keep him inside.  Marvin’s doing, he’s sure.  The room isn’t completely cage-more a 75% cage to 25% room situation if he’s to be specific-and in the area outside there is a single figure.  Anti rubs his eyes to rid his vision of the annoying blur and so he can see the figure properly.

It’s the Robbie character. Anti had been fascinated with how Robbie was born from a thumbnail, though now he finds the whole thing ridiculous, The zombie is just clinging onto existence, with how pale and translucent he is.  It’s a surprise that he hasn’t died yet.

After a minute of staring silently at Robbie, who simply tilts his head to the side in curiosity, Anti gets up and stretches.  His tail uncurls from its uncomfortable position, and Anti winces as his joints pop and his tail straightens itself out.  He’s going to be sore for at least three days.

“Hello!”

Anti turns at the sound, looking down to Robbie, who is still sitting cross-legged.  Purple and grey eyes stare back unflinchingly, a small smile added to the expression of openness that Anti isn’t used to seeing when he meets someone.

“Hi…?” He doesn’t know what else to say, caught off guard by this…innocence.  Robbie smiles, and Anti steps forward after a moment of thought, before sitting down just a foot or so from Robbie, behind bars of course.

“My name Robbie!” Anti blinks in surprise.

“What?”

“I Robbie,” Robbie points to his chest, before his finger turns back to point at Anti.  “You Anti!” He says this deliberately, slowly, as if Anti is having a hard time understanding, and Anti’s cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“I know that!  You just said it weird!” He huffs, crossing his arms, and Robbie frowns slightly, tilting his head to the other side, before his eyes spark with understanding.

“Sorry!  Sentencing hard,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and Anti just looks at the floor, a small frown on his face.  When was the last time he had a normal conversation like this?  A better question, had he ever had a normal conversation?

“Anti?” Anti jumps at the sound, before looking back up to Robbie.

“What?” he growls, and Robbie’s ears fold back in fear, though he doesn’t run away.

“Why you hurt Jackie?” He asks, and he asks it with such quiet hurt, innocent curiosity tinged with sadness, that Anti almost feels guilty, before he sets his jaw and glares.

“Jackie hurt himself, kid.  I just helped,” he mutters, and Robbie says nothing, seemingly digesting the statement, if his furrowed brow has anything to say about it.

Anti doesn’t say anything after that, just stands up and experiments with the bars.  Grabbing them sends a shock through his hands.  Nothing too painful, but enough to deter him.  He tries bending them, but they seem to be pretty fucking tough, and the pain gets to be too much before he can bother with anything.  He’s weak from the last battle anyway, so he might as well bide his time.  He sits back down just as Robbie gets up.

“Where ‘re ya going?” He asks, well, more demands, and Robbie turns to him with a smile. That’s…Anti feels warm, to be smiled at, however odd it is to have that happen.

“Dinner!” Robbie replies with a smile and Anti blinks.  When was the last time he ate?  

Oh, right, Robbie is having dinner.  Anti doubts they’ll feed him.

He curls up in a corner and tries to get some rest, but not ten minutes later does Robbie come back with a plate of food.  He slides it under the door.  It’s steak and potatoes, and it smells like the best thing Anti’s ever fucking smelled in his life.  He scrambles forward and grabs the steak with his claws, ripping off pieces with his teeth before he digs into the potatoes.  In less than five minutes, the plate is licked clean.

Anti looks up, and finds Robbie holding silverware with wide eyes.

Immediately, he backs away, shoving the plate out of the cell and heading back to his corner.  His ears burn red once more in embarrassment, but Robbie doesn’t say a word, simply takes the plate and walks out of the room.

Anti falls asleep feeling warm, and it’s not just from the food.

He spends a week like this, listening to Robbie ramble and offering a few responses in return, though most often he stays silent.  Robbie likes nature, likes drawing, like kittens and dogs and basically any animal that exists on the planet.

“What Anti likes?” Robbie asks and Anti has to stop, has to think about it, because through the trials of blood and insanity he never wondered what he might like, might love. It seemed like an inconsequential part of himself, to remember what gave him joy, when the mantra-

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

-was branded into his brain, the idea of giving Jack what he wanted rather than being himself.  He tries to remember something, something that gave him happiness.

In the alleyway, a week after he is turned away from what could’ve been his home, Anti curls up into a ball and shivers at the cold. Ireland is not known for warm weather, and Anti wears only t-shirt.  As the wind causes him once again to shudder, he hears a soft mewl.

His eyes open, and when he looks around he finds a fluff ball of fur, a…cat?  It looks recently abandoned, and Anti can relate.  It is black and white, and it has bright green eyes.

Slowly, it steps forward, and Anti watches it, mystified that another creature would come near him.  His glitches cause it to flinch, but eventually it settles down, curling up against his chest.  Warm. The fur tickles his neck, but it doesn’t seem to mind the dried blood, or the mess of his clothes, or his awkward demeanor.

Anti falls asleep warm, curling himself around the fluffy cat, almost happy, almost content.

“I like cats,” he says, because that’s all he can think of.  He looks at Robbie as Robbie takes in the information with this wide eyed sort of wonder, like can’t believe it; rather, like he wants to commit to memory and never let it go.

I like you, Anti thinks, staring at this person that has shown him more kindness in a week than anyone has in his life.

He shoves those feelings down quickly, because he knows how this ends.  He knows it will end, that Robbie will show his true colors or hate him eventually.  Anti knows things don’t last.  That cat left and never returned, and Robbie will leave in the same way.

Everyone does.  It’s only a matter of time.

Anti plans his escape, eventually.  Robbie is…fascinating to be around, but Anti wants out, wants freedom and wants life to turn back to its fucked up normalcy.  Doesn’t matter that that normalcy hurts him, he deserves it.  It’s the same shit over and over, and Anti is just waiting for the cycle to restart.

Speaking of pain, Marvin’s been supplying a lot of it lately.  Jack too.  The both of them are walking angst magnets, messes of hidden fear and guilt and anger. Schneep and Chase and Jackie have their own pain to share, and Shawn’s a constant fountain of bitterness.  Jaime gets random spikes of sadness.

Robbie is never sad around him.

That’s not entirely true, but Robbie never gets sad when he comes to see him, and Anti doesn’t understand that.  It’s not like he’s great company, he’s an asshole.  Robbie just must not get that.  He’s an idiot is the thing.  No smart person hangs out with a guy like Anti and likes it.  That just doesn’t make sense.

He plans his escape some two and a half weeks into captivity.  It’s easy, really.  Robbie is one to trust too easily, to think the best of people.

Anti’s always been good at ruining that.

One day, when they’re talking, Anti turns his face into a mask of something bashful, something embarrassed and vulnerable.  Robbie notices immediately, and it hurts that Anti can feel the worry that spikes.

“Anti?”  Robbie asks and Anti’s tail flicks around with fake nervousness as Anti looks away, scrunching into almost a ball before he looks at Robbie.

“S-sorry, I was just wondering if could…hold your hand?” He says the last bit with a voice crack. It’s all planned, naturally.  When Robbie doesn’t say anything Anti looks at the floor, shoulders hiked up to his ears.  “Sorry, sorry, that was a dumb question-,”

Robbie sticks his hand through the bars with a smile, and Anti looks up with his own matching grin.

Hook, line and sinker.

He grabs the hand, and in a moment glitches into Robbie’s mind, strings flowing from his fingertips. Only, when he looks to find a place to hold, he notices something odd.

Robbies’s mind is still.

There are no waves, nothing to manipulate into a storm so he loses control.  Robbie’s mind is content and peaceful and Anti almost forgets why he’s there, what he aims to do to escape.  His strings search for a hold, but they slip on everything, and Anti becomes increasingly frustrated before a large wave blocks his vies before crashing down onto him, and in the rush of water he finds himself unceremoniously dropped out of Robbie’s head and onto the floor outside of the cage.

He’s dazed, and he hears Robbie say “Bad Anti!” before the door opens and a multitude of egos burst in, most likely noticing Anti’s departure from the cage.  He’s thrown back in for his troubles, hitting the wall with a smack, and he falls out of consciousness to the sounds of shouting.

He wakes up alone.

Somehow that’s worse than before.

The other egos come by in shifts.

Jackie’s in charge of his food, for one, an everyday there’s a new ego to come by and watch him.  Not Robbie though.  Anti hasn’t seen Robbie since he tried to escape, most likely because Robbie isn’t allowed near him anymore.  That’s fair, and besides, Anti doubts Robbie would want to see him anyway, now that Anti’s used him.  Again, that’s fair, even if it hurts, which is doesn’t.  Anti doesn’t care that Robbie might hate him, might be angry at him, might be hurt by his actions.  Anti has hurt plenty of people in the past.  Robbie was just naïve enough to think that Anti could be a good person.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Jackie holds a certain hatred for him when he comes in with food, and Anti can understand that.  Out of anyone, Anti expects Schneep and Jackie to hate him the most.  It’s a personal thing, to be used and controlled.  Anti gets how frustrated and violated they must feel.

One day, around dinner, Jackie comes in with food and a question.  Anti notices that it has had a drop in quality.  Still, it’s better than nothing, he supposes, and he gets why they wouldn’t want to waste their good food on him.  That shit has got to be expensive.

“Do you feel guilty for what you did?” He asks, a harsh whisper, and Anti barely spares him a glance.

“Do you?” he replies, and Jackie flinches.

He stomps off and doesn’t give Anti his food, and then conveniently keeps forgetting to bring any later.  Anti doesn’t really care.  He can survive anyway.

Schneep seems to notice that some of the wounds Anti has stubbornly refuse to heal.

Not for lack of their trying.  Anti doesn’t think his wounds sentient, but if they were, they’d be pissed at him-just like everyone else he knows, funnily enough.  All that energy spent trying to heal, ruined in an instant when Anti uses his claws to tear the barely scabbed skin back apart, watching the blood spill down his skin and onto the floor.  Truly, Anti’s own idiocy is the bane of their existence.

The doctor will watch him with calculating eyes, and Anti stays curled up in his stone prison the entire time.  He sometimes meets Schneep’s eyes, sometimes give the doctor a grin to make him shudder, but otherwise he is silent.  Anti hates the silence, because it gives rise to thoughts that are mean and truthful and painful in their truth.

He is worthless, he knows. He is a monster, he is aware.  He will die unloved, he promises.

One day, the doctor comes into his cell.

That in itself is odd, but Anti sees the necklace and bracelet covered in runes that would protect Schneep should Anti decide to attack.  Not that Anti would, because he’d be beat to shit by Marvin or Jackie or any other ego who has energy or will to fight.  Anti is too tired.

Tired is a feeling, but Anti doesn’t get it.  He sleeps enough, but is always exhausted.  He hates being awake.  Being awake means pain means staring at a wall in silence means regretting being alive means agony.

Schneep, even with the added protection of the rune jewelry and Anti’s apparent sluggishness, still walks slowly towards Anti’s curled up figure.

“I need you to show me your wounds,” he says, and Anti gets up.  It becomes annoying that Schneep is taller than him, and Anti doesn’t bother looking up at his eyes.

“Why?”

“To heal them.”

“Why?”

“Because you are injured.”

“Why do you care?”

Schneep seems thrown off by the question, and Anti can see the wheels in his head turn to try and find an appropriate response.

“I am a doctor.  I heal anyone and everyone.  Even you,” he finally replies, and Anti laughs, walking off to another corner.

“Seem counter-intuitive if you ask me.  I can’t die, so what’s the point?” Anti turns to face Schneep, eyes manic.  He has energy now, because he’s going to do a show, he’s going to make the doctor squirm, and he’s going to give Schneep exactly what he wants.

Schneep should want Anti to suffer.  Anti can do that.

To prove his point, Anti reaches into the cut, the first cut he ever made against himself, the cut on his neck.  He reaches beneath the skin and into his neck, searching through muscle until he finds it.  The neck bone.  Spine.

He cracks it.

Schneep cries out at the sound, at the action, and Anti’s head lolls to the side at an unnatural angle, bone splintered.  Anti pulls his hand out with a smile anyway, doing a little spin to show off how alive he is, how ridiculously alive he is.  “See?” he says, willing Schneep to understand the futility of it all, before he snaps it back into place.   He steps forward then, closer, one hand dripping with blood, and Schneep’s face is green, and Schneep runs out of the room, shutting the cage door with a slam behind him.

When he does, Anti drops to the floor, curling into a ball.  Everything hurts, his neck and his chest from everyone else’s pain and fear and his own head and he wants it to stop but he doesn’t deserve it to.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Anti isn’t sure who that phrase is addressing anymore.

Something snaps, one night.

Anti thinks about how he just might die in this cell.  Would Jack even let Anti be in videos anymore?  Would Anti be forgotten?  Or would Jack just use Robin’s editing to keep the idea alive, while Anti slowly rotted away in a prison, left behind with no hope of freedom?

Suddenly, the walls feel too small, like they’re closing in, and suddenly, Anti wants out.

He needs out.

He doesn’t remember when he starts screaming, but he is.  He slams into every wall with a strength he doesn’t remember having.  He wants out.  Every time he hits the bars the electricity hurts, every time he hits stone something shifts out of place.  He hears cracks and he feels pain but he doesn’t care because he needs out, he needs to leave needs to be free needs to disappear and he can’t escape and they did this to him, hey ruined him and he ruined himself and everything is a mess, pain and suffering and-

“Anti!”

Anti staggers to his feet, stopping in the rampage against himself, dripping with blood from many places, and his eyes barely lock onto the lone figure in the middle of his cage. He might have a concussion, but he doesn’t care.  Robbie is in his room, when did he get here?  Everything hurts.  He might have a concussion, but he doesn’t care.

He wants out, wants to be alone and Robbie is in his room, stepping closer with a sadness and concern and worry so real that it tears Anti apart.

“Get out,” He whispers through cracked lips, and blood pours out of his mouth with the words.  He coughs.  Everything hurts.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Robbie doesn’t let himself be deterred by Anti’s words, nor Anti’s static and glitching that turns the room into a hurricane.

“GET OUT!” he shouts, and it hurts, it hurts and Anti can barely stand.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wan-

Robbie’s arms wrap securely around him.

Everything is silent.

Everything is still.

For a good thirty seconds, Anti doesn’t breathe.  He doesn’t think he can, but then he lets out a puff of air, and in come hitching breaths that turn into shudders.  He doesn’t understand this.  This feeling. Everything.  Robbie’s arms tremble, not from fear, but from worry, and Anti doesn’t understand the warmth in his chest.

He falls to his knees, and Robbie falls with him, guiding him to the floor.  Anti feels something blur his vision.  Tears, he thinks, as his breaths get harsher, as broken fingers and arms and hands come to grip Robbie’s sweat, wrapping tentatively around Robbie in a trembling return of an embrace, and Anti doesn’ understand.

He starts to sob, and Robbie is there.

“It okay Anti,” is a mantra whispered in his ear, feather soft, and Anti cries and cries and listens to it and tries to believe it but he can’t.  Nothing is okay and it never was and it never will be but Robbie is here and Robbie is hugging him and Anti is sobbing.

Pain comes in waves, and Anti drifts out of consciousness and wakes up to his head on the floor, the warmth from before replaced with cold stone.

“-told you to stay away from him!  He’s dangerous!  You know that!” Marvin’s voice is loud.  It hurts Anti’s ears.  Where is he again?

“Robbie,” he calls out faintly, voice cracking.  He doesn’t remember what happened, but that name is important, and he wants that name to be here.  He hears the shuffling of feet, before it stops.

“No!  I’m not letting you near him.  He’s gotten into your head and you’re not thinking straight.”

“But Anti hurt!”  That voice means something, Anti thinks. Everything hurts.  He wants to talk again, but his body doesn’t let him. It’s hard to breathe.

“Well, maybe he deserves it!”

Silence.

“Marvi,” There is something cold in that voice.  Anti doesn’t remember it ever sounding like, and that’s scary.

“No Robbie.  I’m going to get Schneep to fix Anti up, but you are not allowed to be near him, understand?”

There is something said in response, but Anti doesn’t hear it as unconsciousness sweeps over him once more.

He wakes up to a doctor of sorts standing over him.

“Wh’re you?” he mutters, speech slurred, and Schneep jumps at the sound.

“I am Dr.Schneeplestein,” Is the reply, soft.  Anti likes soft, it doesn’t hurt his head.  Memories flit through his mind, recognition of sorts, as the name becomes something familiar.

“I hurt you once,” he says, staring up at the ceiling.  Everything is out of focus, but he does see the doctor nod.

“You did,” The voice sounds tired, not angry.  Shouldn’t it be angry.  Anti doesn’t know.

“’m sorry,” he says, and the doctor stops to look at him.  “Didn’t-didn’t want hurt, but…felt like I had to…something, like-,”

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

“Had to be that bad guy,” he finishes lamely.  He doesn’t know what he’s saying.  He hopes it makes sense.  “ Wanted a family, wasn’t gonna get it.  Angry,” he speaks up again after the pain in his leg vanishes.  “Not gonna ever get family now,” He sniffles at that thought. The doctor, Schneep, turns to look at him again.  Anti could swear that his eyes turn soft.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says, and Anti falls asleep.

Anti wakes up again alone in his cell.  There’s food, warm, sitting next to him.  He’s been draped in a blanket.  There’s a mattress beneath him, a pillow.

Anti eats, and wonders why anyone bothers to care, why Robbie hugged him, why Schneep healed him.  His horns feel out of place, his tail aches.  He’s covered in bandages in places Schneep’s magic couldn’t get to without him overexerting himself.

Anti eats, and thinks.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Anti isn’t sure what he wants, anymore.

Jack comes by a few days later.

Anti has removed the bandages at that point.  Being powerful has its perks, and wounds heal quickly.  He doesn’t pick at them, if only because he doesn’t want to see Schneep again.  Chase has been bringing in his meals now, and Anti has been left alone otherwise.  The idea of talking to Schneep after the doctor heard him apologize makes Anti want to vomit.

Jack comes in without warning, without rhyme or reason.  He just steps in and stares.  Anti hates it.  His skin prickles with electricity and anger and he gets up with a snarl.

“Come to see the broken demon?” he spits, shoulders hunched and hands cradled close to his chest.  He can’t read anything off of Jack, can’t feel anything, and that scares him.  “Wanted to see how ruined I’ve become since you trapped me here?”

Jack again says nothing, and Anti paces forward, angry beyond belief, because how dare he.  How dare Jack come here, after everything. Jack is supposed to be angry, to be scared, to be something, and yet he’s just standing there with nothing.

Anti grabs the bars with barely healed fingers, and the bones snap again with the electricity that courses through him, the power meant to keep him in burning his entire body from the inside out.  He doesn’t care that it hurts.  He wants Jack to see what he’s done.

“You did this to me!” he shouts, thinking of the months sleeping in alleyways, thinking of the fear f death, of the day when he was turned away, cast out.  “YOU DID THIS!” he slams his head into the bars once, twice, again and again.  “YOU WANTED THIS!” Another smash against his skull. “YOU WANTED THIS!” Again. “YOU WANTED THIS!” Something cracks.  “YOU GOT WHAT YOU WANTED!”

He stumbles back from the cage again.  Blood drips down his face.  

Don’t you remember Jack?  When blood dripped down my face because of you?

His breaths are harsh, his hands tremble.  Anti once again finds himself in pain because of his own actions, but he doesn’t care.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

Jack looks like he’s going to be sick.  Good.

“Get out,” he says, but what he really means is. what the words mean are ‘Please don’t go.  Stay.’  “GET OUT!” He screams, so hard and loud that it burns his throat.

Unlike Robbie, Jack doesn’t stay.  He leaves Anti alone.

Jack always leaves Anti alone.

That night, Anti wakes up to Robbie’s voice.

“Anti!” A harsh whisper. He gets up to see Robbie sticking his hand through the bar.  “Hurry!” Robbie whisper yells again, and Anti understands.

Escape.  Freedom.

He rushes to grab Robbie’s hand, jumping in and out of his head in seconds before rushing out the door. He has never seen these halls, but he doesn’t think, just runs and searches for an exit.  His head throbs painfully, and he smashes into something, alerting the whole building to his escape.

“Anti!”

He hears Jackie’s voice from behind him and quickens his pace.  A cocktail of anger and fear from the others swirl in his chest and he can’t get out, he’s trapped and suddenly he’s stuck in a dead end.  He can’t teleport.  He’s too spent, and then he’s surrounded.

“I’m not going back in that cage!  You’ll have to kill me first!” He cries, backed into a corner and gripping the wall. Marvin steps forward, and Anti backs as much as he can before he’s trapped between the wall and the magician.  He can’t breathe, he’s going to be put back in that cage and this time he’ll never get out, it’ll be an eternity of that hell and-

“Marvi stop!”

Robbie rushes past everyone and jumps in front of Anti, eyes sharp and fiery and every bit of himself a barrier, a protection.

“Anti not the mean man!” He shouts, and Marvin takes a step back.

“Robbie, you saw what he did to Schneep, to Jackie-,”

“Jackie did it to himself!” Anti shouts, angry and hurting and fucking tired and wanting it to feel fair. “You think I just randomly showed up and took him over?  As if I could?  He’s got fucking superpowers, jackass!  I can’t fuck with that!” Robbie moves out of the way so Anti can speak, but he’s still there, still right by Anti’s side, and Anti isn’t sure why, but he kind of loves it.  Kind of.

This time, he addresses the whole crowd.  “I gave him a deal.  He was bitter about Jack blowing him off about saving Marvin and he wanted revenge! I gave him what he wanted!  I twisted it around, and I’ll take the blame for that, but he took my hand!  He knew exactly what we would do to Jack!  He didn’t care!”

Marvin turns to look at Jackie, as do the others, and Jackie shrinks in on himself.

“Jackie?” Marvin asks, sounding surprised and hurt, but Anti’s not done, oh no, he’s just getting started.

“And you!” he points a finger at Marvin “You mister high-and-fucking-mighty!  Dya ever tell anyone about that pentagram tramp stamp? Or do you keep hiding the fact that you’re covered in dark magic with glamour?” Marvin flinches as if he’s been burned, and Schneep jumps.

“What?!” he says, and Anti bulldozes forward.

“You all act like you’re some big fucking family, like you give a shit about everyone and that you’re always in the right.  Bullshit!  None of ya wondered why I didn’t get a room, didja?  None of you thought it was fucking weird that I decided to live on the streets, as if it were fucking fun! No!  You all treated me like a fucking monster the moment I showed up, just like Jack!  And fuck, if you wanted a monster, maybe I decided I’d be one!”

He doesn’t mean to say all of it, but it comes out like a title wave, and he’s shaking by the end of it. Robbie is the one to set a hand on his shoulder, and while Anti jumps at the contact, he doesn’t shrug it off.

“I’m an asshole, the fucking worst, I know that, but fuck, everyone decided who I was before I fucking did, so why bother try to be anything else?”

No one says anything, for a while, before Robbie speaks up.

“Anti did bad, but…Jackie and Marvi did bad too, so…Anti deserves a chance.  For family,” He says.

Eventually, the rest nod, and Anti feels a hundred pounds lighter.

“Yeah…but where’s he gonna sleep though?” Chase speaks up, and Anti gives him a grin that could be described as thoughtful.

“I know a place.”

The bars are removed from the room with a single spell.  Honestly, Anti though that would be the hardest part.  The hardest part is listening to Marvin try and be civil.  He asks Anti what color bed sheets he wants, and Anti says dark green with black accents.  He gets a look in response, but it’s made.

His room has grey carpet floors, and a few posters, and a black desk in the corner, with a computer. He gets a phone and a mini fridge and microwave.

It’s more than Anti could ever dream of.

Some people really don’t like him-Marvin and Jackie-but Anti couldn’t give less of a shit.  He’s spent his entire life without the approval of anyone, so to have anyone’s approval at all is a miracle, to be honest.

Speaking of miracles.

“Anti!” Robbie rushes in, barefoot and smiling like always, and Anti finds it easier and easier every time to smile back.  It still takes effort.  He doesn’t understand Robbie, not really, and he doesn’t think he ever will.  He doesn’t mind, though, because Robbie makes him want to be able to smile easy, and he thinks that might be enough for now.

“Show you room!” Robbie reaches out to grab Anti’s hand, and when he sees Anti nod, he does so, dragging Ant through the halls to Robbie’s room, most likely to show Anti every little thing inside.  Anti thinks that might be fun.

You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You wanted this.  You got what you wanted.

This time, Anti thinks that phrase just might be right.

[pornowatch]

Haunt

Part 1 of a series. Multi-dimensional Reaper/Reyes selfcest. Non-con. Brief choking. Some hints at unrequited R76.

Heed the warning, ya’all. This is definitely not play or dub-con.

Something is haunting Gabriel’s base.

It was created by a chronal accelerator malfunction. Or it was brought into their world from… somewhere else. Winston doesn’t know yet. But it’s here. It moves in the shadows and stays in their peripheral vision, scattering in a wisp of smoke whenever they try to nail it down. For weeks Reyes senses he’s being watched even when he’s alone.

The world won’t stop for one ominous specter rattling chains in Overwatch’s attic, so Reyes works as best he can around it. The strike commander goes to sleep with the feeling of eyes on his back.

---

Gabriel is suffocating.

“You,” a voice growls in the dark, tight, like it’s indignant. “The leader of Overwatch. A wall full of awards and commendations in your big office. Everyone is grateful to you for keeping the peace.”

Gabriel rasps through what feels like smoke filling his lungs, choking his airways and causing his eyes to water. There’s no fire. There’s only the crushing weight on his stomach as a gaunt, twisted version of his own face stares down at him. The apparition’s deathly pale skin seems to glow in the moonlight.

The Reaper sneers: “What makes you so fucking special?”

The acrid burning in his chest lifts, and Gabriel heaves his first few breaths of clean air with tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s meant to answer. Fuck that.

“What are you?” he demands around the ache in his throat.

“Heh. You know what? I’ve spent years wondering that same thing. I thought I was a monster, but I’ve been watching you in this ass-backwards world. Now I know I had it all wrong.” The assailant rakes metal claws down his neck hard enough to sting the skin, and he starts to chuckle darkly. “Turns out I’m just the victim of circumstance. You came heads-up in the coin toss, but somebody else had to lose. A counterbalance for the universe’s sake. You got to be the hero, so I had to become this.”

The thing is insane. Gabriel doesn’t waste time saying so. His hands were cuffed to the bedposts while he was incapacitated; it leaves him vulnerable when his sweatpants are pulled down around his knees.

“What is it you want?” He tries to save face as the leather glove feels him out through his boxer briefs. The self-identified Reaper begins to stroke him through the fabric just on the other side of uncomfortably hard. He ignores the question.

“Haven't seen McCree in your inner circle. Where’d he end up?”

What? Gabriel frowns, mind scrambling. He doesn’t… wait. Wait a minute. McCree was the name of that Deadlock punk Morrison collared on a raid. There’d been a lot of discussion about what to do with the kid, but in the end he went to prison. A life sentence at seventeen. 

Christ, that had been, what? Fifteen years ago?

“Rotting in a hole somewhere, if he’s still alive,” he answers in hopes that the revelation will hurt. On the contrary, the Reaper’s lips draw into a cruel smile.

“In your world there’s no McCree and Ziegler's dead? You just keep winning.” A clawed finger gently taps the tip of Gabriel’s nose. “Justice would be killing you and assuming what’s rightfully mine. Since I can’t get that I‘ll settle for ruining you.”

In a quick movement Reaper tears Gabriel’s boxers off and leaves the scraps to cling around his sweat-damp thighs. Exposed, Gabriel swallows hard. He thinks about having that creature inside him and he knows he can’t take it.

“When I get a hold of you you’ll be begging me to let you die,” he hisses, voice low and dangerous. Reaper is undaunted. The bed creaks as he leans down, looming over Gabriel, challenging him to do anything but lie prone beneath him.

“I’m going to ride you until you forget what it’s like not to have me in your hole. But I’m not a complete monster. I’ll make you a deal: Apologize now and I’ll face you down while I fuck you. You can bury your shame in the pillows if you want.”

“I never did shit to you!” And though the last thing his training would advise is to antagonize his captor, Gabriel spits, “You ever consider the reason you’re like this is because you’re a pathetic psychopath?”

He waits to be hit or choked with the smoke again, but the Reaper has his patience. 

“That brave face? I can’t wait to see it crumble.”

Something in Reyes flies of it’s hitch and flails wildly, reaching for an explanation. What’s more likely than an evil twin from another dimension raping him? A trick of the mind, like a psychological attack. Talon likes to pull that shit. It’s how they got Angela. Maybe they hit him with some neurotoxin, and now Gabriel’s traumatizing himself with a self-crafted hallucination? It’s too damn surreal to be anything else. None of this can actually be happening.

But it is happening. Gabriel can feel it in his skin, especially where Reaper’s touch leaves him with a crawling feeling. The bed shifts with his doppleganger’s weight, and then Reaper is straddling Gabriel at the knees. He’s now missing a glove. Gabriel doesn’t know if he took it off or if it simply vanished.

The hand on his dick feels unnaturally cool. He cringes at the sensation.

“Say you want me.”

“Go to hell.” He doesn’t want this. He turns stiff in Reaper’s firm strokes, but it’s only a physical reaction. He can’t help it.

“You don’t have to pretend. I’m you. I know all the filthy, dirty fantasies you don’t want to own.”

“You are nothing like me.”

Reaper grins and leans down. Gabriel turns away when the pale tongue laps over the head of his dick. 

“Sorry, jefe, but you and I? We’re only removed by a sequence of events.” To punctuate the thought, Reaper plunges half-way down Gabriel’s length and whorls his tongue around the shaft. Gabriel grunts. The mouth around him isn’t hot like it should be, but it’s not uncomfortable enough to turn him off. Reaper’s lips pull off him with a wet pop. “Hm. He didn’t stab you in the back, and McCree’s not around, so I bet you’re even still pining after the boy scout.”

Gabriel doesn’t respond. Silence is evidently enough of an answer for Reaper. He’s back to sucking on Gabriel’s cock, teasing him exactly how he likes. Exactly how he’d imagined Jack doing when he was alone and torturing himself, dreaming about things he’d never have. 

"Stop,” he mutters when the feeling of Reaper’s sucking him off blends with the image of Jack’s blonde hair between his legs, and then the line gets confused.

Reaper doesn’t stop. He knows how this fantasy plays out. Jack, hesitating for a thousand reasons, would finally give in because it’s Gabriel. It would be slow as Jack tested his lips over the first cock he’d ever wanted in his mouth. And as Gabriel’s shaft was rocked over the back of his tongue, those bright blue eyes would look up to him for approval.

“I-uhn. Hmph.” Gabriel squeezes his eyes closed and pretends not to hear Reaper’s satisfied hum, even as it does incredible things to him.

Morrison would grow bolder with success, of course. He’d move faster, feel Gabriel out, push the limit of how much he could comfortably take in. He would fight through the gag reflex as he realized he loved the feeling of Gabriel’s cock bumping his soft pallet. A palm slides up the inside of Gabriel’s thigh and comes to fondle his balls, massaging him in time with the quickening pace of lips moving up and down his length.

Just, yes. Yes. Don’t stop, babe. Please. God, it’s been so long...

As long as he keeps his eyes closed it’s Jack blowing him. As long as he keeps his eyes closed it’s okay if he comes deep in the throat of whoever’s on top of him, because he’s thinking about Jack and that’s acceptable. 

It’s fast and it’s sloppy and it’s just what Gabriel pictured when he imagined calling Jack up to his office and having him kneel under his desk. He would keep his hand on the back of Morrison’s head to keep him from pulling off when his jaw got tired. He’d work the Blackwatch commander’s mouth until he’d cleaned up his technique, learning not to slurp and how to pace himself so he could last until Gabriel finished his paperwork.

Gabriel thinks about pulling out to mark his subordinate’s face and groans, “Mph, Jack.”

That’s when Reaper yanks Gabriel out of his mental refuge and banks hard right. The hand on his balls suddenly clenches around him like a vice.

It’s a frantic moment. It’s painful, but it’s also... oh, oh shit. Gabriel looks down and locks eyes with Reaper, still throat-deep on his cock, and that’s when he breaks. He tries to hold it back. He tries to stop it because it’s not Jack anymore; it’s this sick, conniving version of himself-

“Fuck! Fuck, no! Damn it!” he howls as he starts to come, furious at his own body’s betrayal. He bucks his hips up to where Reaper is waiting to take him all, the tremors of his orgasm so much harder than he can bring himself to acknowledge. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. So why is it so goddamn good?

He can’t see his cock with the armor, but Gabriel knows that the Reaper is just as turned on as he is. He takes his victim’s load greedily, swallowing down what is essentially his own come with pleased glint in his eyes. Staring down over his heaving chest, Gabriel watches numbly as the pale-skinned Reaper coaxes him through the last, desperate spasms of his cock until there’s nothing left in him. His will to fight drains from him. Gabriel is sapped and more defeated than he’s ever been.

The Reaper looks up and their eyes make contact again. Reaper winks. Gabriel gets the feeling his should look away, but he doesn’t. 

Christ. There must be a pathological narcissism that runs through every version of the man they are.

He lies and waits and lets Reaper do what he wants. Mind otherwise idle, his thoughts begin to broach the subject of what comes next. They don’t get very far. He can’t handle the idea that his ass is about to be raped by himself, let alone the increasingly evident fact that he’ll enjoy it -- at least physically. Reaper will know how to make him respond in a favorable manner. He’ll know the best way in which to leave Gabriel a destroyed, conflicted mess afterward. 

When it’s over the flanging laughter reverberates through him as his gut coils tight. As if on cue, reality comes flooding back. Humiliation and guilt and hormones wrack Gabriel to the core, making him feel like every molecule is vibrating.

“You think I’m pathetic?” Reaper plants a kiss on his hipbone, sweet and chase. “Thirty years and you’re still jerking it to the straight boy. ‘No, stop, I don’t want this.’ Bullshit. You’ve been dying for someone to come along and use you like I will. Eventually.”

Reaper climbs off the bed, and Gabriel assumes it’s to reposition them both. It’s what he would do. When he can, he likes to take his partners from behind and watch them in a mirror. Reaper will want to see Gabriel’s face when he’s fucking him. 

Then Reaper taunts, “Look at you. Shit, we look fantastic when we’re taken care of right.” His voice takes a dangerous upturn. “Think Jack’ll agree when he finds you?”

What? Gabriel searches Reaper for an explanation. He’d expected the other him to be undressing, but Reaper is moving towards to the door. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Don’t leave me like this.” He doesn’t say please. He’s sure the crack in his voice does it for him.

With a coy chuckle Reaper answers, “Catch you next time, good looking.”

After the smoke disappears through the crack in the door Reyes musters his strength and tries the restraints again. He pulls as hard as he can, but there’s no give. Defeated, he drops his head back on the mattress and goes limp.

He’ll have to wait for Jack or Ana to come looking for him.