#Sorry if this is incoherent my brain is still spinning and trembling

[razrbladekiss]

TOLERATE IT | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: an argument with joel doesn’t end the way that you think it will.

PAIRING: joel miller x afab!reader. (established relationship)

WARNINGS: very short piece. angsty argument so if u do nawt want to read, then skip <3. i’m in the middle of an argument with my bf and instead of feeding into it, i have immortalized it into my writing 😊 sorry joel for being my proverbial punching bag ! maybe ill make a part two if we ever make up LOL.

Fat tears spill over the swollen apples of your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away with the already much-too-wet sleeve of your sweatshirt, and the room starts to spin.

Your face is damp with salty—bittersweet—upset, and a splitting migraine is beginning to fester away at the inside of your fucking brain.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Joel stands with both hands on his hips while you’re sat cross-legged on the couch, a cushion sat plump in your lap. “Can’t keep cryin’ whenever we have an argument—“

“But you’ve upset me, Joel!” Almost incoherently, you blabber. “You can’t expect me to be cool with the fact that you were flirting with some—some skank last night!”

He drags his left hand over his face. Joel exerts an exasperated sigh. He doesn’t know how many more hours he can argue with you about this, before he says something that he’s going to regret.

“I know. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it—but why the fuck are you still crying?!” Joel barks. “It’s been hours, baby! Can’t we move past this—“

“No! We can’t!” Scraping your hand across your eyes—all tears immediately drying up—you stand to attention. You smack the pillow onto the couch in complete and utter fucking fury. “It’s been four years of us, Joel. Four fucking years that I thought we were happy—but apparnelty you’re not! Are you bored of me, or something?!”

“No!” Defensively, he exclaims. He’s just as annoyed as you, now. Though he has no place to be. “I don’t know what came over me—“

“Four years. Forty-Eight months I’ve spent being by your side—completely faithful—and you think it’s okay to just fuck around on me?!”

“I’m not fuckin’ around on you!” Mood—and tone—matching, he counters. “I love you. But I was hammered last night—“

I was hammered. I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t know what came over me.

BULLSHIT. You’ve heard it all before and, frankly, you’re sick of it. The excuses, the lies…Dating a prolific man-whore isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, actually.

“You need to get your act together.” With a shaking hand, you point at him. Your finger is trembling against his flannel. “If you want this to work, then you’ll stop lying to me—“

“I’m. Not. Fucking. Lying.” Through gritted teeth, he says.

Joel has confessed his wrongdoings, but it’s not enough. To you, he owes you more than just an explanation.

“I don’t believe you.” Devoid of any emotion—any feeling—you state. “You told me that you were going to Tommy’s last night to watch the Cowboys game. But Tommy came here at six o’clock asking for you, and said that they weren’t even fucking set to play! You’re a fucking liar, Joel!”

He backs away with both hands up, completely defeated. You’re tenacious, when you want to be. Sanctimonious. He knows he’ll never win an argument, so he walks away to leave you alone with time to cool off.

But to you—to most people—that’s him giving up.

Joel takes the keys to his truck from the fruit bowl beside the front door, grabs his jacket and unlocks the front door.

He turns to you without even so much as a smile. “Call me when you’re ready to have an adult fucking conversation.”

Joel slams shut the door and you begin to fume all over again. To your left is a picture of the two of you last summer—when you were happy and carefree in Mykonos—and you know that it won’t do anything to help the issue, but you grab it. With a firm hand, you launch it at the door.

Fragments of glass shatter against the door, the floor and fly across the room in every which direction perfectly depicting the current state of your heart after Joel started to break it.

Your eyes are streaming again, hearing his truck peel away from the sidewalk and to god-knows fucking where.

But there’s no use in crying over him anymore. You just need to tolerate it. Tolerate this. Because Joel knows it’ll take more than an “I’m sorry” to really make it up to you.

[pizzee]

I WANNA TALK ABOUT ISSUE#15 OK? OK.

So. What an issue, huh? Absolutely stunning, and while I wish we got some Jake and Steven interacting with the Midnight Mission, I do adore this issue and it was an incredible follow up to the last issue. The art, the writing, the color choice's, the Steven, THE JAKE!!! anyway, this is an analysis so let's do it.

Marc Spector doesn’t believe that he’s enough. He never has, which is why he was initially so reluctant and terrified of giving up control (which I went a bit ham on analyzing here). He’s scared of someone else seeing him how he sees himself, as nothing more than a means to an end, and realizing once they’ve gotten what they need out of him, he won’t be useful anymore. He calls himself a “fist”, he literally says “I still have my uses” in the context of a fight. Marc doesn’t see himself as being much else outside of that violence and his mission as Khonshu’s fist.

Which directly contrasts with Steven and Jake. (YAY I GET TO TALK ABOUT THEM!!!)

Steven, who’s already got his own society he feels semi-comfortable in, can slip into that role of rich benefactor like he was born for it. The first thing he does when fronting is always always take off the mask and take care of them. Which is, so impactful. Because yes, he’d care about their appearance. He's rich, sure. But it’s more than that. He takes care of them because it’s what they deserve. They’re worth something. They’re worthy of love and affection, self care in the form of expensive hair treatments and makeovers. 

He takes off the mask (literally and metaphorically and the secret third meaning and fourth and—) and looks in the mirror and chastises Marc for not taking care of them then does exactly that because Steven Grant doesn’t see Marc or Jake of any of them as tools or means, but as people. He proves Marc wrong by just by existing.

Then we got Jake. JAKE FUCKING LOCKLEY!!! Our avuncular scoundrel’s first act when fronting is going to see his friends. Which I just. I love it. When he throws open the doors and says he’s back and is met with such love and care and enthusiasm. Which is such a magenta moment (passion and compassion and kindness and I’m not gonna get into the color theory of it all but the fact that his two colors are magenta and sooome green make me gigle🤭). But it also takes us back to the last issue where he laments losing their friends. Where Marc said he never needed them. Where Marc is obviously dead fucking wrong.

Jake’s not in his element, he’s at home. He’s with his people, and his people have him and it’s beautiful. And it’s how Jake takes care of them, by creating connections with everyone from all walks of life. Because, once again, everyone wants to be loved. So he goes out and makes jokes and earns trust and makes promises and gives and gets love and lives. He shows he — and by default the system — aren’t incapable of giving or receiving affection. He proves Marc wrong just by living.

And now. We got the biggun. Marc. 

We’ve already established Marc’s issues with constantly needing to be in control stemming from his fear of being cast aside or deemed unlovable, said issues causing a lot of the problems in his life. What I love about this issue is that it works on dismantling those thoughts, one by one. If Steven and Jake prove Marc wrong, the rest of the Midnight Mission enforce those ideas by hammering them home with a comically oversized hammer. Soldier does what Soldier does: be the chillest fucking guy around. Badr obviously has his own Khonshu/religious tinted lense of looking at it but that doesn’t make him any less understanding. He just thinks Marc is a fucking idiot (and he’s not wrong!).

Then. Then. Reese. Reese who comes in, shatters every single insecurity and fear and preconceived notion Marc has about himself. Reese who doesn’t know about his past and doesn’t care because she sees what he’s trying to do now, the good he’s trying to do and is doing, and admires that. Reese who doesn’t push when that’s clearly what Marc is expecting her to do (because that’s probably what everyone has done, always done. Ask probing, invasive questions that he forces himself to answer and now he’s so used to them he’s constantly shocked when people don’t ask. He’s shocked when people care. He’s shocked when he finds himself caring.).

Reese. Who says…

…which is probably the first time anyone has said that to him. It’s probably the first time anyone has cared enough to even think it. The very thing Jake and Steven have been proving to him all issue, the thing Reese says so naturally and casually. It’s not a grand revelation from her, it’s not something she has to think about. Marc is enough and she knows it, Jake and Steven know it, the rest of the Midnight Mission and the community know it. The only who doesn’t, or didn’t, was Marc. And now. And now.

He does. And Reese and Steven and Jake will be damned if he forgets that anytime soon. 

(AND VERY BRIEFLY I WANNA TALK AB THE COLORS!!! Ok so I’m absolutely in love with the colors Rosenberg chose. They vary a lot between pages but my color associations are: Steven gold, Jake magenta, Marc blue. There are a lot of pages where the characters swap colors or have different ones but I’m going to stick with these associations because they make sense to me.

Steven gold is probably the most clear cut one. Gold is a warm color, symbolizing wealth and generosity. Divinity and power. Steven is rich (or was) so there’s the wealth, I’d say the generosity comes from how he takes care of the body, mostly physically. There aren’t many pages where Steven appears in, but the one in the barber or whatever is where I’m drawing most of these thoughts from. Marc is also depicted with a lot of gold, particularly when he’s speaking to Dr. Sterman especially when he’s giving long ass melodramatic monologues. Which I find interesting, as those extended metaphors and speeches seem like his way of establishing control, or power, in a conversation which is generally supposed to end up with deep self evaluation and a certain amount of vulnerability that comes with giving up some of that control (he is talking to his therapist, after all, even if she doesn’t do a very good job of it but— that’s a story for another day)

Jake magenta is a very clearly shown visual. Magenta is another warm color, symbolizing passion and compassion, kindness and love. Jake is the Just Some Guy of the three, probably the most affable and easygoing, so magenta makes sense thematically for him as well. What’s also cool is that magenta is the primary, dominating color in a lot of his pages where he’s surrounded by people he cares about (I’m thinking of the last issue in his headspace emotional support strip club where all the dancers looked like Marlene and this issue at the bar with his friends). Almost as if he’s overflowing with love and care for others. 

Both Jake and Steven appear in several pages where the primary color is green, which symbolizes growth, renewal, rebirth. This is the only cool color they’re depicted in, which is also interesting because Marc is almost exclusively shown in panels with cool colors (minus the gold ones I mentioned earlier). Marc also appears in pages with greens, particularly those where he talks to Soldier and Badr, symbolizing his growth of being able and willing to open up to them. 

Finally, Marc blue has been a dominant color for basically this entire run. Blue is a cool color that symbolizes a lot, but I’ll stick with sadness, peace, security and freedom. Sadness is pretty obvious, but the other three are aspirational for him. And I think this is most clearly shown by the fact that the only exclusively blue Marc pages are the last two with Reese. Her understanding and words help take him one step closer to those things he’s always wanted, that love and understanding. And I think her wearing a YELLOW shirt also shows the positive influence and power her words have on him. Plus, it’s a good contrast against the background and his suit ;)

Last last thing I wanna mention about colors because wow this got out hand is the page where Marc takes off the mustache (NOOOOO) and introduces himself. It has all the colors I mentioned in a gradient, which imo symbolizes how he’s finally starting to work with Steven and Jake as a system, a team, and how they’re all separate parts but also parts of a whole. Also harkens back to earlier, when Marc mentioned he hasn’t asked Jake and Steven’s opinion. They aren’t perfect, there’s still some work to be done on communication, but they’re getting there and that’s what matters. It’s a great visual, and he even gets his emo anime boy hair back so win there, I guess😐)

[bubblywriter0]

I’m your biggest fan! Bakugou x reader x Todoroki

Word count: 2.6k of filth 

Warnings: non-con, smut, degradation, double-penetration 

tagging: @twynity @tommy-braccoli​

You were his secretary. Katsuki Bakugou, the hot-headed, incredibly stubborn, and undeniably handsome Ground Zero. Being the number three Hero's secretary had its perks, as well as its (rather exasperating) responsibilities. Which consisted of late nights, piles of paperwork, and plenty of arguments with the short-tempered Hero. 

But you loved it. 

You couldn't deny that it had you completely stressed most of the time, or that you were up till ungodly hours of the night more than once a week cleaning up his messes. But there was something charming about the snooty blonde, however hard it was to admit, and you could proudly say no one could match his outrageous temper the way you could. 

Your manager could confirm this first hand, as she had been caught in the midst of one-two many yelling matches between the two of you and always silently thanked you afterward for being able to keep him in his place.  

You held your own with the number three Hero, and though he would never admit it out loud, you were one of the very few people that could get him to see reason when his temper took over. You were a strong, independent woman. Which is why you never imagined yourself in this position, at least not in this way. 

—

Katsuki Bakugou was undeniably attractive. And an insatiable tease. He could (to your annoyance) read you easier than you anyone, and he had made your knees go weak too many times with his low-tone remarks or "accidental" intimate touches. But, you never gave in. 

You never took action on the desires that bubbled right underneath the surface. Not when you were fuming, inches away from each other from some dumb, long forgotten argument, the tension so thick anyone who walked in would slam against it. You even humored the thought of going out on a date. Just two colleagues going out for a drink after work, if not only to scratch the itch of something more. 

But the blunt hero never took the bait, couldn't seem to ask you out like a regular person. Instead, he had to drive you insane with teasing touches and suggestive remarks, that damn smirk and low voice carrying into your bedroom late at night when you were by yourself. Yet, being the responsible little secretary you were, you never gave in.

And then today, he finally seemed to snap. 

It started in the middle of your meeting. Some bastard was going on and on about some dumb policies and Bakugou couldn't be less interested. He internally groaned as he checked his watch just to find that he would have to sit through twenty more agonizing minutes of this. Tch. If this shithead pulls out one more Venn diagram I'm gonna fucking lose it. He fought the urge to prop his feet up on the desk, instead letting his gaze lazily wander to you. 

Aw. Look at you, such a good little secretary. His good little secretary, his brain added possessively. He chuckled quietly to himself, noting the way your pencil was tucked behind your ear, your brow scrunched in concentration as you scribbled down notes like a diligent student. He smirked as his eyes wandered down to see your pretty little skirt hiked up those cute thighs of yours. He licked his lips as he watched you bounce your foot gently, your thigh slightly jiggling from the movement. God, he just wanted to sink his teeth into you. 

You barely caught the movement in the corner of your vision, too busy watching the presentation to pay attention to Bakugou -besides, you were more than used to him getting antsy during these long meetings. So it was safe to say you didn’t take note of the large hand making its way towards you. 

You almost squealed when you felt the warm palm slide into your lap, your mouth dropping open in surprise. You practically burned up on the spot, immediately panicking and trying inconspicuously to pry it off. This only encouraged Bakugou, prompting him to squeeze the plump flesh, his thumb dragging slow, precise, and agonizing circles into your inner thigh as you squirmed, his teeth flashing as he grinned manically. He was going to enjoy this.

You couldn't focus on a word said after that, which was rather inconvenient considering you were supposed to be taking notes. The warm blush on your face hadn't left but your heart finally had slowed to a normal pace as the meeting came to an end. 

You stood quickly and smiled at the men and women leaving, unsettlingly aware of the metal chair scraping away from the table and the flooding warmth as Bakugou shuffled across the room to stand next to you. 

He grunted out less friendly goodbyes, echoing you lazily, and your eyes flew wide as you felt a hand sliding up the back of your thighs to your ass. You tried to swat his hand away but he caught your hand easily, pinning it against your back, clicking his tongue disapprovingly in your ear as he stepped up behind you. You let out a small whimper of protest and his grip on your wrist tightened painfully, pulling you with it so your back smacked against his chest, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. 

He didn't even seem to care that the last man who was about to shake your hand flushed almost as bright as you, and you squirmed helplessly as Bakugou glowered over your shoulder at the hand that was still held out. The dumbstruck man didn’t move, Bakugou’s patience wearing thin as he bared his teeth and let out a low growl, 

“Are you just gonna stand there shitty extra? You waiting for a damn show, wanna watch me fuck her real good or something?” Bakugou taunted cruelly, a hand wrapping around your neck as he leaned down to you. ‘Wadya’ say princess? You wouldn’t mind, would you? Bet your fuckin soaked right now, thinking about this shitty loser watching me bounce you on my cock, bet you’d like that, Hah” But all you could do was whine pathetically, trying to hide your red face, looking anywhere but at the flustered man. 

“Oh?” His crimson eyes narrowed at the man who was still standing there. “So you do want a show? That’s fine with me, but let’s make sure that princess here is okay with it,” he grinned again as you were suddenly thrown forward, bent over, the blood rushing to your head as you felt rough hands traveling up the back of your thighs curiously. “Let’s take a little peek and see if I’m right, hm?” 

But the poor man was already backing away, practically tripping over his feet and muttering apologies over his shoulder as he burst out of the conference room, his face bright with embarrassment and arousal judging from the obvious tent he was shielding in his pants as he made a bee-line for the bathroom. 

As the clear door swung shut you were suddenly picked up from the waist, and it took a moment for your spinning head to adjust before you started kicking your legs out in an attempt to escape. “Tsk, such a fucking brat,” Bakugou growled as he swatted at your ass, a painful sting following as you let out a yelp. 

“Stay fucking still slut.” You felt a tear drip down your cheek as you gave up your attempt to evade his grasp, your small body not standing a chance to the pounds of muscle you were up against. 

Bakugou flopped your body onto the glass table, pulling your ass towards him and flipping up your skirt onto your back so he had access to your plump behind. His heated fingers traced the exposed skin and you bit back a groan as he ran a finger down your slit. Your body automatically shivered when he yanked your panties down, hiding your head in your hands as you felt cool air tickle your dripping folds. He was right. You were sopping. 

“Aw, look at this,” you wined with embarrassment at his coos, his husky voice going straight to your exposed heat. “All wet and needy for me, huh baby?” You practically sobbed, your head nodding with shame. “Don’t worry pretty baby, I’ll take care of this mess” He pulled your legs apart and cooed again at the way your messy cunt dripped down all over the table, running a finger up your leg to collect some of your juices, popping the finger in his mouth and groaning at your taste. 

“I’ll make it all better, yeah?,” he hummed, chuckling at your incoherent mumbles and sobs. He leaned forward so his hot breath fanned against your ear, smirking as he growled in a low voice, “I asked you a fucking question slut.” You gulped at his harsh tone. “You know how to use your words, right bitch?” You nodded violently, terror making your voice tremble stupidly as you tried to answer in between hiccups, “m’s-sorry, I c-can-” He clicked his tongue, cutting you off. “I-I I’m s-sorry,” he mimicked you, sneering at the way you trembled. 

“Sluts who can’t follow simple orders don’t need to talk, do they?” You shook your head no shamefully, your cute little sobs and whimpers going straight to Katsuki’s already tight pants. “Good girl,” he cooed at your obedience, smirking as he undid his navy tie, pulling you towards him roughly. He reached around to your face and grabbed your jaw, his thumb prodding at your bottom lip. “Open,” he demanded, and you complied. 

He smirked with satisfaction at how good you were being, how easily you were letting him handle you. Such a good little slut for him, he repeated the thought again as he coaxed the handmade gag all the way into your open mouth, drool seeping down onto your chin. “There.” He grinned at the image of you looking all fucked out, cunt all messy and oh so needy, throat stuffed full, with mascara running down those pretty cheeks. “Isn’t that better baby?” He rasped as he kneaded your hips, grinding his clothed cock slowly against your dripping sex. You whined around your gag as you squirmed, fresh tears running down your stained cheeks as your body begged for more, begged to be filled by something, anything.     

Luckily for you Bakugou seemed to understand, fingers attacking your swollen clit as he humped against you lazily. “Need something pretty baby?” He laughed at your silence, but made quick work of unzipping his slacks as he pulled himself out of his pants, jerking himself once before spreading your cheeks. He groaned at the sight of his fat cock slipping between them as your needy cunt sucked him in, your body finally relaxing a bit as he slid inside you fully.

 He gave you no time to adjust, pulling out halfway just to slam back in, making you squeal around your gag. You rocked yourself back and forth on the table, chasing your much needed release as Bakugou used you, pulling your hips back to try and fit more of him inside you, your eyes rolling back at how good he felt. He almost didn’t notice how close you were, focusing on the way your weeping cunt kept sucking him in, squeezing around him whenever he growled filthy obscenities into your ear. 

But when you started babbling mindlessly around your gag, pushing back against him, he caught onto what you were doing, smirking at how quickly he’d reduced you to this. “Gonna come for me pretty baby? You gonna come around this fat cock?” You nodded, sobbing at how close you were.  “Go ahead, make a mess slut,” he growled against your ear, teeth grazing your skin as his warm tongue slipped out and prodded at it. You shivered uncontrollably as your body convulsed, giving into the intense pleasure as you focused on the heat between your slick thighs combined with the way Katsuki’s mouth was working down your neck, your orgasm racking through your body in euphoric waves, your cunt squeezing around Bakugou's dick as you came. 

You trembled as you slowly came down from your high, your sticky fluids sliding down your cheeks as Bakugou continued to pound into you. Everything felt so sensitive and suddenly the immense pleasure you were feeling mixed with something else and it was, “too m-much Katsuki, please s’too much,” but your cries were muffled and there was no way in hell he was letting you go now, grabbing your hips tighter as he thrust in and out of you, the lewd squelches from your dripping pussy making him feral. 

“Aw, you can take it princess,” he grunted with a sick grin as you tried to crawl away from him, squirming hopelessly on the glass table. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re gonna stay here and take it all like a good girl, you hear me?” He slapped your ass hard, emphasizing his point while his hips drove forward to meet your messy hole, groaning at the way your cheeks tinted pink from the impact, spanking you again to hear to feel you squeeze around him even tighter. “You like that slut?” He sneered, “Of course you do.” 

But you were too distracted by the flash of red and white that caught the corner of your vision. 

You raised your head slowly, only to be met with the inquisitive gaze of- You gasped. Shouto Todoroki. The Shouto Todoroki, the number Two Pro Hero you’d watched on TV for years, fawned over, and now... 

Bakugou could only assume your small gasp was from how good he was making you feel, and he smirked at this, driving his hips into you wilder with a new sense of inspiration and pride feeding to his unbelievably large ego. But how wrong he was. 

Your breath caught in your throat as curious blue and grey orbs traveled along your form, his gaze cutting through the glass and heating your whole body up till you were almost positive it was on fire. You felt so exposed, so humiliated, and so utterly turned on. 

His eyes slowly raised back to meet yours and you swallowed nervously. His pink tongue darted out to lick his lips and his mismatched orbs held yours with such intensity and curiosity, it was so..dominant. 

And it was making your legs feel weak. It made you feel all hot and bothered as he watched the Ground Zero fucking into you without hesitation, shamelessly watching every move. And it didn’t take long for Bakugou to notice. 

Bakugou was observant, and the sudden reactions your body was having to him was a pleasant surprise, but a little random, and it didn’t take long for him to realize your attention was focused outside the room, which annoyed him. “Oi, shit head whadya..” he trailed off as he caught sight of the red and white boy standing outside of the room, and he suddenly remembered he had a meeting with him scheduled for this afternoon, in this room. 

He had half the mind too cover you up and go tell the icy-hot bastard off but, what was this? You certainly seemed to be enjoying the way the dual-colored Hero was watching you get fucked. Did this.. Get you off? A shit eating grin spread across Bakugou’s face at the realization, the wheels already turning in his head. 

So his pretty little secretary wanted to act like a whore, huh? Then he’d treat her like one. 

You hear Bakugou chuckle darkly, yanking your hips back to gain more leverage, sneering at the heat rising to your face. Lips brush against your ear and a raspy voice whispers, "Oh look, it's your favorite little hero, Shoto Todoroki. Wave to him, princess"

—

Hope you enjoyed! Part 2 coming soon:) 

[cozy-neko]

kuroo joking abt cheating on u and it ends up hurting u sm bc of your past relationship which involved cheating as well,,, pls hurt me 😭

me reading the prompt: 👁👄👁 

excuse me, um, this hurt me a lot to write 😢 and i changed the prompt a little bit. there’s still the theme of insecurity due to a past relationship, but i didn’t explicitly have kuroo joke about cheating on you. instead, the hurt falls on kuroo brushing off your insecurity as something small and dismissive at that moment.

note: what’s angst without drunk thoughts? inebriation and soft nsfw.

- ♡ -

kuroo stared up at the ceiling, his mind hazy and swirling with incoherent thoughts due to his current inebriated state. he tilted his head, eyes following as if an afterthought until they finally landed on you. you laid next to him, eyes sleepy and mouthing lyrics to the song that played in the background. in your own inebriated state, you hadn't realized the bed-headed male's gaze on you; you were too busy in your own little world, staring at the star-projected ceiling that seemed to be spinning way too fast for your liking but enjoying the buzz that coursed through your muddled mind and veins.

kuroo blinked once, twice, three times before opening his mouth. "hey."

you didn't answer him as he called your name two more times. you finally removed your legs from being propped up against the wall on the third “hey” and turned your body upright to angle towards him, a dazed smile on your face. 

"yes, tetsu?" you sighed, dreamily. you looked your lover in the eyes and found yourself getting lost in his brilliant amber orbs. you weren't sure how many cans of cheap convenience store-bought beer the two of you had chugged, but in your current state of mind, all you could focus on was how handsome kuroo looked. and how good he was to you as a lover compared to your previous flame. and also the gnarly hangover that was sure to come the day after as a result of said cheap beers the two of you had downed a little too quickly.

"can i kiss you?" he didn't even give you a chance to respond before pressing his searing lips to the nape of your neck. you let out another dreamy sigh as you tilted your head to give him better access to your sweet spot.

"that's not really kissing," you giggled as you felt his hands begin to roam, but continued to let him press sweet kisses all over your neck and cheek until landing one onto your lips.

"how's that for kissing?" he murmured against your lips with his infamous cat-like smirk before diving in for one more.

as kuroo continued to smother you in kisses, your mind began to wander. you were always an emotional and sentimental drunk, and it didn’t help that kuroo’s sweet touches were making you slightly uneasy as your brain entered dangerous territory when it came to past memories.

“testu,” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back as he rolled on top of you. he mistook your whisper as a plea, but you didn’t stop him as he gently sucked on your soft skin. your nails dug into his back, and he let out a soft purr in response.

“you would never break my heart in two would you?” you ask in a small voice. 

“never, kitten,” kuroo murmurs distractedly. his eyes are dark and hungry, and you can tell that even though he’s not his usual sober self, he’s more distracted than usual by the lust and alcohol consumed — a deadly combination when it came to serious conversations.

you’re not satisfied with his response, so you ask again, and this time, kuroo lets out a small irritated huff at your evasion of his lips on your skin.

“i’m not going to cheat on you.” he doesn’t realize how dismissive his tone is, and all of a sudden, you feel small and unimportant.

as soon as your nails dig deeper and harder into his back, kuroo winces and pulls away from you. “watch it, kitten,” he hisses.

his irritation fades quickly and is replaced with wide eyes as he watches your swollen lips tremble and a stray tear streak down your cheek and onto the silk pillow underneath.

“kitten, i —“ kuroo is at a loss for words as he hesitantly craddles you against his chest. his hands are careful, scared that he might break the delicate, precious treasure underneath him. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be dismissive. i would never hurt you. i promise, i would never do anything to hurt you.”

any sign of drunkenness that kuroo showed previously was gone in the moment of sobriety. he repeated himself over and over again, hoping to reassure you in any way he could — it was all kuroo could do in hopes of bringing you a small piece of comfort in a moment of hurt.

- ♡ -

hurt + comfort requests are now closed! thank you to those who requested; i will reopen requests when i have more time (-:

you can check out the rest of the requests through my #love letters tag. thanks for reading! ♡

[supremeinlilac]

Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (4)

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader x Wilhelmina Venable

Word count: 3175

Warnings:  slapping, choking, idk arguing? Brief sexual thoughts.

A/n: I don’t know if this is in character for either of them, but it’s what I felt fit the story so we’re going with it. Also I’ve plotted out the rest of this series and it should be about 10-12 parts long, depending on how much I ramble. Also, I used a line from Apocalypse because I felt like it fit. Anyway enjoy :)

PART ONE | PART 2 | PART 3

“Are you fucking her?”

Cordelia’s questioning was blunt, arms crossed as her gaze flickered between the two of you. You almost laughed at her, but the reflex of defensiveness acted first, and had both Mina and you scoffing at her accusation.

“What?! No” You reacted simultaneously, responses tripping over the other in their haste to deny the claim. Your sincerity doing nothing to quell the fire that seemed to be flickering in the Supreme’s eyes, as if in silent warning. She also was completely disregarding you, directing her question only to her girlfriend.

“Well what is it then? I’m not stupid, I know that something is going on between the two of you.” Her foot tapped impatiently against wood as she waited, an unconscious mirroring of the taps of Wilhemina’s cane.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like fog, thick and poisonous and determined to seep into your pores. You could feel it, stinging and burning at your eyes and forcing you to blink away tears. But there was not fog, and the tears were of guilt; overwhelming guilt that had built like rain in a river, threatening to break flood defences and drown you.

You stood rooted, mouth gaping as you tried to stutter out a response, only babbled incoherence falling from your lips. They were too dry, and you noticed so suddenly, supposing your brain was trying to focus on anything but how Cordelia was looking at you. Your tongue darted out to wet them. Wilhemina looked guiltily at the cracked paint at the base of the wall, knuckles white against her cane and you worried the skin might split.

“I lied. I didn’t tell you what my real power was when I came.” Your words died on your lips as you admitted them, until you were barely whispering. You couldn’t meet their eyes. You noticed that on a part of the flooring the planks didn’t fully meet each other, you’d never seen that before.

Wilhemina’s cane cracked against the floor, her head shaking softly at the ground and you wondered why she seemed annoyed. Surely she knew when the game was up, it made no sense to lie further and risk all the relationships you’d built up in your time here. At least it made no sense to you, you already thought that you might love Wilhemina, but it was not justification enough for you to keep up this charade.

Cordelia looked shocked, as if whatever she’d been anticipating you to say had not been that. It wasn’t as if you expected that she knew your secret. You’d been quite careful with your lies throughout your time at the academy. No one could have known.

“You knew?” She turned on Mina, red anger back in her tone and you felt a swell of protectiveness surge within you like a tide. You scurried between them, a barrier, hands up towards Cordelia in mock surrender. You didn’t want Wilhemina to take the fall for your actions. “No, please don’t be upset at her, Cordelia, she only found out last night.”

Your eyes were silent and pleading at the Supreme, who’s gaze was unreadable as she blinked at you. A soft hand fell onto your shoulder from behind and pulled you sideways slightly, out of the middle of the two, so you all were stood equal. A broken sigh left the lips of the woman in lilac, but her hand stayed on your shoulder as she started.

“You don’t need to lie Y/n, it’s okay. Yes Delia, I knew. I found out about 6 weeks ago when-”

While she had been speaking, you’d turned to her, brows furrowed as if to ask what she was doing. Interrupting her when she was about to reveal your power, you both fell into a hushed argument, speaking in words that you both knew would wash over the Supremes head. It was less of an argument per say, more that neither of you wanted the other to burn in the inevitable fire.

Cordelia simply watched your interaction, her own insecurities bubbling to the forefront of her mind. She looked as if she would have preferred that Wilhemina had actually been fucking you, rather than this lie that had spanned over weeks.

Why hadn’t you felt comfortable; safe enough to come to her about it? Why had Wilhemina kept it from her, were they growing apart? She pushed the growing intrusive thoughts down and quashed them like a cigarette under the sole of a boot, as well as the looming voice of her mother, who’d seemed to be making more frequent appearances as of late.

Cordelia cleared her throat.

You were the first to break the silence, holding a hand up when Wilhemina made to protest, silencing the words on lips. “I-urgh-” your hand came to nervously scratch at the nape of your neck, “I used my powers on Ms Venable.”

As annoyed as she was at her girlfriend for her lies, your confession was quick to make Cordelia’s face fall from one of annoyance into worry. A small breathy “what” fell from her mouth as she frowned, turning to Mina, hands coming up to cup her face as she examined her diligently for injury and signs of pain.

Your heart seized painfully when Cordelia paused her examination of Mina to through you a glare over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark. She’d never looked at you like that before. You’d never seen her look at anyone like that. You assumed she thought you were trying to hurt Wilhemina, and maybe part of her would have been right, you hadn’t done it out of kindness.

The law echoed firmly in the back of your head. The punishment for harming a sister witch was to be burnt. You shivered. Technically, Wilhemina was your sister witch now. Stories had told you that in the coven, there was lots of people hurting each other without consequence, but that did nothing to quell the unease that grew in your stomach.

“Darling, I’m fin- I’m fine! Delia, please.”

When Cordelia didn’t cease to stop in her efforts of checking for injury, eyes hardened with the thought of someone hurting the people she loved, Mina brought her fingers slowly to wrap around hers, stilling the frantic movement. She coaxed Delia’s fingers to open before pressing them against her heart.

“See, I’m alright. Y/n didn’t hurt me I promise. Look I’ll show you.” Wilhemina’s voice was soft, thumb brushing over the Supremes’ knuckles.

She stepped away from Cordelia, and you both watched as she extended one of her arms towards the table. You, knowing what was going to happen, swallowed loudly and let your eyes travel to Cordelia.

As the candle lifted from the table, she gasped, looking to you as if she thought you were the one using your powers. Upon finding your eyes already on her, her head whipped back to Mina, who was now ushers it to come to her through the air. “Impossible” Cordelia gasped quietly, on the cusp of her breath, stare locked on the candle.

The candlestick reached Wilhemina’s waiting outstretched hand, and the woman turned back to the both of you, a proud look on her face. If the situation had of been different, you would have given her a thumbs up or expressed verbal praise, but Cordelia’s face was pale and confused so you pursed your lips.

“You’re not a Salem descendant, I’ve never seen anything like this,” Cordelia tried to reason, head shaking as if her logic would somehow reverse the fact that Wilhemina had just telekinetically brought a candle to an awaiting palm.

You stepped towards Cordelia warily, unsure of how to approach telling her without just blurting it out. Wilhemina stepped behind you to replace the candle, she looked smug. You didn’t know how she was handling this admission so well. You were a mess and Cordelia was perplexed. God how you wished you’d never kept it a secret.

“It’s my power,” you tried to explain, voice low. Cordelia looked confused, narrowing her eyes and looking to Wilhemina for an explanation. You started up again before she could answer for you. For some reason you felt the need to be the person telling her.

“I gave Ms Venable magical abilities, and I’m sorry, I just wasn’t thinking because I was mad and I’ve been teaching her and she’s actually really really gifted which I was surprised at, you know seen as it wasn’t by birth. The magic I mean.” You rambled, nervousness making you talkative, trying to defend yourself and Mina before the Supreme had a chance to interject.

It was her hand against your cheek that silenced you, and you heard Wilhemina gasp in shock behind you. Cordelia was trembling, from what you assumed was anger. Why was she so angry, you understood her to an extent, but you weren’t hurting anyone, were you? You tried to keep your eyes locked on hers, but they were too piercing, too extreme; and you had to look away.

Had she always been that tall, or was it her anger that made her seem twice the height, looming and dangerous. The slap had made your head spin, stepping backwards but yet she kept advancing. Your cheek stung but the knowledge that you’d gone enough for her to strike you hurt worse. Cordelia never really even got angry at anyone, she was usually very coolheaded.

“HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME” her voice was sharp, and too loud, and it made your head ache uncomfortably. You were worried the girls may hear. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SECRETS? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT PEOPLES ABILITIES ARE TO KEEP YOU SAFE.”

She was so close you could feel the warmth of her breath on your skin and smell the tang of her perfume, and yet you didn’t think you’ve ever felt further from her. Her chest rose and fell heavily and you slowly looked up at her, stopping at her nose because you couldn’t bare to meet her eyes.

Cordelia’s lip twitched as if she were about to say something else before she quickly turned and stormed out of the room. The door slammed and you flinched, shoulder dropping as you pulled a lip between your teeth.

When you look, Wilhemina’s eyes are on the door. Her head turned and your eyes meet, and she looks, sad? You can’t remember the last time you’d seen Mina look sad and the thought makes your chest ache painfully.

She makes for the door before pausing, hand on the handle. Glancing back at you, it looks as if she’s contemplating staying to comfort you, fighting with her brain about who needed her most in that moment, who she needed more. The glance must have only been momentary, but it felt like minutes, time stretched out and bare before you in your pain. But then the glance was gone, and so was she, the door swinging in her wake.

You were alone. Your shoulders dropped again, although you didn’t remember raising them. Perhaps you subconsciously did at the prospect of Wilhemina staying.

You didn’t feel like raising them again.

***

Wilhemina thought it best to leave Cordelia to allow her anger to thaw, since she’d retreated to the greenhouse. She always liked to be left alone to think when there in the day. She’d listen to Fleetwood mac in the absence of Misty, and let the plants and potions calm her. Maybe she’d smash a couple to defuse, not that she’d ever let anyone know that.

Wilhemina made herself busy in her office, needing anyway to complete the stack of paperwork that she’d allowed to build up in her eagerness to practise and perfect her new magic. It would serve as the distraction she needed to stop herself from seeking out her girlfriend, although it did nothing to clear the image in her head of the hurt on your face when she’d left the room earlier.

She worked until the ink ran out in her pen and the paperwork had been reduced to a minimum. Pushing back from the chair, she gathered the completed paper into an arm, cane in the other. When once she would have struggled to open and close the door without dropping anything, having to rely on Cordelia to get up for her, now the door swung open freely.

Making sure the filing was correct, Wilhemina took the stairs slowly up to her shared room, slowly because the events of the day had taken their toll. She now felt heavy with impending sleep. All she wanted was to have her love in her arms again as they slept.

Thoughts of her girlfriend swirled like mist in her mind, a welcomed distraction as her back started to twinge with pain. Reaching for the handle to their bedroom, she jumped back, clutching at her palm with the other as her cane fell against the dresser. Sucking in a deep breath as her hand began to smart, throbbing in her fingers with a heightened heartbeat.

The door handle had burnt her, it felt like, and now that she bowed slightly to inspect it, she saw how it glowed a warm orange. In fact, the whole door was tinted slightly, not enough for anyone without focused to see, but enough for Mina to know it had a protection spell over it. She’d seen the lesson Cordelia had given in the types of protective spells one could use.

Cordelia had cast a protective spell, the third type from her lesson, she remembered, to stop anyone from getting in, even Mina. Even though she was upset, Wilhemina sighed affectionately. It was so Cordelia to put the least harmful protective spell on the door. Even in her anger, the supreme hadn’t wanted to hurt Wilhemina as she tried to enter, like the other two spells would have.

Wilhemina brought her hands to meet on her stomach, unsure of what to do now she was locked out of her bedroom; all the other witches had returned to theirs, and the house was quiet. She assumed Cordelia would let her in when she went to sleep, wanting to be alone for as long as possible.

After finding her pyjamas and a set of new clothes folded neatly on the chest at the foot of the bed in the spare room, anger flickered in her chest. Surely Cordelia wasn’t expecting she actually slept here. Alone. Turning on her heels, she strode determinedly towards your bedroom.

***

You’d heard stories form the girls when you’d arrived, about when Wilhemina had first arrived in the house years ago. None of them had been there to see it, so the words were mere rumours passed from ear to ear and morphing like the muttered sentences of a child’s game of Chinese whispers.

Some days they seemed ridiculous, the notion that she could have been so carelessly cruel. Today, you believed them. You’d been struck yourself by the unforgiving blade of her tongue.

By the realisation that perhaps you’d been wrong, and that magic wasn’t a thing everyone deserved. Or could be trusted with.

Wilhemina could barely control the fire of her own emotions, never mind the magic you’d trapped her with. She let anger and fear steer her actions and didn’t seem to have the capacity to actually regret them after.

You’d managed to poke a hole through the fragile calm that Cordelia had managed to envelope her in over the years, and you were allowed to see the flickering glimpses of her former self. You let yourself mourn for the person you thought she was.

Perhaps now you knew her, the real her, you may never truly love who she has become. Could you let yourself love someone born from so much spite?

She’d come to your room, eyes hard and angry and hands shaking against her cane. Hissing through bared teeth that you’d ruined everything, among other things that you missed because you couldn’t stop watching how she was shaking.

She’d looked at your blank expression, and how your cheek was still slightly pink, and snapped. Lurching forwards and choking your neck between strong hands. She almost smirked at how your expression changed so suddenly, finger coming to claw at her own, a desperate attempt to get free.

Anger and hurt clouded her mind, just as the thought of Delia earlier, yet this was a thick fog, opaque and suffocating, and stopping her from truly registering what she was doing.

Yesterday you would have become instantly wet and squirmy with the thought of having Wilhemina’s slender fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your throat. But now, with the black of her eyes holding no kindness as she squeezed harder, making your vision almost blur, you weren’t aroused, All you knew was fear.

In that second, you’d been scared of her. You’d felt it, and so had she.

She’d obviously heard your fear, your pain, because a second later she was stumbling back, cane cracking as it fell to the ground. Her eyes were wide and frightened, as if she couldn’t recognise herself, watching how you held your neck protectively.

You’d watched as she tried to compose herself, smoothing down her skirt with hands that still shook, fingers slightly curling into the fabric. As she stooped to pick up her cane, cracked it twice against the floor and left as if nothing had happened.

You’d seen in her eyes, a silent apology that she always refused to voice, as if breaking some unspoken law she’d set herself. Wilhemina was never in the wrong. Even if she was.

Later, when the moon seemed to be the only witness to your sleeplessness, you let your wind wander, staring at the ceiling. Your covers were drawn up to your chin protectively, as if it would somehow stop the monsters. A childish belief.

In the past 6 hours, you’d been struck by both of the women you’d believed would never raise a hand to you. You wanted to laugh, and cry. Everything was so quick to crumble beneath you, the soil dry and unstable.

This is what Cordelia had meant. Secrets are dangerous. The ground fell away and left you teetering on the edge, so much uncertainty hanging above you. Regret and guilt too.

You supposed it was your own fault, always setting yourself goals that were highly unrealistic and then being surprised when they didn’t work out. You strove for things unattainable and out of reach.

Wilhemina was the moon, dark and cold and misunderstood. She never let anyone see her true self, she was guarded and everyone could only see her through a lens. Everyone except Cordelia.

Cordelia was the sun, she was warm and familiar and the source of things to flourish and grow. Her smile was bright. They were so opposite, but they needed one another, moving in harmony and in sync.

They were both so unreachable but yet, weren’t we told as children to reach for the stars?

PART 5

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[gotnofucks]

Lovely Shade of Green

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Jealousy is a very good look on your boyfriend.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: Smut, oral sex, jealousy, slight daddy kink, slight dom bucky, language, 18+ Only

A/N: For @drabblewithfrannybarnes who wanted chubby!Bucky smut! Here you go darling, I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST

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You were bleary eyed, head rising and falling slowly as it rested on the soft pooch of Bucky’s belly, a hand patting your head gently. You would have fallen asleep had the bottle not landed at you. Tony was snickering, shitfaced and you wondered again why you agreed to play today.

“Truth or dare Y/n?” He asked and you mumbled truth. “Do you and tin man take it up the ass raw or are you lubing it up?”

Bucky groaned, a hand coming up to shield his eyes. He was still not comfortable talking about your sex life in the open, and certainly not with Tony. You rolled your eyes, hand hugging Bucky closer as you scoffed.

“Changed my mind, gimme a dare.”

A little spark of doubt crept in you when Nat and Tony exchanged a look. The moment a smile blossomed on Nat’s lips you knew you were fucked.

“I dare you to sit between Thor’s legs until the game ends.”

In the time it took you to understand they actually meant it, Bucky had sat up straight and pulled you up under his arm. He growled with a hand holding you to him, jaw clenched tight.

“Shut your crap trap Stark, this is not a joke.” He warned and Tony, intoxicated beyond measure just waved his worry aside.

“I’m not asking her to ride his thigh terminator, just asking her to sit between his legs. You don’t mind do you, Thor?”

Thor who was just as drunk on his Asgardian mead as Tony, giggled and shook his head.

“Come here little Y/n, I’ve got lot of flesh to keep you warm.” He bent his knees to make space for you in them and you raised your eyebrows. Your gaze shifted to your boyfriend who was glaring at Thor and Tony while Nat looked expectantly at you.

“It’s only until the game ends, come on now. Few minutes at most.” Nat urged and you hesitatingly went over to Thor who gently plopped you between his thighs. His front was brushing your back and you bit your lip, looking at Bucky who was now scowling at the floor with fists clenched. The bottle was spinning again, and you pretended to be interested in the game, your sleep deprived brain still not sure what happened.

Maybe it was finally too much, maybe it was because Tony kept looking over at you and chuckling or maybe it was because Thor placed a warm hand on your shoulder that Bucky snapped. He stood up suddenly, took the spinning bottle in his hand and smashed it on the floor right beside Tony.

“This game is fucking over, and if you utter another word from that stupid pie-hole so will you.”

Saying this he marched over to you and roughly hauled you up by your arm, walking swiftly back to the hall and your room. Drunken murmurs and cheers could be heard behind you, most clearly Sam’s who said, “I’ll take my 20 bucks now Cap, told you it won’t take more than 10 mins.”

You tried to keep up with Bucky’s long stride as he angrily dragged you to your room and all but flung you inside. You were far more awake now as you gazed into Bucky’s narrowed blue eyes, his plump cheeks red with anger you felt a nervous heat between your legs. The door was shut and locked and Bucky turned on you.

“You have been a naughty girl, cuddlebear.” He said softly and you nodded dumbly.

“Buck, it was a game.” You said and he came closer, his hands wrapping around your waist and pushing you back towards the bed.

“You should have said no, you should have left.”

You trembled as your knees met the bed, sitting down and letting Bucky peel away your t-shirt. His frown deepened as he bunched the Captain America t-shirt you had stolen from the charity event last month.

“Look at that cuddlebear, not only do you dare to sit between another man’s legs like you’re his puppy, but also wear someone else’s mark. Do you think that was a nice thing to do?” His voice was hardened with lust and jealousy and you creamed yourself when he tore the fabric in his hands and threw it away.

“No, I am sorry.” You say and Bucky tutted, flicking your chin.

“Sorry what?”

“I am sorry Daddy” You corrected, and Bucky’s lips enveloped yours, rough and soft at the same time. Your hands clutched his side, nails digging into his soft love handles as he pushed you on the bed and climbed over you. You moaned in his mouth, shimming out of your pajamas when he pulled back to breath and started stripping himself.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re in some other man’s arms, right?” He asked and you nodded. You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down, straddling him.

“I’m sorry Daddy, let me show you I only love you.” You breathed and Bucky’s eyes rolled when you pinched his nipples. He nodded, and you bent over him, your mouth meeting his in a messy kiss. His metal hand was cold on your back and your groaned, sucking a spot on his neck that made him shiver. Tracing the jagged scars on his left shoulder with your fingers and mouth you ground your hips on the bulge between your legs, your wetness dripping down and over his balls.

“Cuddlebear, gimme more.” Bucky begged and you hummed, sliding down to bath his body. You kissed and suckled his flesh, giving special attention to his nipples before nuzzling the chubby flesh of his belly. You dipped the tip of your wet tongue in his belly button making his arch up and smiled. One of his hands fisted your hair and pulled you, the other grabbing his weeping cock and smacking you in the face with it.

“Take it in, now. Show me your love and loyalty.”

You took his thick cock in your mouth, the corners of your mouth aching as they stretched wide to fit his girth. Your hands stroked what your mouth couldn’t take, and you started bobbing your head, the bed rocking slightly as Bucky thrust softly in your mouth. As you hollowed your cheek and sucked, slowly pulling back to just graze your teeth and again going back down, your hand reached between your own legs to play with your swollen sex, your juiced coating your thighs.

Bucky’s moan spurned you on, your drool dripping over his pelvis and you moved fasted and deeper, taking him with a skill that made his thighs shudder. He was close and you could feel it, his hand in your hair tightening until almost painful and suddenly you were pulled off and rolled onto the bed and under him.

“Now cuddlebear, you are going to take me in your drenched pussy and take me hard and fast. You’re going to come around me, gush around the tool that makes you feel so so good and thank me for giving you my cum. Get it?”

You nodded, drunk on lust as your Bucky’s hand reached your wet folds and played with your entrance, rubbing the walls to loosen you. Even after months of being together, you needed to be prepared to take him in, his cock thicker and meatier than any you had had before. You felt him align himself and grabbed his face in your hands, pulling him into a deep kiss just as he pushed inside you.

Moaning into his mouth as the mix of pain and pleasure, you held him to yourself, mashing your breast to his chest. His hips snapped against yours, thrusts deep and hard as his piercing eyes kept yours prisoner.

“Who do you belong to cuddlebear?” He asked, head dipping for a moment to nip at your nipple that made your clamp on him harder.

“You daddy, only you.”

“Who do you love?” The bed was banging against the wall, the sound of his balls hitting your ass echoing in the room. Only the sheer power of his hypnotic gaze kept you grounded to reality, made you aware of nothing but him.

“I love only you daddy.” You whined, voice broken as he gave you two powerful, punishing thrusts.

“Will you ever sit on another man’s lap?”

“No daddy!” You shouted and his mouth came down on yours, hips a blur as they powered into you. You cried out, heels digging into his back and his sweaty front pressed flush to yours. Salty sweat trickled down from his hair and fell in your eyes, mixing with your tears as you babbled incoherently at the abject pleasure that sent lightning bolts shooting down your spine and right to your clit.

You spasmed around him, your warmth clutching around him in a glove of velvet heat as his voice whispered his love in your ear. He twitched inside, the warmth of him filling you until some escaped and squelched along with your own release, a breathy “Thank you daddy” leaving your mouth.

He was laying on you, his weight crushing you to the mattress and you let him be, wrapping yourself around him. Warm lips met your jaw and cheeks, continuing to press against your nose and forehead until finally, almost chastely pecking yours.

“Did I hurt you my love?” He asked softly, eyes tender and concerned. You smiled at him, the strongest and kindest man you knew.

“You can never hurt me Buck, never. I love you.”

He rolled over to the side, taking you with him and tucking you to his side. You threw a leg over his thick thighs, tracing the numerous stretch marks and battle scars that littered his body.

“I’m sorry about tonight, I didn’t mean to get angry.” He said and you giggled, booping his nose with your index finger.

“Buck, I love it when you get jealous and angry. It’s flattering, and I kinda adore it when you go caveman.” You admitted and he laughed, hugging you closer.

“Good, because I don’t like sharing. You’re my cuddlebear and I plan on keeping you.”

You peeked up at him, twirling a strand of his hair and tugging gently.

“Forever?”

His eyes, your safe place and heaven looked at you in warmth and full of promise.

“Forever.”

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 Tags: 

@what-is-your-wish​ @shooting-star-love​ @littlegasps​ @sebastiansthot​ @its-izzys​ @sweeterthanthis​ @muralskins​ @stanmysoul​ @scentedsongrebel​

[splendidly-secret-sick-fics]

I’m Fine: An AtsuHina fic (Part 2)

Here it is!! Part 2 of my AtsuHina fic. 

I’m sorry it took so long. I had a really hard time figuring out exactly what I wanted to happen and how I wanted to characterize them. I think Hinata ended up being pretty ooc, but I’m like okay with it? I kinda hc that when he gets older, he calms down a lot and becomes like a very comforting person to be around. Like he’s still kinda goofy, but it’s more ~refined~ if you will. 

If you missed my most recent post, I’m going to start trying to shorten these fics a bit! I really enjoy writing these, but they’re also very very tiring lol. 

Anyway!! Without further ado... 

I’m Fine: An AtsuHina fic (part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Sick Atsumu, caretaker Hinata

Word Count: 2,644 (!!!) 

Trigger Warnings: vomiting, swearing (?) 

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“—umu. Babe, please wake up.”

A voice cut through Atsumu’s brain and groaned. His mouth tasted terrible and it was about 900 degrees wherever he was right now. All in all, he’s never felt worse.

“Tsumu, please. Come on.” A hand tapped his face and he swatted it away with a groan.

“Okay, that was something. Open your eyes now for me, baby.” His cheek was pinched. He scrunched his nose and squeezed his eyes open. The light burned his eyes, but when he looked up, he was met with the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The most fantastic gift he could have received during this incredibly trying time in his life.

“Shoyo?” he whimpered, his bottom lip quivering. Shoyo smiled at him and it was so beautiful and amazing and Atsumu felt so relieved because he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” Shoyo rubbed his hand up and down Atsumu’s arm. Atsumu bit his lip and tried to sit up. Shoyo was right there, gently pulling Atsumu up and into his arms. Atsumu grabbed on with what little strength he had.

“Yer home?” he cried. Shoyo smelled like airport  and it didn’t help his nausea at all. It didn’t matter though because he was home. And he was holding Atsumu and maybe things would be okay now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry I’m late,” Shoyo reassured. Atsumu’s bottom lip quivered and his eyes water. A sob escaped before he could stop it. Shoyo’s arms around him tightened and that was all it took for the floodgates to open. Tears rolled down Atsumu’s flushed cheeks and he cried pathetically into Shoyo’s chest.

“Pl’se don’ leave me. ‘M s’ry,” He gripped Shoyo’s shirt tightly.

“I’m not. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Time passed slowly and Atsumu wasn’t sure how long he cried and clawed at Shoyo, begging him not to leave. Eventually though, he calmed down enough to realize that his stomach was still rolling.

“So you’re not feeling very good, huh, Tsumu?” Shoyo asked and planted a kiss on the top of Atsumu’s head. He shook his head.

“When did you get home?” he asked. Not that he even knew what time it was anyway.

Shoyo hummed, “not that long ago. I rushed home from the airport. Samu and Rin blew up my phone as soon as I landed.” Atsumu scrunched his face.

“Why would they do that?”

“Are you serious?” Shoyo snorted. “You texted them incoherently at two in the morning. They said something about how you were dying and never wanted to eat or see the light of day ever again. You scared them,” he paused, “scared me, too.” He added, quieter. Atsumu felt him rest his cheek on the top of his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. When did he text them all of that? There was absolutely no memory of those texts being sent anywhere in his brain.

“S’okay,” Shoyo said. They fell into a comfortable silence.

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been in the bathroom?”  Shoyo asked eventually.

Atsumu shook his head again, because no, honestly he couldn’t.

“Las’ thing I ‘member clearly is Samu and Suna bein’ here.” Shoyo exhaled slowly.

“That long, huh? Have you thrown up a lot?”

At that, Atsumu nodded his head vigorously, because yes, if there’s anything he knows about the past 24 hours, it’s that he’s spent a lot of them crying and puking.

“Have you eaten anything? Anything to drink? Any meds?”

A hesitant shake of the head.

“Okay. Well let’s start with that, yeah? Then we’ll try and get your fever down.” Shoyo patted Astumu’s back and made to get up.

No no no. Atsumu didn’t want anything in his body. Just the thought of it brought back the nausea to a level that made him squirm.

“Please no,” he whimpered. Shoyo was standing, stretching his arms above his head.

“I’m sorry, babe. Gotta get that fever down and get some liquids in you. You’re probably really dehydrated. You don’t want to go to the hospital right?” Shoyo peered down at him, an eyebrow raised.

Well, no. He didn’t want that.

“Don’ wanna throw up.” Atsumu pouted.

“I know,” Shoyo rubbed his head, “but don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

And thank god Shoyo was there.

Not even an hour later, Atsumu was hunched over a bowl on the couch, heaving and bawling.

Shoyo made him drink a sports drink and take some fever reducers. He was in the clear for a little while, so they decided to chance some soup. When it looked like he was okay, Shoyo decided to take a shower and wash the nasty airport stank off of himself.

By the time he got out, Atsumu was sobbing in a puddle of his own vomit. From there, the situation only spiraled into disaster.

Atsumu, now clean of his own puke, but quickly sweating through his new clothes, whimpered pitifully as he heaved.

“Tsumu, you have to calm down. You’re making it worse,” Shoyo soothed, rubbing up and down Atsumu’s back.

“I don’ wanna,” he coughed, “puke ‘a’ymore.” He punctuated his statement with a wet belch, as if the universe wanted to mock him.

The room was spinning and he wanted everything to stop. He felt so out of control of his own body. He was sticky and gross and it was so freaking hot.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, please calm down, Atsumu,” Shoyo tried. Atsumu heard the shake in his voice and he wanted to tell him it was okay and that he was fine and that he was sorry and get his shit together so he didn’t cause his jet-lagged boyfriend any more grief, but he simply could not do that.

Instead, he gagged and choked on a small stream of bile. Everything hurt. His toes, his head, his limbs, his throat, especially.

He breathed heavily over the bowl and hoped to god he was done. At least for now.

Shoyo patted his face with a damp and blissfully cold wash cloth. Atsumu glanced at Shoyo’s scrunched face and sighed.

“‘M s’ry ya had t’ come home t’ this, Sho.” Atsumu felt utterly pathetic. He wanted to welcome Shoyo home with a nice dinner and a relaxing night in, and instead here he was taking care of Atsumu.

Of course, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful. There was no way in hell he would have lasted another night on his own.

“It’s alright, baby. I really don’t mind. I just wish you weren’t feeling so bad,” Shoyo frowned. Atsumu weakly reached up to hold his hand.

“Thank ya,” he slurred around the disgusting-ness he felt in his mouth. Shoyo’s mouth quirked up minutely.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, stroking Atsumu’s sweaty hair back with his free hand.

Atsumu nodded, “I w’nna change again. ‘M sticky.” Shoyo hummed in affirmation and stood up.

“I’ll be right back then. I’m gonna take the bowl and rinse it out. You’ll be okay for a few minutes?” He looked skeptical. Atsumu nodded. Leaving a quick peck on Atsumu’s sweaty forehead, Shoyo bounced out of the room. His stomach had been eerily calm for a few minutes now, so he took the chance to relax some and slumped back on the couch. He brought an arm up to rest over his eyes.

Why was this even happening? It was pure misery. If he could sleep it off, he would, but he was too afraid of getting sick while sleeping.

Sensing his anxiety, his stomach cramped. He groaned, placing a hand on his angry belly. His eyes stung. How many times has he cried in the past 24 hours? It didn’t really matter, he supposed, and let the tears roll down his face.

Quite abruptly, a regrettably familiar pressure in his chest returned and Atsumu sat up.

He was going to puke. And Shoyo wasn’t back. He couldn’t move. Should he call for him? No. No he didn’t want to open his mouth. It was fine. He was fine.

His throat constricted and he swallowed hard, bringing his knees under him on the couch. The blanket on his lap twisted around his legs, which only made him more uncomfortable. Using one hand to support his weight, he leaned over the couch. At least he could try and minimize the damage by puking on the hardwood instead of the upholstery if Shoyo didn’t make it back in time.

His head hung limply over the side of the couch. Spit collected in his mouth and he tried to swallow it down, but that only made him gag, so he dropped his jaw and let it dribble out of his mouth. His sense of shame disappeared hours ago.

His chest jolted with a hiccup that scratched his throat and he whimpered. Was Shoyo back yet? He would be fine until he came back, right?

A painful stomach cramp answered that for him. It told him no you won’t be. And with that, he gave up.

A few airy burps passed through his open lips and his stomach gurgled. Please no more please I don’t want it. But he had no more energy to fight it.

He coughed a few times and his throat gurgled.  With another cough, he wretched and a painful mixture of (mostly) bile and soup spilled from his mouth and onto the floor.  

Atsumu let out a broken sob before he pitched forward and vomited up more of the disgusting mixture.

“Atsumu!” Shoyo reentered the room at that moment and Atsumu lifted his head.

“Shoyo,” he choked before he dry heaved towards the ground again. Shoyo sat beside him and brushed back his hair. The bowl appeared in front of him again.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I tried to hurry.” Atsumu shook his head. He forced down another heave. He was empty. Physically and mentally.

“ I don’t..I don’t feel good at all,” he cried, his voice trembling right along with the rest of his body.

“I know,” Shoyo sighed, “I know. I’m sorry.” He wrapped an arm around Atsumu’s shoulders and rested a cheek on his sweaty back.

“Are you done, ya think? For now?”

Atsumu nodded and Shoyo guided him back to lean back on the couch. He readjusted the blanket, much to Atsumu’s appreciation and handed him a water bottle.

“Here. Rinse out your mouth.” Atsumu took it hesitantly and swished the water in his mouth before spitting it in the newly cleaned bowl.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy. Shoyo shook his head.

“Don’t worry, okay? Stop apologizing. You can’t help it.”  Shoyo pet his head and smiled at him sadly. “I’m going to clean this up and then I’ll help you change, okay?”

Atsumu nodded and closed his eyes. He felt himself drifting off and as much as he would love to sleep, he was still too scared. He really hated waking up all of last night to himself already puking and really didn’t want to relive it.  Every time he felt himself pulled into sleep, his anxiety woke him back up.

“Atsumu, here. Let me help you change,” Shoyo whispered sometime later. Atsumu opened his eyes to find the floor clean and Shoyo sitting in front of him again. In his lap was one of Atsumu’s favorite t-shirts, and a pair of athletic shorts. He nodded.

Together they got Atsumu into less sticky clothes and lying back down on the couch. The bowl was within arm’s reach, mocking him silently.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Shoyo asked. Atsumu nodded.

“Do you care what?” He shook his head. Shoyo exhaled and pulled his lips together tightly.

Shoyo put in some movie that Atsumu was sure he wouldn’t pay a lick of attention to, even if he wanted to. His stomach was still giving him fits and his head hurt and he was hot and then cold and dizzy and absolutely not fine at all.

“Ready to try some water?” Shoyo asked. He lifted up Atsumu’s feet and sat underneath them. Atsumu’s lip curled and he glared at the water bottle in Shoyo’s hand. He shook his head.

“Okay. Later then.” Shoyo put the bottle on the table. The movie played in the background, but otherwise it was silent. Atsumu tried to ignore how terrible he felt and focus on the movie, but it was increasingly difficult.

“You’re so quiet,” Shoyo sighed at one point, “s’weird,” he forced a chuckle. Atsumu’s eyes lazily slid to look at his boyfriend’s cute little profile.

“Mmm,” he responded. Shoyo’s jaw was tense and his shoulders were raised towards his ears. His lips were pursed and he was fiddling with a stray string on the blanket, twirling it between his fingers mindlessly. Atsumu wished he would relax.

Of course, he knew that wasn’t easy for Shoyo. Especially given Atsumu’s current condition. It made Atsumu feel even worse. His frustration with himself increased when his eyes started stinging again.

“Tsumu? Why are you crying?” Shoyo asked, his eyes wide and eyebrows pulled together. Atsumu furrowed his brows and pouted.

“I don’t feel good,” he whined petulantly. Shoyo’s face relaxed and he laughed.

“Well, obviously. But don’t cry. You’ll feel better soon.” He rubbed Atsumu’s shin.

“Well yeah, but ya had to come home to this and I’m sure yer tired and jet-lagged,” he muttered. Shoyo’s mouth pulled up in one corner and his eyes grew soft.

“Listen, any time with you is my favorite time, okay? Sure I’m tired, but it is what it is. Can’t do anything about you being sick other than help you get better right?”

“Well yeah, but—“

“Sit up,” Shoyo commanded. Atsumu gave him a bewildered look, but did as he was told, wiping away his sticky tears.

Shoyo stood up and Atsumu grunted in protest, but his boyfriend walked to stand by his head and shimmied his way behind Atsumu. He leaned against the armrest and opened his arms and gestured for Atsumu to lay back down.

“I don’t wanna get ya sick.” Atsumu turned his head away. Shoyo laughed. A full laugh and it made Atsumu’s heart stutter.

“Tsumu, it’s too late for that. If I’m going to get sick, I’m going to get sick. And you’ll take care of me, right?” He quirked an eyebrow at Atsumu.

“Obviously, but—“

“Then please lay down. Let’s take a nap.”

Atsumu hesitated.

“C’mon babe. I know you’ve been avoiding sleep, even though you're clearly exhausted. Your body will recover faster if you sleep.” Shoyo’s arms were still open and he wiggled his fingers, taunting Atsumu to cuddle into his favorite pillow.

“I don’t wanna throw up in my sleep again,” he trailed off before adding under his breath, “or on you for that matter.”

“Pft,” Shoyo scoffed, “as if I care about a little bit of puke. I’ve puked on myself so many times.” He said it as though it were an accomplishment and Atsumu raised his eyebrows and frowned. Shoyo cackled.

“Tsumu, please. I don’t mind okay? Look. The bowl is right within arms reach. And I’m here alright? You’re not alone anymore. If you throw up in your sleep, I’ll take care of you.”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes at the wing spiker before grumbling protests under his breath as he moved to lay down.

Shoyo’s arms wrapped around Atsumu, one resting on his lower back and the other coming up to play with the ends of his hair. He felt slightly better almost immediately. Yes, his stomach still seemed to hate him and his fever hadn’t broken and he generally felt like death warmed over, but Shoyo was there.

He sighed contentedly and Shoyo’s chest beneath his ear rumbled with laughter.

“Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here. You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he murmured before falling asleep.

[98prilla]

Acceptance

Remus has a breakdown. 

A03

...

He’s shaking, trembling, really, curled up on the bed, rocking back and forth, arms wrapped tightly around himself, nails digging into his skin, but he can’t stop, he can’t stop, he’s so exhaustedly broken, but if he stops moving he’ll die.

 His room is a mess. He’s destroyed everything in it, all the furniture, his desk and his chair and his shelves, his morning star shattered to pieces. He’s already torn through his imagination, his castle in ruins, burned to the ground, ash scorching the air, the force of his screams blowing out the stained glass, and not in a fun way.

 His sketches are ripped and torn and scattered across the floor, his notebooks ripped in half, his paints stomped on, staining the floor in sticky puddles of colors, splashed against the walls, ruining the mural he’d worked so hard on, all mixing and melding into an ugly brown color.

 It’s ugly and disgusting and gross and he hates it, hates it all, hates himself, hates everything, everything here.

 The voices are so loud. They’re so loud in his head and he can’t drown them out, they eat away at his brain like acid oozing in through his ears, they rip at his skin with the force of a hurricane, peeling off his layers of skin, then muscle, then flesh, then bone, until he crumbles to dust, scraping him apart with his own bones, his own teeth turning against him as they clench down on his tongue, hot blood dripping between them, down his chin, and he can’t see anything, he’s lost, so lost, deep in his own head.

 He wants it to stop! He wants it to shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!

He’s choking on his blood and he coughs, spits, not caring that it lands somewhere on his bed, on his usually tidily made sheets, staining them red, red, red, too much red, and his fingers dig deeper into his flesh, more red dripping down his arms. He’s too hot and too cold and it aches and it burns and everything is too loud and too much, his clothes are scratchy and rough against his skin, his every breath in and out sounds like thunder, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

 He’s screaming. He thinks he’s screaming? He can’t tell if it’s him or someone else, but the sound is earth shattering, ear piercing, it gives him something to focus on, but soon his lungs are burning and despite everything his voice gives out, but there’s still too much left, he hasn’t let enough out, it’s still bubbling under his skin in ulcerous blisters. He screams again, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because no one is coming, no one is left, no one is here anymore. DeeDee is gone, Virgil is gone, his brother is gone, Patton never liked him, and Logan barely tolerates him, he’s all alone, no one is coming to save him from himself, and it hurts, it hurts more than a knife to the heart, it hurts more than splinters in his eyes, it hurts more than tacks in his feet, it hurts more than swallowing fire ants alive, and distantly he’s aware of hoarse, desperate sobs cracking through the silence, but it doesn’t feel real, nothing feels real.

 His world is spinning, spiraling, colors blurring and blending and reality is cracking, and he can’t even name the strange horrors he’s seeing, just vague images and ideas, filled with pain, and hurt, and violence, and he cries out for someone, anyone, for Dee, please, please, please! Then it fractures into a million, billion fractal reflections and facades and broken, empty reflections, and he knows it is hopeless.

…

It’s Logan, who finds him. Remus has been oddly silent for the last three days, and though the others brushed it off, it has him worried. Still, he was hesitant to breach Remus’s walls, but Janus was backsliding, and he knows how good Remus is with the scaled side when it comes to this.

 The room is a mess. Which is what he is expecting, to be honest, Roman’s always is too, papers and ideas and sketches hung to cork boards, plotting out his next grand adventure or novel. But this is a different kind of mess. A destructive kind of mess. Which, again, may not be unusual, until he looks closer.

 Journals. Notebooks. Beautiful drawings done in ball point pen, incredibly detailed, it would have taken hours to make some of these, and he recognizes the ripped and trampled shreds of some of them, remembers Remus showing them with pride. He can’t imagine Remus destroying them, and he adjusts his glasses nervously, taking another step deeper into the dark room, having to squint to make anything out. He fumbles around, and finally finds a light switch. It turns on green fairy lights, and all the air rushes out of his lungs before he practically sprints to the bed.

 “Remus. Remus, can you hear me?” The creative side’s eyes are open, staring blankly ahead, unseeing. He’s rocking just a bit, mumbling incoherently under his breath. He’s wearing only boxer briefs, small shivers wracking his frame, and he can’t tell if it’s from cold or shock. Dried blood covers his chin, stains his arms, and he realizes that Remus is scratching at his chest in a steady, methodical pattern. It is oozing blood, a deep X mark, nails digging deep into his flesh as if trying to claw his heart out of his chest.

  He lets out a strangled sound and catches Remus’s hands firmly, though once he’s holding them, they go limp.

 “Remus. I am going to sink out with you now.” He doesn’t think Remus can hear him, but he narrates his actions anyway, taking a deep breath and sinking out to the commons.

 “Logan?” Virgil asks as soon as he appears on the floor with Remus, setting aside his headphones. Then he catches a good look of the two of them and curses, leaping off the chair, crouching by Logan's side.

 “He appears to be in a dissociative state. He is unresponsive to both noise and touch.” He explains, voice wobbling. “I am going to fetch the first aid kit and attempt to clean off the blood to determine the extent of the injuries. Stay with him?” Virgil nods instantly, taking Remus's hands as Logan stands, shifting to kneel before him.

 “Rem. Oh, Rem, what happened?” Virgil asks softly, not expecting a response, surprised as he feels Remus squeeze his hands, eyes shooting up to Remus’s face, finding it just as blank as it was moments earlier, but his grip doesn’t loosen. He keeps a tight hold of Remus’s hands as Logan returns.

 Remus doesn’t make a sound as Logan carefully wipes away the blood, wincing at the deep scratches running down Remus’s arms, careful around the deep gash on his chest. He wraps bandages all the way up Remus’s clawed arms, then carefully sews up the gash, before packing it with gauze. Virgil is wincing in sympathy, but Remus doesn’t flinch or acknowledge them even once.

 “He’s freezing. We need to get him into clothes and warmed up. Hopefully that will help bring him out of his shock. Familiar faces and voices will also help.”

 “Janus’s room.” Virgil says automatically, grabbing hold of Logan and sinking out.

…

He's warm.

 He's wearing clothes, but they don’t scratch and scrape and dig into his skin. They’re soft and perfect.

 The voices are quieter. Still loud, still there, but quieter, and he realizes someone is speaking.

 “Rem? Can you hear me?” Virgil. His senses snap to, and he blinks, clearing his vision.

 Virgil is before him, legs curled under him on the bed, Virgil's hands in his. His eyes are wide, breath held.

 He's curled up on someone's lap, and realizes it's DeeDee, humming softly, his hands gently rubbing up and down his arms, grounding him.

 Logan is the voice. He’s sitting beside the bed, a book open in his lap, reading aloud, the even, gentle noise quieting his mind further. He lets out a deep, shaking breath, slumping back against Dee, exhausted.

 “hi.” He whispers, letting a soft gasp as Dee's hand cards through his hair.

 “Hello, darling. How’re you feeling?” Dee's voice a soft murmur, a purr against his ear.

 “Oh, ‘m fine. You know me, always getting into something or other.”

 “Remus. You were and are not fine. You have been in a dissociative state for about a day now since I found you, though it very well may have been longer as you have been absent for about three, and done significant harm to yourself in that time.” Logan, setting aside his book. He swallows hard, pushing himself out of Dee's lap, moving to the edge of the bed.

 “oh. S-sorry.”

 “For what?” He blinks, looking up at Virgil.

 “what?”

 “What are you sorry for, Remus?” He swallows hard, squeezing shut his eyes, idly scratching at his arms, before he feels someone once again take his hands. He almost whines, because he needs the pain, he needs it, it’s the only thing that helps.  

 “everything. I know I’m too much. I kn-know that’s why you left, cause I’m too loud and too annoying and too much. I can’t control myself, no matter how hard I try I just can’t and I ruin everything, and I’m not… not good.”

 “Remus. Is that what triggered you to shut down?” He picks at his bandages, before those hands corall his again, and he shakes.

 “D-dee’s gonna leave. You’re gonna leave. I’m gonna be all alone in the d-dark and it ma-kes it so much louder, it gets so loud, and I can’t make it stop, it won’t stop, but the p-ain makes them shut up, just for a bit, but it’s enough, it stops and it’s enough, and it hurts, but it’s f-fine, it’s fine! I deserve it. I can de-al with it, that’s my job, right? Handle all the bad, all the b-bad no one else wants, who cares if I can’t stop thinking what Roman would look like with his guts pulled out and strung across the bedposts, who cares if I can’t stop seeing plucking every shiny scale off of DeeDee, who cares if I try to rip my own heart out so I can crush it in my own fist, so I can never, never hurt anyone? It’s not enough, it’s never enough, it’s too much, too loud, too loud, too loud!” He screams, ripping his hands away from whoever is holding them, breath speeding as he falls off the edge of the bed onto the floor, clutching at his head and shaking.

 “nonononono No! I don’t wanna… I won’t, I WON’T! Don’t make me, don’t… I won’t hurt them, iwon’tiwon’tiwon’tiwon’t-“ Visions are filling his head, terrible, awful, horrible, and he’s clawing at himself, his face, his hands, his legs, anything, everything, because he’s bad, he’s being bad, he deserves to be punished.

 “Remus! Remus, Stop!” Virgil is pinning him down, and he snarls, kicking, fighting, gnashing teeth, then one of his hands gets loose and he swipes at Virgil with a hiss.  Virgil yelps, drawing back, and his vision clears, horrified. Four long scratch marks mar Virgil’s face, going from his left temple, across his eye, rather like Scar in the lion king. He lets out a small wheeze, scrambling back, unable to look away from the red, red, red, he hurt Virgil, he hurt him, he did that, he hurt him, he’s terrible, awful, this is why he deserves to be alone, this is what’s wrong with him, he’s not normal, he’s not good, he’s a mess and a wreck and a problem, everything that Thomas didn’t want, everything wrong with Thomas, everything wrong with the universe and they’re going to leave-

 “Ree, it’s ok, I’m ok, I promise.” Virgil, arms open, and he howls as he falls into them, clutching at him, whimpering and whispering apology after apology. “I know. It’s ok, Rem, I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean to, I know.” Virgil murmurs in his ear, rocking him.

 “I’m not leaving you, Remus. I wouldn’t ever leave you behind. I will never leave you all alone. I promise.” DeeDee, slipping behind him, wrapping both him and Virgil in his arms, and he presses tighter against Virgil.

 “It’s f-fine. I can’t hurt anyone if I’m all alone.”

 “Falsehood. You’ll hurt yourself, Remus. And that is an unacceptable outcome.” Logan, soft but firm.

 “S-so? Why… why does it matter? So what if I hurt myself? Its not… im not like all of you. I’m not important, I don’t matter.”

 “You do. Rem, you matter. I’m sorry I just… left, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t your fault. It was… a lot of things all combining, but it wasn’t all on you. It… it was mostly me. You scared me. When Lo popped up with you, there was so much blood and you weren’t talking and I thought… I just… I care, ok? I never really stopped caring, so don’t you dare give up on me. You’re the most stubborn, headstrong person I know, Rem. You’re not bad, just like I’m not bad, even if we can’t control ourselves sometimes, that doesn’t make us bad.” Virgil mumbles, holding him tight.

 “You always take care of me, Remus. I will always do the same for you, if you just ask. You hide it so well.” He curls further into a ball, new, silent tears flowing down his face as the voices finally go silent, leaving him alone in his own mind.

 “I scare Patton. Roman hates me.” He argues weakly.

 “patton has warmed up to you. He understands that you have your own intrusive thoughts, and he can see through them to your actual distress and meaning. And Roman… is difficult but he misses you more than he would ever admit. Regardless, we are not leaving you alone or behind simply because of their feelings. Not when it is a matter of safety. Your safety.” Logan replies, and he sighs, a long, shaking breath, fists uncurling from around Virgil's sweater.

 “I’ll hurt you. I have hurt you.”

 “Ah. You referring to your introduction video, when you threw a ninja star into my head and ripped out two of my teeth.” He nods, looking down at the ground. “You know you did not actually cause me any harm, Remus. I can see through your actions and recognize they are not reality. Your actions did not actually damage me in any way. You knew that would be the case, which is why you targeted me, instead of Virgil or Patton, who would take the injuries literally.” Logan counters, and he’s surprised Logan can see through him that well, even then.

 “I love you.” He mumbles. “I love you and I’m terrified I’ll go too far and actually hurt you.” Exhaustion creeps into his voice. He knows what he wants, what he’s always wanted, but he won’t ask for them to stay, he won’t obligate them like that, when they should want to run as far and fast as they can. “you should leave me behind.” His throat feels dry when he says those words, the opposite of what he wants, but it’s what’s right.

 “Remus. Would it be accurate to state the thoughts get louder and progressivly more violent and dark in nature the longer you are without contact?” He furrows his brow, confused.

 “I… I guess. It… in the dark and the quiet there’s nothing else, just my own head and I can’t get out of it.”

 “Have the thoughts stopped now?”

 “yes, I mean, they never really stop, but they aren’t the only thing anymore, I can push them to the back of my head and only let the smaller ones slip out. It’s like a whisper when it was a scream earlier.”

 “Then why would we leave, darling?” Dee asks, and he blinks.

 “What?”

 “You pretty much just said that being around people and ambient noise makes your intrusive thoughts easier to manage, and stops you from getting so sucked in you end up hurting yourself, you idiot. So if you’re hanging out with us, yeah, they’re still gonna happen but they’re not gonna be as bad. Probably easier to control, just like my anxiety. That’s what a support network is for, Ree. It… it took me a long time, I guess, to actually learn that for myself, but it was worth it.” Virgil mutters, face a bit red, though he doesn’t miss the small, proud smile on Logan’s lips, the gleam in his eye as he looks at Virgil.

 His own mind is reeling. Of course, it’s easier to keep them quiet when there’s other noise around, of course touch is grounding and helps keep him centered in the present, of course doing things, activities, writing, drawing, helps keep his mind focused and allows him to let out the thoughts without hurting anyone, he just… he didn’t think the others would care about all that enough to justify letting him be around them.

 “I mean, I know that! I just… I didn’t think any of you would want to be part of mine.” He mumbles, hugging himself with a slight shiver.

 “Of course we will. We love you too, or whatever.” Virgil mumbles, pulling Remus back into a hug, before grinning and hefting him up in his arms, depositing him back on the bed despite his surprised screech of protest.

 He laughs as DeeDee settles beside him once again, stretching out and resting his head in Dee’s lap, legs laying atop Virgil, who snorts, but doesn’t move, simply grabs a fluffy throw blanket and tosses it over him.

 “We’ll speak to the others tomorrow. I don’t expect a problem integrating you into the group, Remus. It will be beneficial for everyone. All of us working together is what is supposed to happen, anyways.” Logan says, voice smiling. “For now, you need to rest and let everything heal.”

 “ok. Keep reading? I… it helps, I think. He mumbles, already half asleep. He hears Logan’s voice start again, steady, feels Dee’s hand in his hair, feels Virgil holding his hand, and he smiles, tears dripping down his face. He didn’t think it was possible, any of this, and it feels… good. So, so good. For once, he doesn’t think he’s going to ruin everything. For once, he thinks the voices whispering in the back of his mind aren’t him, at heart, just a side effect of who he is and what he represents. And he knows, he’s safe from them, with so much warmth surrounding him.

[urlocalbunny]

.ruined orgasm - ethan.

hi, babes! My posting rate went DOWN, i’m aware, but lots of things happened and the national exams are nearing my asscheeks, so please understand that i’m overwhelmed so the requests are stopped in time lmao

1.675 words, enjoy!

Ethan was moody, and everybody knew that much. Always slamming doors, yelling, frowning, laughing at people evilly, sometimes, even... Hissing? But Eloise still put up with a lot to make their relationship work.

And in the end, it did make a difference. Ethan would tell her where he went and with who, how his day was, sometimes he'd even get her food instead of sending Beliath to learn more about her favorite things! Even if she told him that he didn't need to justify himself because they were dating, he tried to show her he could be more than just a moody young vampire. He wanted to show her he could be reliable when it counted.

That's why Eloise had the stupid idea of trying to be reliable too and got herself sitting on his bed, listening to him talking trash about everything possible with his head laying on her lap.

"And he's such a dumbass. Did you see his hair this morning? He looks like a mop. Aaron takes care of him, and he doesn't learn anything, probably burnt all his brain cells trying to find out how much is two plus two. Ah, speaking of Aaron, can you believe he ditched Leandra again? That tomato head is fucking crazy! I mean, there isn't any competition anymore because you're way hotter and you're my girlfriend, can't he do something?-"

"You're acting like a 72-year-old grandpa who likes a gossip." She deadpanned, watching his face contort into a disgusted frown.

"What the fuck? You're so mean! Pet my head." She sighed, patting his head.

"What's happening to you? You're talking too fast."

"I need to vent!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, god. Look, let's calm down. You have to sit down." She patted the bed near her. Ethan was very fast, but she never saw him using his powers inside his room like that. He sat down anyway, but then he fidgeted. "Sit down." She said softly and straddled him harmlessly. He blushed.

"What are you doing?" He asked suspiciously.

"I'm just chilling with you. I'm not going to hurt you."

Sometimes, talking to Ethan was like trying to aid a hurt animal. He was in pain, scared, angry. That made him have very wary reactions. She was the first girlfriend he took seriously, after all. He wasn't the type to stay too much in one place.

"You're... Um- close." He mumbled, a little uncomfortable.

"It's okay then. We can sit side by side again. I'm sorry for pushing. I didn't realize I was too quick." She smiled, beginning to scoot over, but he held her by the waist.

"N-no. Stay like this. You're warm." He hid his red face in the crook of her neck, smelling the perfume Beliath bought for her on her birthday. Fitting.

"You're cold." She said, squealing lightly. "It's not overwhelming, though. You're chilly. I like it." His head felt very heavy. Her treatment of him was too much to handle.

"Are you alright?" She asked, quirking one cute and now messy eyebrow. He huffed, looking at her hesitantly before cupping her face on his hands and kissing her softly.

Her tiny smile on the kiss pushed Ethan further. His heart hammered like crazy. He couldn't help but squeeze her waist, making her open her mouth to moan softly. His tongue slid in slowly, licking hers tentatively, tenderly. She returned the caress, scratching the hair on the nape of his neck as a treat for his boldness. His kisses got eager and full of little appreciation noises as his hands groped her thighs roughly. Her hands got rid of his coat. Eloise tried to spare him a glance to see if she needed to stop, but he urged her back with an annoying whine, tasting her tongue again. The feeling was as if they kissed for the first time again. He wished he could stop, but her lips were so good. He wanted her to keep going even if he didn't know where.

"Eloise, I want to fuck you so bad." He whispered, pulling her hips against him. She matched his movements, combining with wandering hands, to keep him calm until the situation escalated. Her eyes took in his glazed over stare, his panting, and his now swollen red lips. A small white hair stripe ran from his belly button and lower, hiding on his pants.

"Kick off your shoes," she panted, pulling his shirt off. He did as she asked, kicking them off and pulling his socks with his feet. The sight of his flushed neck made her suck in a breath and lean in, kissing his skin eagerly. His hands found themselves on her thighs again, this time creating little red marks under his fingertips.

"You don't have to be shy, love." She whispered, making him scoff.

"You think I'm some virgin you can control?" His hands slid to her ass, squeezing it. The friction his zipper gave made her clench around nothing, whimpering louder than usual. His composure fell, a shy yet pleading stare taking place. Her fingertips ran along with his nipples, eliciting a violent shudder. His back arched nicely against her hand. Her hands worked slowly, appreciating him while his own hands kneaded her ass slowly. His stare fell on her breasts, the way the dress strap hung down still engrained on his mind. He kissed her neck, daring.

"You're so lovely." His whisper woke her up from a deep daze, her hands squeezing his waist ever so slightly.

"You're beautiful." Her answer was almost immediate. He was taken aback by such warmth. No one-night stand ever did him like this. That was already intimate. He was told he's beautiful before. Not like this. Not by her.

Pushing him on the bed and standing up to allow him to raise his hips, Eloise pulled his pants and trousers down. He blushed.

"You look pent up." She sighed, running a hand through the tip. His cock twitched.

"Why am I naked, and you're fully dressed?!"

"That, honey, is called dominance." She gripped the hem of her dress, pulling it up and planting a knee between his own, revealing her thong. He had imagined, and he'd definitely seen and felt her before, but that laid beyond his expectations. The adoration he felt broke the last of the boundaries he had. His shoulders relaxed. Raising his arms above his head and laying them on the bed, he thought that maybe surrendering once wasn't so bad.

"Open your legs for me, honey." He obeyed. Placing herself between them, she kissed him intensely. He couldn't help but pinch one of her nipples, earning a high-pitched moan from her... And his nipple pinched in return. "My, my, you look so clever taking advantage of our positions, don't you?" His hand dropped by his sides, back arching against her hand. She began to slide her nail against his stomach, gripping his cock with her hand and jerking him carefully.

His eyes fluttered shut, a peaceful expression dancing on his face as he whined lowly and pushed his hips in sync with her hand. She gripped harder, coating him on his precum. Her hand worked up and down, sometimes he felt her other hand cup his balls, and she occasionally sucked on his nipple, appreciating his body, but Ethan wasn't going to last.

"Eloise, please. I'm close. So close, I'll be so good to you, so, so good, just p-please-"

"Oops!" Her hand shot up just as Ethan was about to cum. His hips jerked upwards as he moaned helplessly and loudly, sobs erupting from his throat as he thrashed around, orgasm now ruined. The pain mixed with the full pleasure that could've been something else. Betrayal danced behind his eyes, his back arched and his hips thrusting up against nothing, tears dripping from his cheeks.

"Eloise!" He sobbed pathetically, reaching for her hand. "Elo-" he coughed.

"Shhhh, it's okay, you're still so hard." She cooed, running a hand on his stomach to soothe him.

"You ruined it- why?" He was shocked, making her chuckle.

"I couldn't resist, honey. Here, let me fix it."

"How are you going to fix- ahn-" he shut up quickly when her entrance engulfed his tip, swallowing him and bringing him into her soaked heat.

"Like this." She struggled to say, holding herself against his shuddering form and waiting for him to adjust to her. Ethan kept panting, but soon enough, he came around, starting to grind up frantically until he was balls deep within her, earning some approving moans from her. She coaxed him into turning them around, making Ethan cradle her head on his arms and thrust desperately, looking for release no matter what. His cock twitched, the sensitive tip rubbing against the sweet spot that had Eloise seeing stars. The girl arched her back, nearing her end when Ethan lifted one of her legs and held it, bruising the skin and creating a new angle.

"That's it. You're doing amazing." He moaned at that compliment, snapping his hips in a low mantra of "Eloise, I wanna cum," and the groans when she pulled on his hair.

Ethan started growling incoherent stuff, tears streaming down his cheeks. His face and neck were red, and he held a breath. Eloise keened, gripping on his arm as her walls spasmed around him. Her back arched, legs trembled. His head was spinning, white dots all over the place.

"Eloise, I-" he didn't have time to explain, a long whine taking place followed by a gasp as he came inside, hips still snapping, then stilling comfortably.

"Are you okay?" She asked, caressing his back. He looked at her with his bloodshot eyes.

"That was amazing." He panted, resting his head against her chest. "Can I dom next time?"

"Of course, baby." She said softly. Ethan smirked when Eloise gasped, and the slap he gave on her leg made a loud sound in the room.

"Ah, ah. The baby is you. Get on all fours. Now. You're paying for not giving me what I wanted.

[bangtanstrawberrycheesecake]

You accidentally moan another member’s name

➾ pairing: min yoongi x  reader

➾ genre: smut, angst, slice of life, realistic reaction

➾ summary: you accidentally moan another member’s name during your orgasm

Your legs was hooked on Yoongi’s shoulder as he thrust in and out of you. “F-fuck...” His face contorted in pleasure when he felt his orgasm approaching, a soft groan leaving his lips.

You whimper underneath him, you’ve came twice from Yoongi eating you out beforehand so your pussy felt extra sensitive. “Y-yoongi i’m close...” you cried, your fingers were clasping on the sheets like your life depended on it. Yoongi answered you by going harder making skin slapping noise resonate around the room when his hips bump against your thigh. “A-ah,” you wince in both pain and pleasure when you felt the tip of his dick tap repeatedly against your cervix.

“You okay?” Yoongi manage to breathe out as he slow down his thrust, head looking down to check on you. “The-“ you wanted to say “there” when his dick brushes on that one spot in your walls that make your head spin but a moan came out of your lips instead.

Yoongi seems to catch on and kept thrusting, making sure to hit that same exact spot that make you clench extra hard on him. “Shit you’re gripping me baby” Yoongi huff out, sweat dripping off his forehead.

“I’m cumming-“ you cried out and arch your back, pussy clamping down on his cock as you feel the familiar whirlpool in your belly indicating your orgasm. That was all it took for Yoongi to catch his high too, he let out a few curses as he came inside you, painting your walls with his warm load.

Meanwhile You were on the brink of your orgasm when your head is screaming at you to tell Yoongi to keep hitting that one spot, it felts so good you couldnt seem to form any incoherent sentence. “The-nggh.. the-...” you were so fucked out you couldnt even manage to say a simple “there”.

You suck a few breath of oxygen in hope to speak out your thoughts, but Yoongi was still thrusting and groaning in pleasure on top of you and it felt so good and you dont even know what you’re saying and you end up letting out a pretty loud “the-ngggg...taehyunngg-” the same time your orgasm hit you.

When you came down from your high and open your eyes you felt Yoongi pull out of you roughly, “What the fuck was that?”

You swore you’ve never heard Yoongi talk to you with a tone that harsh during your relationship with him. You just lay there on the bed like a dumbass in your post orgasmic haze as his cum dribble out of you, barely registering what’s going on and when you didn’t answer him Yoongi stood out of the bed. Something he never do because he always spend time with you on the bed after you guys have sex.

You didnt even register you had said Taehyung’s name and just lay on the bed in confusion while looking at Yoongi who were putting on his underwear and pants harshly. You’ve never seen him look more pissed off than he is right now and you didn’t even know what you had done wrong.

“Yoongi what is up with you?” You ask in confusion while pulling the blanket up to cover your naked body. Yoongi stop whatever he was doing and look at you bewildered, “You’re seriously asking me that after you moan out Taehyung’s name right infront of my face?”

You look at him confused and Yoongi shook his head in dissapointment before continuing to put his tshirt on. It took you a few seconds to replay the scenes in your head and your eyes widen when you realized you must have made a mistake and said Taehyung’s name in the middle of your orgasm.

You immediately rose up the bed, your left hand clatching on the bed sheets to cover your body while your right hand try to grab Yoongi’s arm in attempt to pull Yoongi to the bed so you both could talk it out. But the minute your hand touches his, Yoongi immediately pull his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” Yoongi spoke in a cold voice. He looks at you like you were a stranger to him and you’ve never felt so small infront of him before. Your lips tremble as you whimper out softly, “That was a mistake Yoongi I swear I dont even know what I was saying.”

“Bullshit.” Yoongi looks at you dead in the eyes and you could see dissapointment clouding his gaze. “You’re fucking Taehyung behind my back aren’t you?” His accusing words pierce through your heart and you could feel how much the question that left his lips had hurted him too.

You immediately shake your head, tears starts clouding your eyes and you mentally scold yourself for being dumb enough to said another man’s name during something so important. “I swear I was in the middle of saying “there” but i moaned “ngg” after “the” and i must’ve said taehyung’s name afterwards because it sound similar.” You try your best to defend yourself, hoping Yoongi could believe you but it doesn’t seem like it was working.

Yoongi shook his head, chuckling in dissapointment at what he thought was your bizarre reasoning. He felt extremely betrayed by you, and in his mind all he could think of was you having an affair with his own bandmate.

Yoongi knew you and Taehyung was bestfriends and all sorts of scenarios of you and Taehyung catching feelings and having an affair behind his back was clouding Yoongi’s brain. He’ve heard of these kind of affairs happening to other people’s relationship, he was in shocked that this was happening to him too. The two people he cared in his life has broke his trust.

“Yoongi you have to believe me.” A tear has slid down your cheeks by now and you hated the way Yoongi stared at you like he didn’t know you. You wanted your loving boyfriend back. This wasn’t how you thought your Saturday with him was going to end up.

You try to reach out to him again and hold his arms but Yoongi flinch and avoided your grasp, eyes refusing to meet your gaze. You didn’t give up though and let go of the bed sheets you were clasping on your left hand and reach out to circle your arms around Yoongi’s back in order to stop him from leaving the room.

You don’t even care if you’re butt naked. You didn’t want Yoongi to leave the apartment when you’ve both haven’t settle this problem. You were scared this incident was going to end your relationship with him. Yoongi tried to let go of you but you hold onto him as hard as you can.

“Yoongi please... I swear on my life that was a mistake I would never cheat on you and ruin us like that.” You cry out, burying your face on Yoongi’s back and you felt him stiffen up. He finally stop trying to let you go and is listening to you. “Please believe me i’m so sorry.” You couldn’t stop crying, your fingers were holding on his tshirt till your fingers turn white. You were so scared that if you let go he will leave you and never came back.

The room was silent with only your soft cries echoing around the room. You take a deep breath while sniffling, trying your best to choke out your next sentence. “I understand why you’re mad.” You whimper, “I would have done the same in your situation but please believe me that i’m not cheating on you.”

It felt like forever before Yoongi finally turn around to face you. He didn’t said anything, he just stood there infront of you to stare in your eyes as if to see whether you were telling the truth or not. You look up at him, eyes glassy with tears and you knew you probably look really pathetic right now.

Yoongi’s mind was having an inner battle on his own. Was your reasoning the truth? Did you really wanted to say there and accidentally said taehyung? He had all sorts of question clouding his mind but he couldn’t see you standing infront of him sobbing undressed in the cold room looking so pitiful so he follow his heart and grab your arms to pull you towards the closet.

“Put on your clothes.” Yoongi said as he brought you infront of your side of the closet. You shook your head, still crying. Your fingers clutching onto Yoongi’s hand refusing to let him go and Yoongi could only sigh. He hate the fact that his heart still softens for you in this situation. He pull a random oversized tshirt from your closet and put it on you silently. You comply and let him dress you, you were still sniffling softly since you just cried.

After that you and Yoongi both had a long discussion about this whole incident and he told you how it made him felt. Yoongi did end up believing you that you aren’t having an affair behind his back. You promised him it wouldn’t happen again and you made sure his feelings are validated. The next time you told him you were hanging out with Taehyung though, you noticed Yoongi stiffen up slightly but he never try to stop your friendship with Taehyung because Yoongi trusted you.

Author’s note: Did you like the realistic reaction? Y/n is crazy for moaning out another member’s name in the middle of the deeds smh

[wornoutmouse]

Not sure if this even counts as pain play

Day 7: Pain Play

I got weirdly poetic with this but I guess it works.

My first dark fic! I'll admit I love reading the fucked up stuff with a passion. Also, I'm trying to wrack my brain for the different animes I've watched so it's all not just mha or other common ones since I've been a victim of not having fanfiction of an anime I liked.

Warnings: dubious consent, yandere, blood

Your legs trembled with every drag on the blade fearing yet craving that one of these times it would break skin. "Why are...you trembling?" You close your eyes tightly not wanting to look at your boyfriend. He made no attempt at forcing you to either. "I know it...will hurt a little...but...it will...feel good too." You hear the clinking of more small surgery blades and you can't help but wonder if you were the only person down here. You could hear dripping water in the distance and the echo it created lasted for minutes before stopping. If you were to be left down here, you weren't sure if you'd make it out. "Azusa, please!" you begged. For what you did not know as you were conflicted trying to gauge any form of sympathy from the deranged vampire. "What...are you begging for? I'm trying.. to help." The boy looked at you, gaze blank and eyes as dull as the steel he was holding as he walked towards you with a small scalpel in hand.

"I won't...make it deep...since this is...your first time." you try to lean away from the weapon but Azusa takes a gentle hand to hold you still. As you look into his eyes and see only love and adoration staring back at you and you couldn't help but feel conflicted about whether he was the one to be angry at. You yourself brought up how empty you had been feeling as of late and you should have realized your mistake from talking to the least mentally stable person in this household. "Azusa I know you want to make me feel better now but, I'm fine, truly." He looks at you pondering if your words are really true. Once he assumes so he undoes your binds and lets you down. "I'm...sorry for..tying you...up. I knew.. you'd be nervous...and I didn't...want to hurt you." he says scratching behind his ear nervously. You take a steady step back careful to not seem to on edge. 

"I...hope I..didn't...scare..you." you shook your head grimacing at how your curls stuck to your forehead from the amount of sweat you had worked up for such a short time. "n-No, it was fine." you stutter out before turning around, "Now let's just get out of here and forget all of this." A cold hand grabs your arm and you stiffen, "I'm sorry...but...can we stay here...for a while?" you look over your shoulder and cringe as you see the tinge of red in your boyfriends face. "Azusa..are you turned of right now?" you couldn't help but gag slightly at the thought. 

The sick individual in question squeaks and covers his lower area with his hands in embarrassment. "I'm...sorry..but seeing you ...all help..less, riled...me up." Azusa steps forward making you take a step back. "The fact that...you...trusted me....to be gentle...makes..me feel good." Your hands tremble as you resist the urge to shove the boy and make a run for it. As easy as it would be to push down the frail boy, he was still stronger than you by a margin. That and the fact you didn't want to face his brothers, was the only thing keeping you standing there. "Well we can't do anything about it in here, can we?" you ask in fake playfulness trying to deflect the conversation to something lighter. Azusa shook his head in thought before teleporting you both into the familiar gloom of his bedroom. 

Your head spins as you get accustomed to the abrupt change in scenery and you are helpless to the hesitant kisses being left on your skin. Only when you feel fangs puncture your shoulder is when you come back to reality. "Azusa!" you whine as he pulls you closer by your waist, "I...couldn't help..it. You..look so beautiful." the sweetness of his voice made you sick to your stomach as you thought of what a decent person he could have been if not for his childhood. You try to push him off of you in a weak attempt at gaining the upper hand but in the end, you stopped knowing that there was no point for your body had made up its mind.

The feeling of his cold undead hands trailing down your stomach and making contact with the skin just above your belt made you question what little sanity you held dear. You could feel the aphrodisiac seeping into your veins and you curse yourself for allowing things to get this far. Azusa pulls away licking his lips and smearing blood along his chin, "I tried not...to drink....long...because I know...it makes...you woozy." Azusa uses his nail to pop your pant buttons open.  With precision and care, he slips his long fingers inside to play with your folds. The utter contrast between both of your bodies should have been a turn off from the start. But as you two grew closer, your body began to crave it leading you into an endless cycle of wanting to leave and wanting to be devoured.

You could blame it on vampire suave and seduction but you knew better. The front door has always been open for your departure, you just chose to ignore it. 

"Azusa!" you gasp latching onto his wrists before jerking your hands away remembering his wrapped wounds. "It's...fine...see." Azusa raised his hands and unwraps the bandages surrounding them. The skin was scared and discolored going from warm peach to pale as moon water. "I'm....trying to get..better, just..like..you wanted." he says with a proud smile on his face as he stares at his hands, playing with his fingers as he awaits your approval. 

Your stomach churned from the sick joy you got from the fact that you had made a positive dent on this person's life no matter how small. Any other person wouldn't be able to handle the madness that was this boy and as much as you wanted to leave this was the reason to stay. To help this boy do better with his life which was also an excuse. You would always deny it but deep down you knew that all your devotion was really just a false sense of security ensuring that you truly hadn't fallen into self-inflicted Stockholm Syndrome. "I'm so proud of you Azusa." you whimpered trying to hold back the tears of regret as you watch the boy smile, fangs on display pearly white as ever and shinning in the bright moonlight that scratched it's way inside. Azusa went back to playing with your bud of pleasure as he lamented kisses and lies into your skin, making you slip deeper into your own self hatred as you allowed the menstruations to continue. 

You don't know how long you were in your own thoughts as you are awoken to a hot yet cold tongue lathering itself against your breasts, nipples pebbling from the sharp air that hit it after every ministration. Numb to the feeling yet still aware, you shake as your mind is thrown into ecstasy as you become aware of the blade trailing down the cavern of your breast leaving a thin river of blood following suit. "You...look..so pretty like..this." Like a moth to a flame, your breath hitches as Azusa trails his tongue along the river gathering all that your body had to offer. 

You receive many cuts after that, along your outer and inner thighs, painting your ebony skin red in pathetic irony as you wish for a moment that Azusa would slip and cut you just right so that you could slip away without blame from the gods or yourself. You feel Azusa lick away more of your essence in a way that is more intimate but more demeaning. You arch your back holding his head close to yourself as you take what he was giving you greedily. If one were to ask if you were pleasured you would respond without words but cries of agony disguised as joy. 

You flip the position to try to gain back what you felt you lost as you angle your lover's throbbing member below yourself and don't allow yourself to settle until he's pleading. "Please...I don't know...how long I will....last." he softly croons gazing up at you with a lovesick gaze that you knew you didn't deserve. You relent, telling yourself that this was on your own terms as you bounce rhythmically on his cock watching him cover his face as he babbles incoherent sentences. You sneer in disgust and hold his hands above him.

How dare he hide what was rightfully yours after taking so much from you. You feel him release inside of you and for once, you do not worry about if you fell pregnant for you knew the child would be taken care of with or without you. You do not stop your ministrations and bask at the wails your partner let out. He held your hips in a bruising grip and you knew he took joy in the pain he was receiving and for that, you could not forgive him. 

You quickly finish yourself off to relive the ache you felt from the aphrodisiac. You allow yourself to be held close to the chest of your lover and you fall asleep to the emptiness of his chest comforted by the  lacking a beating heart, lulling you into a sense of fabricated security as your heart too stilled and beat its final time declaring you, one of the damned

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Marked (Part 23)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~4670

Warnings: Dean being an absolute dickwad. Which! In my defense! He usually is, canonically, when he’s upset... also, angry sex. 

A/N: So a while ago my brain was like “Here! This needs to happen!” And I was like “oh thanks I hate it.” So. Yeah. Been dreading this chapter for a while. Here it is. Thanks to @covered-byroses @fangirlxwritesx67 and @fookinghelljensensthighs for showering Marked with compliments when I was about ready to smash my head into a wall. Y’all helped. 

He’s okay.

I exhaled, long and shaky.

Good. What about you?

There was no answer. I fell asleep holding my phone, waiting, with a cold heavy ache settling in my chest like a stab wound.

When they came through the door the next morning, Sam was limping and pale and leaning heavily on Dean, but he was there, alive, trying to smile for me, and for a moment I could breathe.

I had to fight the urge to run to Dean, wrap my arms around him, prove to myself that he was really there.

“Can I do anything?” I asked softly, as Dean started to steer Sam to his room.

“Painkillers might be good?” Sam winced.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” Dean said, smiling sharp like a dagger.

-----

I gave them some time. I tried not to worry. It was normal, for Dean to be stressed. He’d calm down.

When I finally went to his room, I didn’t bother to knock. He was sitting at his desk, staring dully at the glass of whiskey he was rolling between his palms. He didn’t seem to notice when I closed the door behind me. I leaned back against it, keeping my distance, trying not to push.

“How you doin’?” I asked quietly.

“Just peachy,” he said, without looking up.

“Dean. Come on.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” It sounded like he was running on autopilot.

I wondered how many times he’d told that lie in his life.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“Yeah, that was a stupid question,” I muttered, more to myself than him. I felt cold all over.

He downed the last sip and immediately poured himself a refill from the half-empty bottle on the table. Then he turned and gave me one of those canned smiles he was so good at; I wasn’t used to seeing it aimed at me, but I recognized it.

I crossed the room slowly, like I was approaching a skittish animal. He raised an eyebrow when I grabbed the glass out of his hand, but he didn’t try to stop me. I drained it and set it back down in front of him, and he immediately reached for the bottle and poured another.

“I think I need some space,” he mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “Can you just… not do this? Not with me.”

He didn’t answer. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking at me mulishly. I crossed my arms right back at him and we stared each other down, one brick wall to another.

He shook his head after a moment, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. He picked up his glass again and frowned at it.

“I can’t do this with you right now,” he said gruffly. “Maybe you should just… go home. At least for a couple days.”

I knew him, I knew he didn’t actually want me to leave, but that still stung. I took a deep breath.

“Nah, I’m good here.”

He scowled. “I’m serious. I need… family time.”

“Sam just took so many painkillers he’ll be out cold for the next couple days. By ‘family,’ do you mean ‘whiskey?’”

“Stop,” he sighed.

“Stop being a fucking fuckwit and talk to me,” I snapped, exasperated.

I could see him studying me, tilting his head to the side, mouth twitching unhappily, but then he squared his shoulders like he’d made a decision.

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?” he asked coolly. His eyes had gone oddly blank.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I don’t have time for this whole fuckin’ mess right now,” he said, gesturing between the two of us.

“That’s not-” 

“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” he barked, but I could see the pain lurking behind his anger, twisting his features into a bitter mask. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Just want you to talk to me,” I said quietly.

“There’s nothing to fuckin’ say,” he growled.

“Asshole.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I made an incoherent noise, too frustrated to form real words. I grabbed the bottle off the table, raising an eyebrow and silently daring him to comment as I unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The burn made me feel a little less like I was choking. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and slammed the bottle back down roughly.

“Oh, that’s real mature,” he said sarcastically.

“Can you just-”

“You’re a real slow learner, aren’t you?” he snarled, and the sudden venom in his voice took my by surprise.

“What-”

“People who hang around me for a while? They tend to get hurt,” he said flatly. “You of all people should know that by now.”

I took a deep breath, grinding my teeth, hands squeezing into fists at my sides. He watched me, gauging my reactions. He looked implacable, wearing a plastered-on expression of disdain; if I didn’t know better, I’d think he didn’t care.

He knew exactly how to cut me apart. He knew all my soft vulnerable spots. If I let him, he would eviscerate me. He’d do it clean and clinical and neat, just cut himself out of my life, and then I’d be alone, nothing left to do but sanitize the wounds with cheap whiskey and hope the blood loss wouldn’t kill me.

Fuck that. Last time he drew a knife, I’d barely survived.

“Gonna take more than that to chase me off,” I said. I sounded more confident than I felt.

Dean licked his lips, eyes darting over my features like he was analyzing something, before he stood up abruptly, crowding into my space and making me take an instinctive step back.

“You should go,” he repeated, low and dangerous.

“I’m not scared of you.” I looked up at him, defiant.

He took another step forward, predatory and prowling. My back hit the wall. I realized what he was going to do a split-second before I felt his fingers on my wrists.

“You should be,” he said, voice ragged and bitter, pinning my hands over my head.

Bile burned the back of my throat. I swallowed it down and held eye contact.

I could see how much this was hurting him. His words were rough, but his eyes were huge and soft, fucking anguished; he looked like he was drowning.  I could feel the instinctual prickle of fear creeping up my spine, but there was no way I could ever mistake the raw, real, scared Dean in front of me for the monster who’d been wearing his skin that night.

My heart was racing, but it was from anger, more than anything else.

“Are you done yet?” I said hoarsely. “‘Cause even for you, this is a whole new level of bullshit.”

His eyes went wide for a moment, and then his face just sort of crumpled, tension going out of him all at once, mouth dropping open. He stepped back, releasing me with a choked gasp.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if he could hide from me. “Shit, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m sorry.”

I was shaking, adrenaline flooding my body, but the only thing I could feel was rage.

“Dean,” I snapped.

“Sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier. If you just… had to leave.”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

He flinched away from me. I threw myself at him, stumbling forward and colliding hard, wrapped my arms around him, and held on for dear life.

He took a deep, convulsive breath. I could feel the hitch of a repressed sob where I had my cheek pressed to his chest. His hands were gentle at first when they came to rest on my back.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. He ran his fingers delicately up my shoulderblades.

I squeezed him again, hard, clutching at the back of his flannel, and then he gave in with a barely-there sigh and clung to me desperately, breathing soft and shallow and panicky.

“Asshole,” I hissed, but it came out muffled with my mouth pressed into his shoulder. “Fucking… motherfucking piece of shit.”

I was so fucking furious I felt dizzy, and my vision was blurring through the tears. I nuzzled into the curve of his neck and slid a hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer, and then I cupped his jaw and surged up blindly on my tiptoes to kiss him, head spinning as my teeth sank into the softness of his lower lip.

Dean sighed, a quick sharp sigh that caught in the back of his throat, and I tasted copper. There was so much energy just rocketing around under my skin with nowhere to go, making my nerve endings sizzle and spark. When he bit back, nipping sharply, the sting felt like a distress flare roaring to life with a blinding magnesium-bright blaze. He gasped against my lips and then crushed his mouth to mine again, sucking and biting and setting me on fire.

I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him, and then I wanted to kiss it better, and I felt like I was going completely fucking crazy.

I whimpered as I tried to press myself closer. His hands found my shoulders and held me in place with an iron grip.

“Wait,” he said, forehead pressed to mine. “Wait, I just - I’m -”

“I know,” I snapped.

“- I’m so sorry, I -” 

“Fuck now, talk later,” I said breathlessly, and he huffed out a laugh, thumb stroking the hinge of my jaw, as we tried to pull ourselves together.

We were both trembling, still, and I could feel tears drying on my cheeks. I spared a millisecond to wonder whether this was healthy, whether this was really the best choice, whether we should stop and figure things out before we dove in deeper… then he was shoving me backward, pushing me against the wall again, his hands strong and sure as he hooked them under my thighs and hitched me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and sucked a bruise into the soft skin just under his ear, and he let out a long, rough whine, hands squeezing my ass.

He spun us around and carried me to the bed. Maybe he couldn’t see where he was going, maybe he didn’t care. Either way, I was still tangled up in him when we crashed onto the mattress, his weight coming down on top of me, punching the oxygen out of my chest. I could feel him, the solid grounding pressure of him, all down my body. I dug my heels into the bed, pushed my hips up, and he was grinding against me, pinning me down and rutting into me. I saw stars.

“Clothes,” I panted, and tugged at his shirt, trying to get it over his head. Before I could make much progress he was sliding down my body, yanking my jeans and underwear down as he went. I only managed to get them kicked off one foot; they were still bunched around the other ankle as Dean hooked his hands under my thighs so that he could grab me by the hips and hold me where he wanted me.

He just breathed, for a moment, close enough that I could feel the warm air ghosting over my pussy, and then he slid the very tip of his tongue down my center, parting my lips gently.

“Don’t fucking tease, I’m not in the mood,” I groaned, trying to tilt my hips up.

He didn’t say anything, just spread me open and ducked his head. His tongue dragged up and over my clit with just the right amount of pressure behind the soft swirl of it, and then he curled two fingers into me, licking between them. I grabbed at his hair, arching up so that I could rub myself on the flat of his tongue. He moaned, low and dirty, and buried his face between my legs, lips working my clit in a way that sent molten heat through my belly.

Dean scissored his fingers and pressed them up, and my vision went white for a second. I bucked up against his mouth and made an incomprehensible sound, hooking my leg up over his shoulder and digging my heel into his back to urge him closer.

He fell into a rhythm, sucking my clit with these long waves of pressure and catching my g-spot with the calloused pads of his fingertips every time he curled his hand up against me. He added a third finger, twisted, pressed, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the fireworks threatening to blind me.

“Don’t fucking stop,” I gritted out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t- don’t-” 

It wasn’t the sort of slow-build orgasm that swells and peaks and eases you into the crest of it; this was instant obliteration. I let out a long, wordless cry and went under. It was intense and overwhelming and so fucking good, flashing out from my center and making me twitch up into the hot wet pressure of Dean’s sinful mouth.

He didn’t give me any time to recover, even when I started to squirm away. His tongue kept up the swirling pressure on my clit and his fingers rubbed that perfect spot inside me, and I couldn't stop shaking with the lingering shocks of my orgasm.

Pleasure started bleeding into shivery wrung-out not-quite-pain. The pulses of it were setting my teeth on edge, making me twist my hands in the sheets and whimper.

“Dean,” I said breathlessly. “Dean, fuck, c’mon.”

He pulled away just enough to look up at me and answer, “Hmm?”

Jesus, his mouth. His lips were swollen and red and used, puffy from my bruising kisses and now glistening wet. I could feel it, could feel how slick I was, slippery and soaked where his knuckles were stretching me open, but it was something else altogether to see the obscene shine all over his mouth and his chin. I made a strangled, high-pitched noise, clenching around him, and he did something with his fingers that sent a whole new wave of heat through me.

“Want you to...” I started, but trailed off into a moan; his tongue was flicking over my clit again and I couldn’t form words.

He gave me one last lick, slow and savoring, and then he was sitting up to pull his shirt off and reveal all that gorgeous skin. I had that feral urge to mark him up, sink my claws in… I could barely tear my eyes away from Dean long enough to sit up and get my own shirt off.

Luckily, he seemed to be on the same page. He was on me as soon as he’d managed to kick his jeans away, hands on my waist and teeth on my neck, biting his way up to my ear and then whispering, “What do you want?”

That seemed to be the impossible question of the entire goddamn week.

I hesitated for a moment before turning over, getting on my hands and knees, and Dean hummed in agreement, or maybe it was appreciation. I arched my back and looked over my shoulder at him as he shifted into place, and I could see him staring down with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes.

“Dean?” I said hoarsely. “Just… fuck me hard.”

He licked his parted lips, eyes going dark. The expression on his face sent this thud of need through me just as he sank in, filling me up so completely I couldn’t see straight. I dropped my head down and rocked against him, panting as I tried to adjust.

“Yeah?” he rasped. His hands gripped my waist. I just shifted forward and then pushed back, grinding on his cock, feeling the perfect ache where he split me open.

It was like the first orgasm had barely taken the edge off. All that aggression and pent-up anger and blistering lust were still there, simmering low in my belly, starting to boil over again.

“Fuck me already,” I hissed. 

He let out a growl and slammed into me hard enough that I almost lost my balance. I dropped down onto my elbows to brace myself.

“Hard enough for you?” Dean grunted, fingers digging into me and holding me in place.

“That’s all you’ve got?” I said, goading him on, but the high, breathy whine in my voice gave me away. “Want you to fucking destroy me, come on.”

He laughed, gripping tighter, fingernails stinging my skin, and then he was fucking me with long, grinding thrusts, hitting my g-spot every time. I was dripping wet, slicking every hot, hard inch of him, easing the slide as he moved sharper, faster, pounding into me with a rhythm that made my toes curl.

“Love the way you take my cock,” he panted. “God, look at you, you gonna come for me again?”

I was shaking already. I twisted my hands in the sheets, trying to get some sort of purchase, some leverage, so that I could push back, get more, somehow take him deeper.

“More,” I whimpered. “Please, Dean, more.”

Dean leaned forward, planting one palm in the middle of my back, between my shoulderblades, shoving my face down into the mattress, and then he wrapped the other hand around my throat. That was all it took; the feeling of being overpowered, held down by his big rough hands, sent me over the edge. My entire body went rigid, and I bit down on the sheets to try to keep myself from screaming.

Dean was cursing as I came back to myself, rocking into me, and I could feel the way he was holding back.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he groaned. “Don’t want this to end yet, I…”

He pulled out and I whimpered, but he just shifted us forward, guiding me until I was flat on my stomach. He pushed my legs closer together, straddling my thighs, and when he thrust into me again it felt so good, so tight and overwhelming, that a little shiver of an aftershock went zinging up my spine.

I felt him take a deep, ragged breath. He was running his hands down my back, just smoothing them over sweat-damp skin. Then he dragged his fingernails down, a trailing fiery sting. I cried out, arching my back almost painfully to try to thrust back against him.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and then he rolled his hips, grinding against me and making me squirm and pant under him. He was crushing me down against the mattress, trapping me in place, but I wouldn’t have been able to muster the coordination to move, anyway, with the way each movement made me tremble. I felt so fucking full.

Dean was getting close; I could feel it in the desperate, jerky way he was starting to move, and I could hear the way his breath caught in his throat.

“Wanna feel you,” I said hoarsely.

Instead of speeding up, he slowed down even more. He seemed to sort of melt, draping himself over me, pressing his chest to my back, and I could feel his gasps and his racing heartbeat.

He nuzzled the side of my neck, pressing his lips clumsily to my skin. I turned my head, straining, so I could kiss him, sloppy and off-center, more a brush of slack panting mouths than a real kiss.

I could feel Dean’s entire body on mine, like this. I felt his muscles bunching and flexing, his chest heaving, his cock dragging over some secret spot that made my vision go white and sparkly at the edges.

I had that too-full, achy sensation in my chest, like choking, like love, making it hard to breathe.

He slid one hand up my arm, up to my wrist, and then blanketed my hand with his, lacing his fingers through mine where they were pressed flat to the bed. He held my hand and he worked his hips, buried impossibly deep inside me, making me shudder down to the tips of my toes.

I wasn’t sure when fast and filthy had dissolved into this syrupy-slow intensity. I could feel every rock-hard inch of him pressing against all those perfect spots inside me, so goddamn close to me, so goddamn full, so intimate and pulse-poundingly good it didn’t leave room for anything else, least of all anger.

“God, I wish you could feel, you have no idea,” he said desperately, quiet against my ear. “Feels so good. Just hot and wet and so tight, dripping on my dick. When you come I can feel it in your pussy, just… squeezing me, like you can’t get enough, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt, and… oh, fuck, I can’t, baby, I’m so close, I - touch yourself for me, want to feel you come with me, just…”

He still had my left hand in his, but I worked my right hand between myself and the mattress, fingers finding my swollen clit. I didn’t have to move, not really, with the way his hips were grinding in perfect little circles. I let his movements do all the work, shoving me into the blunt pressure of my fingertips.

It was almost too much, the shock waves of pleasure that started jolting through me. I whined, overstimulated. Then Dean’s hips surged forward harder, making me shout.

“God, there,” I moaned, and then we were rushing toward the finish line together.

There was nothing graceful about it, nothing that would’ve fit in a romance movie sex scene; we were lost in each other. I was making these raw, shredded noises, sweating and cursing, too far gone to be self-conscious. Dean was clutching at my arms, my hair, hands grabbing at every part of me he could reach as he fucked me, hips swiveling, grinding down, crushing me into the mattress. It was rough and animalistic, and all I could think, in time with the throb of heat in my core, was love you, love you, love you.

“That’s my girl,” Dean gasped. “Just like this, c’mon, baby.”

I broke with a shout. Everything tensed and finally released, electricity splintering through me with this fierce, sharp, near-painful intensity. He let out a guttural moan, driving into me wildly one last time, and came, cock twitching with the first hard pulse of it, spilling hot and messy inside me as my cunt spasmed around him, over and over.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I took deep gulps of air like I was drowning, wrung-out and lightheaded. Dean shifted, taking some of his weight off my ribcage, but he didn’t pull away yet.

I could feel the flutter of him going soft inside me, the tickle of sweat cooling between us. My heartbeat began to slow.

For the first time since the phone call, I felt calm.

Dean nosed the damp hair at the nape of my neck and nibbled at the shell of my ear, and then he was pulling out. I made a disgruntled noise and he kissed the top of my head before getting up, padding over to grab a washcloth and a fresh glass of water.

We got cleaned up and settled properly into the bed, snuggled up against the pillows. I curled into his side and traced the lines of his tattoo. He stroked my hair gently for a while in silence.

“I almost forgot, y’know?” he said softly. “What my life is like, most of the time. I’m never gonna be that guy.”

“What guy?” I asked, sitting up a little so I could look at him.

“The guy who gets a happy ending,” he said, with a bitter twist of his mouth. “I don’t get the happy ending. I forgot, I guess. When you’re here, it’s so easy to forget about everything else, and then… people get hurt. Sammy got hurt.”

“Dean,” I said, swallowing hard. “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“I let him down,” he said grimly. “I let people down, I can never -“

“But -“

“And it’s not just that, it’s… I’m afraid I’ll hurt you, cause I just suck at this. Relationships. I’m fuckin’ crazy about you, Christ, but I don’t deserve you, not after that shit I just pulled. I’m crazy about you, but I’m kind of a dumbass when it comes to talking, and feelings, and shit like that.”

“Not gonna argue there,” I muttered. He half-laughed, but it turned into a sad little grimace. “But, like… I’m not the picture of sanity myself, here, y’know? And I love you so much I can’t think straight when you’re around.”

He ran a finger down my cheek, smoothed his thumb over my lower lip, tracing my face like he was trying to memorize it.

“Maybe that’s not a good thing,” he said. “You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, and it doesn’t really matter how you feel if you can’t trust me. Right?”

“I’m working on it,” I said, blinking back tears. “I’m trying to get better.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested, anguished.

“I know, Dean. I know.”

We looked at each other for a moment, quiet and sad. I curled up against his chest again, pressing my ear over his heart, listening to the steady comforting thump beating in his ribs.

“Maybe we could figure it out. Maybe it could work, if we did it right, y’know? So if you really wanted to, maybe we could try,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around me. “But…  do you? I mean, do you even want this? A couple days ago…”

“I don’t know, Dean. That’s the problem. I keep hurting you right back, stringing you along, just fucking being here when I don’t know what I want. I know I’m hurting you.”

“Okay,” he said soothingly, running his fingers through my hair. “Okay, baby.”

“I’m afraid we’ll just tear each other apart if we keep this up,”  I whispered, tears trickling from my closed lids and dripping down onto his skin.

“Maybe we both need to just take some time,” he said.

I didn’t want him to be right, but it made sense. We weren’t healthy, either of us. This wouldn’t be healthy. Part of me almost felt relieved, thinking about it. It’d be easier, if I just took some time away from him.

“Maybe it’ll be better, when I’ve had time to… heal, or whatever,” I said, miserable and unsteady. “Get myself under control. I don’t want to hurt you either, and maybe… maybe I’m just not ready.”

“Think we both need some time to figure our shit out,” he said shakily.

“What if we just gave it a couple days, for now?” I suggested. “Think about it. Make sure we’re doing the right thing. I’ll go home, and… I dunno, try to get my life together.”

“I think that’d be a good idea. Get some space. Get our heads on straight. I’m not so good at being rational when you’re around.”

“And in a couple days, we can just… I dunno. Talk again. See how we’re feeling.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

We didn’t say any more. We held each other, for a few minutes. I felt hollow and fragile, and I didn’t want to walk away, knowing it might be the last time for a long time, but there was no point in waiting.

“Just one more minute,” Dean whispered.

——-

I didn’t let myself glance in the rearview mirror. I didn’t let myself look back.

This was the right choice. It had to be. We couldn’t keep hurting each other like this. If we kept slicing each other open, we’d do permanent damage. Better to take a step back. Better to find our footing, get ourselves under control, before one of us bled out.

This is right, I told myself, as I pulled up to my dark, empty little house. This is good.

I just felt hollow.

.

.

NEXT PART HERE. 

.

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[bleasehelpme]

Her Gentle Sin

TW: violent imagery, blood, serious injury, nonconsensual cutting

Neither of them spoke a word or dared to make a single noise as the women once again stepped into their concrete cell; a gleaning knife in her hands and a maniacal smile on her mouth. Keelie bit her tongue, forcing her thoughts onto the idea of staying completely still and the pain on her tongue and not the fear that was attempting to overwhelm her every nerve. The only thing she could do was hope that she wouldn’t be the one to draw her attention. Yet, her distractions and focus couldn’t stop the chilled shiver that ran down her spine as the woman slowly lifted the tip of the knife to the grey wall with a flash of her canine teeth. Keelie felt a sharp spike of pain and the cold taste of iron bite her tongue as her mouth slowly filled with blood when the women’s gaze met her own. 

The soft hitching of her breath was covered by the sound of the knife scraping the wall as the women dragged it across the wall while she started moving towards Keelie, who reamained frozen in the iron cuffs that trapped her in her place against the wall. She knew by now that any fight would do nothing but make this hurt worse but that fact did not stop the urge to press herself against the wall, to scream, to put up a fight. The throbbing of her bruised ribs and the burning of the cuts on her back reminded her exactly why she wouldn’t dare fight back. A short glance at Ellie’s trembling body also had something to do with that fact. 

Ellie felt a sick feeling of relief as the women moved to Keelie. Her heartbeat seemed to slow just the slightest, and she unconsciously unclenched her hands; the crescent indents from her nails stinging. Honestly, she was disgusted by her own willingness to let Keelie take the brunt of this women’s game but it did not overwhelm her sense of survival and her sense to keep quiet and unmoving, even if she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling with anger and fear. In their moments alone, Keelie had told her to keep quiet, to not draw any attention to herself and that and the tender bruises and throbbing cuts kept her quiet.  

“It’s so nice to see you again.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence that blanketed the cell. She was towering over her; the women’s body casting a dark shadow over Keelie. “It feels like it's been forever since I saw you last.” 

Despite every sensible thought in her brain, Keelie looked up at her, matching her gaze as much as she could with her swollen black eye. It was respectful, the women had said after Ellie slammed against the ground, tears slowly running down the red handprint swelling on her cheek. That had been days ago when they had just been thrown into this hell hole together, trapped and full of fight. Keelie had always been marveled at as a quick learner and she knew better now, they both finally did.

“It’s-” Ellie flinched as Keelie was forced to clear her throat, lifting her hands as far as the chains would allow to cough into the tattered remains of her sleeve; Ellie seemed to be the only one to notice that the fabric came away red. Keelie swallowed again, taking a moment to smother the burning rage behind her eyes as she spoke. “It’s nice to see you as well, Miss.” Her voice was rough from dehydration and the words were stilted by her gritted teeth. But the words hit the mark  and the women seemed immensely pleased that after days of protest, Keelie was playing her game. Ellie stayed quiet. 

“Ah,” She gave a proud smile and had a short, almost hysterical laugh on her tongue. “It seems you can learn.” The woman gently crouched in front of her at eye level. “And here Trevor was just telling me,” She curled her free, perfectly manicured hand under Keelie’s chin and pressed her sharpened nails into her jaw. “that we might have to put you both down.” The statement hung in the air as neither of them looked away and blood started flowing from beneath her claws. “I’m glad you finally learned some manners.” She dropped her hand and Keelie couldn’t stop the breath of relief from escaping her. “You’ve got one lesson down, my dear.” The knife was slid into a sheath on her belt and she took Keelie’s cuffed hands in one of her own; the other searching through her back pocket and pulling out a small, metal key. The skin underneath the cuffs had already been rubbed raw and so as she roughly bent Keelie’s wrists in an attempt to expose the keyhole Keelie let out a sharp breath of pain as the metal dug in further. The seconds it took felt an eternity before the cuffs dropped to the floor, the taught chain slamming against the wall. Vague feelings of confusion and panic replaced any and all rational thoughts in her mind as the women stared at her with statuesque stillness.

It was shattered as soon as it settled across the room. The woman rose to her full height, gripping Keelie’s raw wrist with a grin. “Let’s see how quickly you can learn this lesson. Let’s see how much I can train you.” 

She’s forced to her feet, the sudden movement and weight on her legs almost causing her to collapse back onto the ground. It’s only the women’s grip that keeps her up and Keelie can feel the bruises blossoming under her hand. The women quickly let go, not allowing her any chance to find her bareing, and Keelie collapsed against the wall; black dots flashing across her vision. If it wasn’t for the wall keeping her up, she would have collapsed against the ground but that’s not what she was worried about. Her body tensed up as she waited for the blow to come, to throw her against them, as she had the  audacity not be of perfect composure and respect in the presence of this woman. It didn’t come, however, as Keelie noticed she had turned away from Keelie. her eyes sharp on Ellie who was frozen under the weight of the women’s casted gaze. 

“Ellie,” She sang the word as she slid out the knife, gently spinning the tip of the blade on the edge of her finger. “Someone seemed to have forgotten their manners today. I thought you’d remember training. ” 

“W-What?” Ellie was curled as far into the corner as the shortened chains would allow; her knees pressed against her chest. “I don’t-”

“I’ve tried to teach you, Ellie.” She let out a sigh of disappointment but even she didn’t try to mask the unbridled glee behind it that she truly felt. Keelie continued to lean against the wall; she was painfully aware that any fight would end with their loss and that she could do nothing but watch as the women stalked over to the younger, shaking girl. The woman kneeled slowly in front of her and pressed the flat of the blade underneath Ellie’s chin, underneath the tears that had started to run down her face as she pressed the blade into the skin, careful not to break any skin. “Manners are lesson one and you’re no use to me if you can’t even follow these simple instructions.” Her eyes sparkled as she pulled the gleaming blade away and lifted it right below Ellie’s eyes whose breaths were on the verge of hyperventilation. The woman gently traced the knife over her cheek, catching her tears before bringing the knife to her own lips and running her tongue over the blade. 

“I’m -I’m sorry,” Ellie whispered, her voice catching in her constricting throat. Her hands curled against her chest and tension seized every nerve of her body. “It was an accident. I’m sorry.”  

“Oh, I know you are,” She cooed, caressing Ellie’s face with the blade as if it were a parent’s comforting hand. “That’s why I’m giving you one last chance; one last warning.” She looked back behind her. “This is a lesson for you as well, my dear pet.” She made the slightest movement of her hand. “Come here.”

She obeyed.  Her legs moved as if they were controlled by a puppeteer: stilted and stiff and coming without any thought, any command from herself. Keelie felt the taste of blood grow harsher with each step until she was next to the two on the ground and was forced to cough into her sleeve for fear of choking. The woman paid no attention to her as she unlocked the left cuff on Ellie’s wrist. 

“This is lesson number two,” She took and wrapped Keelie’s hand around Ellie’s wrist whose face was contorted in fear and confusion. “You do exactly as I say. No questions. No hesitation.” She let out a deep breath of ecstasy. “ No choice.” 

The women used her placed her free hand to pry over Keelies, pulling Ellie’s shivering arm from her chest; straightening it taught and forcing the inside of her arm exposed. “This will be your last warning.” She pressed the tip of the blade a few inches above Ellie’s wrist. Ellie realized exactly what she was going to do a split second to second too late as Keelie clutched her wrist tightly out of reflex. She started sobbing, no longer even attempting to stay quiet as the women spoke again. “Now, lesson number two: don’t let her move.” Keelie blinked, freezing for a split second as her actions caught up to her and with a single thought of realization, her mechanical grip faltered and Ellie's arm was violently pulled away. The blade scraped slightly  across her skin as she desperately pressed against her arm to her chest and attempted to curl up around it. 

The women let out a short "tsk" of disappointment but didn't move towards Ellie, instead leveling a simple, expectant gaze at Keelie. It took a moment for Keelie to decipher the look, to understand exactly what she wanted of her but when she did, her heart dropped.

Oh god.

Immediately, a part of her recoiled at the simple thought and screams of protest found themselves on the tip of her tongue. But they were held back by her rational, subconscious mind that had seen this before that told her to do it. It was simply a fact that if they wanted to live, they both had to do exactly what She wanted. There was no other option, no other way out so Keelie forced down her guilt, ignored Ellie's incoherent pleading and she made the choice that would save them both; god forgive her. 

“Keelie… Keelie please-” She pressed her left hand against Ellie’s left shoulder, pinning it against the wall and pulling her arm straight out in front of the woman. She was shaking from effort and the knuckles of her right hand were white from the strength of her grip on Ellie’s wrist. 

“Very good my dear,” She praised, lifting the tip of the blade once again to its previous spot on Ellie’s wrist. “Now,” The women looked up at Ellie. “This is going to hurt.” 

Keelie didn’t look at Ellie as she let out a bone chilling scream of pain as the blade dug into her arm, splitting her pale, dirtied skin. She didn’t look at the woman who was dragging the blade sowley, almost sensually into Ellie. She didn’t look away from the blank, grey slatted wall across from the three of them as Keelie felt something warm against her hand. 

She didn’t know how long it was before Ellie finally went quiet, her eyes closing and her head lolling back against the wall. It was even longer when the women finally withdrew the knife from Ellie’s arm, blood covering the edge. Keelie finally looked up at her a moment later and the woman didn’t say anything as she stood, sliding the knife back into the sheath. She gave an approving smile after a moment, giving the trembling girl  a pat on the head with her bloodied hand before saying, “Good girl.” Keelie’s stomach lurched and the women didn’t wait for a response as she moved towards the door, giving it a single knock before it swung open. 

Blood had filled Keelie’s mouth and the moment the door shut behind the women, dropped Ellie’s arm, ignoring the black dots across her vision and nausea flaring in her head as she attempted to make it to the other side of the cell. Keelie only made it a few steps however before she fell onto her knees and hands and threw up bile and blood on the ground. After a minute, she let out another cough before wiping her mouth. 

Keelie almost threw up again when she realized that her hand was covered in Ellie’s blood and which was now smeared across her face and mouth. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” She whimpered, as she lifted the bottom of her shirt to wipe at her mouth. “Fu-”

Keelie forced herself silent and eyes up as the door cracked open as she waited for the women to return. However, instead of a person, a single towel, a needle and spool of thread were thrown in; the door slamming shut as they hit the ground. 

It was at that moment Keelie realized Ellie was still behind her, the carved letters still bleeding. 

“Goddamnit,” She snarled, forcing herself off the ground. “Goddamnit.” She staggered over to the items, carefully lifting the towel from underneath where it had already touched the ground, and the needle and the thread. Keelie had no idea what the hell she was going to do with these but she moved over to Ellie anyways and actually looked at the damage in her arm.  The words LESSON ONE had been carved in sharp blockly letters deep in her arm and blood was still flowing out the each cut.

She looked at the items in her hand, spool of thread, the dirty towel before looking back up at the passed out, bloodied girl.

Her voice broke a little more. “Fuck.” 

[yesloverboy]

Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 5

SUMMARY: Desperate to explain himself, Tommy runs out of the party to find you after drunkenly kissing a groupie– despite his claims that he’s in love with you. Realizing he completely fucked up, Tommy vows to do whatever it takes to make it up to you and prove that he really means what he says. Something tells you it’s going to take a lot of convincing, but how far is he really willing to go?

word count: 4,327

[Warnings: swearing, body image, little bit of angst, a lot of fluffy goodness, drug and alcohol mention/usage.]

NOTE: Sorry for the big ass delay on this chapter, I started a full time internship and haven’t had a lot of time to myself lately. That being said I do have some stuff planned, so hopefully writing the next few parts won’t be nearly as difficult. There’s even a smut chapter coming (fairly) soon, so don’t worry Reader and Tommy will most definitely fuck. Cross my heart.  

tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier, @stevenandsam, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @abbysdogcollar, @dirtysixxers, @black-tights-black-heart, @valentines-in-london, @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @hxllywood-whxre, @ccidk, @sharon6713, @myshakespeareandarling, @moon-beame, @carmineharry

 You manage to sprint up to your apartment before Tommy is able to catch up with you. A chorus of yelling and screaming can still be heard from downstairs, but it seems more aggressive than before. Deciding whatever’s happening is officially none of your concern anymore, you rush into the safety of your apartment. The door slams behind you with a heavy thud, causing the brittle walls to shake and echo in its wake.  

 With your back against the door, you find yourself unable to move. The events of tonight keep replaying in your head– from Tommy kissing you at your dining table to watching him become colored pink by some other girl’s lipstick. All the memories were meshing and molding together, burning a hole in your mind like a bad reel of film.

 Your ruminating thoughts are promptly interrupted by a harsh knock on the door behind you. For the first time since you moved in, you spin around and secure the door chain, preventing anyone from fully entering the apartment.

 “Y/N, it’s me! Open up!”

 You say nothing, stupidly hoping that Tommy will get the hint and continue the rest of his evening downstairs. Instead, he only pounds on the door harder, making you worried it may very well fall off the hinges.

 “I know I fucked up! Will you please just open the door so we can talk?!”

 Tommy tries opening the door this time, but the door chain catches the movement, only allowing it to open about four inches at most. Through the crack in the frame, you can see a sliver of Tommy’s washed out expression as he gazes at you with wide eyes.  

 “Y/N, what the fuck is this?” Tommy gestures to the chain fastened firmly in place, his face fraught with worry.

 “I have nothing to say to you,” your voice shakes as tears threaten to leak out once again. Gritting your teeth, you avert your eyes to the floor, unable to look at Tommy without trembling.

 “But, Y/N I love–”

 “Don’t,” you interrupt, finding that Tommy wanting to admit his supposed love for you after what happened was the final straw. “You don’t get to say that.”

 Summoning your courage, you take a few steps toward the door. Tommy watches you with glassy eyes, looking more like a kicked puppy than the party animal you witnessed downstairs. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re the same person.

 “Please Tommy, just leave.”

 Tommy bites his lip, and you know his leg is bouncing nervously by the way his shoulders involuntarily rock back and forth. “I-I can’t. I won’t.”

 With a heavy sigh you go to push the door the rest of the way closed. Surprisingly, Tommy doesn’t resist and allows it to slam in his face, eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

 For the first time since that morning, you’re finally able to breathe. You’re proud of yourself for being able to deny Tommy’s effort of engaging in damage control but, for some reason, it still doesn’t feel very good. The music from the party downstairs reverberates against the old floorboards, reminding you of the growing pit in your stomach.

 Deep within, you knew going to the show wasn’t a good idea, but Tommy’s deep blue eyes and gentle touch brought something out of you that you didn’t recognize. Now here you are, confused and hurt at the hands of your crazy neighbor who claims to already be in love with you. You thoughts wander back through visions of Tommy kissing the brunette downstairs, causing you to reflexively clench your jaw.

     I deserve this, don’t I?

 Feeling exhausted, emotionally and physically, you decide it’s best if you just turn in for the night. Trudging into your bedroom, you immediately shed Tommy’s jacket. It falls to a sad heap on the floor, coiling up in the corner of the room like a poisonous snake. Although the sight of it inherently sickens you, you still recall the way Tommy’s goofy smile and contagious laugh had lit up your apartment for the past week.

 In an attempt to drown out your thoughts and some of the party below, you switch on the radio and tune it to the oldies station, hoping that the white noise will be relaxing. You yank off your jeans and switch off the light, not bothering to wash your face or change into pyjamas. Nothing seems more important than allowing the softness of Ella Fitzgerald’s gentle croon lull you to sleep.

 You close your eyes, trying to cleanse your thoughts of all the stress and anxiety from the past few hours. Still, you dream of lipstick coated kisses and endless, blue eyes.

     I’ll be seeing you.

...

That morning, you allow yourself to sleep in, awakening only when the sun is just about to dip into early afternoon. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look up at the cactus bathing in the sunshine on your windowsill. It’s standing taller in its jar than when Tommy left it for you. With a bitter scoff, you kick off the covers and exchange last night’s halter top for an oversized t-shirt. 

 Although you didn’t get wasted last night, your steady consumption of beer on a near empty stomach left you with a throbbing headache and a sour taste in your mouth. You try to busy yourself by starting a pot of coffee and jumping in the shower. No matter how hard you scrub, it seems you can’t get the scent of Tommy’s cigarettes and cologne off of your skin. If last night were a phantom, it would surely be haunting you. 

 By the time you’re able to get a sip of coffee, the entire apartment is hot and sticky with shower steam. Feeling hyper-aware of your raw skin and heavy eyelids, you decide now is a perfect time to make use of the balcony. Maybe getting some fresh air would even be good for you. 

 You remain in just your old t-shirt and a pair of underwear, permitting your hair to drip freely onto the floor. Typically you’d feel more inclined to cover up, but it seems you have much bigger problems than your idiot neighbors. Even if one of them was the biggest problem of all. 

 Coffee mug in hand, you unlatch the chain and pull open the door. As you go to step outside, you foot caches on a soft object blocking your way. What the fuck? Looking down you discover a long, lanky body curled into itself on your welcome mat. 

 “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, recognizing the tangle of limbs and brown curls as none other than Tommy fucking Lee.

 Tommy stirs at the sound of your voice, stretching out and rolling onto his back. You hesitantly nudge his arm with your foot, trying to shake him awake before he has time to process where he’s at. If you were being honest, Tommy was the last person you wanted to see. You assume he must have been a lot more fucked up last night than you thought, judging by the fact that he’s presently passed out on your doorstep.

 “Tommy,” you whisper harshly, wanting so desperately for him to get up and go away, “Tommy get the fuck up!”

 “Hmmm?” he hums in confusion, his saltwater blue eyes squinting against the invasive rays of sunlight. Tommy’s eyes meet yours, and you try to ignore the little flutter of hope your heart feels when his face lights up with recognition.

 Tommy pulls himself up on his feet, jutting upwards as if awakening from a dream. You take a step back, afraid he may lose his balance and collapse on top of you.

 Noticing you recoiling away, Tommy grabs ahold of your shoulder with a firm hand. You scowl as coffee sloshes out of the cup and lands on your bare feet, stinging your toes.

 “Wait! Don’t go yet– please don’t go yet, I have to talk to you–I have to explain,” Tommy’s words come out in an incoherent babble, “I waited all–all fucking night, just like I said and I, uh, can you please just let me come in?”

 You mouth falls open in utter astonishment as your weary brain puts the pieces together. Tommy didn’t pass out, he slept on your doorstep in the hopes that you would eventually open the door. Technically, he succeeded.

 Tommy doesn’t wait for your answer, and instead continues to plead with you, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, “I couldn’t leave, I didn’t want to.”

 Sighing, you step aside and open the door all the way, wordlessly inviting him inside like you had in the past. You hate yourself for empathizing with his dark circles and broken posture from sleeping on the ground, but figure it very well may have been punishment enough.

 Tommy makes a beeline for your tiny sofa, flopping on it so forcefully that you fear it might snap in half. With his head hanging limply off the arm of the sofa, he buries his face in his hands and groans up at the ceiling in relief.

 “No offense, Y/N, but that welcome mat of yours fucking sucks.”

 You abandon your coffee mug by the sink, deciding you don’t have the patience to reheat it, and perch on the opposite arm where Tommy’s feet are resting.

  “That’s because it’s a welcome mat, not a please sleep on me when you’re being an asshole mat,” you retort, still unable to rid your voice of its residual bitterness from the night before.

 “I know, you’re right,” Tommy sits up straight, hugging his impossibly long legs to his chest, “But I had to see you.” 

 “Why?”

 “Because I–well, you know what I’m trying to say,” he picks at his shoelaces absentmindedly, cheeks pink with something that resembles embarrassment.

 You sigh running a hand through your hair, “You know I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Tommy.”

 “Look, I know I royally fucked up, but I just don’t know how to do this,” he gestures between the two of you as if there’s some kind of tangible force holding you both together. You swallow hard, wondering if maybe there is.

 “There is no this, Tommy. It’s obvious that there never was,” you can’t help how harsh you sound as the ghost of self-doubt starts to creep into your head, making you wonder if Tommy ever genuinely liked you to begin with.

 “God, but I want there to be. I want this to be something so bad, you don’t even understand.”

 I do, you think, wanting nothing more than to just shout it at him and end the conversation. You decide that you can’t, choosing now to guard your heart better than before. “I’m just not sure I believe you,” you answer honestly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

 Tommy leans forward and grasps both of your hands in his, the sudden touch causing your skin to prickle with goosebumps. His hands are warm and secure against your own, fitting together just as comfortably as your lips had when he kissed you.

 “Hey, Y/N, look at me. Please.”

 You comply, meeting his gaze and seeing nothing but honesty. No alcohol, no drugs, no pushy bandmates– just happy-go-lucky Tommy.

 “Let me prove it to you, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear,” Tommy grazes your palms gently with his thumbs, settling the uneasiness in your stomach. As much as you want to move on with your life, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something in the universe that keeps dragging the two of you together. Even though Tommy fucked up, you had never met someone so eager to gain your approval and keep it– especially not someone you didn’t officially belong to.

 Tommy awaits your reply with bated breath, obsessively searching your face for any indication of what you might be thinking.

 “I’ll think about it,” you decide, giving Tommy’s hands a gentle squeeze of affirmation.

 Tommy releases your hands and claps his together victoriously, “Oh thank fucking god!”

 “You do realize I didn’t say yes, right?”

 “I know dude, but everyone knows that if it isn’t a no then it’s definitely a maybe. Which is code for almost yes.”

 “Unbelievable,” you roll your eyes, trying to fight off the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For the first time that day, Tommy is grinning. Tommy’s smile was something you didn’t know you needed to see until it was gone, but being able to bring it back makes it all worthwhile.

 “You know you say that a lot,” Tommy averts his eyes, a hint of shyness lingering in his voice. Apparently you weren’t the only one turning into someone unrecognizable since the two of you crossed paths.

 “That’s because you haven’t given me a reason to stop,” you nudge his knee playfully with your own, “now get out of my apartment before I change my mind.”

 “Whatever you say, pretty girl.” 

...

 After Tommy left, you decided to busy yourself with flipping through the Help Wanted section of the paper, hoping to find some odd jobs to do while you wait to see if UCLA will let you transfer for the semester. If you were lucky, maybe you’d even score a scholarship. You try to shake the thought, attempting to be a little bit more realistic about your life choices. Help Wanted it is, then.

 Store clerk, housekeeper, secretary, assistant manager– nothing seemed to be jumping out at you. At this point, you know you can’t really afford to be picky, but it would be nice to find something that you won’t mind doing just in case college doesn’t work out.

 Chewing thoughtlessly on the end of a pen, your eyes slowly drift downward to a cluster of small print at the bottom of the page.

     ‘Help Wanted – Record Store Sales Associate’

 The possibility of working in a record store didn’t sound so bad. At least if something were to fall through with UCLA, you’d still be able to get involved with music in some small way. You go ahead and circle the small ad, think that you may even try giving them a call later.

 Your job search is halted by the shrill ring of a telephone coming from your kitchen. Perplexed, you get up and eye the old phone cautiously. In the short amount of time you’d been in Los Angeles, you hadn’t had any reason to give anyone your phone number just yet. Who could be calling? The old tenant, maybe?

 Picking up the phone, you barely catch it before its final ring.

 “Hello?”

 “Y/N! Hey, it’s Tommy!” his low voice crackles softly through the static. You can hear the sounds of cars and people talking in the background, and figure he must’ve stopped at a phonebooth.  “Tommy? How the hell did you get this number?” you try to ask calmly, but hiding the surprise in your voice is nearly impossible.

 You barely know your own number, and highly doubt Tommy’s memorization skills are better than yours. Tommy chuckles on the other end and you can practically envision the goofy expression on his face.

 “The landlady, dude! She may or may not have a thing for me, and I may or may not have asked her for your number.”

 Tangling your fingers through the telephone cord with an unthinking hand, you feel lucky that Tommy isn’t able to see the girlish smile forming on your face.

 “Of course you did,” you say, stifling a giggle.

 “Yeah well, you know me– oh yeah! I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

 “Shoot,” you reply, racking your brain for any ideas as to what could be so important that Tommy would go through the trouble of getting your number and calling.

 Tommy takes in a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Would you–would you go on a date with me?”

 You nearly laugh out loud. “So this is what you couldn’t wait until you got home to tell me?”

 “Well, I just thought that taking you out would be the best way to show you that I really care, ya know?”

 You feel your heart soften at Tommy’s words, but there’s still something inside of you that wants a little bit more payback for what he put you through yesterday. As much as you appreciate the attention and his eagerness to please you, you want to make absolutely sure that he isn’t trying to play you.

 “Tommy, you know I said that I’d think about it.”

 “Yeah, but that was before I had a plan,” he scoffs impatiently, “and now I have one and I want to take you out.”

 “Okay well I’m pretty busy, so talk later–okay?” you go to put the phone down when you hear the faint sound of Tommy’s excited yelling coming from the receiver.

 “Wait, Y/N! Before you go, can I ask you one more thing?”

 “I’m listening,” you say.

 “Do you like flowers?”

 The question catches you off guard, “Uh, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”

 “Okay cool, I was just wondering. Anyways, I gotta jet! See ya, dude!”

 The line goes dead as Tommy abruptly hangs up, the dial tone echoing flatly in your ears. As usual, Tommy leaves you confused and smiling to yourself. Just last night you thought you never wanted to give him the time of day, and now here you are, grinning like an idiot alone in your house.

     Why him?

...

 There’s a knock on your door about an hour after Tommy’s phone call. It certainly doesn’t take much brain power to figure out who’s probably waiting for you on the other side.

 “What do you want now, Tommy?” you ask, pulling open the door.

 Tommy looks down at you with a crazed look in his eyes, “Whoa, Y/N! How’d you know it was me?”

 “Lucky guess.”

 Tommy leans against the doorframe, head cocked to the side to get a better look at you. “So, uh about that date…” he wastes no time getting to the point of his sudden visit, “...do you think you might wanna go?”  “I said I’d think about it,” you shoot him a wry smile, finding yourself relishing in the opportunity to make him squirm for once.

 Tommy runs his hands through his hair, tugging at his dark waves in mild frustration. “Yeah but that was hours ago and–”

 “One hour ago. At most.”

 “–and I just really want to show you I’m serious okay? Let me take you out, Y/N. Please.” Tommy’s giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes he can, resorting to his boyish charm to win you over.

 You rub your chin for show, attempting to give the illusion that you’re lost deep within your own thoughts.  “Hmmm…” Tommy looks at you expectantly, hanging on your every syllable, “...still thinking about it.”

 “Oh come on, now you’re just being mean.”

 “Maybe,” you laugh, a playful lilt coloring your voice, “but don’t worry, loverboy, I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

 “Fine,” Tommy pouts, looking oddly adorable for a nearly grown man in such a disgruntled state of being.  You give the toe of his sneaker a reassuring nudge, “I’ll come to you.” It wasn’t just a possibility, it was a promise. After all, he was impossible to say no to.  “When?” Tommy asks, chest swelling with hope.

 “Eventually.”

...

 It’s almost evening when yet another knock sounds at your door. With a frustrated sigh, you fling the book you’d been reading down onto the coffee table, letting it splay out in a heap of crumpled pages.  “Tommy, how many times do I have to tell you that I’d think about it,” you groan, rushing to open the door.  When it swings open you look up, expecting to see Tommy’s looming figure, but instead look across from you to find Mick standing at your doorstep. In one of his hands is a bouquet of crimson roses wrapped snugly in a sheet of parchment paper. They’re absolutely stunning, and look extremely expensive.

 “Sorry to disappoint, neighbor,” Mick says, voice weary and bored as always, “but your idiot boy is off doing god knows what.”

 “Then what are you–?”

 Mick holds up his free hand, gently cutting you off before you can finish. “He wanted me to give you these.” He points the bouquet in your direction so you can take it, the parchment paper it's wrapped in rustles gently against the summer breeze. “‘Says you told him not to come up here.”

 “O-oh,” you stammer, unable to control the flush of heat rising rapidly to your cheeks. You aren’t entirely sure why Tommy was so hellbent on getting you to go out on a date with him, but you can’t deny that his methods are starting to work on you.

 “Look,” Mick huffs, as if being bothered to speak is an unbearable burden, “I can’t vouch for Tommy often, but what I can say is that he really wants to make this right. Whatever it is that’s going on up here.”

 “But I thought you said he does this shit all the time?” you don’t mean to sound argumentative with Mick, but part of the reason why you had a hard time buying that Tommy really cares is because of what you had heard and seen for yourself.

 “I’ve seen him fall in love a dozen times, but I’ve only ever seen him want to stay in it once– and that’s right now. He even called off our gig tonight just so he could go and figure everything out.”

 You swallow hard, knowing deep down that Mick would never had come up here to do such a ridiculous errand if he doesn’t at least partly believe what he’s saying. You think back to last night’s party and recall Mick’s shocked expression mirroring yours when that girl kissed Tommy. If anyone had even an inkling of what you had experienced, it was him.

 “Thank you,” you reply, voice softening with sincerity.

 Mick rolls his eyes, “Don’t thank me, go downstairs and tell Tommy that you’ll do it. I know you’re not that dumb, neighbor.

...

 “Hey drummer, special delivery!” Mick yells as the two of you step into the Crüe apartment.

 The boys’ apartment is in the same state of disarray as when you had fled from it the night before. The only difference is that, now, it was devoid of rambunctious party goers and populated by the occasional roach or two. From down the hall, you can hear Tommy’s wide steps approaching as he struts toward the living room.

 “Mick! Hey man, listen. I really don’t have time for this I have to get everything ready for–” Tommy stops dead in his tracks when he sees you standing by the busted window, hugging a dozen roses securely to your chest.

 “Y/N! What’re you doing here?” Tommy’s face lights up, his eyes brightening as he approaches you.  

 Mick interjects before you can respond. “She’s here to tell you that’s she finally come to her senses. Although I can’t blame her for being...apprehensive,” he punctuates his statement by glowering in Tommy’s direction.

 Tommy is only able to raise his hands in a form of surrender, taking an instinctive step back away from Mick.

 “Now,” Mick continues, “I leave you to it.”

 With that, Mick saunters out of the window ledge and into the sunshine, his back ramrod straight to support the slight limp developing in his leg. When he’s finally out of sight, you and Tommy exchange a bewildered look that quickly dissolves into an amiable fit of laughter. The roses are still pulled firmly against you as you look up at Tommy. You love the way his nose crinkles when he laughs, and know that–one day– he’ll probably have crows feet from a lifetime of smiling. Hopefully you’d even be around to see them.  

 “You know,” Tommy starts, pointing at the bundle of roses in your arms, “if I had known flowers were going to do the trick I would’ve bought you a hundred.”

 “Let’s just say that a certain alien may have put in a good word for you.”

 Tommy lets out a huge sigh of relief, “I’m so happy to hear you say that. Sending the old man up there was a gamble, and he definitely wasn’t happy with me today. Guess I owe him one.”

 “Can’t imagine why,” you smirk, satisfied with the fact that you aren’t the only one around here that isn’t completely willing to let go.

 “Anyways,” Tommy asserts, stepping into your personal space and placing his hands on his hips impatiently, “isn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”

 You gingerly pull one of the roses out from the bunch and hold it out to Tommy, careful not to prick your fingers on the thorns.

 “Tommy, may I go on a date with you?”

 Tommy accepts the rose, a broad smile breaking out across his face, “Hell yeah, baby girl. Pick you up at noon tomorrow?”

 “Sure thing, drummer boy,” you say.

 In a moment of sheer impulse, you stand up on the tips of your toes and place a soft kiss on Tommy’s cheek. His thin layer of stubble tickles your lips as that familiar, electric feeling courses through your being. When you come back down to the ground, Tommy is stunned to silence. He gently places a hand on his cheek, securing it to the spot where you kissed him as if were trying to preserve the delicate gesture forever.

 “So now will you leave me alone?” you laugh, making your way over to the open window.

 Just as you are about to climb on out of the Crüe apartment, Tommy suddenly comes back to reality and rushes over. “Wait! Uh, don’t forget to wear a bathing suit tomorrow.”

 “A bathing suit?” you ask incredulously, a single eyebrow raised, “What for?”

 “You’ll see.”

Part 6

Masterlist

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you may have sent me requests according to this marvelous card!

We've always been fucked up because nature is, in fact, a dirty little bitch who enjoys itself with abnormalities. She gets amused by giving birth to men in women's bodies or does the opposite, sometimes.

This story absolutely isn't for the faint of heart. It openly and severely deals with gender dysphoria. It may be phrased with my usual dose of purple prose bullshit sparkles, but that's kind of it. It's still raw. Needless to say it's based on personal experience. Also, hahaha, guess who got stuck with his stupid ideas. I don't even remember why I picked "Forced Out of the Closet" back in August. I think I was planning on making this an original work thing, but it ended up never panning because I switched fully into fandom mood shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure I was saying that about my first card back in April for "Panic Attack", no? Well, it ended up becoming this thing. I don’t know what to make of it yet.

It's a really weird note to end my 2nd BTHB card on. Until now, compared to the first card, I've been much more focused on physical pain. This has none of it and only 2nd POV narration and angst. I originally started it in a 3rd person POV, but it didn't work out and I thought it'd be worse if I wrote it in a 2nd person POV. It is. It's vivid and it's painful. I love it. Again, thanks to my Writing Crew for the support despite me being an edgy-ass bitch. I guess yiu can also call us the Derek Suffering Crew?

The title of this was what I wanted to give to the sixth chapter of Earth Never Stops, but it ended up not really ringing right with that chapter in particular. I feel like it fits here much better. And of course we gotta go with a rewritten Angie because, y'know. Canon Angie is canon Angie...

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

Like Honey in a Cup of Acid

Summary: You may have explanations to give to your assistant now that she's discovered something wasn't exactly normal, Derek. (You may also like not to do so because you want to forget).

Fandom: Trauma Center Relationship: Pre-rel DerAng

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​ (Thank you so much for having me for a second time!)

AO3 version available here.

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

A sort of weight immediately hits you when Angie asks you if you can have a little talk now that your thoughts aren’t just a painkiller-induced mishmash of words and incoherent thoughts with neither head nor tail. She looks concerned and perplexed, puzzled even, her eyes never truly looking into yours. Almost as if, for once, the fierce and daring Angie is intimidated by something about you. Sounds farfetched, right?

Well, there could be a number of reasons. You did almost just die on her a couple days ago and surely you can’t look much better than your own patients at the moment. You know, the usual: pale face, dark rings under the eyes that look like trenches, reddened eyes… She could just be very concerned for you like Kimishima has told you before when checking if you were still amongst the living.

 When you finally have the “little talk”, it’s in your hospital room, with you still bedridden and her on a chair to your left, next to the IV drip still inserted into your wrist, her hands pinching her skirt or clutching a notepad against her chest when she holds it. You’re not sure if there’s something even written on the thing, wondering if it isn’t just her way to cope with stress and whatever is making her anxious. Her fingers are shaking and the hair on her exposed forearms is risen. How come she’s so terrified? Do you really look this awful?

“What did you want to tell me about, Angie?” You ask, in a gentle tone, making sure you aren’t forcing on your throat so you don’t worry her even more. The tense silence in the room and the lack of noise in the later hours of the evening helps your low voice to be heard.

“I… Huh… Well, it’s just that… I was curious!”

“Curious? About what?”

 Angie looks away, red creeping on her cheeks, breath hitching in her throat. She gulps, shakes her head, takes a deep breath in, another out, and finally, looking at the ground, starts speaking again.

“When Dr Kimishima started the operation I…” She hides her face in her hands, her notepad and pen clicking against the ground. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since your operation!” Well, this sure is going to be a dirty secret, as Tyler would have said. “But, when she started the operation, I noticed something on your chest, and…”

Your heart skips a beat. You forgot about that, haven’t you? You forgot she’d notice such a thing, didn’t you? Alas, it’s a bit too late to pretend like she didn’t see what she must have seen. Kyriaki nor Paraskevi are known to leave stains on one’s skin, they aren’t Tetarti.

“What did you see?” You ask, feigning ignorance.

“Ah… I don’t know how to describe them well… But they were two weirdly shaped scars around your pectoral muscles. They kind of looked like –”

“—crescents, right?”

“Yeah!”

 Angie picks her notepad back into her hands, avoiding eye contact, much to his satisfaction. You really, really don’t want to have this conversation, this awful, rotten conversation you’ve had a couple times already. If it’s never ended too badly, even with your own mother, you still don’t want to live through it again. Alas, did you really think you’d escape it forever, especially with someone you hold so close to your heart (and in more ways than one too)? You’d have had to tell her one day anyway, so better get on with it, right?

Wrong. Your hands are trembling and your throat is tied into a knot. You don’t want to utter these forsaken words. You want that part of you to remain a secret from the entire world. But, alas, you also don’t want to lie to your trusted nurse, to your best friend during surgery procedures. In any case, she’d eventually guessed you lied to her, so popping the bubble off now or later is kind of the same. But, even with that knowledge in mind…  It doesn’t make what’s about to happen any less dreadful.

 Derek?

What if she isn’t as accepting as she seems? What if she stares at you right in the eyes like a freak, like a circus monster, like a broken doll that was badly stringed back together, like something that shouldn’t be, like, like…

Huh… Derek?

And, hey, what if she thinks you’re not fit for you job because of this? You’re technically experiencing a state of distressed triggered by the littlest things. It’s about faraway childhood memories, whenever you see a father with his biological child, when someone mentions a monthly event you’d have rather never known… Hey, what if that happened during an operation?

Dereeeeek? Are you still here?

You can’t ignore the existential dread coursing through your veins. You know, the one that happens when you remember that your father never called you by your right name, what was written on your birth certificate, what they called you in high school, how you look on all the pictures your mom won’t set fire to like you wish you could do… Yeah, that dread. That toxic, lava-like dread.

Hey, Derek, what’s wrong?!

 Her urgent tone makes you snap back to reality. She’s staring at you with big, full of concern eyes, her hands on your shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Ah, sorry, I… must have zoned out. Sorry for worrying you, Angie…?”

“Are you alright? You’ve got tears in your eyes…”

You realize you have to look dumb and weird, so you take your glasses off and rub the water away.

“What were you saying, then?”

“Ah, huh… I was talking about the scars you had on your chest… I’ve never seen such specific shapes before. So…” Her hands tangle together. “I was curious, that’s it. Feel free not to reply, if it throws you in such a state of distress…”

“No, it’s… It’s fine. It’s just… difficult to explain.”

 Your voice breaks when you try to push the words out of your tangled throat. You aren’t ready for this. You’ve not found your way out of there yet. You’ve been pushed into a corner and the only way out is to find the right words at the right time while not knowing how she’ll react. Maybe she’ll really think you’re the error of nature you are, you whose brain and body weren’t able to match, you whose chromosomes and spirit never agreed before your birth, you who has had to fight your way out of the mess your own biology threw you into before you were even born.

Her fingers are cold against your feverish skin, against the goose-bumps that your medical gown doesn’t hide well. You’ve made it this far only for your world to perhaps crumble again and the existential dread appears again. What if she never accepts you again? What if she calls you “Mr Stiles” again, starts staring at you with an amused glare? What if this supportive glance she gives you and the kind words she’s offered since you got over your differences disappeared as soon as she knew? Why is it that you always have to throw a shot in the dark when the truth of your story comes back to bite you?

You need to trust in Angie, don’t you? She’s been kind of your guardian angel until now, would she give up on you for this? Do you believe so little in her for that to happen? Aren’t you too harsh on her, aren’t you getting too caught up in your own web?

 “I… got them from a surgery I had in med school. As far as I know, only Tyler and a couple other people are aware I have them.”

“From what kind of surgery?”

Here it comes. The nausea’s already here, twisting your stomach, squeezing your heart as it increases in pulse, choking your throat shut. If you weren’t in this bed, surely your head would spin.

“…Top surgery.”

Angie seems fairly confused, until her eyes snap open, glimmering in realization.

“You mean, like a mammectomy?”

“…Yes.”

Your voice almost fails you again. You feel tears you want to dry again burning your retinae, blurring your vision and the candid face of the nurse who’s just realized what you really were. You fucking liar.

“For…”

“Part of gender dysphoria treatment,” you reply trying to pretend to be an encyclopaedia, to be the internet pages you read in your teenage years when puberty got confusing and warped into a lucid nightmare.

“Oh my God…”

 Angie’s face distorts in what you can only qualify as distress, horror or disgust. She tries looking at you, fixating on your bandaged chest, her gaze struggling to even meet with your face. You wish you could pat her head, tell her it’s fine, that she didn’t know, that you’re sorry for being that and not telling her before, that she’s right to feel betrayed if that’s the case; but your hands are numb and dirty, covered in acid and black mud, and you can’t dirty her like that because you, yourself, are a special kind of a biological and anatomical failure. She’s a collection doll, you’re a broken toy.

“I’m sorry, Derek, I’m… I… I shouldn’t be like that!” She stumbles on her own words. “You’ve just told me such an important thing and I… I…”

“It’s fine…” You try to sound reassuring, but the truth is that you’re still shaking, terrified and apprehensive.

“I should’ve known! It’s such a sensitive topic, I… God, Angie, you need to pull yourself together and stop being so noisy!”

He clutches her hand at last.

“It’s fine, really. I’m… at least glad I could tell you by myself…”

That’s not entirely wrong. You just wish you didn’t feel backed into such an uncomfortable corner. It’s not her fault, of course, she was just concerned for an abnormal thing about you… A lot of you is abnormal, after all.

 “I’m still me, though.” He wants to assert that with that shaky voice of his. “It’s just something I don’t like… talking about, per say.

Angie takes a deep breath and focuses back into a state of stability.

“Of course you’re still you, Derek. You’re still the surgeon who saved the world from GUILT. I would never stop thinking that. You’ve always been Derek to me, why would that change now?”

The warm smile he gives her make the hair on his skin calm down, little by little. It’ll be okay, eventually.

“I’m just… so sorry I forced you to confess like that.”

“I’d have had to tell you anyway, one day, I suppose…”

“You didn’t have to. At least, not this early…”

“It’s fine anyway. I forgive you.”

“Thanks…”

 For the first time since she’s entered the room, you can exhale with a relieved heart and a normal pulse, profit from the rainbow that shows up after the rain. The dread is still there, hiding like a snake in your stomach, ready to bite into your throat at any moment of vulnerability you show in front of it; but, now, you have a new ally to help through the storms.

“Just promise me you’ll never tell anyone, okay?”

“I never planned on having that secret exit this room. Not even the walls of Caduceus will know about it!”

You chuckle.

“I like your spirit.”

 You want to thank her again, but it feels like overkill, and you want to have the snake finally resting, asleep in the pit of your abdomen. For now, a serene silence is enough. It’s more than enough after all this trouble, all the turmoil and all of the acid rain that drenched the both of you…

There’s no need to worry anymore when you have nothing left to hide and no one but a guardian next to you; so relax, now. It’ll all be fine, from now on, now that the lead prison around your chest is gone…

[hillywooddestiel]

Stranger Things Have Happened- Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13: The Battle at Byers

Characters: Y/N Winchester, Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Sam, Dean

Warnings: angst, language

Word count: 1.9k

Series description: Hawkins, Indiana, November 1983. The Winchesters got out of hunting and decided to settle down in a small town. The youngest of the three, Y/N, just wants to get on with her somewhat normal life and go to a good college. But that’s a little tricky when disappearances start occurring, including her friend Barbara Holland, and there’s reports of a mysterious new girl in town. Can she balance boyfriends, teen drama and monster hunting?

A/N: Hello again! This series has been picking up a lot and its been lovely watching people go through chapter by chapter in my notes (thanks for all the reblogs) I’ve nearly finished writing this and that actually makes me a little sad. I’ve loved coming up with this series and tying Supernatural and Stranger Things together in this way. And my brain may or may not have been prodding me with ideas for a sequel. I don’t know if I can commit to starting it until things are a bit more organised around here. Anyways enjoy xx Series Masterlist  Masterlist

Story:

“It's here, it's coming.”

“Where is it?”

“Wait, what's here?! What's here- whoa easy with that!” Jonathan and Nancy rotate themselves back to back around the room while Steve panics over the lights, the gun, the bat full of nails- he's just in full panic mode over everything going on right now. Nancy has the gun close to her chest while Jonathan has his homemade bat thing up like he's prepared to hit a home run. Steve finches away when he swings it around and rightly so; that thing looks lethal! Man, I want one. 

“I don't see it!” Nancy frets, still spinning in their little formation. Meanwhile, I'm just stood next to Steve trying to listen out for the damn thing which is a little tricky with all of this noise.

“Where is what?! Hello? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going-” a huge smash from the ceiling cuts Steve off. Plaster and wood fall to the floor as an enormous slimy creature falls through the roof. It stands tall, much taller than any of our squad, opening its mouth hole/ face (if you can call it that) and screams at us at a shrill volume. Nancy fires 3 shots at it that barely do anything. I just stand on the spot staring at the thing in half horror, trying to remember all of my lore to work out what the hell it could be. I have nothing.

“Go, go! Run, go!” Jonathan turns around to myself and Steve, ushering us in the direction of safety, “Get out of here! Jump!” He warns us just in time to vault the fucking bear trap he has nailed to the floor. What the hell Jonathan?!

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Steve panics aloud, looking at all of us with eyes the size of golf balls, “Jesus Jesus, what the hell was that?!”

“Shut up!” Both Nancy and Jonathan shout in unison. I agree; he was getting really annoying. I had enough of worriers back in the hunting days. With all of the screaming done with, we listen out for the creature outside the door making it's strange, alien, purr-like sound. There's a yellow yo-yo with a happy smile on it strung over the back of a chair by the door, presumably linked up to some Scooby Doo style trap- the bear trap! My respect for these guys just went up by a lot. 

“What's it doing?” Nancy asks, keeping her eyes and gun on the door.

“I don't know.” Jonathan glances to all of us. The lights stop flickering, going back to normal and the strange noise coming from outside stops. It can't be gone, surely? For a creature that came through the ceiling like it was made of Lego, it gave up very quickly on killing us.

“Do you hear anything?”

“No…”

Taking tentative steps, Nancy and Jonathan lead the pack into the living room again. Steve brings up the rear, muttering incoherently like a crazy person.

“This is crazy. This is crazy.” He runs his hands through his signature big hair, trembling as he spirals out of control, “This is crazy. This is crazy! This is CRAZY!” He grabs the phone from the wall and jabs 9-1-1 into the keypad. Nancy snatches it away from him and ends the call before anyone picks up. “What are you do- what are you doing? Are you insane?!” 

“It's going to come back.” Nancy growls, “So you need to leave. Right. Now.”

“Do you two want to explain to me what the hell is going on?” I put on my best mom voice when the door slams behind Steve as he flees the house, “You left me at school to babysit because what? You two know what you're doing?”

“I'm sorry Y/N/N, but this is something I have to do. For Barb.” 

“And I don't want to do that? Nancy, I know it wasn't long but she was my friend too! Out of everyone here in this town, I am the only person who knows about this stuff. I hunt monsters, that's what I do. It's what I'm good at.”

“I know that. But just because you've done before, doesn't mean you have to now.”

“Yes it does! If something happened to any of you guys and I did nothing… I would not be able to live with myself.” I realize, as I speak, that I sound so much like Dean when we were deciding whether or not to really leave everything behind. He went on and on about the job and our duty and how, by quitting, every death caused by the supernatural would be on us for not stepping in. It all came from Dad really; he always instilled in us that hunting was in our blood. It was our destiny, almost. 

“Barb is not on you Y/N. None of this is on you.” Nancy hugs me tightly nearly sending me into tears. But when the lights begin to flicker once again, we quickly spring apart. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!

Cocking my gun, I opt not to join the others spinning around the room and instead train my gaze on the ceiling where the bear dropped from before.

“Where is it?”

“Come on! Come on you son of a bitch!” Jonathan riles himself up- subtlety is not his strong suit I see.

“You see it?” 

“No, you?” I answer Nancy, glancing briefly at the flashing fairy lights to see them turn off completely. We're plunged into almost complete darkness. I blink. The creature from earlier rises up behind Nancy and Jonathan making it's weird sound again, unbeknownst to them. “Guys…”

“Wha-” they barely get the chance to speak before the thing attacks Jonathan and pins him to the ground. Watching him get covered in goo from the creature is oddly reminiscent of Cujo. But now is not the time.

“Jonathan!” Nancy shouts, not phasing the Demogorgon at all, “Jonathan! Jona-”

“Don't just stand there, shoot it!” I cock my gun and fire the first shot, not really aiming for any part in particular since I know nothing about the damn thing. I fire twice more with no effect while Nancy fires five times. After the fifth bullet is fired, the Demogorgon turns and screams in our direction.

“Go to hell you son of a bitch!” Nancy fires again and again until she pulls on the trigger and all the gun does is click- she's out of bullets. They don't seem to be working anyway so things could be worse. Well, they are worse. The Demogorgon comes towards us, angered by our efforts to harm it. I take a step back and find my footing unsteady, falling quickly to the floor and hitting my head on something solid. 

“Ah fuck!” I wince, a sharp pain so spreading through my skull and dancing behind my closed eyes. That's going to leave one hell of a bruise. 

“Y/N/N, you okay?!” Nancy helps pull me back up.

“I will be… what about…” the ringing in my ears subsides and I can hear what sounds like Steve screaming. It is Steve screaming. He has the bat full of nails and is in the middle of an assault on the monster, pushing it towards the bear trap. It snaps around it's ankle causing a shrill scream to come from the weird hole in it's face.

“He's in the trap! He's stuck!” Steve declares.

“Jonathan, now!” Nancy urges. Jonathan flicks the lighter on and chucks it onto the trail of gasoline. It ignites and travels swiftly to the trap, sending the creature up into flames. The inferno continues to grow to an unsafe size for which Jonathan luckily has a fire extinguisher at hand. Plumes of smoke fill the house, clouding my vision and entering my lungs making breathing rather difficult. Combine with my head injury, I really don't feel good right now.

“Where did it go?” Nancy sputters, staring down at the bubbling goop left behind on the trap. 

“No, it has to be dead… it has to be.”

“Umm… hate to be the one to break it to you Jonathan but we don't know for sure. Bullets weren't working, who's to say fire does?”

“If you are saying you think it could survive that, you're crazy.” Steve buts in (I was forgetting he doesn't know everything). 

“That's exactly what I'm saying. Other creatures have done it.”

“You mean like roaches?”

“I mean like shapeshifters and skinwalkers.”

“Skin what? What are you talking-”

“Hey look!”

We all look up to what Nancy is pointing at. One of the string lights is lit up. And then another one. And then two more. We follow them along the corridor to the front door, mesmerised by the colourful little bulbs as random ones come to life to form a trail. 

“Mom…” Jonathan focuses on them, whispering under his breath so quietly I barely hear him. “Mom, is that you?” He receives no reply. Whatever is causing the light display continues to travel, taking us outside to the front porch. In the near distance, the street lamp light flickers gently. It's the last sign of something in the alternate dimension before the track goes cold.

“Where's it going?” Nancy asks, watching down the dark road as though he'll see something any second now.

“I don't think that's the monster…” Jonathan says rather ominously.

“Yeah, it probably would have come back already.” My comment gets the stink eye from all three of them, “What? It's true.”

“Is anyone going to explain to me what the hell is going on?” Ah yes, Steve. Prepare for a shitstorm of a story my friend.

I repeat a shortened version of the tale I told everyone back before we went to the school and I also fill him in on the whole situation with Will. Nancy and Jonathan but in with extra details where needed, making it very clear to Steve that nothing was going on between them. Smooth guys. 

“So… you did this for a living?” 

“Not exactly- we didn't get paid. There was a lot of credit card fraud.” 

“Cool.” Steve remarks, his face changing to a frown when he catches Nancy's glare. 

“It was only small amounts, we never took more than we needed. And it was always with the shady banks.” I clarify. 

“This is insane! You guys could have told me, I could've helped you Nancy.” 

“We didn't want to just go telling everyone. And… I didn't want you to get hurt.” Nancy takes Steve's hands as reassurance. Jonathan swallows hard and tries to look away, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. Methinks there are some feelings there. And unfortunately they are one sided.

“Right, well we should probably get back to the-” BANG! The front door flies open startling us all. Steve grabs his bat while Nancy and myself grab our guns leaning Jonathan to take a lamp as a weapon. I relax when the two blundering giants come in with their guns raised.

“Guys, it's okay. It's just my brothers.” I gesture for everyone to put their weapons down. Dean flares his nostrils, glaring at me- here we go!

“You have got a lot of explaining to do Y/N.”

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