#sometimes he gets better periods where he has no issues going to bed and staying there all night

[canisalbus]

I imagine Machete's really only calm when he's sleep deprived AF and Vasco would just spend long nights listening to Machete's insane ramblings because he likes seeing him happy.

That's such a cute thought! Unfortunately I'm inclined to believe it's the complete opposite, insomnia makes him progressively more restless and agitated.

You know how after a sleepless night you sometimes get this second wind in the morning? You feel even more productive and motivated than you usually do and aren't tired at all, like a brief illusion of euphoria and invincibility. I think if he skips sleep he might initially get more self-assured, talkative and less inhibited (similar to being a little tipsy). This is probably the point where you might get those insane ramblings. But eventually he'd start going downhill and the cushioning that softens the edges of his anxiety, irratibility and neuroticism when he's in good health and good mood, would wear away and he'd become harder to deal with. He'd make rash desisions and obvious mistakes and get emotional outbursts that he'd regret later. And finally he'd fall into sort of confused, irresponsive and stuporous state where he's still trying to keep going but isn't actually getting anything done anymore, it isn't fun to watch.

He's happiest, calmest and at his best when he's well rested and properly fed. He's able to keep himself running on fumes for a considerable amount of time, mostly by taking several short sneaky naps per day. Rationally he knows this is detrimental to him and that he ends up doing subpar job when he'd tired and cranky, but it's a bad habit that seems impossible to correct.

[ff-killjam]

How The Tables Turned [Ford x reader oneshot]

Summary: This time, its Ford making you stop what you're going to make sure you get sleep.

Rating: SFW and very fluffy

Warnings: Aside from a slightly suggestive part, none!

AO3 version

A/N: Actually based on a period of time where I tried to learn how to use unity (before the whole drama of it happened). I refused to do ANYTHING but to work on my little project no matter how much I was starving for a few weeks straight. lol.

It’s basically routine at this point for you to drag Ford out of his lab to head for bed. Even if you remind him of the benefits on sleeping and how the lack of it will impact his work, you still needed to get him into bed, sometimes having some food ready for him to make sure he didn’t sleep on an empty stomach.

That’s how its USUALLY IS.

Lately, you’ve started your own personal project involving learning a game engine to play around with. It was mostly just a random idea one day, wanting to try your hand at making your own little “video game”. Nothing too fancy, just something fun to put together and to learn some new skills along the way. There was A LOT you needed to look into and learn to make this happen, however.

From learning a coding language, the game engine itself, a mix between finding free to use assets and even making your own when nothing suited your taste- you had a lot on your plate. It wasn’t all that bad really, considering how this whole thing turned into a full blown hyper fixation fairly soon after starting it. It was easy to let the hours fly by as you were split between watching tutorial videos, drawing and fixing any errors/bugs in any of the codes you wrote down. You were aware of when you needed to sleep, eat and do other things for your health, but something about working on this project made you refuse to move from your chair. And you weren’t the only one to noticed this.

After a decent amount of time being with you, Ford has grown used to the routine of you coming to his lab to check up on him. It got to the point where he purposely stayed late in the lab to get you to come in and “pester” him to take care of himself better. The feeling of knowing you cared and loved him so much to go out of your way to make sure he knew that was something he relished in. Of course, he did felt a little “silly” and “immature” doing this instead of straight up telling you, but there was no harm being done anyways, so it was fine.

So when you stopped checking on him after a few nights, he couldn’t help but to worry a bit. At first, he figured you were just a bit busy, possibly even out for the night, so he didn’t think too much of it. However, when walking into your computer room and seeing you up staring at your screen with an open notebook with various random things written on it, he couldn’t help to smile a bit as you reminded him of his university days. You were just working on something, nothing too bad.

But as time passed by, he soon realizes he only ever sees you in your computer room. You barely went out for anything, even for food. Ford didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he was worried. Things escalated for him when he barely sees you in bed anymore.

It’s not like he didn’t talk to you as you were deep in your work. He would sometimes check in on you when things felt a little too quite after he started to noticed your absent in his lab. Ford was happy you were able to pursue something new and to take the time and effort to do it. He was aware of the little game you wanted to make for the sake of saying “I made this!”. When he had the free time, he’ll listen to you talk about the things you learned, some of the issues you faced and how you fixed them, etc etc. But he can only take so much before he had to really step in for your own sake.

The sky was dark out, and it was around 1am. You weren’t in bed yet. Again. Ford was really concerned for you now. Walking through the dim hallway, he opens up the door of your computer room. He can see you fully concentrated on your screen, looking over some codes you put together, as if you were trying to find any errors in the lines of text that was presented in front of you. It was obvious how dry your eyes were, how your body longed for rest, but the urge to keep going and to fix this one mistake kept you from wanting to sleep despite how much you felt the need to do so.

It was almost funny to him. A taste of his own medicine some would say. It reminds him of the many nights on how he too would refuse to stop for the night, always needing to do one more thing before he could let himself rest. How you would do your best to persuade him to let himself walk away from his work, to take care of himself to avoid any health complications, and to spend time with you in the comfort of your bed.

It made him feel guilty as well. The things you did for him and how much you loved him to always go out of your way to show it. Ford knew he was taking full advantage of that, and he wanted to repay it back.

You jumped a little in your seat when you felt his familiar six finger hand land on your shoulder, being so focused on the lines of text on your screen that you forgot where you were for a good bit. You look over at Ford as he stood beside your seat, giving him a weak smile.

“Oh hey! Do you need anything?” You asked before quickly looking back at the screen again.

“Love, when was the last time you ate?” Ford asked you in a gentle voice.

“Uh… I had breakfast?” You answered, only remembering you had some toast with a sunny side egg on top when you last ate. It didn’t seem like it mattered too much though.

“Its almost one am” Ford replied, a little stern this time. You quickly check the clock on your taskbar, feeling surprised from how much time had passed.

“Oh… oops” you spoke mostly to yourself, feeling a little silly for not checking the time more often. “I’ll probably head to bed soon”

“Not soon,” Ford points out, “you’re going to bed now.” His words made you look at him again, confusion viable on your face.

“Just let me do this one fix-” Ford says your name, stern voice again, causing you to stop your sentence.

“You are fully aware of the effects of not taking care of yourself” Ford spoke to you with a smirk on his face. You knew that he was referencing the many of times where you brought out the facts of how the lack of sleep and self care can affect your health and day to day life. It was the best way to convince him to come to bed and let you cuddle with him until you were both asleep. “You’re no different form me, sweetheart. Got to practice what they preach, as they say”

“Uh…. I’m built different?” You gave a half shrug and a low chuckle at your own joke. Obviously, this did nothing to change his mind. You knew he was right, and had nothing to say to argue back. Ford knew this too. “Fine… let me quickly save and shut off my computer…”

Ford watches you quickly save any progress before shutting off your computer, the light of the screen turning off and making the room dark as it was the only thing on. As you start to stand, your body fully conveyed how tired you really were. You were about to walk to the hallway door before Ford lets out a ‘let me’, and you were now being picked up bridle style in his arms. You let out a small gasp, often forgetting how much muscle the older man has as he often hides it away in his iconic turtleneck. The comfort of him holding you made the realization at your own exhaustion hit hard. You can feel yourself somewhat go limp as Ford carried you to your shared room.

Ford felt you quickly relax in his arms, feeling prideful as he carried you to your bed. Sitting you on the side and pulling the blanket back. He lays you on your pillow before fallowing suit into his usual spot on the bed beside you. Your eyes were shut as you let yourself sink into the soft mattress, the weight of the blanket being pulled over you giving a sense of security, along with how his arms wrapped around you to pull you close to his chest. You let out a sigh of relief as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, getting a few shivers down your spine.

“Sorry…” You mumbled to him, feeling guilty now for making him go out of his way to get you to bed. You feel him chuckle into your skin, the smile forming on his face being easily felt on your skin.

“Nothing to be sorry about sweetheart,” his replied, voice audibly sounding more tired, “I should be the one to apologize, making you go through this almost every night. I see how doing this almost all the time can be a bit frustrating for you.”

“Not if its you,” You were quickly to reply, “I’m always happy to make sure you’re okay”. Ford felt his heart flutter at your words. You always did surprised him with how much you loved him despite how many times you pointed it out.

“The feeling is mutual,” Ford placed a kiss on your skin as he caressed one of his thumbs that rested on you, “lets get to sleep now, I’ll be sure to do something for you in the morning” Ford gave another kiss on your skin, and you can’t help but to feel excited for what he had planned.

Silence followed as you two let yourselves slowly fall asleep in each others comfort. Feeling his steady heartbeat on your back lulled you to your sleep.

Ford smiled when he realized you fell asleep before he did. It was no surprise, you needed it really bad. Without fail every night when he has you in his arms like this, he feels like the luckiest man in the multiverse. He didn’t deserve you, but it was almost as if this is the repayment he deserved after many years of suffering, a way of life saying sorry to him.

And he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

[seafoamchild]

january is a rough month. it feels like it's been january for like 3 weeks but it's only the 9th. the grey skies and general lack of color and warmth really gets me down. i feel like i'm always tired no matter how much i sleep. i feel so lacking in energy and motivation. and i feel so ugly too. i started using retinol on my face and i'm going through the "purge" period where my skin is breaking out. i really hope it'll get better after this. cuz having acne again is not chill. i'm not as self conscious about it as i once was, but i really do feel a little ugly. and i'm still reckoning with the changes in my body. i've definitely gained weight and sometimes i feel okay about it and other times (like now) i just can't believe it and i get into these shame spirals. i'm going to the gym a lot and still eating relatively well but i just feel very unattractive and blah.

i'm doing dry january too and i'm not sure if it's the right choice but i'm going to try it. it's only january 9th and i feel like it's been SO LONG and i want to drink SO BAD. no powders either. i have been thinking about my substance abuse issues for a while now and i think taking a break is necessary. i need to reassess my relationship with alcohol. i think getting out of the service industry would help a lot. i just hate that getting fucked up seems so necessary to have fun in so many situations. this is so hard.

a good thing is that i'm having a lot of fun with T. the more i get to know him the more i like him. he's funny, smart, willing to try new things, emotionally intelligent, social, kind, caring, doesn't take himself too seriously, a good listener, and a really loyal friend. he has a good heart. i'm really happy with him. we're doing dry january together and we've had so much fun going on adventures and cooking and watching weird documentaries. we're going to chicago next weekend and i'm really excited. he treats me the way i deserve to be treated and i hope i'm doing the same for him.

it just scares me a little because i still want to move to another city, even if it's just for a little while. and i don't want a boyfriend to hold me back. and i feel like it's too soon to ask if he wants to come with me. there are so many uncertainties. i tend to get so invested in relationships so quickly. so i need to talk about this in therapy.

i'm also still having the same issues with insomnia that i had with luke. every time we slept in the same bed i could not fall asleep. like at all. it's insane. i took a lunesta the last time T stayed over and i don't think i slept. like my body just will not let me be unconscious and i don't know why. it's absolutely maddening. i can't understand why this is happening and i'm so frustrated with people telling me to have a bedtime routine or to try meditating or take fucking melatonin. i know they're just trying to help but it's clearly a much deeper issue and i need professional help. my psychiatrist hasn't done anything helpful except prescribe me lunesta. i made an appointment with a sleep specialist but it's not til the third week of february. it's so fucking exhausting and annoying to want to just spend the night with T and i get up the next day feeling like absolute shit because i didn't sleep. i hate it i hate it i hate it!!!!!!!

also i was in barcelona for christmas. it was so much fun. it honestly felt strange to be back in that city. familiar but not. i spent a lot of time there in 2016 and it was weird to be like, oh i remember eating breakfast in that mcdonald's with my friend hashi more than seven years ago. or how i used to take the blue line on the metro to crazy denise's house where i was living. but this time we balled out and spent so much money on food! christmas dinner was the best meal i've ever had in my life. and we went to museums and went on a roadtrip and saw castles and drank a lot of vermouth and reveled in the sunlight and laughed until we cried every single day. i really loved that trip.

i was somewhat of a control freak on the trip because i planned everything, but no one else seemed that interested in planning anyway. i don't know. i've been thinking about my flaws as a person. i'm super laid back sometimes and then so controlling other times. i'm so impatient. i think i'm better than everyone sometimes. i need praise and reassurance. maybe i just have a big, fragile ego. sometimes i feel like i'm selfish. but you know, none of us are perfect. i am trying. and this is where i'm at.

[girltomboy]

My mom texted me about having a bad day, and I know it's one of her spiraling periods, where she thinks back on all the negativity she's ever experienced and dwells on it. She says she's never been genuinely loved and wanted, and everyone in her life has had hidden intentions and lied and betrayed her. Well, I've been a witness to some of that and I think she has a right to feel that way, but I also feel like sometimes she tries to transfer her anxiety surrounding other people to me in order to prevent me from experiencing the same betrayal she has. Which, ultimately, I would say comes from good intentions, but isn't very helpful because all she does is give me anxiety and paranoia, and stress me out for both of us. Historically, she's had this tendency to guard herself and keep her distance from people (that includes friends) and I understand that, I used to do it too, but I don't want to live like that anymore. I don't have that fear of people anymore and I want to keep my heart open.

She also told me she's been noticing my stepdad and a woman who works at the store next to their house have been looking at each other for a while. She said one time he said her name in bed, which... I don't know how necessary it was for me to know. Maybe I have a weird idea of what's appropriate and what isn't in a mother-daughter relationship, it's not like there's a guide or anything, though I wish there was. And she pointed it out, and my stepdad switched up and said it's his daughter's name. Which. Idk, again, my mind is kinda blown by the implication that the explanation somehow makes it any better? Mom didn't imply that, but just the idea... I don't know. I don't really want to dwell on this. And when she brought up her worries to my stepdad he blew up and blamed her for being paranoid and jealous like his ex wife. So basically she thinks she can't bring it up anymore because she'd just get gaslighted. And he also said something like "Did you notice the titties on that woman?" TO HER? I guess these things would plant a lot of insanity in my head too, but I don't know why she thinks she has to put up with it. Even in the stories that she told me about my dad, when he was first cheating on her and abusing her, I couldn't really understand why she stayed for that long, why she allowed everything to pile up before she divorced him. I'm not blaming her, but I'm just wondering. I wouldn't want her to stay in a place and situation that's making her miserable, she has no little children to worry about, she has a place to go back to if needed, family to fall back on for support. On the other hand, I can see why she wouldn't want to move back home with my grandma. It's a bit of a desperate situation for her to be in. I wish my support and reassurance could be enough, but I can only muster up so much encouragement from my very limited experience, in times like this I wish she had a close friend to talk it out with. I often find myself wishing for a friend for my mom, someone she can just talk to who would know how to listen and what to say.

She tells me to walk away whenever I feel disrespected, or used, or lied to, or taken advantage of, or taken for granted, and I do already, I do try to eliminate any negativity and disrespect from my life. But she doesn't need to project her past onto me. She's always so doubtful and negative towards my relationship, always tells me she doesn't trust men anymore and that I should find myself "a real man to love me". Which is such a weird thing to say to your daughter who's been in a relationship for over 3 years, instead of celebrating and being happy for her. I mean she's never cared about my relationship or my boyfriend, and the only times she ever asks about him is to ask if we're still together. It's why I know for sure I can't trust her to support me in my relationship, and when my bf and I had issues I couldn't open up to her or confess about anything, I had no one to seek any support from, I just suffered in silence through all of it. And because of this behavior of hers I don't want to introduce my bf to my family (much less HIS family to mine), and it makes me feel bad for him. It's also particularly cruel because she's been through something similar with my father and, well, you'd think or expect there was a lesson to be learned in all of that.

Today felt off for me too, I felt weirdly irritated and then I got sleepy and I took a nap. Then when I woke up I felt an emotional wave hit me and I felt like crying at everything I saw. Then my mom texted me too, and another avalanche came. And the thought that I have to go back to work tomorrow is making me go unspeakably insane.

[kirishimaswife2819]

When Their S/o is on Their Period || BNHA Boy Headcanons

Masterlist

Pairings: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader, Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader, Eijiro Kirishima x Fem!Reader, Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader, and Denki Kaminari x Fem!Reader

Summary: How the boys act when you’re on your period

Word Count: 1.6k

A/n: I wrote this because my period is supposed to come in like two days and I am not very excited at all. Anyway, I hope you like these headcanons, and requests are still open and all that, just read the rules first. Also, thanks for everyone who has liked/reblogged any of my posts or even followed me, I really appreciate it. Hope you all have a great day/night! :) -Danielle <3

Izuku Midoriya:

If you don’t tell him ahead of time that you’re going to be on your period and you snap at him he’s gonna get so upset

Like he’s going to think about every little thing that happened for the past few weeks and try to see where he went wrong

Then when you tell him you’re on your period, he’s going to just freeze, and then start to panic

His face gets all red, but he still asks if you if you need anything

If you send this boy to the store to get pads/tampons, expect him to be gone for a solid few hours

When he firsts gets to aisle, he stands there, because he knows absolutely nothing about pad/tampons, and he doesn’t know what brand to get

So then, he takes out his phone and starts typing, and trying to do research, but google isn’t helping him decide what to get at all

So, then the nice old lady restocking the shelves, offers to help, noticing how he’s panicking

He still ends up getting a few different brands, but that’s okay

If you get bad cramps, like really bad, he’s definitely going to cry

He hates seeing you in pain

If you are having cramps he’ll give you some medicine he bought and offer you a heating pad

After he gets you feeling a little better, he’s going to give you all the snacks he got you and offer to cuddle and watch whatever you want with him

Overall, even though he gets really embarrassed about it, he’ll still help you if you need him to

Katsuki Bakugou:

If you snap at him, he’s going to like brush it off, but after the second or third time he’s going to go off on you

But once you tell him you’re on your period he’s going to be so confused

Not because he doesn’t know what it is, but because he has no clue what he’s supposed to do about it

He’ll apologize for going off on you

By apologize I mean that he’ll mumble sorry under his breath so that you can barely hear it

But I mean it’s Bakugou, so just take what you can get

He probably wouldn’t offer to go anywhere to get you anything

But if you ask him, he’ll go (Only after complaining the whole time getting ready to leave though)

He’s going to make sure you tell him what brand of pads/tampons to get so he doesn’t have to embarrass himself in front of people in the store

If the cashier says one word about him buying them or gives him a weird look, he’s going to get very pissed

“They’re for my girlfriend, now stop giving me weird ass looks and comments and just scan the damn things!”

He’ll probably end up grabbing more snacks or chocolate than you asked for but if you ask why he did that, he’s going to say it was a total accident, even though it wasn’t

After he brings you the stuff he’ll just crash in your bed, and demand cuddles

But he won’t ask, he’ll just pull you to him and cuddle you

The first time you’re on your period around him, he’s pretty embarrassed but hides it, but with time, he gets used to it and it doesn’t bother him anymore

Although no matter if he’s sixteen and buying pads/tampons for you or seventy and buying pads/tampons for you, he’s still going to end up yelling at the poor cashier, even if they don’t comment or give him a look

Eijiro Kirishima:

I may be a bit biased because I absolutely love Kirishima (if you couldn’t tell), but I am convinced that he would be the best boyfriend in every way

And that includes when you’re on your period

If you snap at him, he’s going to get a little upset, but immediately ask what’s wrong and try to figure out what the issue is

After you tell him, he’s going to panic but hide it so he doesn’t alarm you

Immediately offers to go get you anything you need

But he’s so eager to help you out, he forgets to ask what brand of pads or tampons to buy 

So now he’s in the feminine hygiene product aisle, standing next to some twelve year old girl whose low key too embarrassed to grab a box of pads in front of some teenage boy

So she’s just standing there, waiting for him to leave, but he’s trying to figure out which box to buy, so he’s like looking at all of them and picking them up, trying to figure out the difference between all of them

And the girl goes to quickly grab a box and run off, but then he speaks

“Wait, can you help me?”

And the girl low key just wants to disappear right then and there, but she helps him anyway

This man walks away with a few different brands of pads/tampons in his arms not realizing he just traumatized some little girl by asking her for advice on getting his girlfriend pads/tampons

Then he grabs you some snacks, medicine, and whatever else you wanted, before checking out and leaving

He like rushes home because he was taking so long and he was worried about you

But when he like bursts into your room, you’re literally fine, and just chilling eating some stale chips, and watching some Netflix

Kirishima immediately takes away your stale chips, and gives you the stuff he bought

So now you guys are eating the new and not stale chips while binge watching your favorite Netflix show for the fiftieth time

Shoto Todoroki:

I only have three words: Human Heating Pad

But seriously, if you have cramps, and you tell him heat helps, he’s definitely going to offer for you to use his hand as a heating pad

Once he learns that you’re on your period, he’s going to try his best to help, but he knows nothing about them despite having a sister

After taking a moment to compose himself after initial shock of you telling him, he’s going to offer to go to the store for you

So, now he’s in the aisle, trying to figure out what brand to get

He had tried calling you, but you must of been napping, because you didn’t pick up

Eventually he decides to call his sister and ask for some help

His sister proceeds to tell him about pads and tampons and how they work

He ends up writing some of the stuff down in his notes on his phone so he knows for next time and doesn’t forget

Then he’ll get whatever else you want

He’ll probably end up grabbing something extra too

Like a little gift such a plushie or a necklace, since he now knows periods really suck

He ends up getting you a gift every time your on your period (with Endeavor’s credit card of course), so it kind of morphs into a little tradition even though you insist that he doesn’t need to do it

But once he returns to home, you apologize for not answering, since you were in fact napping, but he quickly shuts you down and gives you everything he had got for you

Then you use his hand as your personal heating pad and talk about your lives

Overall, he’s pretty calm about the situation, and doesn’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be

Denki Kaminari:

When you snap, or if you snap, he’s probably just going to brush it off

But the second time you snap at him, he makes some dumb remark

Probably something like, “Damn is it that time of the month or something?”

That gets him a textbook to his face

He’s honestly surprised with your response to his question

“Actually, yeah! Asshole! Now, if you’re gonna be a jerk, get the hell out and leave me alone!”

He was only joking and didn’t expect you to actually say yes

After you admit that you being on your period is the problem, he doesn’t know what to do

He knows the basics of a period, he knows you bleed, and like chocolate, and you sometimes get cramps, but other than that he has no idea how to handle the situation

After a moment of trying to figure out what to do, he asks if you need anything

Now he’s in the store, trying to figure out what a ‘flow’ is, and why pads and tampons are so expensive

He ends up calling Kirishima to come help, who has no clue what to do either

Then they turn it into a group call by adding Bakugou and Sero

Bakugou calls them ‘fucking stupid’ but doesn’t know shit about periods either so when they ask him for help he makes up some excuse for not telling Kaminari what to do

Sero is actually helpful and tells him to just get one of each type of flow, since Kaminari refuses to call you and ask (R.I.P. Kaminari’s wallet)

Kaminari thanks him, and then they end the call

Then he gets whatever else you asked for, before heading home

When he gets there, he awkwardly hands you the bag and asks if you need anything else

When you say you want him to stay, he’s immediately jumping into your bed and cuddling with you

He thought since you were on your period, you wouldn’t want to be around him and it low key made him kind of sad, cause he would miss you

Then you guys spend the rest of the night scrolling through Tik Tok, and laughing along to videos

At some point, you end up seeing the thing girls do on Tik Tok where they ask their boyfriend’s how pads work

When Kaminari continues watching the video, and learns how pads actually work, he’s like turns to you and is like

“Wait, the sticky part doesn’t stick to your vagina?”

Somebody please help this poor idiot

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

Heavy Silence

Warning: This work goes into Bruce Banner's traumatic childhood. It includes themes such as depression, manipulation, child abuse, murder and more. Nothing of it is explicit but if these things are triggering for you, proceed with care or scroll further.

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It was friday afternoon and Bruce sat in Samson's office. Originally he wanted to cancel for today. He woke up with this tight feeling in his chest. The weight was pulling him down and he could just barely get out of bed. He skipped breakfast and only ate one grilled cheese for lunch.

Bruce didn't know what exactly caused him to act this way. He started to get better. He actually took care of himself, was going out and strengthend his relationships.

But life had to haunt him again. Like many times before. It might never end.

A few years ago, he might have tried to end it all. He made progress, but these kind of days are still there.

On these days, he can barely look into the mirror. The world doesn't feel real sometimes and he forgets what he has done five minutes ago.

Then he hides under the blankets. Never cries, because that is a sign of weakness and he can't be weak, ever.

On these days, he can hear his voice. It's scary. Not just because it is his voice but also because he feels like this little boy again. The little boy in Dayton, Ohio a lifetime ago. The little boy who had to choose between starving and getting hurt. The little boy who tried to hide himself, always unsuccessfully. The little boy who chose to remain silent. The little boy who couldn't protect himself.

The little boy who couldn't protect his mom.

Guilt was a strong emotion on these days. Even though he swore to himself he would never ever feel something again. Guess he can't even keep one promise...

When he feels these intense waves of guilt, there was always a voice which made it even worse. It reminded him of him but it is not exactly him. He sometimes thinks he is the devil's child then and he was right after all. But after a few minutes logic kicks in and tells him that surely the devil couldn't be worse than him. Whatever the reason for the voice's existence is, he found a way to haunt Bruce even after his death which was way to peaceful.

"Bruce, are you with me?"

Blink. Blink. Right. He was in the office. Not in his apartment. Or Dayton.

"Sorry, where were we?"

"We talked a bit about your day and what triggered the panic attack"

Triggered? No, he wasn't triggered. He was all alone today. He didn't go to an event or anything. It wasn't christmas either.

Then he remembered. The news website. "Alcoholic family father kills wife - the children are the only witnesses".

That was it. He did have a panic attack. How could have he forgotten it? He hates his memory issues.

"You read something which was a part of your own childhood. This must have been very distressing, especially when combined with the depressive mood you have been feeling today."

"The headline wasn't a part of my childhood. First, he wasn't a father, a father wouldn't do these horrible things he did to me. Second, I didn't have any siblings, any friends. Sure, there is Jen but she lived in L.A and I in Dayton. I was all alone."

"Let's look further into this."

He said too much. He didn't think before he spoke. It was impulsive. Why wanted Leonard talk about this with him anyway?! He knows the story. They discussed his loneliness often enough.

"Please not."

"Okay, then let me ask another question. Do you remember a period of time in which you felt safe? And I mean not just short moments, but years, months, weeks or days in a row."

Deep down he knew the answer. He still chose to remain silent. And this was an answer in itself.

Samson nodded. "Do you feel safe now?"

He knew the answer but chose to remain silent.

"Why don't you feel safe now?"

He knew the answer but didn't say it out loud. He couldn't. He wouldn't give him this satisfaction after his death.

But no matter how long he stayed silent, it didn't change the answer.

[ptergwen]

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

-

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that��s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

-

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

[writerwhowritesao3]

Billy starts experiencing C-PTSD symptoms when he and Steve start living together. 

(Long, angsty ficlet under the cut. TW for self harm, panic attacks, past abuse, and PTSD)

He has more frequent nightmares, and now instead of just having nightmares about the Upside Down, he’s having nightmares about Neil and also about his mother.

Things that should be mundane and innocuous start to be triggering, like the scent of Budweiser.

Some things that used to be totally fine are now triggering. For example, Steve used to be able to push Billy against a wall when they were both in a playful-rough-sex kind of mood. The one time Steve did that when they were living in their own apartment, Billy completely shut down. It only lasted for a few seconds—not even a full minute—and Billy tried to play it off like it was nothing and that he was totally fine. But seeing Billy completely blank and non-responsive like that scared the shit out of Steve so he never did it again.

Billy also experiences some mood issues. Some days he’ll be fine. But other days he’s so consumed with sadness and anxiety and exhaustion that even getting out of bed is a feat.

There’s a period where Billy wants to have sex all the time. Like, he��s constantly all over Steve, practically begging for him to fuck him. During this time, he pretty much only wants the sex to be hard and rough. Eggs Steve on to fuck him harder, choke him, slap him, pin him down, use him. 

The hyper-sexuality lasts about two weeks or so. And then for a month after, Billy can barely stand to be touched at all.

Sometimes Billy gets up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep, so he takes long walks in their neighborhood so he doesn’t wake Steve up.

Steve knows that this is all caused by trauma. He does his best to be supportive. He comforts Billy and helps him go back to sleep when he has nightmares. He makes sure that Billy eats and drinks water when he’s depressed and he coaxes him into taking a shower because he knows that it’ll help Billy feel better.

He figures out that while pushing Billy against a wall freaks him out, backing him up and pressing him against a wall gets him hot. 

When he’s getting undressed for bed or changing his clothes, he turns away from Billy when he’s taking his belt off.

Steve also watches Billy closely to make sure he doesn’t do anything totally self-destructive. 

Billy hates it. He hates that Steve made changes to his own behavior to avoid triggering him. He hates the fact that little things set him off and make him dissociate. He hates himself for being such a burden that Steve is obviously just staying with out of some sense of obligation. 

He cuts himself and hides the wounds and scars under his clothes. He starves himself and doesn’t eat unless Steve is there.

Things eventually come to a head. 

Billy is home alone and he has a panic attack triggered by a Ford F-150 parked across the street of their apartment building.

Steve comes home from work to find Billy sitting on the kitchen floor, knees pulled up to his chest, and arms wrapped tightly around his legs. He’s visibly shaking. He’s not crying—he looks like he’s a million miles away.

Steve very carefully brings Billy back to reality. As soon as Billy is out of his dissociative state, he completely falls apart. Sobs uncontrollably in Steve’s arms. Says that he feels like he’s going insane and that he thinks he needs to go to a fucking mental hospital.

Steve helps him calm down. After he stops crying, Billy is still kind of disoriented. And he’s physically exhausted. Steve draws a bath and puts in a few drops of lavender essential oil. He gets in with Billy, sitting behind him so that he can lean back against his chest. They hold each other all night in bed.

The next day, they go to their city’s LGBT Community Center. One of the staff members there helps them connect with a trauma therapist. Billy is able to get an appointment for later that week. 

Steve sees a therapist, too. 

Billy’s therapist diagnoses him with C-PTSD refers him to a psychiatrist. He starts taking medication and continues with therapy to unpack and work through his childhood. A few months in, he also starts going to a support group held at at the LGBT Community Center. It turns out a lot of gay men have abusive parents.

He and Steve have a few sessions with a couples counselor. 

They grow. They heal. And they do it together.

[swanpyart]

Whitty and Carol Headcanons

TW: manipulation and parental death mention)

Carol:

She lives in her own apartment, and works a full time job at a bookstore. She didn’t go to college cus it was way too expensive (and that’s a valid option btw)

Her and GF have been friends since high school and the two of them look out for each other. Carol once had a crush on her when they were younger and the two dated briefly, but they decided it was weird and broke up. Of course, it was mutual and they are still friends

She’s probably the only person who BF raps against that is basically just a normal person tbh; she’s not a demon or an assassin or anything, she’s just a 19-year-old black gal with taxes to pay

She‘s very relaxed and chill, but she’s smart and thinks things through (the FNF creators describe BF and GF as idiots who never have any clue how much danger they’re in, so I like to think GF has a really smart friend). I think that if GF suggested something stupid, she’d go along with it to laugh at the result

She likes memes and watches movies that are objectively terrible to mock them. She’s also a Megan Thee Stallion and Lizzo fan (I’m not projecting wdym)

Her parents died while she was in high school, so she was forced to look out for herself. Usually it seems not to bother her, but there are plenty of times where she really misses them and can’t get out of bed

She’s the type of person whose usually very collected and good under pressure but tends to bottle up her feelings until they come out in a really embarrassing way

She doesn’t like asking for help or hand outs because of all of that either, which can make her seem uncharacteristically stubborn

Her parents eloped against the rest of her family’s wishes, so Carol is estranged from the rest of her relatives

Whitty (this is for FNF Whitty only):

A former rockstar who was very underground but was eventually halted by Daddy Dearest. I don’t think Daddy Dearest was another rockstar; I think he was Whitty’s MANAGER, and he kept being controlling over him and his image. Whitty was angry and hurt that someone he trusted kept trying to manipulate him and that he lost control of his career, so he eventually quit music altogether

Whitty was also made in a factory by a corporation that wanted to make a perfect doomsday weapon. The place was shut down and he was able to escape. He kind of resents what he is, which didn’t make the situation with DD any better, since it was just another shady person trying to use him as a tool

Whitty’s ballistic mode activates when he feels intense negative emotions in general, not just anger (anxiety, sadness, grief, fear, etc.).

Ballistic mode only causes a massive explosion if he doesn’t “cool down” after a certain period of time. It’s like a panic attack with a timer

I don’t really see him as grumpy, just distrustful and quick to suspicion. He is reasonable towards strangers, if a bit quiet, but if you do something that gives the impression that you‘ll turn on him or that you want to cause him trouble, he’ll get angry

He has anxiety and is a lot more paranoid than he seems; he’s got MASSIVE trust issues

He’s semi-homeless: sometimes he makes money by singing smaller gigs at restaurants, and rents motel rooms (since some smaller establishments recognize him well enough). He’s just such a paranoid person that it leaks into his work life and makes it hard for him to hold a job without quitting out of anxiety

He also occasionally sleeps in alleys because of this too

Miscellaneous:

Carol has a thing for tall guys but doesn’t tell Whitty cus she knows he’s insecure about his looks and doesn’t want to put him on the spot

Occasionally, Whitty stays at her apartment until he finds a job, which only happens if she literally forces him to. He tries to avoid using any of her stuff and only ever stays for three days at most since he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (even when she insists he stay longer)

If she’s having a mental health crisis, though, he ALWAYS stays longer until she’s better (which drives her nuts, because he only stays at her place longer if he thinks it’ll make her feel better and not for his own well being)

Neither are good cooks and usually order takeout.

Carol high key thinks it’s weird that Whitty doesn’t poop. Whitty thinks it’s weird that she does.

When they watch bad movies together, Whitty unironically can’t tell why their bad. His taste in movies is horrible and Carol loves it.

If the two are in public, Whitty wears his hoodie up so people stare at him less since his bomb head is so iconic. People still stare cus he’s so tall. If someone tries to bug him in public, Carol usually tells them off.

Whitty is also asexual and biromantic, and Carol is Pansexual

[lilysdaydreams]

Chocolates

→ Pairing: Corpse Husband X plussize!Reader

→ Request: hello i love you and your writing (firstly) i was wondering if you could write a corpse husband xfem reader who is plus size? i havent seen any of those lol but maybe she gets hate over it and wants to start eating better and working out with him?? you don’t have to if you don’t want to tho!!

→ Warnings: chubby reader, insecure!reader, Body Image issues !!! Swearing, Descriptions of Readers feeling really sad about their body + online hate comments on readers body.

→ A/N: Idk what happened with this. This past week has been hard and I've been really tired but I forced myself to write something. I dont really think its goof but I hope the person who requested it likes it :(((

~~~

You fell into bed, wrapping the blanket around you and rolling over onto your side. Work had been hard today, your manager getting mad at the smallest of things. You could hear Corpse in his streaming room, talking to the viewers. You and Corpse had been together for 2 years now, and both of you had finally decided you were ready to reveal your relationship to his fans. First, you'd simply joined him on stream, talking at some points. Then a few weeks later, he'd posted a photo of him holding your hand and tagged you in it.

Your followers had gone from your 450 friends to 53 000 strangers. And that was only on the first day. You hadn't been on Instagram for a whole week, too overwhelmed about all the attention. It was a Friday today though, so you decided you might as well.

You opened up Instagram and clicked on your profile, eyes widening as you saw the 500k written above followers.

"Five hundred thousand?" You whispered to yourself, not even being able to comprehend the number. Like sure, if you compared it to Corpses 2 million, it seemed small, but it's not as if you did anything! What reason would they have to follow you? You only had two photos posted as well, an outfit photo from your sister's weddings, and one of you drinking a bubble tea.

Quickly clicking on the bubble tea picture, you opened up the comments smiling when the first comment  that caught your eye was "Woah shes so pretty." You scroll slowly, your  smile growing bigger at all the  love that Corpses fans gave you.

"SHES GORGEOUS"

"QUEEN WHAT THE HELL STEP ON ME"

The amount of "CHOKE ME" comments were hilarious.

You chuckled at a few and scrolled again, reading another one.

"Why did he have to pick a fat girl?"

For a second, your heart completely  stopped.

"What the fuck," you muttered.

You quickly clicked on the replies, wanting to see what others had to say. There were people defending you and arguing with the user, and there were others who agreed with them.

“Yes omg do you se ever stomach? Ugh how can Corpse stand staring at that the whole day?”

“Bruh her legs 😂😂”

You sucked in a breath.

You’d never been thin, always a bit chubby and with a bit of stomach fat. You’d been very insecure in high school, always wearing baggy clothes to hide your body, but who hadn’t felt that way in high school. After it though, you’d been okay. You felt happy and Corpse always let you know that he loved your body just the way you were. You were pretty confident normally. Today though... today it felt like all of that confidence has crumbled. You kept scrolling focusing on all the comments that talked about your weight.

Throwing the phone on the bed, you got up and moved to the mirror you have in your room. Grabbing the cloth draped over it, you pulled it off, looking at yourself in the mirror. You can see every flaw the comments talked about. You can see your double chin, your huge stomach, your big thighs. You held your arms up, wincing when you see the fat on them. Your probably looked so bad when you waved bye to someone. Tears now gathering in your eyes, you moved the cloth back over the mirror and then went back to bed, using the pillow to muffle your sobs.

You knew you were being a bit stupid. Random people on the internet and their opinions shouldn’t matter to you. But for some reason, the words had really gotten to you, and all you wanted to do was cry.

A few minutes later, you heard the door open, and knowing it was Corpse, you pushed your head into the pillow even more, not wanting him to look at you like this.

“Babe,” he whispered, coming over and patting you on your back.

“Baby,” he repeated when you refused to say anything and that he could hear was your sniffling. “You okay?”

You sobbed in response and he let out a “Oh” and then pulled you away from the pillow.

You looked down, refusing to look at him because you would look like an absolute mess.

“God I look so bad right now, he’s gonna see me and realise how big of a fat mess I am and leave me,” you thought.

“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” He asked again grabbing you in a hug.

“Was it work?” He asked when you didn’t answer. “or did your mom call again?"

When you stayed silent, he let out a sigh and let you go, getting up from the bed.

You immediately looked up, and asked “Where are you going?" because for a second you felt like it was true.  Maybe Corpse was leaving you because of how disgusting you were.

He looked down at you, startled by your sudden question. "Just to get some chocolate and a blanket."

"No." you said voice shaking a bit from the crying, "I don't want chocolate."

"What babe, what the fuck?" He said softly, dropping back down next to you. "Baby what's going on, just tell me, I can't do anything if you can't tell me."

"You-You know your fans? They're amazing, right?" you finally said, hesitating a little.

"It's just, I checked some comments on one of Instagram posts and there's so many where they're just talking about how fat I am, or how big my stomach is, or how ugly I look," you said, your voice lowering to a whisper at the end.

A beat of silence and then;

"Oh baby noooo," Corpse whispers, grabbing you and pulling you into a hug.

You cant stop the tears from leaking out of your eyes and you bury your head into his shoulder. His hoodie smells like the bodywash he uses, making you calmer in a second.

"Sweetheart, you are absolutely beautiful," he begins, whispering into your ear. "Did you know that when I first saw you, I couldn't even speak? Like I legitimately felt like my mouth had been glued together, I couldn't form any words."

Heat rose to your cheeks as he continued on.

"You were like an angel, literally glowing, and guess what, I still feel like that whenever I see you now. When you come back home and you're wearing that huge hoodie and you just have the hood pulled up because its cold and the little pout on your face, guess what you look fucking gorgeous to me like that. And when you're in our bed, wearing shorts and a crop top with your hair in a bun waiting for me to make popcorn so we can watch a movie, god you look like an angel then okay?"

"Oh ah, when you're on your period, and seriously bloated and eating all the food, you fucking look beautiful to me then as well. Your tummy- Your tummy makes me so happy like look at this soft little baby. And guess what? I fucking LIVE for your thighs and you know that baby, like I will die for them okay? Your ass- well, we both know what I feel about that so I won't say anything." He ended with a chuckle.

You moved back a little, and he grabbed your face and rested his forehead on yours.

Taking a deep breath, he started whispering, eyes locked onto yours.

"Every single part of you is perfect. And I love it. I find you so sexy that I literally cannot breathe sometimes because of your presence. You're amazing and I fucking love you. What those people say on the internet, why the fuck does it matter huh? They obviously can't recognize the absolute fox in front of their faces."

Slowly he wiped the tears from your face, and returned the watery smile that you gave him.

"Chocolates?" he asked, still whispering.

You nodded your head, giggling as he ran to get them.

fin.

[writer-ish]

φόβος, or the persistence of fear

prompt: to shower with my muse / for sex on a table/counter/desk / for our muses to try a new position + words: “make me” pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 5.3k words | rating: super E!!! (minors dni) summary: φόβος (FO-vos) Greek. “fear”. Post-Book 3 Final Demo, Mason and Grace have some trouble overcoming their individual fears.

author note: i know you said “or”, lovely @detective-sweetheart , but to my eyes you were issuing a challenge as to whether or not i could do them ALL. i didn’t quite succeed, but hopefully it doesn’t disappoint. 😘 and, uh… *side-eyes the word count* ...yeah. really should get that ao3 account up and running huh?

warning: this smutty lil fic immediately follows the end of the final demo for book 3 (bobby route) so if you don't want any inkling of what that's all about, stay away.

XX nsfw prompts

X X X X

Saying that it had been “one of those days” would not only be an insult to days but to the concept of singularity itself.

By the time they roll into the warehouse, it's just after nine-thirty in the evening. The sun has already dipped beyond the horizon almost entirely, but there remains an eerie summer glow of light that seems to permeate the atmosphere. Not quite day, not quite night, but instead some liminal moment that feels almost otherworldly. Familiar, yet not.

Grace shivers.

Mason, sitting beside her in the roomy black SUV, turns towards her as the almost-imperceptible tremor runs through her body.

She meets his gaze, taking in his expression – tight and concerned, the grey of his irises stormy and conflicted – before she feels his hand reach across her lap and cup her outer thigh, tugging her closer to him.

They wait in silence as Adam parks and the rest of Unit Bravo gets out, Felix patting her leg reassuringly from beside her before exiting on his side. Mason gets out as well and turns to her, hands now shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

It's Grace's turn, so she gingerly exits, the weight of the day finally revealing the toll it's taken on her body. The fifteen minutes of inactivity in the car were, apparently, all it had needed as a reminder of what she'd endured in the last sixteen hours or so. All of a sudden she feels exhausted, weighted down, frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower.

"You good?" Mason asks as they walk together towards the entrance of the warehouse, shoulders brushing, a bit behind the others.

"Just tired," she responds, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Can't wait to shower and just lie down."

"Need any help with that?" The drawled reply is rife with a familiar irreverence, but there is something heavier in his tone that makes Grace glance up.

He's looking down at her, telltale smirk on his lips. But his grey eyes are dim and there's a furrow between his brows that isn't normally there.

"Yes."

Her quick response seems to surprise him; he stops walking and turns to look at her with an inscrutable expression. She can understand why—she isn't normally so brazen when it comes to his advances and she knows he revels in her shyness sometimes. Mastering the art of getting a rise out of her, making her flustered, teasing her and watching her blush.

But this time she doesn't care if her response feels bold or unlike her. Since dawn that morning, the litany of things she'd experienced were enough emotional and physical turmoil to last a person a lifetime, never mind a period that's comprised of less than twenty-four hours.

And now she wants Mason and she wants a shower and she wants to sleep. In whatever order she can have them.

Instead of saying anything flirtatious or sarcastic, he lets his eyes roam over her face for a moment and then he just nods and drapes an arm over her shoulders, leading her inside.

Upon entering the Warehouse, they’re greeted by Adam, Nate, and Felix, who appear to have been waiting for them. All three agents turn when they see Mason and Grace walking in, and Grace feels a pang of guilt, knowing that Adam will probably want to coordinate a meeting of some sort to go over the events of the day as well as next steps.

Sure enough, he intercepts them as they attempt to walk by.

“We should be debriefing on everything that just occurred." Adam crosses his arms and peers down at Grace. "And Detective, have you gotten a hold of Agent Bennett? I can’t seem to—“

Grace opens her mouth to reply, and perhaps Mason can feel the way her body leans away from him, already attempting to gear herself up for the meeting Adam has planned for them all, because he tugs her closer and begins dragging her away, speaking over her before she has a chance to respond.

“The Detective,” he announces, forcing her to keep pace with him, “is currently unavailable."

She can feel Adam's disapproval radiating at her back and she looks up at Mason helplessly.

"Stop," he commands her, then says over his shoulder: "She's had a rough day, okay? We'll meet in the morning."

Adam grumbles his reluctant acquiescence and Felix shouts after them: "Don't forget how thin the walls are!"

Nate splutters, as Mason throws back: "They're concrete!"

Nate’s splutters turn into a groan as Felix responds: "With you two it doesn't seem to make a difference."

Grace groans as well, feeling the heat surge up into her cheeks as she buries her face in her hands. Mason just laughs and continues to drag her along.

As soon as she gets to her room, she lets him in and then closes the door firmly behind them, leaning on it heavily with a deep sigh.

Mason is already walking around the small room, inspecting the current aesthetic. When the room had been set up for her, cues had apparently been taken from her own apartment. So there’s a vibe that can definitely be considered “cozy”, like her style – long white curtains, a plethora of pillows, a down comforter – while also being weirdly unfamiliar. It’s like a Sims version of her own place in some Bizarro universe. She isn’t sure if it makes her feel more at home—or less.

“What did you bring from your place?” His voice breaks her out of her reverie and she looks at him in surprise.

“Oh, uh—” Taking a look around, her brow furrows. “Honestly, not much. After what happened this morning, I didn’t have the wherewithal to grab anything that I really needed. Thank god there’s some stuff here. But I’m going to have to go back tomorrow and sift through the damage. See what can be salvaged.” She shrugs, then to her horror, she can feel her eyes inadvertently well with tears.

“Hey, hey—” Mason is in front of her before she can blink, tilting her chin up. “What’s that for?”

“Ugh, just—” She rubs her eyes frustratedly. “What a fucking day.”

“Yeah, you’ve been through it,” he agrees, before roughly pulling her into his arms. “One for the record books.”

His arms around her provide more comfort than he could probably ever understand and she feels her whole body wilt into his strength and his heat and his scent.

“I’m so sick of days ‘for the record books’,” she mumbles into his chest and she can feel his chuckle more than she hears it.

“Why don’t we see if we can make this one a bit better, hmm?” She looks up just in time for him to capture her lips with his.

Letting out a little sigh, she twines her arms around his neck and allows him to kiss her slowly, leisurely, taking little sips from her mouth, stroking her tongue with his own, stoking a slow fire that always seems to be maintaining a low burn in his presence. She presses her body closer, enjoying the feel of her breasts against his torso, his growing hardness pressing into her stomach.

He glides his hands down her back and cups her bottom, squeezing it appreciatively, before pulling her even closer still.

Moving his mouth to her neck, his teeth glide against her pulse point, and her heart skips a little beat when she feels the sharpness of his canines against her sensitive skin.

“Relax,” he whispers, kissing her softly right in the place where his teeth had just scraped. “This isn’t where I want to taste you.”

She lets out a little whimper and brings his mouth back to hers, kissing him fiercely, feeling the points and ridges of his teeth with her tongue crowding his mouth. He pulls her tightly to him, dragging her body up so her feet leave the ground, and then he drops her backwards on the bed, his knee already down on the mattress with her, poised to pounce.

“No—” she protests and before she can blink he’s off of her and standing at the edge of the bed.

“What is it?” His voice is calm, with none of the frustration she would assume he’d be feeling in that moment.

“No, it’s just—” She pauses and glances at the door to the ensuite bathroom, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I really need a shower, before any… tasting happens.”

He blinks and then in a flash he’s on her again, his body pressing her deep into the soft mattress.

“For what it’s worth, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at her lips, “I’ll taste you whenever, however.”

“Reassuring,” she laughs, “but trust me when I say a shower is needed.”

“Then let’s get you wet.” She laughs again with a groan, allowing him to hoist her up.

He tugs at her shirt and she raises her arms accommodatingly, allowing him to lift it up and over her head. Piece by piece, he undresses her, hands grazing her skin with each article he removes, discarding the item as quickly as it comes off her body, until she stands in front of him fully nude.

Self-consciousness at her nudity is a forgotten pastime now that she’s with Mason. It’s something about the way he looks at her —he’s always just so pleased. With her or with himself she can’t tell, but either way it does wonders for one’s self esteem.

Even now, she can almost feel the heat emanating off of him, a hungry smoulder of pure energy as his eyes roam up and down her body.

“Shower,” she squeaks, not sure who needs the reminder more.

Instead of answering, he lifts her up effortlessly, dragging her thighs around him until she can cross her ankles behind his back. She feels the fabric of his clothing rubbing every inch of bare skin it encounters – the leather of his jacket against her nipples, his jeans between her legs – and he settles her onto a dresser that she literally hadn’t even noticed before that moment.

Her breathing escalates in anticipation and yearning, waiting for wherever his mouth or his tongue or his teeth go next, but instead he remains quiet and still, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on her shoulder.

She freezes, unsure what he wants or even what she should do. And then she feels it.

A light tremor, scarcely noticeable, running through his body.

Before she can react, his arms tighten around her in a crushing hug and she instinctively hugs him back fiercely, running her hands up and down his back, pulling him closer with her legs.

“Mason,” she whispers. “What—?”

With a growl, he lifts his head and captures her mouth with his own, teeth and tongues clashing in a hungry, desperate kiss. His fingers tangle in her hair as his thumbs caress her cheekbones in a juxtaposition of rough and gentle.

She kisses him back, trying to keep up with the shift in his mood. Pulling away with a gasp, she attempts to catch his eye.

“Are you—?”

Groaning, he leans in and kisses her again, hands running over her body in frantic strokes, as though memorizing the shape of her with his palms.

When he lifts his head again, she sees the conflict in his narrowed gaze, the grey irises stormy with anger and desire and another, less discernible emotion that causes gooseflesh to rise on her bare skin.

“Just look at you.” His voice is harsh, almost angry, and her jaw slackens in surprise at his tone. He tilts away from her as he speaks and she registers the absence acutely as cool air hits bare skin that now feels on display, her legs still spread open around him.

Shyness overcomes her as she becomes truly conscious of her nudity for the first time. She makes to close her legs and he grips them tighter around his hips so she can’t move them, his eyes flicking between hers, seeking answers and absolution.

“You’re so soft, so small,” he continues, his voice still rough with shades of anger, even as his words feel hollow and almost somehow reminiscent of—grief? “This skin, this body you’re in—it’s so weak.”

“Mason!” She finds her voice finally, confusion and indignation at war with one another in her mind as she tries to coincide his expression – which can only be described as tortured – with the hurtful things he’s saying.

“How can we let you go back out there?” His voice is raw now, the anger appearing to slowly fade away, leaving him worn-out and desperate in its wake. “Unprotected? Out in the open for any fucker to grab, to take. To hurt?” He gives her a little shake and she gasps. “Huh? How?”

Understanding dawns. Yes, it had been a rough day for her. One of the worst.

But it looks as though, maybe, it had been a rough day for him, too.

Immediately, her hands begin to move of their own volition, running up his chest and over his shoulders. His whole body seems to sag, the fight draining out of him completely, and he closes his eyes, turning his head away from her.

“I have the Agency,” she murmurs as she tries to soothe him with her touch, her tone, her words. She tucks her hands under his jacket and pushes it off until it drops on the floor. Smoothing her hands back up his arms, she doesn’t stop until they cup his face. “I have them to protect me.”

She turns his head and waits until he opens his eyes, his gaze still narrowed, but with a telltale furrow in his brow.

“And I have you,” she adds, softly. “To protect me.” She pauses, watching the creases in his forehead smooth even as his eyes drift away from hers once more. “I’ll be okay.”

He reminds her now of a beast being soothed; a wolf, perhaps—hackles still up, but with the understanding that the threat has passed, for the time being, at least.

She knows not to look too much into it; loyalty is intrinsic to Mason’s being. His defence of her would be his defence of any of them.

But she kisses his brow anyway, just in case. His cheek, too, even as he stiffens in her arms.

“I’ll be okay,” she repeats, “unless I don’t get a shower in the next thirty seconds.”

His expression shifts back to a familiar one: arched brow, lips curled up on one side, white teeth showing one sharp canine. He seems almost relieved, though at what she’s not sure – the reprieve? Her unspoken forgiveness? Her assurance?

Regardless, she knows she won’t get the answers she seeks and, sure enough, he says nothing, only lifts her back into his arms and carts her off to the bathroom.

She can’t help but laugh against his neck, although her heart still thumps an erratic beat at the odd moment they’d just had.

Depositing her by the sink, he peels off his shirt, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor as he reaches inside the shower to turn on the water. He then strips out of his pants and underwear just as quickly, appearing more comfortable in his nudity than he is clothed—a fact that she’s come to realize is true.

She can’t help but take him in, flawless and muscular, a constellation of freckles across his upper body and arms. Unruly onyx waves tumble towards his shoulders and her fingers itch to run through them. His chest is covered in short, curling hairs that stretch across his pectorals and down, over his defined stomach and even further still. His prominent erection is unselfconsciously on display, flushed and waiting, apparently, for her.

Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks as she stares, she hazards a glance back up to his face.

He’s regarding her quietly, a growing smile on his lips, his gaze half-lidded and pleased.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

“Always,” she responds before she can lose her nerve, her face heating even more.

He chuckles softly, taking a step towards her, stroking his knuckles down her cheek. “The feeling is mutual.” He nods towards the running water. “Feel that and tell me if it’s okay.”

Hopping off the counter, she reaches her hand in. The water is scalding and she hisses out a breath, before adjusting it slightly cooler. She waits a beat until it runs at a suitable temperature on her palm and wrist. “That’s good for me. You?”

She finds herself craning her neck to look up at him. He’s standing tall in front of her, looking down without really tilting his chin. He has a half smile on his face as he watches her and she feels herself redden again under his gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” he says eventually, before crowding her until she has no choice but to take a step in.

Entering the shower fully, she allows the water to run down her back, tilting her head to wet her hair. He follows her in and runs his fingers softly down her chest, snagging on her nipples, already distended and aching.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tracing over her lightly with his fingertips, playing and stroking. One finger circling a nipple before going down further until it grazes between her legs.

She bites back a moan as her eyes shut briefly, her palms pressing back against the cool tile of the shower for some sort of purchase.

He loops an arm around her waist and brings her to him, kissing her wetly, open-mouthed and demanding, their bare skin slipping against one another.

Swiftly, he turns her, pressing himself into the cleft of her ass. She can feel his hardness wedged deeply between her; a new sensation, but not entirely unpleasant, either. She wriggles experimentally and gasps at the titillating pressure.

“One day,” he murmurs in her ear, reading her mind, and she knows from the way he chuckles that her cheeks have gone truly red this time.

He strokes down her forearms, linking his fingers overtop hers before pressing them onto the tile so that her body is forced to tilt forward slightly. Then, he adjusts the spray of the water so it’s not hitting them directly.

“Open.” His voice is a gruff command and she can’t help but obey, her feet slipping slightly in her haste to spread her legs.

She feels his hand course over her wet skin, erection still pressed against her bottom, as his fingers move across her, teasing and playing, until they settle into the warm, liquid centre of her.

She lets out a protracted moan, her legs shaking, the relief of finally having him touch her right where she needs him to almost more than she can bear.

He strokes her masterfully, a finger delving into the wetness her body is producing just for him, for his touch, and then circling at the apex of her thighs. Her clit throbs with his attention and she can’t help but cry out as he applies steady continuous pressure. The shaking in her legs increases and his body presses against her even tighter, his other hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb strumming her nipple at the same pace as his other finger works her clit.

“I want you to come,” his voice grinds out next to her ear. “I want you to come all over my hand. I can already feel you dripping all over me, all over yourself. Let go, sweetheart.” He bites her neck lightly and she feels the sharp prick of his fangs on her sensitive flesh. “Let go.”

The pain and pleasure intertwine into a blinding flash of white light, her body convulsing as she cries out, her shout echoing throughout the small room. Her legs give way and he holds her steady against him, his arm the only barrier between her and the tiles.

She comes down slowly from her climax, her shaky breath echoing around them, trembling fingers still scrabbling for purchase on the wet tiled walls of the shower.

Before she can fully catch her breath, he turns her around wordlessly and crushes his mouth to hers again. She matches his fervour, opening her mouth and allowing him to consume her. Their kisses feel hungry, desperate, and she whimpers against his lips. Tightening his hold, he lifts her up into his arms, pressing her against the cool tiles. She can feel his hands splayed across her back, cushioning the impact, and she tightens her legs to draw him closer.

His erection is notched between her legs, stroking hotly up and down the teeming wetness there, both from the shower streaming between them and also, she knows, from her own body’s response to him, his nearness, and the promise of what’s to come.

She reaches between them and grips him, running her hand up and down his length as he tilts his head back and groans.

“Jesus, Gracie,” he bites off, and she can feel his fingers digging into her where they rest on her upper and lower back. “You gotta stop that, sweetheart, before I—”

“Make me,” she teases, revelling in these small, rare moments where she has the upper hand.

His head snaps up and she feels her heart skip a beat at the expression on his face, those silvery irises as thin as crescent moons against the deep black of his dilated pupils. His lips curl in a familiar smirk as he bounces her up higher in his arms. Laughing in surprise, she loses her grip on him and has to put her arms around his neck instead for balance.

At the new height he has her, she can feel the tip of his cock nudging into her liquid centre.

She lets out a breath that extends into a moan, feeling him enter her as she opens for him further. He holds her steady, hands cupping her ass as he guides her down, then back up, then down again, allowing her body time to accommodate him comfortably.

“Oh,” she whimpers, the sensation almost too much for her to bear. “I can’t—I’ve never—”

“Shhh.” He shifts and one hand goes to the back of her neck, drawing her head down his shoulder, while his other arm grips her around her hips. “I got you.”

Slowly, slowly he thrusts and pulls back, thrusts and pulls back, shallow and fluid movements, her body giving and giving some more, until he holds her tightly against him, their pelvises notched together, him fully seated within her.

There is never a moment in which she feels so vulnerable as the moment when they’re connected like this. Her body trembles with emotion, the full weight of the day finally crashing down on her. She tightens her thighs against his hips and her arms around his neck, tilting her head to kiss his wet, freckled shoulder, neck and jaw, happy that the steady stream of water from the showerhead prevents him from noticing the tears streaking down her cheeks.

She can’t do this right now, she can’t allow herself to succumb to this moment, these feelings, because if she does, she’s going to say something she regrets. Something that will ruin everything.

So she distracts herself with the physicality of what they’re doing and with the pressing need for release.

“Move,” she begs with a sob that hopefully he believes is impassioned rather than emotional. She rocks her hips against him, needing the moment to end just as much as she needs it to last forever.

He quickly and silently obeys, using her body to create a rhythm that matches his own, crowding her against the corner of the shower, holding her securely in his arms. She can feel his heart pounding against her body and without thinking, she digs her teeth into the soft skin where his neck meets shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but certainly enough to leave a mark.

The sudden action, fierce and uncharacteristic of her, almost possessive in its intensity, clearly surprises him. His hips stutter against hers and his hands grip her tightly—so tightly that she knows she’ll be seeing the bruises in the morning. He lets out a hoarse shout and she can feel his release inside her and that’s all it takes to send her hurtling over the edge with him. Letting out a cry that matches his, she rides the wave of her own climax, her body holding tightly to his, inside and out.

They stay like that for a beat, hearts pounding, Grace’s breath echoing shakily against the tiles. Gently, Mason disentangles her from him and sets her down, still holding her against him firmly. He strokes her back until she can get her breathing and pulse under control.

Once she’s steady, he pulls away from her. She inadvertently lets out a whimper as the water, now lukewarm, causes goosebumps to rise on her skin, the heat from his body too tempting to be taken from her. She has no reason to be concerned, however, because he’s back on her almost immediately, this time with a soft, soapy cloth in his hand that he begins to wash with her with.

Long, languid strokes down her back, her arms, the backs of her legs. Gently between her legs as he washes away the intermingled essence of what they’ve just done, rinsing and rewashing, in light, soft strokes.

She allows him his ministrations, feeling sleepier and more languorous by the moment, enjoying the feel of him caring for her. She registers that the soap has a light scent, inoffensive to her own nostrils, but she can’t help but wonder if it bothers him.

Reaching up lazily, with an arm that feels sluggish and heavier than usual, she brushes the damp hair back from his forehead.

“The soap—?” she tries, taking the wash cloth from him and allowing it to drop between them. She steps back slightly and rinses herself with the water streaming down.

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I can only smell you.”

“Me—?” She realizes belatedly he means her arousal, and the evidence of their union, and her face flares up with heat once more. His smirk turns into a full fledged grin.

“Oh, sweetheart, if I could make you blush like that forever, I’d be one lucky son of a bitch.”

The word forever seems to hang between them and the smile drops quickly from his face at her sharp intake of breath.

“Turn around,” he says gruffly and she obeys quickly, reluctant to allow the moment to be shattered completely.

She hears the sound of another liquid dispenser and the telltale coconut scent of her favourite shampoo fills the humid space – when the Agency does something, they really do it right, she thinks, impressed and a little weirded out – before she feels Mason’s hands in her hair.

If she’d expected impatience or roughness from him in this endeavour, she’s pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. For all his brusqueness and usual lack of desire to perform acts of service for others – outside those related to sexual pleasure – he takes his time with her hair, leisurely massaging in the shampoo, fingertips expertly pressing into her scalp and lathering the wet strands.

She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, a hum of pleasure escaping her lips. The warm water streams over her body and she’s convinced she’d be able to fall asleep standing if she let herself.

After a few more moments of quiet bliss, Mason places his hands on her shoulders and turns her back around. He gently tilts her chin up until the water is streaming over her hair now and she brings her own hands up to assist in rinsing out all the shampoo.

As she gets the shampoo out of her hair, his hands idly tease and caress her, his fingers running over her body once more in light strokes. The touch doesn’t seem to be intended to reignite anything; instead, it appears to be for the simple pleasure of just touching her.

They’re both quiet, the need or the desire to speak seemingly sapped out of them, and she allows him his touches, until all the soap is out of her hair and off her body. Then, she languidly opens her eyes and just watches him—watches how his eyes follow his hands as they move over her body, tracing her with his gaze as well as his fingers.

“Your turn?” she asks, finally, her voice a quiet echo in the small space.

He shakes his head and gathers her close to him, kissing her soundly on the mouth. “I’m good. Ready to come out?”

Instead of answering, she wraps her arms around his neck, stroking down his back and into his damp hair, the unruly waves curling around her fingers more than usual. She kisses him again, then nods against his lips, her eyes dropping closed of their own volition.

The rest is a blur. She feels him towel her off, remaining completely boneless the entire time and succumbing to his ministrations with nary a physical protest. He must dry himself as well, but who knows, because next thing she feels is him carrying her to her bed. She snuggles even more securely into his arms and she can swear she registers his lips against her forehead.

When he settles her on top of the covers she doesn’t even bother to do anything except burrow herself underneath them, still naked, hair frizzing and damp.

Her eyes are still closed, but she knows he hasn’t left, can feel him like a physical ache. Hovering but not touching or sitting. She doesn’t know if he’s in the process of dressing or stark naked. Doesn’t know if his intent is to stay or to go.

The need to keep her feelings inside, to not...ruin things, or push him away, is so, so strong. She could ask him to stay and he could go anyway, taking her heart with him. She could stay silent and wait for him to make his own decision, knowing the outcome would likely be the same.

As she wars with herself, feeling time ticking past, feeling him slowly slipping away, an image arises in her mind unbidden.

It’s his eyes.

She thinks of how they’d looked that morning, clouded with worry and not a hint of lasciviousness, even though she knew she’d been about ninety-nine percent see-through as she’d squelched up the drive.

How they’d looked when he’d apologized to her for his harsh words at Haley’s the other day, contrite and a little bit confused.

The way they’d held anger and, more than that, hurt when Bobby had spoken about kissing her.

And then she thinks about the look she’d seen in them as they’d all been overrun by Trappers and, immediately afterwards, as she had faced certain kidnapping by a supernatural he knew he could not defend her from.

He’d been terrified.

Those storm-grey irises, so familiar and already so dear, had been filled with abject terror and fear.

Fear for her.

The images fade as she hears him rustling, collecting his things.

She thinks again about how he’d been scared for her. Scared of losing her.

She’s scared, too.

She’s scared that all of this might be for naught. That she’ll fall deeper and deeper in love and he’ll soon be looking for a way out.

But tonight isn’t for fears, she decides. Tonight, they’re safe. Tonight, they’re together.

Tonight, he's hers.

“Mason?” Her eyes remain closed, but she hears his movements stop. She lets out a shaky breath, releasing the final bit of her trepidation, before speaking with conviction:

“I want you to stay.”

X X X X

👀 tags: @utterlyinevitable , @ethansramsey , @otherworldlypresents , @worldoffandoms , @raleighcarrera , @ejunkiet , @starrystarrytrouble , @terrm9 , @openheartthot , @octobereighth , @campsearchlight , @coldshrugs , @kelseaaa , @homeformyheart , @intothestrawberryjar , @magebastard , @kodysteach , @newfangledsoul , @silma-words , @lalizah , @detective-sweetheart , @lem-20 , @ifshebreathes-shesathot , @takemyopenheart , @v2itbwstct (if you want to be added/no longer want to be tagged, pls let me know!)

[tg-headcanons]

How do Shuu's illnesses impact/affect his day to day life? Do they affect the capacity to which he can fight? (also bonus for Shuunaki sick day hcs)

French fuck’s genes are a burnt omelette so this guy got HEALTH PROBLEMS

When he was younger he had issues with scoliosis which he had surgery to correct when he was in middle school. Because of that he has a small faded scar running down his back. It’s very neat and he’s had any scar removal treatment available to him done, but a slim line remains. He’s a bit self conscious of it and doesn’t like people seeing it

He can’t digest RC in high quantities. Eating a human is fine, a human with high RC would give him a little stomach upset, and a ghoul would leave him wretching. He doesn’t produce enough Rubrupuerase, the enzyme ghouls have that breaks down digested rc cells, so can only take in so much at a time. He needs to stagger his meals, eating a little every day as opposed to how other ghouls would eat half their body weight once every other week. His father has this same problem, and has figured out ways to prepare cuts of meat so it’s easier to digest before Shuu was born. He would show his son the ways he has his servants prepare it as a kid whenever he was worried about eating in case it made him sick. He bonded with his father over it and was inspired to look for his own ways to prepare new delicious meals and his love of crafting food still remains

His immune system and healing isn’t great. Often when ghouls get sick, their body just kamikazes infected cells and regrows. Well with Shuu, he doesn’t have that much RC so any amount of healing is a bit of a strain. Sicknesses that would barely bother others keep him bedridden, and he needs to eat more. In flu season he wears a face mask and everyone in the mansion is instructed to wash their hands religiously. Even the humans they hunt are boiled for a minute before they even start preparing them in case they carried illnesses

His hair color and kagune come from the same genetic mutation, which isn’t a health problem per say, but does effect him. Unlike regular koukaku, his is slender and made up mostly of hard outer shell. This means it’s extra sharp and less heavy, but is also less strong. That’s for the best though, as he would probably struggle to wield a heavier kagune

He’s physically not quite as strong as ghouls usually are. The average ghoul is 7x as strong as a human with their same build, but between adrenal insufficiency, limited RC, and slow healing, Shuu is only about 5x stronger. Of course he’s still going to outmatch his prey by far, but one on one with another ghoul he’s at a disadvantage

Probably the worst thing is his adrenal insufficiency. It’s good that he was born rich because he probably wouldn’t survive if he had to fight and hunt for himself. On the best days he has no problem hunting and fighting, though he isn’t as strong as other ghouls and has a low stamina, requiring him to rest after awhile lest he completely passes out. On the worse days he can get bad pain in his muscles, joints, and stomach that keep him from getting out of bed

He can go for long periods of time with little to no symptoms, or days and weeks of being confined to his room. He takes medications and supplements, he has painkillers for when it’s bad, his fancy ass shower is built so he can sit down in it and he even has a wheelchair to use when walking is too rough, it’s just something he lives with. Thankfully he has the resources he needs and supportive family, it sucks but he’ll be alright

Sick days are usually pretty quiet. If it’s too hard to move around he’ll stay in bed, but if he can stand or at least use the wheelchair he spends a lot of time in the library or the garden. He’s always loved reading, it’s something he was able to do even when he was too ill to move since he was a kid. His father and servants will visit him sever times a day, he has coffee with Matsumae or Kanae if they have the time, but mostly he’s alone

When he and Naki started dating, Naki didn’t understand at first why he took all these pills and got sick so often, and it took awhile for him to really understand that Shuu will always be a little ill and sometimes that means he can’t walk needs to sit down more. He doesn’t understand how it works, only that some days Shuu hurts too much to leave the house. That doesn’t stop him from wanting to be with him though, and has taken to curling up in bed with him on the worse days. Shuu finds it much less lonely to have someone with him who’s there out of more than a sense of duty. His boyfriend will cuddle up and let him read aloud to him instead of just himself, explain his newest obsessions and play his records that he insists sounds so much better than digital music. He feels comfortable having him there, knowing that he has no where else to be and nothing else to do like his servants, not even a duty to be here, that he’s staying with him just because he wants to and doesn’t care that he can’t walk today

Naki is surprisingly good support. He’s figured out the routine enough to bring Shuu his meds in the morning, and if they’re out somewhere together and Shuu starts feeling fatigued he’ll just picking him up like a cat so he doesn’t have to walk. At this point he’s sometimes jokingly introduced as Shuu’s service animal. And while he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, Naki does want to know how to make things easier for his boyfriend. He washes his hands a lot more thoroughly now when the weather gets cold since he saw the servants to it, and his efforts alone are enough to make Shuu feel better

[misslilli]

It'll get better soon guys, don't worry 🤗

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 24 - It Takes A Village

[ Felix ]

It’s close to December and my favorite holiday is coming up fast, the lights are already up all around town and in school we make paper snowmen and sing Christmas songs. It’s supposed to be the most cheerful time of the year, but people in my life are sad, which in turn also puts a damper on my Christmas spirit.

Dad is not doing very well, he’s working all the time and doesn’t say much, he just goes through the motions of our day. One day, he just forgets to pick me up from school because he has worked through the night and fell asleep at the dining room table during the day.

Principal Skinner can’t reach him or my mom, who is in Europe right now, so he calls my other emergency contact, my grandma. I don’t know what exactly he tells her, but she’s coming all the way from Connecticut and the Principal will drive me home to check on my dad.

I’m excited that grandma’s coming, she’s really awesome! She’s straightforward and very, very strict and doesn’t like to cuddle, much, but her no-nonsense way of running a household may be exactly what we need right now. And she also makes a mean lasagna!

When we get to the house, dad is beside himself, apologizing to us over and over again for falling asleep and he looks a little relieved when Principal Skinner tells him that grandma is coming over to help.

I launch myself at her - I’m permitted exactly two hugs, one hello and one goodbye - when she walks through the door and immediately try to get her to make lasagna for dinner. She sends me up to my room to play for a bit, while she talks to dad and cleans up the mess in the kitchen. Afterwards, she really makes lasagna, yes!

——————

[ Teena ]

When I got the call from Principal Skinner, I was very worried about what I’d find when I got to the house, I’ve been called to pick up the pieces only once before.

It was after Diana left Fox and Felix and what I found then was a disoriented and confused three-year old who kept asking for his mom and a devastated dad and husband, unable to care for his child in his own heartbreak.

Thankfully, it’s not that bad this time, but I can tell that something has happened. Fox has been avoiding my calls for weeks now, only having Felix talk to me over the phone. I know that Sam knows something, but she wouldn’t tell me no matter how hard I pressed.

So the first thing I do when I get to the boys’s house is send Felix off to his room and sit down my son onto the couch to talk.

“Tell me what happened, Fox.”

And he goes on to me the whole story, from the first day of school where he met a woman that had upended both of their lives, to the birthday party - Sam has actually told me about that one, I thought it was a really sweet story - and the Halloween fair right up until the Basketball fiasco and the last time he saw her, where she asked him to give her some space until she has figured some things out.

“What do I do now mom? I hate myself for scaring her off like that and I can’t stop the tailspin of thinking I’m not good enough for her anyway, with that broken mess that’s our family…”

“I’ll tell you what to do now. You give her space like she asked you to and you get your act together in the meantime. Felix needs you to take care of him, it won’t do to wallow in self-pity. And ask yourself this: How can you expect someone to love you if you don’t love yourself? Go see Connie and fix your self-worth issues because you’re a good man and you absolutely deserve someone who makes you happy.”

“Thanks mom, for everything. I’ve already scheduled extra therapy lessons with Connie. You know what makes this whole thing even harder? I have to see her every damn day at school when I pick up Felix.”

“I’ll pick him up from now on. You focus on yourself, without distractions.” Maybe I’ll even get to meet her, I’m fairly curious about this Rainbow Woman myself.

—————

[ Felix ]

At recess in school, everyone’s on their best behavior, holding their collective breaths because Miss Scully is in a bad mood today. Actually, she’s been irritable for the past two weeks, with a very short fuse and absolutely no tolerance for disobedience.

Since her classroom is right next to ours, we can sometimes hear her yell at her kids for something or other and even our class flinches when it happens.

Right now, she’s over at the playground, leaning into two boys who have gotten into a fist-fight over a game of tag and I’m silently glad I’m sitting over here with Miss Anderson. I look up at my teacher, curious.

“Miss Anderson, why is Miss Scully so angry all the time?”

“I can’t tell you, Felix, I’m sorry.”

“Because you don’t know, or because you don’t want me to know?” When she changes the subject pointedly, I know it’s the second one. ‘Ugh, why don’t adults tell children anything, it’s driving me crazy! Dad won’t tell me anything and now this.’

Grandma picks me up again today and on our way to the car, we run into Miss Scully. 'Uh oh, I hope she doesn’t go off on grandma, I don’t think that will go over very well.’ My grandma can be scary sometimes, too!

“Hey Miss Scully, this is my grandma, she’s staying with us for a while now! Grandma, this is Miss Scully, she’s the fourth-grade teacher.”

——————

[ Teena ]

I’m happy to see that my son has raised Felix to be a polite child when he introduces the tiny red-head I’ve heard so much about.

“Grandma’s not actually my name, Felix. I’m Teena Mulder, it’s nice to meet you Miss Scully!” Holding out my hand, I try to seize her up.

Her handshake is firm and her posture is ram-rod-straight, all professional, but her eyes betray her poised exterior, because I can see flashes of sadness when she looks down at Felix. I can only guess that she’s not having an easy time with everything, herself.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Mulder. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got an appointment to get to. I’ll see you tomorrow, Felix. Goodbye, Mrs. Mulder.”

With that, she’s off to get her bike and Felix breathes a sigh of relief.

“Whew, thank God, she didn’t get mad at you like she got mad at the two boys at recess today.”

I’m a bit puzzled by his odd statement, but on the car ride, he tells me all about the incident in great detail. I get the feeling that these stories are a staple in the boys’s days and I can begin to understand why my son would rather not hear Felix go on and on about what she did and what she said right now.

—————

[ DS ]

My therapist has told me that it has to get worse before it gets better, but this is getting ridiculous. I can’t sleep more than a few hours at night, which leaves me irritable in the morning and with an incredibly short fuse at school, going off on my kids for the littlest infractions.

They’re so terrified and confused, they end up making even more mistakes, which in turn sets me off even more - it’s a vicious circle that leaves me frustrated with myself and more times that I’d like to admit to, I’ve lost it in the teacher’s bathroom.

Meeting Mrs. Mulder today was unexpected and I tried hard to keep it together for a few minutes, but I can’t stand looking at Felix’s innocent face for a longer period of time, so I bolted right after the introductions.

I actually did have an appointment, with my therapist, and today she suggested I write down my feelings in a journal to get them off my chest and reflect on them.

During the night, I wake after only a few hours of sleep spent tossing and turning. Unable to fall back asleep for yet another night, I drag myself our of bed and downstairs, turning the TV in the living room, hoping it’ll lull me back to sleep.

“10 things I hate about you” is on and by the time Julia Stiles recites her poem, I’m bawling into a pillow. I remember the homework I’ve been given, so I grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing.

“Miss Scully’s list of 10 things I hate about you”

The words of the title swim before my eyes as I scribble my feelings onto the patient paper. The poem I write is slightly different from the one in the movie, but writing it all out really does help.

I fold the paper up carefully and toss it in the trash before heading back up to bed.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

           “They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

           “Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

           The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

           “I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

           She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

           Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

           “I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

           He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

           “Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

           Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

           You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

           “Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

           “Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

           He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

           You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

           “It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

           That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

           “I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

           “Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

           “I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

           Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

           A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

           “But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

           His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

           The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

           He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

           It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

           A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

           And you woke up.

           The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

           But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

           When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

           And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

           Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

           “How long have you been talking to Dean?”

           He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

           You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

           “For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

           “Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

           Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

           “He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

           He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

           You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

           “It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

           You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

           “I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

           He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

           “The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

           “Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

           “I’m surprised you remembered.”

           Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

           “Can I help?”

           After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

           You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

           Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

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[fandomcelery]

Feelings are complicated, aren't they?

Pairing: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce

Word Count: 2107

Rating: Teens and Up

Tags: Sexuality Crisis, Internalized Homophobia, Pining

Beta: @useless-fanfictions helped me out a lot on this fic, especially since I'm just starting out writing, so a big thanks to them!

Summary: Walking next to Brittany felt normal and right, but at that moment it felt slightly wrong. A bunch of questions were running through her mind. Was she acting differently? Was it obvious that something was off? Oh god, does everyone think that she’s gay?

Or, the one where Santana realizes she might have feelings for Brittany and panics over it.

Read it on Ao3

For the Glee Character "This-or-That" Challenge: @gleethisorthatchallenge

Prompt: Sharing a bed or Sexuality Crisis

The way Santana feels around Brittany is normal, right? Sure, she’s never felt it for any other person—not even any of her previous boyfriends—but it’s a completely normal feeling. And yeah, okay, she also defends Brittany all the time when people insult or make fun of her, and when Brittany sticks up for her and is always by her side, she can never stop smiling. She always feels warm whenever she compliments her about literally anything that she’s wearing, or how her hair looks that day, or really anything that makes Santana feel pretty.

There’s also the fact that they have sex regularly even though they’re in relationships with guys who would willingly have sex with them as well, but that’s different. It must be different, because if it’s not—

No, it’s not an option for it to not be anything but platonic. It’s got to be, it just has to be.

Even though Santana hates when people flirt with Brittany and will usually try to scare them off when others aren’t looking. Or when they get into fights or arguments, big or small, she feels like shit when she can’t talk to Brittany, and then that means they can’t have their sweet lady kisses that make Santana feel like they are the only two people left on the entire planet.

Feelings are complicated, aren’t they?

As long as she always stands her ground, keeping their relationship just friends, and convincing Brittany—and a little bit of herself��that even though they’re in relationships they can have sex and it’s not cheating because they’re both girls, she will be fine. She just has to keep telling herself that their relationship isn’t anything, that they’re strictly friends and that she doesn’t have feelings for her best friend, because if she did then she wouldn’t know what she would do with herself.

She’s not homophobic, and just because Kurt freaking Hummel struts around with his gay flag waving in the air doesn’t mean that everyone can or has to. And even if they do, they’ll get bullied and harassed, just like him. It’s the way that everything goes, the straight popular kids are on top, and the gays are at the bottom, even though that’s ridiculous, it’s the way it goes.

She’ll just keep it to herself—even though there’s nothing there, obviously—and everything will be fine. She hopes that if she keeps telling herself that then maybe it will be.

***

Of course, that’s not what happens. The following Monday, after the weekend Santana had realized that something is different, it seemed like everyone has been staring at the two of them differently, but it might just be her paranoia talking.

Walking next to Brittany felt normal and right, but at that moment it felt slightly wrong. A bunch of questions were running through her mind. Was she acting differently? Was it obvious that something was off? Oh god, does everyone think that she’s gay? She is suddenly on the defensive side, glaring at the people who she thought were looking at her and Brittany weirdly. Maybe people always looked at them this way and neither of them ever noticed or cared; except now she did.

She knows the route they take to get to their next classes by heart because they always walk together, even though their schedules don’t really line up. Most people think that all the Cheerios just walk to class together in groups because the outfits look good together—which they do, she thinks conceitedly—and because of the cheerleading cliques. For a while that’s why Quinn, Brittany, and Santana would walk together, but then they actually got kind of close because of Glee Club, and now Quinn walks with Finn to her classes and Santana walks with Brittany.

During her fourth period that she has alone she can’t stop thinking about Brittany. How when she walks to class she hugs her binder to her chest, or how during class she always fidgets with her pencil when she’s in between writing, or how even if she doesn’t care about what people are talking about, she’ll listen to them anyway (like this one time a few days ago when they had arrived early to glee club and Rachel had come up to Brittany and her to ask for dance lessons, going on and on about something that had to do with her being a star and needing to know how to dance better, and Santana had only been paying attention to Brittany and ignored Rachel’s harping), Santana admires the way Brittany exists, and how it seems like nothing really bothers her. She doesn’t know why all of the sudden it’s hitting her, especially since she’s been friends with her for so long, and no, she doesn’t have feelings for her, they’re just friends.

***

They walk to their usual seats during lunch together, every now and again bumping shoulders with how close they are while they’re talking. Santana sits down across from Brittany, as she doesn’t miss a beat from what she’s saying to sit down.

“And I swear that Lord Tubbington has a gambling addiction, but he won’t stop—” she takes a bite of her food, “—and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why don’t you just take away his laptop privileges?” Santana suggests, also taking a bite of her own food. It’s not bad, however, it’s not good. Then again, it’s the school’s food. When she looks up at Brittany, she looks quizzical, like she hasn’t thought of doing that.

“That probably would work,” Brittany responds, and continues eating.

Santana’s focused on something else. That something else is Brittany’s physical appearance, everything about her: to her flashing smile, to her thin and perfect eyebrows. her slim waist, long legs, and her torso—which she shouldn’t be staring at in the middle of school, and yet she is. She is stunning to Santana, with her lean appearance and bright golden colored hair pulled perfectly back into a ponytail. Her blue eyes seem to twinkle all the time.

“Santana?” Brittany asks after she’s been staring for a moment or two.

“Huh, what? Sorry, I was just, thinking,” she responds quickly and looks away to other tables where other kids are sitting, she lets go of her lip that she must have been biting on.

“About what?” Brittany takes another bite of her food, almost finished, whereas Santana has barely touched hers.

“Nothing important,” she mumbles, taking a drink from her water bottle. The answer seems to satisfy Brittany and they go back to normal and easy conversation like Santana hadn’t been just staring at her best friend’s boobs.

***

Glee Club isn’t that different. Rachel and Mercedes are fighting for a solo that Mr. Schue handed out, he doesn’t know how to handle it, and so they’re trying to argue over one another. Finn, Puck, Matt, and Mike are making bets about something in football. Kurt, Tina, and Artie are talking about something—she can’t hear their conversation, and honestly doesn’t care—and so it’s Quinn, Brittany and her talking about the Cheerios like they always are.

“Sue’s been on our asses about winning at Nationals,” Quinn comments as she sits down next to Brittany.

“She’s just concerned about staying on top,” Santana remarks, looking around the choir room. She looks up at the two who are arguing over one another and laughs a little bit. Everyone knows that Rachel’s going to get the solo, she usually does. Mercedes probably knows that, too, and yet she’s still going to fight for it.

“And her paycheck,” Quinn adds.

Eventually Mr. Schue stood in front of the class, apparently they had sorted it out where Rachel got this solo and Mercedes would get the next one.

This Glee practice they were going to focus on their choreography added with singing, and it wasn’t that big of an issue for the three cheerleaders (and it was mostly for the jocks to practice anyway, since they were the ones having problems, other than Mike, surprisingly).

Afterwards everyone was tired and sore, they had to start over a bunch of times because someone kept messing up (Finn). Slowly the choir room emptied, and Brittany and Santana walked to their next class together. They were going to walk with Quinn, but she had muttered something about a “troll trying to steal her boyfriend” and went off to walk with Finn. They separated at their different classrooms, and the three of them were going to meet up for Cheerios practice that was after school, which was their usual plan.

***

After practice Santana was even more exhausted than when she left Glee rehearsal. She grabs her water bottle that she had placed in her locker when she first got there. She gulps down a quarter of the bottle before putting it back.

There are many girls around her, yet the only one she’s focused on is Brittany.

Ever since they walked into the locker room, Brittany, and another cheerleader—Hailey was her name—were talking nonstop to one another. It’s not like Santana was eavesdropping, but it’s not her fault they were standing so close and speaking so God damn loudly.

“One time she made a girl cry just because she talked back,” Hailey continues while she brushes her hair in the mirror.

“I know, I was there,” Brittany responds, leaning up against the lockers next to Hailey’s that no one’s using. “Sue can be a bitch sometimes.”

Hailey wraps her hair in a ponytail and starts to put the hair tie around it. “Don’t let her hear you say that she might move you down the pyramid,” she jokes, which gets a laugh out of Brittany. “However, she is the best cheerleading coach McKinley can offer, so I guess we’ll have to put up with it,” Hailey states.

They all know that that’s true, no other teacher will coach the Cheerios, and she’s the only one that’s gotten them to Nationals and gets a pretty big paycheck put towards the cheerleading team.

And listen, Santana doesn’t do jealous, okay? And she’s not. She just doesn’t like Brittany hanging out with another person so closely. And it’s because no one understands her like Santana does is all. And sure, Brittany has other friends, but usually they go through Santana to talk to her, so she knows them, or they’re all in the conversation. This is an entire new person, and they’re jokingtogether, which Brittany can do on her own, of course, but-

“Stop pining and either go talk with them or leave already,” Quinn mutters behind her.

Santana whips around and glares at her, and Quinn smirks.

“Oh, come on, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She walks past Santana to get to her locker, and Santana decides to do what Quinn suggested.

She grabs her water bottle from her locker and makes sure all of her things are put away before she leaves to head home.

***

She can’t be in love with her best friend, right? Sure, she and Brittany are close, and they do practically everything together, and Santana loves everything about Brittany, but that doesn’t mean she’s in love with Brittany.

Those thoughts are how Santana finds herself pacing in her room, not for the first time in the last few days, lost in thought. She looks over at the photos that she has on her walls of all of the Cheerios, but there are a few of either her, Brittany, and Quinn, or just the two of them.

She walks over and picks one up to look at it. She gets the same feeling that she’s been getting every time she thinks about Brittany, yet she’s been ignoring it for a while now. Except this time, she doesn’t. She feels butterflies in her stomach and doesn’t even realize she is smiling at Brittany’s picture. She sets down the photo when she does catch herself, and goes to lay down on her bed.

Even if she was gay, how would she know? Would having feelings that aren’t actually feelings enough to be considered gay? And what would everyone else think? Maybe she should turn to the internet, she thinks. She sits up and grabs her laptop that she keeps on her bedside table and loads it up.

A few searches later she realizes that maybe terms like bisexual or even lesbian fit her. Some more questions pop up in her head after that realization, but at least one thing’s certain.

Santana is in love with her best friend, and she has no idea what she’s going to do about it.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Sam Wescott NSFW Alphabet.

Sooo after doing Buddy Swanson alphabet of course I had to do one for Sam. Similar to Buddy I consider myself the Sam Wescott expert, again I started his tag on Ao3 and have written him the most so far so fucking here we are! I love him, the sweetest and softest slasher I am into, here we go!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The best word I have to describe Sam Wescott is concerned. He is so concerned about you and your comfort, always. He will do anything you need on your come down. He would run a bath, would get you anything you wanted to eat, change the sheets if you so requested, he doesn't want you to do anything, he's got it under control and he would INSIST. Seriously you want something just name it and it is happening. Would love to have a shower with you post sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands for sure, no doubt about it. So much experience working outdoors, very skilled with them, rough and well worked, he isn’t the most confident guy but when it comes to his hands he is. They make him feel capable. Loves to touch you, run his hands over you, loves to feel you up with them and let’s be real the man is great at fingering.

Now for you he loves your lips, man is WEAK for kissing, will sometimes find himself staring at them while talking with you, loves the taste of you, just cannot get enough of kissing you or of you kissing him well basically anywhere. The sweet things you can say with them and listen he can’t help it if he is obsessed with how they look and feel wrapped around his cock.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Okay so I totally have this idea that a big unexpected fave of his that he never anticipated liking so much until it happened is having you make a mess of him. Like blow and jerk him off and make him cum on his own stomach and then lick it up and then his refractory period is basically non-existent.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Okay so one of the hottest things or ideas to him is you forgoing underwear in public and letting him know in some way that you have. Whether taking his hand and letting him feel or maybe a racy picture sent or flashing him with no one around at that moment and holy shit he is achingly hard.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

More than you would think! For a guy who seems so nervous and unassuming you’d think he wouldn’t have much experience but Sam has been around a bit. Much more down for a casual hook-up than you would think. Typically parties and get together where he has had some drinks to help settle some of those nerves. But more importantly he is so enthusiastic and willing to please.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You on top. He loves it so much, to have you over him, being able to feel you up and help pull you down onto him, he loves you being able to take it at your own pace and use him however you want to find your release. Totally in awe of you riding him, put your hands on his chest as you do, lean down and kiss him or whisper things to him and fuck he won’t be able to hold back from bucking up into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh the boy can do both, when he gets all flustered he is much more prone to laughing and making some jokes, but take my word for it, Sam can be so insanely sensual, surprisingly can be great at maintaining the mood. Doesn’t take himself too seriously thankfully.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Yeah totally matches, light and soft curls, doesn’t let it grow out much, trims it semi often, has never shaved and certainly never waxed and has no intention of it. Might try shaving it if you wanted him to but he wouldn’t do it unprompted. Overall great personal hygiene.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ugh romance thy name is Sam Wescott. Like hot damn he can be the most romantic fucker you have ever come across. It is ridiculous. Would touch you with such care and reverence and would say some of the sweetest things. Wouldn’t be every time but you’d never, ever have to ask for romance from Sam.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Totally think that he has a hard time keeping quiet when he does. He just gets so into it. Also totally uses lube, like not lotion, nice lube, totally amps it up for him and I also think he edges himself, not super hard but a few soft edges he’s learned can make his eventual orgasm so much better. Legit just picture poor Sam, one hand over his mouth, eyes shut tight, moaning into his palm as his other hand is slick with lube, fisting his cock, already edged a few times and getting so close he can’t stop the sounds from spilling out? Hot.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Has a few kinks, not all but have some of the biggest.

PRAISE! This man has the biggest fucking praise kink around, both ways. Loves to talk you up so much. Please praise him, tell him what is working and what feels good, nothing gets to him more than you encouraging him vocally.

Body worship. Sam will literally worship every fucking sqaure inch of your body, hands and mouth working in tandem, just positively everywhere until you are a complete puddle. Getting you off gets him off hard.

Denial. Can’t help it, delayed gratification, and you teasing him, frustrating him, gets to him badly, makes him unbelievably hard, and after some good edging he is a total flustered mess and is leaking massive amounts of pre-cum. Is a bit embarrassed he is so into it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Outdoors! Not like he is a huge exhibtioinist just loves being outside, some of his favorite things have happened outside. I headcanon there is this hill at Camp Clear Vista that Sam likes to sit on, can see most of the camp from there, loves to sit there and clear his head, it’s his favorite place. Late at night under the stars, just being out at camp in general, in a tent or a cabin, the forest. Also totally a fan of shower sex.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You wanting him. Showing clear desire and intent, especially if it is some place that you can’t right away. Like you whispering something dirty to him, or feeling him up, a particular look. Oof. He really wants to be wanted and desired so that gets him going like nothing else. Like you being almost desperate for him is perfection. The idea of you clinging to him, tugging on his clothes and almost grinding on him, begging him to just touch you let alone fuck you? He is on you so fast.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation. Like I could not see him having it in him, does not have the heart to engage in extreme degradation. A casual flippant comment in the heat of the moment during a rougher session? Maybe. But you aren’t gonna have him doing some hardcore degrading, sorry he just isn’t that guy. Also any hard pain play either. Making you cry because it feels so good? Yes. Crying from pain? Hard no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh my fucking God! So don’t ask me how or why this got started but this is my strongest held Sam headcanon. I believe that Sam Wescott is GOD-TIER at giving oral. Eating pussy or sucking dick he is too fucking good and why? How?! Not sure. He just is. Maybe it is him being so enthusiastic and willing to please but he is. I think that is what he has the most experience in. Man will stay down there all night for real if that is what you want. Also turns him on a lot, can totally catch him not so subtly grinding against the bed or palming himself while doing it. Has totally just gone down on you and jerked himself off more than once.

So much bigger giver than a receiver, but still loves, loves, loves when you give. Total mess when you do it, barely knows what to do with himself, totally lets you take the lead on that, he is big and knows it but will appreciate however much you try and take. Won’t say it but loves when you gag on it, doesn’t have to say it because it is obvious he loves it from the way his thighs tense and the strained sounds that leave him as he tries to resist fucking into your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual for fucking sure. Can go faster, a more steady pace but still doesn’t jump to being rough. Work him up enough and beg for it and you can totally get that from him. Can totally get caught up in the heat of the moment and really fuck you. Again a decent mix but typically slower and more sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Usually likes a mid-length session, loves a longer one and is down for quickies but they aren’t his favorite. Most of his interests and kinks lend themselves better to longer sessions. Quickies are great after a healthy and hearty amount of teasing, you tease him for a few hours where he can’t do anything about it when you do get alone it isn’t gonna last super long, he won’t be able to hold himself back.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Again name of the game for Sam is pleasing you so he is totally down to try what you want, open to experiment and risk for you but isn’t gonna suggest it super openly. He does have some spicier interests and leanings but would be worried about opening up about them at the start, it takes a while for him to get comfortable with that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Depends on how much work you put in beforehand, how much foreplay and how in need he is, how long it has been since you last were together. Can go for three or four with little issue but can be satisfied with just one. The man is fit, young and healthy, what else do you expect?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Does not own a single toy himself, but would be down to use some with you! I could see his favorite being a bullet vibe, something small yet powerful and precise and using it to great effect on you. Also even though he wouldn’t readily admit it, if you are into it and get into it he could be down with using a paddle.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oooo he likes it a little too much. Typically loves and prefers to be on the receiving end of it but loves to return it. Once he figures out just what gets to you he will use it to his advantage. Likes to see you being flustered in public as opposed to him for once, loves to get you to the point of begging.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Yes dear God, part of why a semi-public hook up is extra risky with him is because he has the hardest time shutting himself up. Again loves to praise and be praised, can’t help saying such sweet things to you, moaning, cursing, grunts of effort just on and on, like damn Sam can you calm down for like a sec? Cover his mouth or gag him for crying out loud, or don’t because he sounds amazing. Will still try to talk when close or cumming but it just ends up breaking apart with his moans. So good.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Oh okay so this is a fun one. I totally think his ears and neck are weirdly sensitive. You wanna see him flushed and flustered as hell and unable to stop himself from grinding against you mid-make out? That is the best way to get it to happen! The thought of it though, you initiate like that. He is sitting at the couch and you come up behind him, wrap your arms around his neck and lean in close, lips brush the shell of his ear and you whisper to him, “Hey Sammy. You busy?” and then you start to kiss his neck and he tenses so quickly. Let your hands start to roam, reach down and palm him through his jeans and ask, “Well?” and feel him up and his eyes would flutter closed and he would arch up into you, a shaky exhale and a laugh as he says “No-I uh, I’m not busy at all.”

And then it is on.

Also he is bi, it took him a long time to accept that about himself and get comfortable with it but he gets there eventually.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oof so from all the working outside and general working out he is firm, cut, very fucking strong, the view with his shirt off is so good. Okay so for his dick, man is packing heat. I am talking eight point five to nine inches, you wouldn’t guess by looking at him. Totally not the type to brag about it and is aware extra foreplay and prep is usually needed but he loves that so it is all good. Average thickness, circumsized, pretty full balls, a good handful, you know? The sheer amount of pre-cum this man can produce is impressive, actual loads fairly regular, little thin, slightly above average amount, he has a great diet and tastes good.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Down for nearly every single day, fine with around three times a week because the sessions are longer. Would love to wake you up with oral, no better way to start his day, loves a good morning session while you are still in bed together, also quite the fan of some afternoon delight. Can be quite insatiable when prompted right and that side is pulled out of him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Boy he makes sure you are all good but after a really, really long session the boy does get sleepy. Him checking in and making sure you are all good and don’t need anything even with his eyes slipping closed and voice all tired, adorable, endearing, loves to curl up with you to sleep. He can spoon you but loves to be the little spoon, is anyone surprised?