#instead I just sit there and cry in front of a blank page that I desperately want to fill

[wonlovie]

— LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU.

You were tired. Your boss of three years has been giving you a hard time, and school deadlines are creeping up. All you can think of are the things that need to be done. You need to work more hours. You need to make money to afford school. There is no time for rest because you could be doing something.

or, you're burnt out and all jay wants to do is take care of you.

— starring. boyfriend!jay x burnt-out!reader

— tags. established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, reader has a million things on their plate and doesn't know how to deal with it, depiction of a mild panic attack [crying, difficulty breathing]

— word count. 1.9k

— notes. i'm sorry that this isn't the heeseung fic but today was a rough day and this is pretty much just a vent/projection fic // this is also completely unedited but its currently 12:36am

Eye bags tugged at your skin like weights, urging you to close your eyes for even a moment. Your room was still, the darkness of the night overtaking the space. If your computer monitor didn’t display the time, 11:29 PM, you would have no idea how long you’d been sitting there. The curtains that adorned your window were drawn, the only light source being the small desk lamp Jay had given you for your birthday and your computer’s screen.

Your eyes burned as you typed, a lifeless gaze following the words on the document. Your hands felt ice cold, hours of typing causing your circulation to falter. The stiffness of your fingers made it hard to type, but you pushed on. After all, you couldn’t afford to stop. There was no time.

You were working on an essay that was due the next day. You had foolishly put it off for too long, instead working long hours to make up for the shifts you were missing to attend classes. You’d convinced yourself that you could finish it, that there was enough time, but suddenly there wasn’t.

The document page wasn’t even half full, despite you having been working at it for a few hours now. All you had typed was an admittedly messy intro paragraph and half of the first body paragraph. The cursor blinked, mocking you for your lack of progress. The blank space on the page upset you, angry tears filling your eyes as you clenched your jaw. 

Before you could begin typing again, your phone buzzed. A part of you hoped that it was Jay. You weren’t sure if you could handle it being anyone else at this hour. But when you picked it up, to your dismay, it wasn’t Jay. Instead, it was your boss.

“I need you to work tomorrow. Lia called in sick.”

You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and exhaustion as you simply typed an okay. You had class tomorrow morning, something that your boss was aware of. You made a note to ask a classmate for the notes.

Looking back at the half-empty document, you felt your chest tighten. Your throat felt uncomfortably dry as you swallowed harshly. Your fingers shook uncontrollably as you rested them on the keyboard in a futile attempt to start again. You had typed two words when someone knocked on your door, making you jump in surprise.

Frowning, you glanced at the time again. 11:42 PM. Before you could even wonder who it was, you heard the front door open. Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as you presumed it was Jay. After all, he was the only other one who had a key to your apartment.

You listened as he made his way through your house and toward your bedroom door, the sound of him kicking off his shoes and shucking off his jacket unmistakable. The tight feeling in your chest grew, rearing its ugly head at you as it screamed in your ears with a silent cry. The second your bedroom doorknob started turning, you felt like you had been punched in the throat.

Jay stepped into the room with a sleepy smile, his unstyled silver hair falling into his eyes. By his side, he had a convenience store bag filled with what you assumed were snacks. “Hey,” he whispered, not wanting to be too loud so late at night. “You told me you were working on an essay, so I came with snacks!” He grinned at you, holding up the bag proudly.

“I brought your favourite; those chips from when we went to the arcade. You know, it was stupidly hard to find them, and I had to go to like two different stores, but—” Jay stopped in his tracks, his face falling when he looked up from the bag and at you. “Are you crying?”

You blinked dumbly, quickly wiping at your cheeks. The sleeve of your sweater grew wet, surprising you. “I guess I am,” you murmured, voice wet and quivering. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know why I’m crying,” your voice cracked, and you choked out a sob that you didn’t know was holed up in your throat.

Jay was quick to drop the bag of snacks and rush over to where you sat, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. While his warmth and comforting touch were usually enough to comfort you, you couldn’t breathe as you felt sob after sob rack your body. He rubbed up and down the small of your back, stepping backwards until the backs of his legs hit your bed.

Slowly, he moved you into a sitting position, never once letting go of you as he sat next to you on the bed. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked in a small voice, his heart breaking at the sight of you like this. He didn’t ask again when you didn’t respond, rocking you back and forth against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss against your forehead when another particularly harsh cry escaped your lips.

You fisted the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it in the process. In your haze, everything felt fuzzy. You couldn’t focus on anything except for the tightness in your chest and the pounding of your heart. You briefly thought back to the essay that sat unfinished at your desk and the text from your employer, the thoughts only making you cry harder.

Loud, heartbreaking weeps left your trembling body, and each second that passed felt worse than the last. Jay’s brows were stuck in a furrowed position, and the corners of his lips tugged into a deep frown. He hated how helpless he felt, having nothing to do except hold you. 

He wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that together, with you in his arms, crying your heart out. It might’ve been ten minutes, it might have been an hour or two. It felt like your cries were neverending, but when they did start to slow, his heart was in his stomach. He hated seeing you like this. He knew how often you’d hide your true feelings behind a smile, always assuring him that you were okay, but he knew you better than that.

Once the sobs quieted down and you were left with only shaking breaths and wet eyes, Jay pulled away to see your face. His heart ached for you at the sight of your pain-stricken features and tear-stained cheeks. He pulled his sleeve over his hand to wipe away your tears, although new ones were quick to trail down your irritated and raw skin.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, just as gently. “Is it the essay?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice as you avoided his eyes. He smoothed down your hair, cupping your face in his large hands in a silent plea for you to look at him. “Did something happen at work?” The pained look in your eyes let him know that he was getting closer, and his frown deepened. “Did your boss say something again?”

“Kind of,” you finally spoke, your voice just barely above a whisper. “He asked me to work tomorrow.”

Jay’s eyebrows knitted together. “You have class tomorrow.”

“I’ll have to skip,” you relented, gnawing at your bottom lip in anxiety. You started thinking of how much information you’d be missing, and you know that some of your professors like giving out surprise quizzes, and you could not get a zero for not attending. If you got a zero, if you failed, then what was the point of working so hard?

“Baby,” Jay mumbled, “Why don’t you tell your boss you can’t work?”

You shook your head, the thought of speaking up causing your throat to close. “I… I can’t do that, Jong. My boss always tells us that saying no to him is a sign of our disloyalty, and I’ve seen him fire someone who said no too many times. I can’t… I can’t get fired, I can’t lose this job. I need the money, Jay, I can’t…” You cut yourself off, your voice breaking.

Jay took your hands in his, rubbing the back of them gently with his thumbs. “There are other jobs, love. Other jobs with more understanding employers.”

Once again, you shook your head, fresh tears falling from your red eyes. “No, no, you don’t understand. This job pays really well, and the fact that I got hired in the first place was a fluke. Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to find a job before? How many… how many rejected interviews I’d gotten? I can’t quit.”

“But,” Jay interjected. “You’ve always told me how much stress you have working there. Your boss is unfair to you. He doesn’t give you breaks, and he asks you to come in too much. You’re a student too, love. I barely see you because you’re always either in class or at work. That’s not healthy.”

You looked into his eyes for the first time since he arrived in your room, the sight of his own watering eyes breaking your heart. “I can’t not work, Jong. That’s not an option. I need the money to pay for everything. I need money to pay for my tuition and for my books. And this apartment wasn’t given to me for free—I can’t just stop working, even if I wanted to.”

Jay pursed his lips. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nodded, a subtle jerk of your head that he barely caught.

“You have so much more support than you realize,” he rasped, holding onto your hands tighter as if it’d convey his message better. “Right now, if you were to stop working, you’d still be able to pay for the rest of the school year. You worked so tirelessly through the summer, and I know you have a lot saved up. You could take time off. Your parents could help with paying for school or rent—hell, I could help if you let me.

I know you’re scared and anxious, but please believe me. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you took a break. You need it, baby. Your life isn’t going to fall apart if you don’t have a job for a few months.” He let go of one of your hands to cup your cheek. “I love you so much. Seeing you like this is so painful, and all I want is for you to realize that it’s okay to just… do nothing. It is okay to not work. It’s okay to breathe.”

Your lips trembled, another sob threatening to rip out from your throat at his kind words, words that you didn’t know you needed to hear. 

“I know I’m supported,” you whispered, holding the hand that cupped your face. “I know that, which is why I’m so frustrated with myself. I… I feel like if I’m not doing everything by myself and if I’m not working, then all I am is a failure.” You spat out the last few words, new tears filling your waterline. 

Jay shook his head, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “This world is harsh, and it pushes people to work beyond their limits. I wish things were different, but I can’t change how society views things.” He nudged his nose against yours, looking into your eyes with a look of what you could only describe as love. He offered you a gentle smile. “But what I can do is help you realize that. I just need you to let me in, yeah? You don’t need to be this stressed alone. I don’t want you to be alone.” He brushed away the wetness that remained on your cheeks before pressing a soft kiss against both cheeks, your nose, and finally, your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured into your skin. “I love you, and you are worth so much more than you realize.”

[neverchecking]

Um hi I am 🪷 From clouds Page and I wanted to be it on here if it ok

I just wanted to say I really love your work

And I have a huge question It not a requests but a ask

I am autistic high functioning one but it still hard to do things that you don't understand and you have to have yours comer plushy

I have one and even though I am in my Earl 20's I am crying like a baby over my plushy I had snic I was a kid it a cute Pokemon one and it a cute little mew doll and my rabbit and stuff dog. But the got torn up by my sister dog and they are trying to fix it

What would the link boy do

I know sage would try a fix it with touch stuff that the reader would like. Also I just know the gop that is on the itam look so soft and like slim I would beIN playing with it for so long

So my question is how would the boys fix it or think of the reade beIN so over stimulated and can't stop crying and can't cop with out her stuff plushies and would they make a smiler one until the fix it

I know four would quickly get the plushy fix and time with the song of time

And fd is a god he can use powers but the others I am confused on

Sage would be using his hand

Sorry for the long question I am just in a stage of cleaning down and trying to wait for my other plushy.

FROM 🪷Aron p.s I am not good at spelling and my autocorrect is a meany

Hello 🪷anon! Don't worry, I know who you are! Your request is currently a work in progress! You totally can be 🪷anon!

I'm so sorry about what happened to your plushy. I totally understand as I'm nineteen, almost twenty, and have my own comfort plush. I know I would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to her (Her name is Princess and she's a pink poodle :)). I can't imagine what it would be like for someone with Autism. I'm not nearly as educated on the spectrum or what it entails, but I know a disturbance like that can be especially hard. (Please take no offence to what I'm saying, I'm trying not to make this sound as bad as its coming out.)

Now, Time, contrary to how he looks, does know how to sew. He's not exceptional at it, but it's certainly passible. Sure, it's a little wonky, maybe crooked, but it's evident that he put a lot of effort into it. While it's a work in progress however, or after the initial incident, he remains a steady rock for you! If your okay with physical touch during this time, he's holding you to his chest and humming a soft tune under his breath while gently rocking back and forth. If not, he's counting breaths in front of you, tapping off his fingers to help you regulate.

Twilight cannot sew. Point, blank, period. His hands are too clumsy and his movements too rough for the thin, fragile string. However, he knows people who can. If your near Ordon, he's asking Ilia or Uli. If not, he'll take it to a tailor in the nearby village. If your not near a village, he's sucking up his ego and asking Legend. His pelt is always available if you need it, but so are his arms. Lemme tell you, he gives the best hugs. If you don't wanna hug him, that's fine, maybe Wolfie will make you feel better? If you don't want any contact, that's just as okay! Wolfie with sit with you until you feel better!

Sky is tricky because while he can play the harp/lyra/whatever that thing is, I can't say I see him being able to sew. His hands are too used to the thick sturdiness of wood or the gentle plucking of the strings. The repetitive motions confuse him and he just knots the string over and over again. He doesn't wait to ask Legend or Time however, and he'll even use tears to get what he wants. Like Twilight, his sail cloth is always available to you, and he also gives pretty good hugs. If you want your space, he's pulling out his latest project and working on it beside you, hoping the repetitive noises and motions help you ground yourself.

Now, Wars can't sew well either. But he can. He's not going to put your biggest comfort item at risk for that. He's not sucking up to Legend however. No, he'll instead hand over the needed dough to the nearest Tailor or, hell, even Time to get it done as quickly as possible. His scarf is also always available. It's a good way to ground yourself as he'll sit with one end, wrapping and intertwining it around his fingers and urging you to follow.

Legend, my lovely little rat, is the best at sewing hands down. He'll remain by your side, letting you take whatever comfort needed (Physical or otherwise), while he sews your comfort item back to its rightful state. He won't shoot any quips, nor even have a harsh tone with you and anyone who dares to even try and tease you are gifted with a dirty glare.

Wild cannot sew. Period. He'll also bribe Legend with food of some sort or some ancient tech to do it for him while keeping you distracted with food prep. You don't even have to do anything, but sit there and look pretty. If you want physical comfort, sucks for the rest of the chain because they are now on their own for dinner as you become priority number one.

Hyrule can sew! With resources as scarce as they are in his world, he had to learn to preserve what he had. Which included repairing his tunics, pants, boots, etc., etc.. So, he jumps at the opportunity to fix your comfort item. It's done pretty well too! Now, Hyrule probably uses some sort of Fairy magic to calm you, through touch or otherwise, and also hums to keep you grounded.

Four can also sew! He'd fix it up right away! In fact, he'd probably split to speed up the process. One of the colors, probably Vio, would sew the item easily and quickly while the others worked on comforting you. Cuddles? Done. You wanna hear them sing? Give them a song, darling. You just want your space to process your emotions? They're steering the others away. And then, when they combine to give you back the object, Four doesn't leave until he's certain your doing okay again. :)

Wind (This is entirely platonic) cannot sew. But, he's the youngest, so he can use puppy dog eyes and get Legend or Hyrule or Time to bend to his will and do it for him. He is then either distracting you with a game or adventure or small hike, or sitting with you and telling you all sorts of stories about his journey as a pirate.

Sage can sew! He learned after his original Champion's tunic had taken one too many hits and he refused to ask Natura (His Zelda) to fix it, or use the one she was dead set on him using. Of course, he could also use his hand to help, using Recall if the incident is recent enough. If it's not, he's more than happy to fix it himself. He's offering you his hand to take should you want it, using it to pull you into his lap if that's acceptable in the situation. If not, he's sitting with you. He's all too aware of what's it's like to be so...overstimulated, so he's not asking anything. Not humming or singing. Just sitting and acting like an anchor for you.

Fierce Deity can't sew. He can use powers to an extent, but he mostly has to use his scary dog privileges to get a tailor to fix it. He's built like a tank and has a core like a furnace though, so he's perfect for cuddles. If you wanna sob into his chest, he won't do anything but shield you from the view of others. He's another one to offer silent comfort rather than any form of conversation.

Bonus! First can sew! Not badly, nor too well, but it's average. He's humming lowly while fixing the object before giving it to you. He's brushing your knuckles before pressing a kiss to them, tapping your breaths along each bump when he pulls away. His scarf is also available to you. Whatever you need, darling.

I really hope this makes you feel a bit better 🪷anon! I tried using the little bit of knowledge I had to make this as good as it can be. I wish you all the best and wish I could've gotten to this sooner.

With all my love,

Cinder XOXO

[sailtomarina]

I want to see it

cw: depression, substance abuse

She thought she’d escaped notice, losing herself in the crowded hallway and slipping away to splash her face. She’d triple checked the stalls, then locked the main door for good measure. She just needed a moment to gather herself.

Hermione should have known better.

He undid her spell as effortlessly as when he’d caught her unawares at the start of eighth with this new version of himself, one she barely recognized from the boy she’d grown up hating. Silent. Blank. Unwilling to bring any attention to himself. His attempts only served to catch her eyes even more as she tried to puzzle out why she even cared.

She had her own demons.

They stared back at her from within her own eyes. They wore the same clothes and shared the same unruly hair. They kept her awake at night and haunted her during the day. Hermione would throw herself into her studies, and, still, they waited to pounce the moment her mind was left to wander free from the pages of her books.

She tried to ignore them, at first. Then, she’d attempted to exorcise them like real demons, bathing herself in pure waters and breathing in smoke that only made her eyes water and throat burn.

When she’d dared to ask Harry and Ron about how they coped, they’d responded very differently. Harry’s eyes fogged over like he’d gone somewhere else, leaving just his body behind in the room. When he finally returned, his gaze sharpening and focusing on her once more, he shrugged and said he’d left them all behind where they belonged. Hermione wasn’t sure what he meant about that, but perhaps it had something to do with his time with Death. 

Did she need to die?

Ron gave her an answer she knew at her core wasn’t the right one, but appealed to her more than she was willing to admit dying did. His solution was found in the bottom of a bottle, drinking enough to deaden the senses. How could demons torment someone who felt nothing?

Drinking didn’t appeal to her, not with the different ways she’d seen other students react under the influence. While Ron was a happy drunk, there was always the risk she’d be one of those angry sods, or, worse, sappy and crying everywhere and in front of anyone.

No. Hermione wanted a more predictable fix.

First, she mastered glamour charms. Glamours to hide, glamours to mask, glamours to perfect every flaw. She’d been so disdainful of other girls over the years, but now she could cast her charms wordlessly and wandlessly with the best of them.

Next, she researched potions: elixirs to induce euphoria, draughts of peace, pain potions, and, yes, the occasional sober-up. She learned and she brewed and she kept a steady supply to rotate through and avoid dependence.

She thought she’d been clever. Nobody noticed her new potions hobby aside from assuming she paid even more attention to that area of study than she ever did before. They did pay compliments to her looks—did she do something new to her hair? What moisturiser did she use? She was safe for the first few months of her new routine. She could look in the mirror and see nothing looking back at her.

Somehow, Malfoy noticed.

He’d gone months without acknowledging her or anyone around him, but now he stared at her with an intensity that should have frightened her. Instead, it only pissed her off. She took to sitting wherever she could to block his gaze. She hadn’t talked to him since their return to school, so her change in seating arrangement didn’t seem to bother anyone.

She’d been slow to gather her things after one lesson, and, when she finally stood up, she realized he had waited for her.

“What happened to your scar?” He pointed a slender finger to his neck, indicating the spot where his aunt had pressed her knife into Hermione. He knew the knife was cursed.

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” was all she’d said in response, brushing past him towards the doorway.

He’d breathed in deeply and tutted in recognition. “You’re on a calming potion today. Yesterday, it was euphoria. What’ll it be tomorrow?”

“Sod off.”

So what if he could pick out whatever potion she used off of smell alone. She wished he’d just keep his sharp nose to himself.

Unfortunately, naming her drug-of-the-day turned into a daily exercise of his. Every day, without fail, he’d find a way to drop his infuriatingly accurate deductions. She’d taken to making her own additions to standard ingredients to try and throw him off. Peppermint, thyme, Lady’s Mantle. Her variations brought odd little smiles to his face and he’d hum in what almost sounded like appreciation before guessing correctly yet again.

Worse, her coping methods were starting to fail her.

Despite all her glamour charms, she’d started seeing her scars like phantoms on her skin. She could cast the spells in her sleep and had taken to doing so the moment she awoke before even getting out of bed.

Even her concoctions seemed to be failing her, and she placed the blame squarely on Malfoy. They’d been perfectly fine until he’d woken up from his stupor and started tormenting her with his little game. She shouldn’t have cared so much; she should be floating on clouds, completely at ease with the world around her. 

And now, he’d followed her into the bathroom.

“I want to see it,” he said.

“See, what, exactly,” Hermione snapped, looking at him in the mirror’s reflection from where she leaned against the sink. 

“The scar Aunt Bella made.” Silvery eyes glinted in the dim light.

“You first.”

She hadn’t expected him to concede. She thought he’d leave, maybe say something spiteful.

Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up the sleeve to bare his left forearm. Hermione finally turned around then, if only to get a better look at the Mark still burned into his skin. She’d wondered if it had disappeared over time, or, at the very least, faded.

The skull and snake stood out sharply against his pale flesh, looking as fresh as she imagined it had at the start. She wouldn’t have known. There hadn’t been an occasion for her to see back then. She wouldn’t know now if he hadn’t followed her and she hadn’t taunted him. 

She stared and she stared and she stared.

And then he stood in front of her, having walked forward into her space and now holding his arm up in some kind of twisted offering, one that she took without even thinking about it. The moment her fingers touched his skin, he brought his hand up, ignoring her flinch, to push aside her hair and press two fingers against the exact spot where he knew her scar lay hidden. “Here?”

Hermione’s hand rotated so she now gripped his wrist lightly, thumb rubbing circles across the skull’s dome. She dragged her eyes up to look into his and nodded, then she closed them and released her magic.

This time it was his palm against her neck, cupping the curve, and his thumb running along the silvery white cut now visible to his eyes.

Even though she’d dropped her glamours and someone else’s eyes could see her imperfections, the demons in her head stayed quiet. Maybe they sensed their brethren within Malfoy. Maybe they’d return the moment she was alone again. Maybe it was pure shock from his touch, gentle in its study of her.

When his hand slipped away and he stepped back, Hermione prepared for a return to privacy, for his curiosity to be satiated in proof.

He surprised her once again.

He slowly uncuffed and rolled up his other sleeve, shifted his bag more securely on his shoulder, and jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.”

Within this bathroom where the faucet leaked and the candles flickered, casting shadows against the glass, she stared at Draco Malfoy and chewed her lip in indecision. She couldn’t read his expressions, but she thought his eyes might have softened.

He rolled both sleeves back down and waited for her to recast her glamours, before saying lightly, “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

He walked to the door, holding it open for her even though students passing by double took at the sight of a boy walking out of the girls’ washroom. 

Hermione could handle five minutes of mutual vulnerability every now and then. Maybe those five minutes would lengthen into fifteen, then into an hour, and then maybe, just maybe, one morning she’d wake up and not need glamours or potions at all.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the boy with his own impeccable mask and starched cuffs. She still thought his nose was too pointy, the pale scruff on his jaw in dire need of a shave.

“Same time tomorrow?”

WC 1494

Prompt taken from Twitter dramioneprompts

Cross-posted on AO3

I place all of the blame of my little jaunt here on all the angst I’ve been reading lately, particularly Colubrina, whose works I’ve been slowly going through on AO3 over the past few days. I typically stick to romantic fluff, but now and then consecutive days of rain puts me in a more subdued mood. Did I mention this is my favorite time of year?

[shivvroys]

i know this has been done already but since u reblogged a post about it i would absolutely kill for your take on if karolina found shiv scheduling her grief instead of tom 🙏

first off, thank you so much for the ask, and sorry for the long long wait!!

secondly, i've cheated a bit - this was supposed to be a part of the fic that i'm currently writing, but i've had to cut it. I'm really fond of it, though, so I hope you like it :)

it's a much milder take than i'd envisioned, and in the context of an established relationship i definitely would've made it angstier, but i think it fits somewhat close to canon

read below <3

'Indulged child' — seven letters, starts with an S or the healing properties of the NYT Games app

Karolina steps into the meeting room, tension already melting off her shoulders, and almost trips on the poorly installed carpeting when she spots Siobhan sitting at the end of the conference table. Her head is bowed, cradled between her hands, so Karolina can’t see her face.

“Oh, sorry.” she blinks, stopping a few feet away from the table. “I didn’t know you had the room booked.”

Karolina watches as Shiv turns her head, attempting to cover the fact that she’d been crying. She wipes hurriedly at her nose, and only meets Karolina’s eyes after she’s composed herself.

“It’s fine.” she shrugs. “I’m done anyway.”

Then, Shiv rises from her chair quickly and begins clearing her things off the table before Karolina has the chance to say anything. She hasn’t brought many things: some pens, a notebook that’s been opened on a blank page, a pack of tissues, Shiv’s tablet—just enough knick-knacks to make it seem like she’d been working. Shiv’s back is turned to Karolina so she can’t see all of the table, but she knows it couldn’t take more than a few seconds to gather everything.

Still, she stays silent, watching the lines of Shiv’s shoulders like landmines, like birds about to take flight. As if reminding herself of their existence—and reminding herself to control them, she pulls her hands closer to herself.

“Are you—”

“I’m good.” Shiv cuts her off. She finally turns to face Karolina, her things now stacked on top of each other in her hands. “It’s all yours.” she nods towards the table.

Karolina takes a tentative step forward as Shiv starts making her way out of the room. As she approaches the table, she spots Shiv’s phone lying face down. She sets her things on the table, before turning to Shiv.

“Oh, Shiv, I think you forgot—”

As she calls out, the phone begins ringing. She picks it up, turning it around to see the timer notification flashing on the screen.

“Were you meditating?” she frowns, cracking a smile.

She reaches to hand Shiv the phone, pretending not to see the tiny trail of blood pooling at the base of her thumb nail.

“No.” Shiv swallows. A beat. “Crying, actually, yeah.”

She clears her throat, tilting her head as if challenging Karolina to say anything. To throw a punch.

“I—I’m so sorry, Shiv.” Karolina blinks, barely croaking the words out. “I’ll let you—”

“It’s fucking fine, Karolina.” Shiv snaps. “Take the goddamn room. I’m done.”

Her eyes are red-rimmed, and the hand she’s raised to silence Karolina is just shy of shaking.

“I’m just hiding out from Kendall.” Karolina sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “He keeps asking me for feedback on his pitch but all it is, is just—buzzwords.”

She catches the faintest smile flash across Shiv’s face, which spurs her on.

“Dynamic. Innovation. Convergence.” she coos, raising her brows and shaking her hands in front of herself like an old-timey snake-oil seller.

That gets a full-fledged chuckle out of Shiv, and when Karolina drops her hands and sets her face into a familiar scowl it erupts into real laughter. She lets Shiv enjoy this brief reprieve, before gesturing to the room.

“So please, take the room. I have my assistant blocking it as important, so it’s yours for the next hour. I can hide out someplace else.”

She doesn’t give Shiv a chance to refuse, grabbing her things and turning to leave before Shiv takes a step forwards, blocking her way.

“I’m not going to sit here and cry for an entire fucking hour.” Shiv scowls, shaking her head. Then, she nods towards Karolina’s bag and the laptop peeking out of it. “What were you gonna do while you were hiding?”

“Catch up on work, probably, I don’t know.” Karolina pulls her lips into a tight line. “Maybe a crossword?”

“Crossword?” Shiv raises a brow. She looks Karolina up and down, frowning. “How old are you, again?”

“Right, sorry—” Karolina sucks her teeth, raising a pointed brow. “I assume the last puzzle you were able to solve came on the back of a cereal box?”

“Well, yeah, because after that I got real hobbies.” Shiv shakes her head, her grinning. “What, d’you play those hidden object games, too? Look for tiny fucking keys in those weird drawings?”

Karolina looks down as her cheeks start burning. Shiv catches it, and bursts into laughter.

“Oh my god. Karolina, no.”

A part of her wants to believe she’s only doing it for Siobhan’s sake. That she’s humoring the other woman as an act of kindness—some version of an apology for not extending any kind of support after Logan’s death. But she’s apologized enough times in her life to know one rarely finds delight in the act of apology, so when her eyes meet Shiv’s and she lets her lips turn up into a smile, Karolina knows the real reason she hasn’t left the room already is much simpler—she doesn’t want to.

“What hobby should I pick up, then, Siobhan?”

“God, there’s so many.” Shiv’s cheeks puff out. “Let’s see…”

She starts listing what Karolina guesses are her ideas of a pensioner’s hobbies: gardening, knitting, pickling, making jams—getting all the way down to walking around parks and standing all still and creepy to watch pigeons.

With each finger she uses to enumerate, Shiv’s grin widens. Karolina nods her along, pretending to be impressed until Shiv runs out of ideas.

“Or just volunteer at an elderly home.” she shrugs. “I’m sure the ladies would love to have you over for canasta.”

“Mhm.” Karolina nods, pursing her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

They sit in silence for a brief moment, neither making a first step.

“So, uh, can I see one?” Shiv finally asks.

“See what?”

“One of your crosswords, nerd.” she chuckles.

“Oh.” Karolina blinks. “I mean—really, Shiv, I can let you be—” she points to the door.

“Well, I don’t feel like crying anymore.” Shiv clears her throat, cutting her off. “And I don’t feel like going back out there yet, so… Unless you’re, you know, very private about your… crosswords.”

Karolina rolls her eyes. As she turns around to rummage through her bag for her tablet, Shiv steps closer until she’s right behind Karolina. When she leans forward to put her own things back on the table her arm brushes against Karolina’s. From up close, Karolina can distinguish each thin trail of blood wrapped around the irises of her eyes, and the blue shadows creeping up from under her concealer.

In the months after her own father’s passing, Karolina remembers going through them like candies.

Each week, she would reach into the bottom of her bag and pull up crumpled up receipts for concealer, whiskey, and the occasional lottery ticket—her dad’s guilty pleasure.

She used the same numbers each time, just like he'd taught her: each of their birthdays, twenty-eight, and eleven.

On the last ticket she bought, she put down the date of his death: seventeen, three, twenty, eight, then twenty-eight, and eleven.

It won her $10 that she never bothered to cash in.

So, she knows what it’s like—the make-up, the perfectly timed crying breaks, the split ends, the furrowed brows. The way it would hit (and still does, sometimes, on rainy days) so suddenly it would leave her breathless, like something had dislodged itself within her chest and all day long she’d have go on with her business as if that horrible rattling wasn’t ringing in her ears and reverberating inside her entire body like a war drum.

Karolina knows what Shiv is going through, but she also knows that grief is like a fingerprint. That it belongs so intimately to the person going through it. Defined by the very matter of their being, and from the moment it has formed—defining them in return.

So she doesn’t offer an apology, or a hug or, worse, advice. Instead, she sits down and waits for Shiv to do the same. When she does, Karolina turns on her tablet and opens the crossword app with her upturned hand stretched out towards Shiv, palm open and fingerprints exposed.

Then, Karolina begins explaining the basic rules of crosswords.

[babyminty]

Cg Mammon/Little Lucifer

Mammon was on his way to Lucifer's office to bug him until he gave Mammon some more Grimm. He didn't actually need it, but he found it fun to irritate Lucifer.

When he got to Lucifer's office, he opened the door and strolled in. He saw Lucifer at his desk, a pen in his hand, and a paper on front of him, working on something that Mammon assumed was paper work, but when Lucifer noticed Mammon enter, he quickly hid the page in between some other pages which wad unusual. Mammon shrugged it off, deciding to ignore it for now.

"Hey, Lucifer, mind lending yer brother some Grimm?" Mammon asked. Lucifer only scowled at him, shook his head, and looked away. This was another strange thing that Lucifer had done, but again, Mammon decided to ignore it.

"Please, Luci? Pretty please?" Mammon tried, attempting to do puppy eyes. Lucifer scowled. "No." He said, slightly more quietly than he normally would, which was a third thing out of the ordinary, and this time, Mammon couldn't ignore it.

"Why are ya acting so weirdly?" Mammon asked. "M not." Lucifer replied. "Yes, you are! You've been acting weird ever since I came in!" Mammon raised his voice, but only because he was worried about his brother. Lucifer did not see it that way, though. Instead, he saw it as Mammon getting mad at him.

"Get out." Lucifer said. "What?" Mammon did not expect that reaction. "Get out!" Lucifer repeated, raising his voice slightly this time. He felt like he was going to cry because he felt like Mammon was mad at him, and he was desperate to not cry in front of his brother.

"Okay, okay." Mammon said, backing out of the room and closing the door. He has seen the tears forming in Lucifer's eyes, and wanted to stay and comfort him, but decided against it as he was worried it would cause Lucifer even more distress, so instead Mammon went to the kitchen to make Lucifer a muffin.

He returned back to the office once he had a muffin. When he walked in, he could tell Lucifer had been crying but didn't comment on it. Instead, he gave Lucifer the muffin.

"Tank chu." Lucifer thanked Mammon. He has become a bit hungry after crying. Mammon startled slightly, taking a few seconds to realise that Lucifer was regressed. He decided to bring that up later, but for now, he felt like he needed to apologize.

"I'm sorry about earlier when I was saying that ya were acting weird." Mammon apologized. Lucifer stopped nibbling at the muffin, instead turning to look at Mammon with wide eyes. "Not mad?" He asked.

Mammon paused. "Why would I be mad?" He questioned. "You raised voice." Lucifer told him. "What? No, I wasn't raising my voice because I was mad at ya." Mammon said. "You weren't?" Lucifer asked, just to make sure.

"No, I was just worried about ya. Wait, were ya crying 'cause ya thought I was mad at ya?" Mammon questioned. Lucifer shyly nodded his head. "I'm not mad at ya. I definitely couldn't be mad at ya when ya are regressed." Mammon stated.

"You... know?" Lucifer asked uncertainly. Mammon nodded his head. "Yup, and I would like to look after ya and help make the day better for ya if ya will let me?" Mammon offered.

Lucifer enthusiastically nodded his head before running over to his desk, quickly finishing the muffin before grabbing a few pens and a blank page as well as finding the paper he had hidden earlier. He handed the blank paper to Mammon before sitting down on the ground, laying the pens out in front of him.

Mammon sat down next to him. "Are we drawing?" He asked. Lucifer nodded before picking up a pen and placed his paper in front of him, revealing that he had been drawing earlier as well. Mammon picked up a pen and started to draw on his own blank page.

[seasidepierre]

Hi <3

You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to ask for help. To express your sadness and your worries, heartbreak and despair. It's a good thing that you do because those things need to come out.

It's good to write things down when the thoughts are spiraling and everything is overwhelming. Like writing down a list of the emotions. Fear, sadness, anger. Describe in words how they feel in your body. If there are tears let them flow. It's a release. I know you don't want to feel like this but it is healing to allow it to overwhelm you completely sometimes instead of holding it in.

That inner voice that tells you horrible things things, give it a name. Imagine what it looks like. Separate it from yourself. That way it's easier to respond to it with a kind voice. One that knows better.

You are not a burden. You don't suck. You're amazing actually. Strong as fuck.

You don't need to answer this, I don't know if it will help at all but you're not alone. I'm anonymous but I care about you and I want you to take care of yourself. Wrap yourself in a blanket, cry it out. Maybe eat something tasty and then rest <3

I tried writing and it ended up frustrating me even more. I used to journal a lot, but I haven't journalled since March and I'm neurotic in the sense that I don't want to skip the months I didn't write about, so I should catch up and fill my journal with all the memories I've made since then, except everytime I sit down in front of it, I blank really hard on how to put everything down in an aesthetically pleasing manner, because of course spilling my sorrows on a page has to look pretty in a way, and and and and and

You see the issue?

I'm just annoying, I guess.

But thank you for this, it helps to know I'm not alone in this. I'll go to bed and try to watch something nice for tonight.

[mrwavellswaps]

The you that you always wanted to be

“If I’d realised just how much work Mr Thompson had to do then I would’ve swapped with Coach instead…” Josh huffed as he sat typing in front of his teachers laptop. “At least this body and cock still feel great.” He reached down, grabbing his crotch through his teachers suit pants again, feeling along the outline of his mature new cock.

***

This all began earlier that day. Josh had been scouring the internet searching up stuff about men body swapping and getting possessed. It was a kink he’d had for awhile now and he always loved to look up stories or video’s about it. This day however he came across a strange site named ‘BodilyMischief.com’. When clicking on it he thought it’d just be another site for posting stories and what not but what he found was rather different.

Upon entering the site, the first thing that caught Josh’s eyes was the slogan pasted across the top of the screen.

“Be the you that you always wanted to be!”

Under it was a was a short paragraph explaining that this site had been used by hundreds of lucky individuals around the world to help them achieve their dreams and fantasies. Josh however was more interested in the options presented underneath. Three choices all laid for him in big bold letters.

These included: Possession, Transformation and Body Swap.

Of course Josh was incredibly curious though he still had no idea what he was getting himself into. He decided to choose the “Body Swap” option, still thinking this was still some random fantasy site of sorts. Next thing he knew he was redirected to a new page with some new options to go with it. On the left there was a section named “Participant 1” that'd already been auto-filled with characteristics like hair colour, eyes, skin, height, even name and age. But…that was the creepy part. It was Josh’s name. Josh’s age. His hair colour. His exact height! This random website somehow had all this info about him…but how!? He hadn’t signed in or agreed to anything that would give the site that kind of information. And it was so detailed…it was scary. It even knew his exact dick size for crying out loud!

Josh had half a mind to close the site right then and there. His curser hovered over the exit button in the corner of the screen, his finger ready to click but…he didn’t. As creeped out as he was, his curiosity got the better of him. And so he continued to further investigate whatever this site was.

On the right of the page there was another section labelled “participant 2” in which all the boxes were blank. Scrolling down he also hadn’t failed to notice a large red button labelled “SWAP”. Of course Josh was able to put two and two together to figure what this site was offering but that was impossible right? There’s no way it could actually be real. Despite that Josh still couldn’t help but be curious as well as get a raging hard on at the idea that this site could ACTUALLY body swap with anyone he wanted.

He scrolled back up to the top of the participant 2 section where there was a search box. In it he typed the first name that came to mind in his body swap fantasy, “Kevin Thompson”. Mr Thompson was one of Josh’s teachers that he’d been crushing on and fantasising about for a awhile now. Upon typing the name there were of course multiple results but each result came with a mugshot photo. That really should’ve been another red flag yet Josh couldn’t help but get more excited when he found the face of his teacher a couple names down. Upon clicking on the correct Mr Thompson the rest of the boxes filled themselves out with all the info about the man. He gave it a skim read and could help but grin when he saw the dick measurement sitting at an impressive 8 inches!

With that, all that was left was to press that big red button at the bottom of the page. Josh’s hand quivered with excitement as the cursor hovered over the button. His mind was racing a mile a minute wondering if this would work. And so, with hope in his heart, Josh pressed the the button.

‘Would you like to set an ideal time for the swap to occur’

A pop-up plastered itself on the screen. Josh was under the impression he would’ve swapped right then a there but this made things a bit more interesting. It was currently 4:10pm and he knew Mr Thompson should be at home by about 5:00pm and so he set the timer to an hour from now. Upon pressing confirm, an hour countdown appeared on the screen. Now all he had to do was wait.

As you’d imagine, that one hour felt excruciating long. Josh found himself checking the computer 3 times a minute with anticipation, starting to regret setting a timer at all. But after what felt like centuries, it finally reached the last minute. Josh’s eyes were fixed to the screen, watching the numbers slowly go down one by one until it reached the last 10 seconds…

‘10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1’

‘…0’

The moment the timer ran out, Josh’s vision blurred as everything around began to spin and change. For a few moments he could barely see or feel anything at all. It was terrifying. Thankfully this didn’t last long as he soon started to stabilise again but when he did, things were very different. Instead of his bedroom, Josh was now stood in the middle of an unfamiliar kitchen with a half made sandwich in front of him. His entire body felt weird and different not to mention the fact that he was now wearing a suit…that was identical to the one he’d seen Mr Thompson wearing earlier that day…

Stepping away from the countertop, Josh looked down at himself. He felt much taller and even a bit slimmer as his hand brushed down his dress shirt. He could feel a prickly layer of hair across his chest and stomach underneath while he guided his hands up and down his torso. As he licked his lips however, there was the strangest feeling of thick hair around his mouth. His hands then shot up towards his face. Before he could barely grow facial hair at all but now he could feel a full on mustache and goatee coating his face along with some scratchy stubble across his cheeks. The hair on his head on the other hand was much shorter and styled in an unfamiliar fashion from the feel of it.

“No…fucking…way…” His voice sounded deeper…older…just like Mr Thompson. It worked. That creepy body swapping website had actually worked! He was in Mr Thompson’s body! He had to be! Well there was only one way to confirm it; he needed a mirror and somehow he knew exactly where to find one. In the bedroom of course. For some reason he just…knew that.

As he stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room he got a weird sense of familiarity despite never having seen the room. Maybe being in Mr Thompson’s body was affecting his mind somehow. Fitting it to his new body and life perhaps.

With that, Josh soon made his way up the stairs and into the also rather familiar looking bedroom to find a large closet with a mirror on it’s door. His face lit up with glee upon seeing his reflection. It was real. He really was Mr Thompson! He was stood in Mr Thompson’s house, wearing his suit, in his body!

In all the excitement his new cock had sprung to life creating a very visible bulge in his suit pants. Josh couldn’t help but shiver as he grasped it through the fabric. God was it thick. The site certainly wasn’t lying about that things size. He rubbed a hand across his python as it throbbed, begging to be set free. However he couldn’t help but turn his backside to the mirror first to get a good look at his new teacher butt first. It certainly wasn’t bad. Had some good shape and the suit pants showed it off well. All it needed was some squats to plump it up a little and he was golden.

Turning back around Josh had half a mind to pull his cock out and jerk off right then and there but before he had the chance a realisation hit him. He couldn’t jerk off now, he had student essays to mark and future lessons to plan. Despite how incredibly horny he was feeling he just couldn’t do it, instead opting to head back down into the living room where he sat on the couch in-front of Mr Thompson’s laptop. “Stupid teacher brain.” He thought to himself as he rubbed his crotch while beginning to work through all the stuff he now had to get done.

Josh spent hours marking all sorts of different student assignments from the classes he would now be teaching apparently. It was weird as his body was doing it all on auto pilot almost as he knew exactly what to write and correct. It was like he’d inherited all of Mr Thompson’s knowledge and muscle memory.

“If I’d realised just how much work Mr Thompson had to do then I would’ve swapped with Coach instead…” Josh huffed as he sat typing in front of his teachers laptop. “At least this body and cock still feel great.” He reached down, grabbing his crotch through his teachers suit pants again, feeling along the outline of his mature new cock.

It wasn’t until 7:45pm that Josh was able to finish every last bit of work that Mr Thompson had planned to do that evening, letting out a long sigh of relief as he shut down the laptop. “Finally you and me can have some fun.” He stated as he finally allowed himself to pull out his cock. It looked just as impressive it’d felt. Josh leaned back into the couch, gripping his cock firmly as he began pumping. He just couldn’t believe he was not only jacking off Mr Thompson fat cock but that it was actually his now! Using his free hand, he ripped open his dress shirt to comb though his chest hair and pinch at his nipples. God his new body felt incredible.

As he jerked Josh couldn’t help but pull out his new phone to look at his new face in the camera. Seeing the image of Kevin Thompson staring back at him, mimicking his every movement and expression only made him harder. He thought about how he’d began to take on some of Mr Thompson’s personality traits and habits and, as annoying as some of them were, how was insanely hot being able to act just like the man he’d been lusting after ever since getting to college. He knew most of the other gay guys he knew had a crush on his current body as well and honestly who could blame them. He was a hot silver daddy now and could probably get any guy he wanted.

“Awwhh fuuuck…” The new teacher daddy groaned, feeling his cock getting closer by the second. He couldn’t help but pump faster and harder as he imagined using his new body to pound the bubble butts of other hot daddies or getting them to shove their massive dicks inside his virgin dad hole like a slut. With that thought in mind, his cock and balls tensed up while his eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy before a thick musky load erupted from his 8 incher. Thick cum squirted all over his hairy torso and even getting into his beard while his cock bucked rhythmically, trying to pump out every last drop. “Fuuuck…I’m fuckin Kevin Thompson now…” he muttered between breaths as he came back to his senses.

The new Kevin laid on the couch coated in his own seed for a good minute or so, relishing in what had become his new reality. When he finally reopened his eyes, he started scooping up as much cum as he could, shovelling it into his mouth like candy.

Eventually he shoved his softened dick back in his pants and got himself cleaned up. He knew he had a only few more hours before he’d want to get to bed for an early start to tomorrow but that was plenty enough time for him to explore what else his new life and body had to offer. Of course Kevin had a ton of fun sifting through his new closet and trying on a bunch of different suits and outfits he now owned, getting such a rush when each piece of clothing fit his body like a glove.

When it finally came time for him to sleep, Kevin found himself lying awake for a fair while just fondling his cock and balls in bed as he thought about what it could’ve been like had he swapped with the coach instead. He loved his new body, no doubt about it, but the coach would be a whole new experience. All that size and machismo not to mention that intoxicating musk that followed him everywhere he went. Fuck he was getting hard again just thinking about it. Maybe once he’d had his fun in this body, Kevin could try finding that site again to switch with Coach and give his life a shot.

Part 2: https://mrwavellswaps.tumblr.com/post/676580178269552640/the-you-that-you-always-wanted-to-be-part-2

[helliontherapscallion]

A Surrealistic Life (Adrenaline Junkie Part 17)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, derealization, depression, grief, blood, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks

Word count: 3,385

                                          ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You cried in Philza’s arms for hours on end until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your head was left pounding and your throat scratchy from the loud crying, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, without Arthur you were nothing. The past two and a half years just- just didn’t exist. Your mind was still reeling, the words ‘will you always be with me?’ echoing through your mind constantly filling you with guilt. 

With one last shuddering inhale, you separated yourself from Philza and wiped at the tears that had long since dried on your face. His eyes, vigilant as ever, scanned your form looking for any sign of distress. In his eyes, you saw pity and grief. This angered you, you didn’t need his pity; you were long past the point of pitiful glances. Well, you were, he wasn’t. 

You purse your lips as you watch his eyes flick between your wing and where your other wing was supposed to be. Sorrow flashes in his eyes before he looks back at you with a small, painfully fake smile. With one hand, he gently pushes your shoulder down back onto the bed and stands up. 

“I’ll be back, you get some rest.” 

With the slightest hint of a nod, you watched as he lingered in the doorway before hesitantly walking out of your room. After he left your room, you locked the door behind him. That door remained locked for weeks on end, every knock or attempt at conversation was never answered by you. Their words were nothing but background noise in the back of your mind. 

Instead of responding, you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes thinking about nothing but everything you’ve lost. Only occasionally you would leave your room to attend to your most basic needs when you were sure that everybody was asleep or out of the house. 

The days meshed together as your thoughts consume you in a whirlwind of unorganized messes. Several times, you’ve worked yourself into panic attacks and paranoia filled spiraling because you didn’t know what was real anymore. 

Being left alone with your thoughts was something that you always avoided by constantly tinkering with contraptions, your thoughts wandered off to places that greatly disturbed you. But now, you let those thoughts wash over you without a care. Your dreams reflected this; they were plagued with images of Arthur looking up at you with large puppy dog eyes and a large smile before he would be sucked into darkness screaming for you to help him, to do anything, but you were always glued in place leaving you to watch helplessly as he left you over and over again. 

Another common one you would have is Arthur getting lost in a bellowing snowstorm in the dead of night. You would be wandering through thick snow calling his name until you would come across a small, pale hand peeking out of an abnormal lump of snow; dread would always fill you during those dreams, it was a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.

Other dreams, though very rare, would be pleasant; whether they were about you and Arthur whistling a small tune as you both invented something or a small picnic on the cliff laughing freely into the air, you would always wake up in the mornings prepared to greet him and cook breakfast with him. It wasn’t until you moved your right arm and found that it had limited mobility that you realized that everything was a dream.

You hated those dreams, they always gave you a false sense of hope that everything was okay. Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing. 

You refused to believe that… whatever was going on didn’t happen; Philza had said that the last few years had been fake, something that your mind had made up as some form of coping mechanism, but who’s to say that this isn’t a hallucination as well? Both your experiences felt completely different from each other, this reality could be the hallucination for all you knew. 

The only thing on your mind was how you needed to get back to Arthur in any possible way you could. If Arthur didn’t exist in this reality, you didn’t want to be in it. You need him and he needs you, you didn’t want to imagine a reality without him. If you got yourself into this by dying, perhaps that was your ticket back to him. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this. 

You were going to get your son back, and you were going to die trying. 

Until then, you just have to wait out your family. They’d just stop you in the end and you couldn’t have that. You’d have to put on an act that you were perfectly fine and that would entail inventing everything over again, but you were fine with that; if you made it once, you can make it again. 

With a newfound sense of purpose, you searched your closet for your old cloak but then you remembered you got your cloak weeks after your first death. Groaning to yourself, you settled for your old bomber jacket. The slits in the back of it wouldn’t cover your nub, so you awkwardly tucked it underneath the fabric of the cloth. It shot pain down your spine, but you shook it off; the pain was something you could handle, you’ve had worse. 

Without another thought, you quietly left your room with only one destination in mind. 

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

You softly padded down the basement stairs towards your workshop. When you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, you paused and looked around. The walls that were once covered with sloppy sketches and words written in two different handwritings, both equally as messy and rushed, were barren for the most part; you forgot that the walls were painted an off white color. Your filing cabinets were gone, replaced with cardboard boxes containing old clothes and toys with thick layers of dust sitting peacefully on top of them. The crafting table sat in the corner of the room wasn’t worn, in fact it looked brand new, not a scratch could be seen on the surface. 

Everything was wrong. 

You numbly walked over to your desk and picked up the paper that laid on it, holding it up to the light. It was the first draft to your TNT launcher. The sight of the crude, minimal sketches made you cringe, it was far too messy; you had no idea how you could make out what your sloppy handwriting pointed to or what materials were supposed to go where. 

You dropped the paper and let it flutter to the floor without a care. Your eyes flickered over the desk and eyed the notebook sitting on top of a stack of spare papers. A spark of hope ignited inside of you, this was the notebook Arthur so often doodled in with different ideas of what could be invented. 

You snatched it and flipped the front cover over with haste. A wide smile stretched your lips when you caught sight of the small handwriting that littered the page. It was yours, but you had given it to Arthur so that he could learn and copy from your early years. It was perfect for a blueprint template, neat and organized. 

However as you flipped through the book, your smile dropped and the little hope that flared in your chest was snuffed out. You stared at the blank page as frustration built up inside of you. Before you knew it, you threw the notebook at the opposite wall as hard as you could. You were left standing in the middle of the cold basement with your chest heaving and your teeth gritted. 

Everything was so wrong. So, so wrong. 

You heard footsteps thunder down the stairs before they came to a stop behind you. Hesitant footsteps made their way over to you, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. 

“(Y/n)? Is everything-”

“Nothing is okay, Tommy,” you gritted out, “absolutely nothing about this is okay.” 

He said nothing as he walked around you and put his hand on your clenched fist, his fingers curling around yours and opening your hand. Your palm stung slightly as you glanced down at it. Four small, crescent shaped cuts were imprinted on your skin slowly starting to glisten with blood. 

Huffing, you ripped your hand out of his grasp and glanced at his face. You caught yourself doing a double take as you saw just how innocent he looked. No sign of hidden pain in his shining blue eyes, no scars littering his skin, and the bags that once made him look years older was nonexistent. He was your annoying, gremlin of a little brother again. He was Tommy again. 

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

“No reason,” you breathed out before you shook your head trying to rid your mind of your frustrations, “no reason at all…”

He awkwardly coughed and nodded slightly, “right…”  

You cleared your throat and glanced off to the side at the book laying on the floor. Tommy’s eyes followed where you were looking and went to pick it up. You felt a twinge in your heart as he started to flip through it much like you did earlier. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, “why’d you throw this? What’d the book do to you?” He jokingly asked you. 

“It didn’t do anything and that’s the problem,” you mumbled out before you snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it into the trash can. 

“Why are you acting so weird? I know you just died and all, but you never let that notebook out of your sight and now you’re just tossing it into the bin!” Tommy fished it out of the trash can and haphazardly placed it back onto your desk on top of the stack of unused paper. You could feel your eye twitch at it’s placement before you threw it away again. 

“Leave it there, I don’t want it. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” you murmured under your breath. 

“Why wouldn’t you need it- wait, don’t tell me you’re quitting working with redstone. Cuz I’ll have you know that you’re going to be the best goddamned inventor this gods forsaken world has ever known and-”

“I’m not going to quit,” you interrupted him, “trust me, I’ll need whatever I can make. I just… don’t need it anymore, I already know exactly what I need to make.” I can’t stand the sight of Arthur’s notebook so empty and blank your mind supplied yourself. 

He tilted his head slightly, “even without the bluepri-”

“Even without the blueprints,” you curtly nodded and automatically turned to look at the bulletin board hanging above your desk only to sigh when you once again saw that it was barren. “I made these things thousands of times before, I know what I’m doing,” your gaze zeroed in on the half finished blueprint for your automatic crossbow, “I’ll just make them again.” 

Tommy once again looked at you with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, you could just see the curiosity and confusion swimming around in his baby blue orbs, “what do you mean, you literally only have one prototype of everything on here.” 

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so just drop it.” You hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, but the frustration was just too overwhelming to ignore. Just as you could see him start to get dejected from the corner of your eye, you made quick work of changing the subject.

“You know, I could hear what you said when I wasn’t awake. I really appreciated the music, it was a nice change of pace.”

He tensed before his eyes were drawn to the empty space over your shoulder. His breath hitched slightly as a sorrowful look appeared in his eyes. Looking back at you, he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t struggle against him despite your frustrations, you knew he needed you right now. You could still remember how broken he was when you were unconscious. The way his lip wobbled slightly before he hugged you reminded you of Arthur. 

You gently hugged him back and wrapped your wing around him. He gripped you tighter, his breath shuddering as wetness started to hit your head. You said nothing as you started to hum and run your fingers along his back tracing out patterns without a particular one in mind. 

Eventually, he pulled away from you and chuckled sardonically, wiping his tears away with a fist, “you’re the one who died and I’m the one being comforted. Gods, it’s pathetic.” 

“It’s okay to feel emotions, Tommy. You should never bottle them up, it sounded like you needed a good hug anyways. I’m happy to give you that,” you softly told him.  

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, avoiding your gaze. For a moment, your tall brother was replaced by a short, red haired boy wearing that same expression. You purse your lips in thought, your previous frustrations completely gone and replaced with an urge to comfort him or at least distract him. Though a deep sadness dragged your body down at the thought of Arthur, Tommy just reminded you too much of him. It was eerily uncanny in your opinion.

Ideas swarmed your head as you thought back to how you comforted Arthur when he fell down. Besides talking to him, you would always teach him something; knowledge to Arthur is- was like a sponge absorbing water. It gave him a distraction to whatever got him down, maybe that would work for Tommy as well. 

Wordlessly, you walked over to your desk and gestured for him to follow you. You plopped him into your office chair and pulled one of the cardboard boxes up to the desk. In the process, you grabbed your gloves, goggles, and everything you would need to set up a simple timed piston. The smallest spark of happiness flashed inside you as you saw that your resources were fully stocked. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Well, Tommy, I’m going to show you how to set up one of my favorite redstone mechanisms. Put these on,” you handed him the gloves and goggles and watched as he put them on. The goggles were a bit small on him, but besides that, everything fit him. 

“Now, you’re going to want to…”

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

Hours passed as you both worked together on the contraption. Slowly, you could see Tommy loosening up and making more jokes, successfully distracted. However, you didn’t expect yourself to follow suit. Laughter came easier to you whenever Tommy would joke around, your troubles long forgotten. 

It took a little longer than you were used to, but eventually Tommy started to follow along with the precision you’d expect from a beginner. Slowly but surely, with many mistakes along the way, there was a working piston system sitting on the desk. 

Tommy triumphantly laughed into the air as he watched the pistons work in tandem with one another. You laughed alongside him and ruffled his hair, “nice job, Artie! I knew you could do it!” 

Tommy completely stopped and looked at you in confusion, “‘Artie’? Who’s that?” 

You completely froze in place, you hadn’t meant to call him Artie. He was Tommy, he was your blond little brother, not your ginger son. Tommy was his own person, he was Tommy, not Arthur. You mentally scolded yourself for constantly mixing the two up. 

“Artie is- well, he’s just… Arthur is my old friend,” you stammered out after tripping over your words clumsily. Tommy couldn’t find out about Arthur, nobody could. That’d just ruin your plan. 

He snorted, “sure, ‘old friend’. You know, if Dad finds out that you’re dating someone he’d ground you for life.” 

“I’d never date anybody, you know that,” you scolded him with your nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s just an old friend and you remind me of him.”

“Well, old friend or not, he sounds amazing if I remind you of him!”

You smiled sadly as your mind flashed to images of Arthur at various points in his life, “he really was, you would’ve loved him, Tommy. He might’ve been the best person I’ve ever met.” 

“Why don’t you tell me about him? I can preen your wings-” Tommy abruptly stopped himself and looked like he’d just accidentally kicked a puppy, looking at you with wide eyes and red tinted cheeks. 

Just as he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, you chuckled at his expression, “you’re fine, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time for you to get used to this,” you shifted your wing and cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. You haven’t preened your wings since before you left for the cave nearly two months ago, and your wing was a mess of bent and loose feathers. “I’d… actually like a good preening, are you sure you know how to do it?” 

“Please,” he scoffed before pushing you to sit down in your desk chair, “I’ve seen you and Dad do it to each other thousands of times, I think I know what I’m doing.” 

“That isn’t how that- you know what? Just go ahead. Make sure you get any loose feathers and straighten them out,” you stretched your wing out and hoped for the best. Tommy surprisingly did a decent job of straightening out feathers, he just had to work on distinguishing loose feathers from intact feathers (you were now missing a couple of smaller feathers). 

The entire time, you were telling him how amazing your boy was. Sure, you might’ve overexaggerated just a little bit, but Arthur was certainly someone that deserved the praise. That kid was something else, truly a prodigy at both redstone and compassion. Leaving out the fact that Arthur was your adopted son and that he was ten years old was a little hard, but you managed to avoid that. 

You could tell that Tommy knew something was different about you, but you guessed that he just assumed the changes were because of your death and not because you were technically two and a half years older than you physically are. 

When he was done, you looked at your wing and you were pleasantly surprised at how well he did; sure there were a few loose feathers and they were partially crooked, but you could tell that Tommy did his best with them. 

“Thanks, Toms,” you smiled at him after you tucked your wing back in, “I really appreciate you doing that, it was starting to bother me.”

“It’s no problem,” he puffed out his chest in pride, “I told you I knew what I was doing.” 

“And I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Who knows, maybe Dad’ll let you do his wings next.” 

“Oh gods no,” Tommy shuddered slightly, “his are massive and he has two of them! If doing yours took me an hour and a half, I’d hate to see how long it’d take me to do his.” 

You cringed, remembering the last time you preened his wings. Though you were experienced, it had taken you two full hours for each wing. “Yeah, his wings are huge. Gods, I hope my wing doesn’t get to be that size.” Though they grew to be nowhere near Philza’s wingspan when you were in that reality, you weren’t sure if yours was going to be larger or smaller than what they were. 

Just as Tommy was about to open his mouth to respond to you, Wilbur’s voice echoed down the stairwell, “Tommy, dinnertime!” 

“Well c’mon then, let’s go. I’ll race you there,” was all Tommy said to you before he bolted up the stairs with a booming laugh, skipping every third step. You could feel your heart stop when he almost tripped on one of the stairs because he skipped too many. Rushing after him, you shouted at him, “Tommy, walk! You’re going to break your neck if you keep running up and down the stairs!”

                                         ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

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[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock  hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

[amyscascadingtabs]

darling, you should know i’m a helicopter

a healthy dose of hurt/comfort with added baby snuggles, because i truly felt for amy in this episode. it's been a long time since i just wrote something quick but i hope you enjoy! 🥰

oh and if you want a picture this is the pajamas mac is wearing, okay cool

read on ao3

 Amy doesn’t mean for it to be a breakdown.

 She’s not surprised when Mac’s familiar piercing cries wake her up again a mere hour and a half after she’s fed him and put him to sleep for the night. As miraculous as Charles’ methods seemed, she still believes some babies are just fussy, and her son is one of them. It’s the only logical conclusion she’s come to after six, eight, ten, and twelve weeks all passed without any notable improvement in Mac’s ability to sleep longer stretches, and now he’s five months old and defying every single baby book and website that informs her he should be well settled into a sleeping schedule by now. He’s just fussy, or a high need baby, or whatever other term with needlessly negative connotations there is to make Amy feel like she's doing a bad job. It’s who he is and it’s what she’s used to, so she just scoots to the edge of the bed and picks him up from his travel cot in her still hurting arms before he can wake up the rest of the house.

On another night, she might have tried to walk around with him first, play some white noise or bounce on the yoga ball with him, but she’s tired and dejected and scared to wake up anyone else, so she goes for the easy option. The buttons of her pink striped pajama shirt are easily accessible for this exact purpose, and resting Mac’s head in the crook of her right arm, she gently guides him to her chest and exhales in relief as the crying comes to a stop. At least this, she can do, and the idiots who write advice pages about how you shouldn’t get your baby used to falling asleep at the breast have probably never even met a real baby.

 She leans back against the pillows when she’s sure Mac’s found a good latch and she can hear his content grunts and swallows. His hand has found a steady grip on her newly washed hair, probably getting drool in it again, but she can’t be bothered to try and unclench his little iron fist when he’s finally happy. Watching his perfect chubby cheeks as they hollow and fill, stroking the soft baby curls that are getting lighter and more like Jake’s every day, Amy’s overcome with another wave of that crazy all-consuming love that keeps surprising her, and then she’s the one who can’t stop her tears from falling.

 The only thing she ever wants is to keep him safe. In a world of pandemics and injustice, where the news gives her anxiety attacks more days than not and everything she thought she knew keeps changing, at least she can make sure Mac has his every need attended to. It’s been her life while staying home for the past five months, and she likes to think she’s handled it well all things considered, but after Charles’ nip tips and three-hour imprisonment of her child, Amy can’t help but feel like she’s done it all wrong.

 Her son is at his happiest when she can’t bother him. Once again, her high-strungness and failure to just be chill have proved her unfit for motherhood. She’s too anxious, too stressed, too overprotective, and the baby in her arms looking up at her with the warmest, roundest brown eyes she’s ever known is seriously unlucky and he doesn’t even know it.

 She doesn’t know where the negative thoughts are coming from, but sometimes breastfeeding has this effect on her – another sign, the self-hating voice in her head whispers – and it’s been an exhausting day, so she lets the tears come and hopes Jake is too deeply asleep to notice her mini-breakdown. Why is this so hard for her, and why can’t she just relax? How come Mac seems to be the only child she’s heard of whose sleeping habits at home have gotten worse and not better after his first few weeks at daycare, and how come even the most gentle of sleep training methods break her heart when Mac cries like he’s been abandoned?

 She’s wiping her tears with her free hand before wiping Mac’s cheeks with the muslin blanket when Jake begins to stir next to her, and even that makes her feel guilty, because he’s had a long day, too. He rubs his hand against her upper arm as if sensing that something’s off, yawning as he pushes himself up into a half-sitting position.

“Hey,” he mumbles in his softest sleepy voice, a worried crease appearing on his forehead. “Are you okay, Ames?”

“Yeah,” she tries, but her voice breaks, so she shakes her head. Mac is starting to pull away, so she unlatches him and sighs when she realizes that the shirt she’d packed clean already has milk stains on it. She rests him upright with his head on her shoulder instead, patting him on the back and trying to stop the tears that won't stop coming.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Is it Charles again? Because I really think he felt bad, but I’m happy to tell him off again if you want me to.”

“It's not Charles.” Amy sighs. “Well, it kind of is, but it's more that... I can't believe the best Mac has ever slept was when I wasn't even there. I try everything and nothing works, and Charles straight-up locks him in a room, and that makes him fall asleep? It feels like more proof I wasn't meant to do this,” she says, and she can see him immediately opening his mouth to protest. “Like even Charles is a more natural mom than I am.”

 Mac makes a hiccuping noise, spitting up a little bit of milk on the muslin blanket Amy put on her shoulder. Jake wipes it away before laying an arm around them, half-hugging them both.

“No offense, but that's the worst lie I’ve heard today, and that's including the stuff Terry said about me.” He strokes Mac’s back through the blue pajamas with little moons and clouds with faces as he begins to whimper again. “You're the best mom to him ever, Ames. You do everything for him. You literally kicked down a door to get to him today. Why do you think someone would be better?”

Amy sighs as she adjusts Mac in her arms, swaying him slightly and being surprised when it actually makes him go quiet. He has his eyes closed, fists up in front of his face, and just the thought that she could be doing something wrong by him makes her heart shatter.

“Because I try too hard,” she whispers, just loud enough for Jake to hear. “When he was locked in by Charles, I couldn't check on him, and it was the best nap he's ever had. All because I worry too much about him. Because I don't know what else to do. I want to keep him safe, but instead I’m somehow not doing enough and doing too much at once.”

She tickles that adorable baby chin with her index finger. Mac grips it, bringing it to his mouth with determination, and it makes both parents laugh. Why he likes this but rejects every single kind of pacifier Buy Buy Baby had to offer, she’ll never understand.

“He knows you love him,” Jake says, as if that was an obvious fact. He likes to claim he can read Mac’s mind about these things, a skill which Amy thinks would have been a lot more useful if it had also worked to figure out what it is their son needs during their worst nights of crying. It's what she needed to hear right now, though, and she leans her head on his shoulder as a silent thank you. “And just because he might be a little introverted sometimes doesn't mean he doesn't love you like crazy, too. I mean, that's what you tell me when I interrupt you when you're reading, right?”

She smiles. “I guess.”

“I know you worry,” he continues. “But just because Mac likes his peace and quiet sometimes doesn’t mean you’re doing a bad job. Maybe we could even let him start sleeping in his nursery at night, you know, just see what happens?”

Just the mention of not having her son within arm’s length at night makes Amy freeze and a million nightmare scenarios flash through her head, and Jake laughs a little as he feels her shoulders tense. “Okay, I can tell that was too big of a step and you’re freaking out, so maybe not. But one day?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she decides, carefully trying to pull her finger out of her son’s mouth. “Thanks, babe. I just really want to go back to sleep.”

 Mac’s eyes are fluttering, a telltale sign that he’s starting to fight his sleep, stretching his legs and letting out the most adorable of baby-sighs. Jake runs his thumb over his son’s forehead and nose in an attempt to make him relax, and shakes his head as Mac only forces his eyes open again.

“He’s lucky he’s so cute, isn’t he?”

“He’s lucky we love him,” Amy mumbles, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

“Yeah. I mean, who needs a full night’s sleep anyway, right?” Jake says, and Amy just stares at him with a blank expression.

“I know you’re joking, but I would almost leave him in Charles’ hands for a night again if it meant I got a four-hour stretch, and that’s saying something.”

“Yeah.” Jake grimaces. “I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’m kind of thinking about it too.”

 Thinking that maybe Mac will repeat his magical streak of at least managing to fall asleep on his own, Amy tries to put him down in the cot again, but she’s barely moved before he lets out another unhappy cry. She lifts him upright against her chest again, biting her lip and trying not to feel defeated as she starts the hushing and rocking all over again.

“Hey, I can take him,” Jake says, reaching for him. “You need to sleep so you can stop crazy-spiraling, and I’ve barely held him all day. I’ll walk around with him outside for a while, that might do it.”

 It’s not the typical declarations of love they used to share, but as he puts the muslin blanket on his shoulder before taking Mac and getting out of bed with him, Amy’s confident that she’s never loved her husband more. This, right here, watching him with sleep-tousled curls in just his t-shirt and pajama pants as he adjusts his son and bounces him slightly in his arms while the crying turns into a more gentle fussing, is far hotter than any sex dream about Sanjay Gupta could ever be.

[meliorist-midoriya]

to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape  please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse. 

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case. 

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need. 

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared. 

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won. 

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.” 

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah. 

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again. 

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep. 

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?” 

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.” 

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?” 

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.” 

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought. 

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!” 

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you. 

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves. 

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah… 

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

[astronomoney]

IDK if you're still taking requests or not, but the latest fix on D. Wayne was 😍🥰. For part 2 can you add the prompts 11 from fluff, 6 from angst and 20 from neutral pretty please?🥺🥺

Pairing: Damian Wayne x fem!reader (age 16ish)

Prompts: Prompt list ☁︎11- “Hey hey hey, it’s ok i’m here. It’s just me ok, you’re safe.” ᜊ6- “I don’t care about you anymore.” “i’m starting to think you never did.” ⚛︎20-“Please be quite, i can’t even hear myself losing my will to live.”

Summary: After the fight you had with Damian things have been tense but sometimes bottling up your emotions only make things worse (i can’t do summary’s to save my life) enemies-to-lovers because i’m a sucker for that shit

Warnings: Blood, swearing, kinda character death i guess, Damian being a dick as always, angsty teens being angsty teens

A/n: this is a part 2 but you can find part 1 here once again this took waaaay to long to write literally i could not figure out what to do but whatever because i did it and i’m proud of myself for it (Masterlist)

Word count: 3k jeez these are getting longer

Tag list: @battlenix @pleasestophoney wow look at that multiple tags

Part 1

Love and War pt2

Spending spring break in Wayne manor had its ups and downs. Ups included a huge library in the south wing, delicious homemade meals every day, and the best water pressure you’d ever experienced. The downs included 8 hours of training daily, getting lost while trying to find a bathroom, and having to spend way too much time with your arch enemy.

Technically he's not your enemy. At least he’s not supposed to be. After the fight you had last week you couldn’t be sure. You’d had fights with Damian before but this felt different. Usually after a fight he'd sulk for a few hours but then it would go back to normal, but this time it didn’t go back to normal. Damian had been avoiding you for almost 8 days.

You knew the fight ended too soon and you both had more to say but if he was going to act like a child and ignore you then you weren't going to stop him. You still had to patrol with him but it was considerably quieter. The manor was big enough for the both of you and after a few days you'd figured out his schedule and how to get around him. Tim let you train with him, so as long as you stayed on your side of the gym and Damian stayed on his you didn't have to interact with him at all.

It wasn't until the 4th day of break that you had to talk to him. Bruce had to go meet with the league for the day so training ended early. You had a couple hours before dinner and decided reading would be the best use of that time. You walked down one of the many hallways lazily dragging your hand along the wall until you reached a door. You couldn't remember exactly where you were but you were about 75% sure there was a couch in this room, so you pushed the door open.

Inside you found tall ceilings paired with dark wallpaper, a tall window with the thin white curtains pushed out of the way, and a couch. Actually it was three couches but after 4 days staying here you'd gotten used to the large number of furniture that was there for no reason.

The couches formed a square with the open side facing the window lined wall. The first two couches were empty but when you stepped farther inside the room you saw someone sitting on the third one. Of course the one room you picked to go into also happened to be the one room Damian was sitting in. He looked up from his sketchbook and immediately frowned.

There were two options in front of you. You could back out of the room and leave him be but then you'd be backing down from something that might not even turn into a fight which made you seem weak so really you were left with only one choice. You straighten your back and closed the door behind you, officially leaving you in a room alone with Damian for the first time since the fight. You walked over to the couch facing the windows head on and sat down on the side farthest from him. He watched you the whole time but you paid him no attention, instead you simply opened your book and began reading.

You felt his eyes leave your form and you let out a quiet breath. You heard a page turn and a  pencil being dragged lightly across paper. It had been over a week but nothing seemed to be getting better between you and him. Patrols were a nightmare beforehand but now that he'd switched from constant criticism to almost no comments you found that you preferred the former.

Damian's pencil against the paper was the only sound in the room and yet the silence seemed so loud. You hated it. You hated having to avoid him all the time. You hated not being able to talk to him anymore. You hated how far away he felt even when he was right next to you. Above all you hated that you didn't hate him as much as you used to.

You never realized how much you talked to him until you didn't. It was a weird feeling to miss someone when you hadn't even known you cared about them. You honestly just wanted to apologize and let things get back to normal but as you sat there staring at your book you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

After three to many nightmares where Damian got hurt, you finally realized how badly you needed him back. So you took a deep breath, swallowed your pride, opened your mouth, and prayed to god that something would come out.

"Look-"

"Damian-" you both spoke at the same time. "Sorry, you go first." You apologized.

"No you can go first." He replied almost nervously. That couldn't be right, he never got nervous.

"Uh I was just going to say, well i've been thinking lately,"

"You?" He asked sarcastically.

"Oh haha really funny. Will you just listen for a goddamn second." He was not making this easy. "I know we haven't been talking much ever since, well you know and uhh." You couldn't find the right way to word it. You were still too stubborn to outright apologize but you knew he would never say sorry unprompted. "You've just seemed... off, lately and if it has something to do with me-"

"It doesn't." He cut you off. "I'm not 'off' and even if I was you definitely wouldn't be the cause." His expression was blank but calculated.

"Well jeez you don't have to be so rude about it." You sneered back at him. "What were you trying to say anyway." So much for your apology.

"I've convinced father to change our partners." His voice was flat and he seemed bored with the conversation.

"You what?" You stood up. You couldn't believe he actually did that without talking to you first.

He stood up as well and was a few inches higher than you. "We don't work well together, you can't tell me you don't agree."

"I don't! We've been a great team! Remember the Penguin pen raid or Mr Freeze's death ray thingy." you exaggerated your point by waving our hands through the air. "We stopped those. Together. You can't just go around changing things without asking me first!" You were fuming.

"Sure I can! We only stopped those villains because of what I did, you just got in the way." he pointed at you.

Here we go again, the blame game. The endless cycle of 'he did this she did that'. You were so sick of it. "That's bullshit and you know it. I can hold my own on the field just as well as you can. And you know what! I don't even want to be your partner anymore."

"Neither do I! You can go play hero with someone else while I do all the real work. I never wanted you on the team in the first place!" He stared you down and if you weren't so fired up you'd probably be intimidated.

"God you're so annoying!” You threw your hands up in frustration. “You think you're so great and no one can even come close to you but in reality you're exactly like the rest of us!"

What were you doing? This wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to apologize and make things right but now here you were screaming at him again. You almost couldn't help it. Fighting him gave you a sort of rush that you craved. It was like a drug and you were addicted to the pain. You didn't want to fight him but it was the closest thing to a conversation you'd had in over a week and at this point it was enough to satisfy your need.

"I'm going to prove that i'm better than you. I'll do it on my own too!" You told him.

"Go ahead and try! You can do whatever you want because I don't care about you anymore."

You stepped back, stood as tall as you could without going on your tiptoes and took a breath. "I'm starting to think you never did." You said calmly, it seemed to catch him off guard and he didn't retaliate. You grabbed your book and turned towards the door. Dick was standing there, completely still and staring at you and Damian.

"Woah." He said awkwardly. He clearly didn't know how to handle the situation he'd just stumbled on.

You pushed past him and into the hallway. Tears were building up in the corners of your eyes so you had to move fast, the last thing you needed right now was for them to see you cry. 

Damian watched you walk out before turning around and groaning. "I can't believe her," he muttered to himself. "I'm starting to think you never did. That doesn't even make sense."

"Because... you do care about her?" Dick asked. It probably wasn't the best choice of words.

Damian looked back at him with an almost offended expression. "That's ridiculous! I don't care about her, that was basically the whole point of our conversation."

"Was that a conversation? The part of that 'conversation' I saw seemed more like her yelling at you and then you... yelling back." He stated the obvious.

"That was completely her fault," Damian defended. He seemed angry but it wasn't his usual kind. Usually it was directed at someone or something and usually that thing would get acquainted with his katana but this time he was mad at himself and he couldn't understand why. "I don't care about her." He repeated quietly almost trying to remind himself more than anything.

You spent the rest of the day hiding in the guest room. You planned on staying there forever and letting yourself fade out of existence but the universe had other plans. 3 hours, 5 episodes of your favorite show, and a nest made of blankets later you got a call from Tim asking you to come to the cave.

He didn't tell you why he needed you, he just said to meet him in the lower level of the cave so when you got there you were very surprised to find him and Damian standing in the hallway. You groaned internally and considered turning around and just walking away but Tim spotted you before you could. Damian's back was to you so he didn't know who it was until he turned around and you saw his face fall.

'Nice to see you too asshole' You thought to yourself, walking over to stand near him but still keeping your distance. "What did you need?" You asked, wanting to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. You kept your eyes ahead trying not to look at Damian and you had the feeling he was doing the same.

The entire mood of the dimly lit hallway had shifted from the moment you locked eyes with him and the tension was noticeable. Tim looked between the two of you before clearing his throat and bringing the attention back to him. "I actually don't need anything."

"So then why did you call telling me to come down here?" Damian asked, clearly annoyed that Tim was wasting his time.

Tim smirked in response and opened the door before Jason, who was behind you apparently, pushed you both into the room before either of you could react. You landed on top of Damian with a grunt. Once you realized you were on top of him you felt your cheeks turn red and you stood up quickly. You could have sworn you saw the slightest bit of a blush on him but you were too preoccupied with the now locked door to think about too much.

"Ok love birds here's the deal, you're petty hormone fueled fighting is driving us crazy and now we're doing something about it." Jason told you from the other side of the small glass window. "We said you were gonna lock you in a room until you figured out how to get along and now we're following through." he smirked.

"I swear to god if you lock me in this room with him,"  you motioned towards Damian, "I will drop kick you into the sun."

"If you let us out now maybe I won't kill you," Damian threatened alongside you.

"Maybe if you’d learned to talk to each other like normal people you wouldn’t be here in the first place," Tim said. "We'll be back after patrol so you've got about," he looked at his watchless wrist "4ish hours. Have fun." And with that they both walked away.

"DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWA- and they're gone. Dammit." You cursed and hit the steel door which hurt a lot more than you thought it would. "Shit," You shook your hand.

"Well that was just stupid," Damian scoffed at you, taking your hand to examine it. He always did that sort of thing on patrol so you didn't pull away or even really register what he was doing.

"Oh i'm sorry, is my frustration not smart enough for you?" you sneered back. "What even is this place anyway," You looked around the small dark room, determined to not look him in the eyes.

"A containment cell for metas, we haven't used it for a while so the power blockers are probably turned off." he told you before releasing your hand. "You definitely bruised it but you'll be fine."

You reluctantly thanked him and turned back to the door to see if you could get it open somehow. "Ok so how do we get out?"

"We don't."

You flipped around, surprised to hear him give up without even trying. "You're kidding right? There's gotta be some way out of here. We're superheros, a few walls can't hold us,” you exclaimed. “Can't you use those ninja skills you're so proud of and like... kick it down, or something?" You watched him walk to the back of the small cell and sit down on the floor.

"No," he replied simply. "This room was built to hold the most dangerous people in Gotham and I don't know if you've noticed but we don't have any of our gear." He glared at you and you rolled your eyes.

"So we're just supposed to wait here until they get back? We can't just sit here all night," You tried to convince him to do... anything really.

"Well if you're so keen on getting out then let's hear your genius plan," He leaned forward with all the smugness of billionaires son, daring you to say something.  "That's what I thought. Now will you please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing my will to live."

"Fine whatever we'll just stay here in complete silence," You muttered sarcastically under your breath. Damian remained quiet as you started pacing back and forth but you could tell he was watching you.

After pacing for about 30 minutes you realized how tired you were from training so hard the past couple of days and sat down in the corner. You spent so much time over the last week worrying about Damian that you hadn't let yourself relax long enough to get any real rest. The little sleep you did manage to get mostly turned to nightmares.

At first you didn't even realize you were asleep. It all looked real enough except for the fact that you'd somehow been transported to a rooftop. You scanned your surroundings but everything was just slightly out of focus so you couldn't tell exactly where you were. When you turned around you saw him. Damian was there, and behind him was a shadowy sort of silhouette.

The shadow raised a knife and you realized what was happening. You tried to warn him, you tried to scream or yell or move but it was no use. The knife plunged into Damians back and you were helpless to stop it. You felt the pain he felt, you felt the blade slice through you. Finally you could move again but it was too late. The shadow disappeared but you didn't care about it, all you wanted to do was get to Damian. You ran forward but it was like running through water, your body moved in slow motion and you watched the blood start to pool underneath him.

Suddenly you were falling. Damian was gone, the roof was gone, everything was gone, it was just you and a black abyss trying to swallow you up. You screamed again but no noise came out, it was like all the air was being sucked from your lungs. It was silent and dark and empty nothingness until you saw a faint light. Then you heard something, your name being repeated, someone calling you and then you were pulled out of the void.

You shot up and gasped for air and frantically looked around but your eyes hadn't adjusted to the light yet. You heard a familiar soothing voice pulled you farther out of your trance.

"Hey hey hey, it's ok i'm here." The voice was calm and concerned at the same time. "It's just me ok, you're safe," Rough hands gently turned your head and the first thing you saw clearly was a pair of worried green eyes. You're breathing slowed and you're heart nearly skipped a beat.

Wrapping your arms around his chest you pulled him closer. He hesitated for a moment before folding you into his embrace. It was soft and delicate and it seemed like he was scared of holding you too tightly. Neither of you said anything else, you just sat there on the floor of a meta containment cell in each other's arms.

Time stood still and you finally admitted the truth to yourself. The real reason you hated Damian was because you loved him.

A/n: might fuck around and make a part 3 with the classic “because i love you!” confession scene

[seriouslysnape]

Hopeless Romantic

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Lucius Malfoy x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of sex, Language.

Word Count: 1,634

“I see you found one of my messages.”

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Even Lucius would admit, he wasn’t very in touch with his romantic side. The love language of Lucius Malfoy was physical touch, have no doubt about that. He felt that if his hands were on you, then he was displaying his care and adoration in the only way he knew how. However, after spending more and more time with you, he learned that there were other ways to show his affection.

Words of affirmation were definitely one that stunned him. You were always telling him how you were proud of him and how you admired him. At first, he tried to ignore the way his heart did a little leap whenever you spoke to him this way. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, which wasn’t always normal for him. He’d find himself going back to those moments, smiling off into space at how it made him feel. 

Lucius had never been a “flowers on Valentine’s Day” kind of guy. His hands being on your body or his fingers running through your hair or even just brushing by you when he walked by was his way of showing his love. While that was always great and appreciated, he just didn’t understand yet that you needed more than that. 

You had mentioned it a time or two before that you needed to hear his love for you and see it. Lucius became rather irritated, thinking that you were just being overly clingy and ungrateful. Lucius was a VERY proud man, and it was rare for him to ever doubt the way he did things. If you weren’t satisfied with him, then that was a you problem in his eyes. 

While it was incredibly frustrating that he never showed his devotion any other way, you understood that Lucius didn’t know how to. Over time, you were able to identify that his lingering touches and passionate kisses were his way. So, you accepted it and moved on.

Despite this, Lucius began to notice something new. You had accompanied him at a dinner party of sorts, enjoying the company of others and taking that much deserved social time. Lucius had been standing with you, his hand on the small of your back when he caught the conversation you had been having with one of the guests. She was telling you about how her husband had started writing her love notes, and leaving them around the house for her to find later.

Lucius almost audibly scoffed at the thought of such a cheesy idea, but he stopped himself when he saw the way your eyes brightened in a not-so subtle way. You gushed and gawked with your friend for the next ten minutes, going on and on about how romantic that was. Lucius was surprised that you had such a reaction to the idea, and he suddenly began to see just what you had been talking about. 

He spent the rest of the evening thinking about it, wondering if he could pull off the same exact thing. He was confident at first, because how hard could it be to put his love into words? He didn’t realize just how challenging it would be until he had been sitting at his large desk for almost thirty minutes, quill in hand, and the paper completely blank. He was surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper that had been discarded, none of them proving to be successful drafts.

He couldn’t think of a solitary thing to say, or even how to say it. It seemed that his penmanship skills were less than perfect. He was growing more and more aggravated with each passing moment. This shouldn’t be this hard. He was crazy about you, so why couldn’t he string together a damn sentence?

He tossed his quill back onto the desk, ready to give in to defeat. He sighed harshly, his eyes roaming over his previous attempts that were scattered in front of him. His gaze wandered to a gold-framed photograph that he kept at the front of his desk. He picked it up, letting out a soft chuckle as he remembered the day it was taken. 

It was a rather candid picture, which was much different than any of his other images of you, but it was his favorite. It was a bit of a secret hobby of Lucius Malfoy, but he had a glimmer of interest in photography. You were often the subject of his pictures, sometimes they were fully staged and sometimes not. He might take pictures of you just cuddled up next to him on the sofa, or sometimes he’d have you model for him to take more sultry, provocative pictures (that he kept stashed away in a locked drawer in his desk for his sole viewing pleasure).

He glanced over the finer details of the framed picture. The way you looked so glowy and gorgeous. Your eyes sparkled a little more and your skin looked heavenly. His mind wandered to how he loved to touch you as a reminder that you were there with him. How he cherished the way you snuggled up next to him when you were cold or wanted attention. Before he knew it, he was thinking about all the things he loved about you. Exactly the things he wanted to put into words.

He quickly picked his quill back up before he lost his stroke of genius. He wrote like a madman, writing one to three sentences on each piece of parchment before moving on to the next one. He used a lot of the things that you said to him on a daily basis to help him along. He was on a roll after a few minutes, pushing out at least five or six little notes to leave around the house. He planted them in various places, and considering his residence was massive, he had plenty of spaces.

He was proud of himself, but hoping that you would find them endearing. He wasn’t home when you found the first two. The first had been stashed into the novel you were currently reading, falling onto your lap when you opened the book. You raised a brow at the parchment that you identified as Lucius’ personalized stationery. You opened the folded note, reading it so many times because you were sure that you were dreaming.

[Y/N],

Your heart is as pure as the words written on these pages. I love you for being my greatest story.

Lucius.

You were totally shocked. Surely, this wasn’t YOUR Lucius that had written this? The same Lucius Malfoy that sneered at anything even remotely commercially romantic? This was a textbook definition, straight out of a romantic Muggle movie that he would never be caught dead watching. You were filled with joy, an amazing feeling of care rushing over you. It was a wonderful surprise, one that you would keep close to you. 

While the first one was a shocker, the second one was three times that. An hour or so later, you entered the bathroom to take a shower when you caught a glimpse of the small piece of parchment tucked into the corner of the mirror. You plucked it into your grasp, a blinding smile appearing on your face.

My love, 

I hope you find this with a smile on your face, the same one that I have undoubtedly fallen in love with. I love you for being the light of my life.

Lucius.

This one caused tears to prick at your eyes. You were overwhelmed with emotions. You had watched Lucius become “soft” over the years and watched him comply with your needs. Seeing HIS handwriting, writing THESE words that he put together was a gorgeous thing. You wiped away at the happy tears streaming your face when you heard someone enter the connecting bedroom. Sure enough, the man in question appeared in the doorway. A grin appeared on his face when he saw you holding the note.

“I see you found one of my messages.” Lucius said, approaching you at the bathroom counter. 

“I’ve found two...how many are there?” You asked, even more gleeful that you might have more to find.

He hummed thoughtfully.

“Quite a few,” He admitted, snaking an arm around your waist. His smile disappeared when he saw the faint tracks of tears on your cheeks; “Have you been crying, darling?”

He swiped at your damp cheeks, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“Yeah, but happy tears. I wasn’t expecting this at all, Luc.” You confessed, resting your hands on the collar of his shirt.

He felt his heart melt. He never knew how something so simple would touch you like this. You deserved to feel worshipped and appreciated, and if this was the way he needed to do it, then so be it. 

“I meant everything I said. I do love you. Even if I don’t always say it.” He said, holding your face in his hand.

“I love you, Lucius. I’m proud of you.” You said. 

Oh, there it was. His favorite words of encouragement. He smiled again, listening as you carried on.

“Even if you don’t say it a lot, you always show me,” You said in a seductive tone; “And, oh, do you show it well.” 

His smile faded into more of a smirk. His first instinct to pick you up and place you on the counter, stepping between your legs and leaving hot kisses on your neck. Before he progressed further, he stopped.

“Wait, don’t you want to find the rest of them?” He asked, figuring you’d rather do that instead.

You shrugged. While you did totally want to, you could spare a few minutes for this. You kissed him in response, replying before making sweet love with him.

“Yeah, but I want you more.”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

The Night Shadows Watching The Darkness Approaching

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: oh look, another fic in which Wilhemina cries :) This one has been sitting in my drafts for months because somehow I couldn’t let it go. It’s short and sad and I hope you’ll like it. x

Title from Come On Out by The Airbone Toxic Event.

Word count: ≈ 1 900

Something woke you in the middle of the night to find the bed empty. You reached out; the sheet was cold. Squinting in the dark, you made out the outline of Wilhemina’s pillow, creased, and of the door, half-opened. Somewhere in the house a light was on. You sighed.

You got up and walked through the darkness towards the light. It came from the living-room, whose door was slightly ajar. You took a peek inside.

Wilhemina was lying on the couch, hands folded on her stomach. Her eyes were closed and her face was contorted with pain. You noticed the bucket she had placed on the floor at arm’s length, in case the pain became too much, too much to bear just too much and she would have to throw up. Let it out one way or another.

You watched her for a minute, swallowing hard. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. It tended to do that often, since you had started dating Wilhemina.

You didn’t want to embarrass her, so you knocked on the door and waited, to give her time to compose herself. When you eventually walked in, her face was completely blank, if only slightly pale.

“Hey,” you called, forcing a smile. “You’re up late.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was calm. “Go back to bed.”

You crouched by the couch, staring up at her. She was avoiding your gaze, resolutely scowling at the ceiling.

“Did you take your meds?” you asked after a while.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N,” she snapped.

You frowned, but didn’t snap back. Instead you rested your chin on the couch and waited.

“What can I do?” you asked.

“Go back to sleep,” Wilhemina repeated. This time, the words were uttered through gritted teeth.

“I meant to help you feel better.”

“I’m feeling perfectly fine.”

“Mina.” Her eyes flicked to your face before she scowled back up at the ceiling. “I’ll go get the hot water bottle,” you said.

She was exactly in the same position when you came back. It seemed to you her face was even paler than before, and you saw her chin tremble, once.

“Here, can you prop yourself up just a bit?” you asked gently.

She didn’t move.

“This is stupid, Y/N,” she said.

“Mina, you know it’s not. Heat really helps ease the pain. It does wonders when I have period cramps. Please.”

Carefully you helped her sit up, placed the hot water bottle on the couch, and helped her lie down again with her head in your lap. You laid one hand on her arm and gently stroked her hair with the other. “Are you feeling sleepy at all?” you whispered.

She shook her head.

“Do you want me to sing something to you, to help you pass the time?”

You had done that before, once or twice, when she had come back from work particularly pissed off. You loved to sing, and you had noticed how your voice always seemed to help her relax, even though she would probably never admit it.

“Suit yourself,” she answered in a slightly strained voice.

You thought for a second, combing your fingers through her hair. “Take my hand,” you started, voice low and soft, “take my whole life too.” Wilhemina scoffed. You held back a smile. “For I can’t help falling in love with you,” you whispered, poking her ear playfully.

Wilhemina reached for your hand on her arm and laced her fingers with yours. “Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

You gently rubbed her forehead, just as your mother used to when you had a headache. Ran one finger down her nose, patted her upper lip. Her chin trembled again. She blinked several times, swallowed.

“Mina?” You waited until she met your eyes. “It’s okay to cry when you’re hurting, you know?”

She scoffed, gave you an angry look, but her eyes immediately filled with tears as if a dam had broken.

“I won’t judge you, or think you’re weak.” You paused, gulping back tears of your own. “I think you’re so very strong all the time.”

You ran your finger over her lower lip, then up her cheek to catch a lonely tear. Wilhemina blinked quickly, raised her free hand to wipe her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice.

You knew how she hated showing vulnerability. She had only ever cried once in front of you. The first time you had held her close. Her body pressed against yours, her face buried in your neck, one of her legs trapped between yours, your arms wrapped tightly around her. You had heard her breath hitch and just like that she had burst into tears. As if no one had ever held her before.

You leant forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead. There was that sadness in your heart you couldn’t quite get rid of.

Wilhemina shifted to readjust her position. You combed your fingers through her hair again, gazing at her face, trying to think of something to say to try and distract her from the pain.

“Did I tell you about that article I read the other day?” you said eventually. “It was so very interesting. Some guy wrote ten pages on the Placebo effect. I didn’t know much about it.”

You rambled on, telling her about what you had learnt, until she suddenly interrupted you in a quiet, dull voice.  

“My parents told me it was all in my head, too, the first few times I complained about my back pains. More than the first few times, actually. They told me I should quit being a baby and work at being stronger. When they finally took me to a doctor, it was too late to do anything about it.”

Your fingers froze in her hair.

“How long?” you asked in a breath. “How long before they took you to a doctor?”

It took her too long to answer. In the silence you heard your heart break.

“Three years and a half.”

You felt like punching something. You felt like screaming. You could have, could have jumped to your feet, could have knocked over the coffee table, thrown the bucket at the wall. But anger wasn’t what Wilhemina needed right now. She had been so alone. Never again, you promised yourself. You’d lasso the stars and bring them down and give them to her so she would always have company when you were gone.

“Go to bed,” Wilhemina repeated.

You kissed her mouth. “Not without you,” you murmured into the kiss.

She let out a small noise and lifted her head to claim more of you. She was being too harsh, too clumsy, teeth drawing blood and lips sucking on the wound, but you let her. You were grateful for the pain, for it made you feel closer to her.

One of her hands came up to tangle in your hair. “I won’t be weak,” you heard her whisper, voice angry, as her mouth launched a new attack on yours. Her nails dug into the nape of your neck. “I won’t let you rip my strength from me.”

Somewhere far away a clap of thunder growled. Wilhemina bit your upper lip. “I see what you’re trying to do,” she hissed. “Using tenderness to try and break me but I won’t let it happen, do you hear me? You won’t win. I’ll break you first.”

“Wilhemina,” you whispered – pulling away, panting, and pressing one hand on her chest to pin her against the couch.

“I’ll break you and I will scatter all the tiny pieces of you so no one after me can ever assemble them again.”

“Wilhemina,” you repeated. You leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She tried to push you away, rejecting tenderness, she tried to sit up; her fingers wrapped around your hand that held her against the couch and clawed viciously at your skin.

“I will destroy you,” she hissed.

“Mina.” A kiss to her brow. A kiss to her nose. Her lips parted on a shaky breath like the last breath a soldier draws on a battlefield.

You removed your hand from her chest and held it out in surrender. “Go ahead, then. Destroy me. I don’t mind. It’d kill me to lose you anyway. So, one way or another, you win.”

You smiled at her. For you meant it, every word of it. And it felt exhilarating. It felt like you had finally found home. No matter how dark and scary the place, no matter how full of lethal traps. You would choose her, over and over again, for no one else would do.

“Go ahead,” you repeated, laughing. “Destroy me.”

You grabbed her hand and wrapped it around your throat. Something in her eyes changed. She seemed to hesitate.

“What are you waiting for?” you cried, squeezing her fingers; you could feel your own elevated pulse through her flesh. “I’m ready. Choke the breath out of me. What are you waiting for?”

It was starting to hurt, your head was starting to buzz, but you didn’t care. You had rarely ever felt so alive.

“Stop it,” Wilhemina whispered, her eyes growing wide. She tried to free her hand from your grip, but you held it firmly around your throat.

You leaned towards her. “Don’t let me undermine you. Claim back your strength. I don’t want to rob you of what you hold dearest. Do it!”

“I said, stop!” she cried, wrenching her hand free; she turned her head to the side, and bit her lip as fresh tears spilled from her eyes.

You watched her, your whole body burning and quivering from the excitement and the love and the passion. Wilhemina gasped in a breath, wiped her cheeks fiercely. She shifted a bit, nuzzled the back of the couch, looked askance at you.    

You waited a few minutes before you started combing your fingers through her hair again. She eagerly leaned into your touch.

Another clap of thunder, louder, closer. You laid your free hand on Wilhemina’s cheek at the sound, almost protectively, felt her warmth build under your fingers. She turned her head to kiss the inside of your palm and whispered, “Hold me.”

And then she was sitting up, tears dropping from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed her face against your shoulder and let out a broken sob.

You closed your eyes against the sting of tears, holding her close, trying to make her shift so her back would be as straight as possible but she pushed deeper into you, clutching the back of your shirt, hair tickling your neck.

“I don’t care,” you heard her say, small and muffled. “I don’t care. Just – hold me.”  

And you did. For you had only ever seen her cry once before, the first time you had snuggled up to her, your body pressed against hers, one of her legs trapped between yours.

You held her, and stroked her hair as you listened to the thunderstorm roar in the sky, tear at the clouds and rip them to shreds and howl in pain, and then, slowly, subside.