#ana and bed damage teeth too

[all-i-do-is-try1]

Had a dentist appointment today and she was super sweet. Anyway if you have a ED of any kind (not just bulimia) I highly recommend investing in some very strong fluoride rinse and occasionally baking soda.

Toothpaste and Mouthwash won’t ruin your fast

[piratefalls]

previous lists here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Despite it all, Because of it all by kitkatpancakestack

He puts the truck in park in front of Eddie’s childhood home. Christopher shifts in the back, already unbuckling his seatbelt. Eddie is frozen with his jaw set, eyes hard and unblinking as they bore holes through the windshield. Buck was here once before, after that relief trip to Texas, but he is under no illusions that this time will be similar. For one, he doesn’t have the buffer of other firefighters to hide behind. This isn’t a visit that will last a couple hours, and so the sugary, superficial niceties will eventually crumble when it’s mid-way through the week and he’s still hanging around. There is also the shadow of everything that has happened since the wildfires skulking behind them, waiting to be found out.

But, this is Eddie and Christopher, needing him to have it together, so he paints on a smile and squeezes Eddie's knee and slides out of the truck.

*

Eddie's dad gets sick. Buck goes with him and Christopher to El Paso.

you're my kind of therapy by jesm

Eddie's stressed and Buck knows exactly how to get him out of his head.

i've only known you to keep your word by thisissirius

The prospect of going home alone, tending to his hurts and sleeping in that bed all alone—Buck’s breath hitches and he closes his eyes, forehead pressed to the lockers.

buck's lonely and eddie knows.

you're on the tip of my tongue by winteryknights

aka 4 times Buck and Eddie try to tell their friends about their relationship + 1 time they all figure it out on their own

a line drawn in the sand by crazyassmurdererwall

When Eddie forgets about a family tradition and can’t get off work early, Buck steps in and takes Christopher to Abuela’s for him.

Eddie doesn’t expect Buck to still be there when he gets off work. He doesn’t expect to tell Buck how he feels. And he doesn’t expect to stand up to his parents.

But maybe it’s about time he did.

Maybe it’s about time he go after what he wants.

some bridges were built for burning by extasiswings

“He’s a kid, I figured he would have questions.”

“It’s not your place though, is it? Because he’s not your kid!”

[Or: Eddie's dating Ana Flores. Buck's just dating. But when Buck oversteps with Christopher, it leads to some messy realizations and even messier conversations. (Although...maybe some good ones too.)]

Heart, I Implore You by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Buck finds out his best friend isn't exactly human, he volunteers to help keep Eddie from dying.

It's definitely just to keep Eddie from dying.

No other reason.

None whatsoever.

Finally by natural_singularity

He thinks he might melt into the floor. Death by fuzzy feelings. Here lies Eddie Diaz: the sight of his best friend holding a baby made his heart explode.

Kiss Your Best Friend by spockina

Then Bobby calls Chimney from downstairs, and Chim pockets his phone to leave.

“That’s the ‘kiss your best friend challenge’, Buckaroo.” He says with a grin, all teeth. “Thought you’d enjoy it.” He winks at Buck, and then goes, yelling coming! and leaving behind a very confused and only somewhat amused Buck.

That’s how it starts.

Stick With You by soft_satan

Eddie licked his dry lips as he reached for his radio, trying to keep his movements slow and delicate to prevent any more damage to himself or Buck. “Diaz to Captain Nash.”

“Go for Nash,” came Bobby’s quick reply. “You two okay? Where are you?”

“We’re in a bit of a sticky situation here…”

“We’re a shish kabob, Cap!” Buck chimed in.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

gifts are free (love is earned) by elisela, thisissirius

“Truck or alley?”

The words throw him and he blinks, pulling his head back to look at Buck. “Truck,” he manages, because there’s no way in hell he’s being arrested for indecent exposure tonight, surrounded by dumpsters with a vibrator up his ass.

Jerusalem Bells Are Ringing by matan4il

They’re naked in bed together, in Buck’s room, basking in the aftermath of sex. Eddie’s been caressing Buck’s body in lazy patterns when he gets to the chest tattoo.

"What does this one stand for?"

Or the first installment in a Jewish!Buck AU that a few people asked for. It comes with a side serving of Catholic!Eddie.

the ivory keys by tkreyesevandiaz

Buck didn’t think he’d come back to this one thing again.

As a kid, he’d crashed into the habit like a beautiful accident. He’d stumbled upon the old instrument in the guest house where his parents usually held brunches and parties for other aristocrats in their circles, at age eight. After hearing the reverberating sound from the keys, it became an obsession to learn.

The Aftermath of Liberation and Love Confessions by ElvenSorceress

After a very long year of one terrible thing after another, Eddie has a brand new life strategy. It’s called not giving a shit.

There’s the fire of a challenge in Buck’s eyes and a clench in the set of his jaw, and come on, it’s not as if Eddie forced Buck into dating the reporter. Not like he pays it any mind whatsoever. It was doomed from the start. She’s not good enough for him. She’s a terrible fit for him. Buck’s clearly been miserable for months.

Still, Buck says, “Yeah, Eddie. Why don’t you teach us. What would you say if you were professing your love?”

You mean something besides, “In the event of my untimely death, I made you legal guardian of my child”?

Eddie stares back at him. He breathes deeply, and since his renewed life philosophy is not giving a shit and not being ashamed and finally reaching freedom, why the fuck not...

~~~

In which Eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, Buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and December is the most dramatic time of year.

Set It Up by elless

Five times Buck lets someone set him up on a date and one time he doesn't need to.

burned, about to burn, still on fire by charliesarrows

Buck is tired of chasing after people who don't want him. Eddie is tired of wanting what he's too afraid to chase.

flash like a setting sun by playedwright

The universe has a fucked up sense of humor as far as Buck’s concerned. It took it’s sweet time leading him down the road that would eventually root him in Los Angeles with an acceptance letter to the fire academy in his hand, but all of that had been well and fine since it got him here eventually. Buck can roll with the punches better than most, so long as he’s given the opportunity to land on his feet.

It stands to reason that the universe was a lot more straightforward leading him to realize he was—is—in love with Eddie Diaz.

Buck just wishes the universe had been a little more subtle about it.

*

or, the one where the universe is screaming at buck and he's refusing to listen

the handyman can ('cause he fixes it with love) by iphigenias

Eddie’s first thought when he opens the door is that Hen’s finally getting payback for Eddie hustling her in pool last Friday. The guy standing on the stoop is sweaty, smiling, with biceps that look like they could jaws-of-life a car all on their own and a very pink, very biteable kiss of a birthmark above his crinkled blue eyes. His toolbelt looks like every toolbelt from every bad porn movie ever, slung absurdly low on his hips, and the acid-wash jean shorts he’s wearing absolutely cannot be OSHA-approved.

Eddie decidedly does not look at the thick muscle of the guy’s thighs when he says, “uh, I think you have the wrong house.”

Subscribe and Save by holyfudgemonkeys

Buck and Eddie have some time alone.

Or not.

(AKA, Hildy hears all.)

forever, ceasing never by lecornergirl

Until he drifts over just a little too far and loses his balance, and instead of resting his head on Buck’s shoulder like he’d intended he overshoots and finds himself sprawled out on the sofa, his head somewhere in the vicinity of Buck’s hip.

Buck’s lap. His head is in Buck’s lap.

Somewhere in the back of his wine-soaked mind, he knows he should get up. That this isn’t something they do. That this is crossing a line they’ve only skirted before, with the tackling and the tickling—always measured, always with a pretext.

He should get up, but Buck’s hand slides into his hair, and when he looks down his eyes are impossibly soft.

“Hi,” Buck whispers.

All the Rumors are True by sirencalls

“Firehose?”

Chim laughs. “Yep. Spill it, Diaz.”

And Eddie looks over at Buck, drags his eyes down Buck’s broad chest and small waist until he’s staring directly at his crotch, picturing what he knows is underneath. The length of it, how pink it gets when he leaks, how much come it pumps out when Eddie fucks him over the edge.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, it’s true.”

[xmaddestofhatters]

Febuwhump 2022

Day 25: muffled screams

Note: hey i’m back lol, thanks for your patience

Warning: mentions of child abuse and sexual assault

Or read on AO3

It’s cold. Too cold.

The scrap of cloth they call a blanket is way too thin. Especially in this cold weather. Natalia pulls it up to her chin, but that exposes her toes. She shivers. Maybe if they weren’t all handcuffed to their beds, they’d huddle together for warmth. Or maybe they wouldn’t. The paranoia that’s drilled into them wouldn’t allow it.

She can hear the other girls tossing and turning as well. Chattering teeth and some whimpers here and there. Natalia is used to the sounds by now. An occasional scream pierces the air. Cries for help. None of the girls respond or offer a word of comfort. They don’t know how. And making friends in this place is the dumbest thing you can do. Natalia learned that very early on.

The door of the dormitory creaks open. Two men with heavy boots step inside. The metal of their guns glints in the hallway light. Natalia scrunches her eyes shut and tries to deepen her breathing, pretending to be asleep. It wouldn’t make a difference but she likes to pretend it does.

She hears shuffling and a scream when they pick a girl. Natalia peeks through her eyelashes. It’s Ana. She’s the same age as Natalia but maybe half her size. There’s no way she’ll be able to fight them off. Natalia shoots up a quick prayer. She’s not religious or anything, but she heard some of the older girls do that.

There’s crying and cursing as the guards drag Ana out. Natalia shuts her eyes again and turns her back to the door. Not wanting to see the pleading look in her eyes. Every night the men come. And every night they take a girl. If you’re not strong enough to fight them off, well, that’s your problem.

The girl in the bed next to her begins to cry. Natalia doesn’t know her name but she knows she hasn’t been here for very long.

“Заткнись.” Shut up. Someone hisses. “Ты хочешь, чтобы они взяли тебя следующим?” You want them to take you next? It only makes the girl cry harder.

They haven’t come for Natalia all week. She likes to think it’s because they find her too difficult. She gave one of them a broken nose once. But it’s more likely Madame told them off. Dreykov’s coming and he doesn’t like damaged goods. She shivers again and this time not from the cold.

The door slams shut but Ana’s muffled crying can still be heard through the thin walls. The men love it when they scream and cry. So when they take Natalia she always tries to be as silent as possible. She’s not sure why none of the other girls have figured out that little trick yet.

The bloodcurdling scream that follows the sound of a small body being thrown on the ground chills Natalia to her bone. She pulls the blanket over her head to shut out the sound. Cold toes be damned. It doesn’t help.

The guards have made it a game to make sure they can all hear what they’re doing to the girls they take. The muffled screams can be heard all night long. It makes Natalia sick to her stomach. Some of the older girls told her to not be such a baby about it. She’s just gonna have to get used to this, but Natalia doesn’t know how anyone could ever get used to this.

She’s sure she never will.

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

Chapter II: Overhelming city, just because of you!

Thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​, you are a moodboard-goddess, this is stunning!

a/n: I hope you enjoy it, as much I did while writing it. English ist not my first language, so sorry for mistakes.

Pairing: ALEX x Reader

Spotify: Kiana Ledé & Jacquees - Only Fan

Words: 1875

Warnings: NSFW and smut, a bit fluff

Summary:  The day with Alex was perfect, but in the end you got an even bigger surprise.

Chapter I

,,Are you ready for breakfast?" She shook your shoulder. "Hey Y/N, wake up, we're late. I wrote Marco that we are going be in the lobby at 10 AM.’’ You never saw her so nervous, it was almost contagious. You only had an hour to get ready and eat.

,,You got his number?’’ You were surprised and start thinking if you’re going too slowly, just because Marco got Ana's number but Alex not yours.

You ran through the hotel room, searching for approppiate clothes and shoes. The light pink/red lipstick looked stunning on you.

~~·······~~

Ana and you left the breakfast buffet and stood now in the lobby. You got impatient. Janina woke you up for nothing, nobody was waiting there. She even asked at the reception, but they didn't know anything.

You were annoyed. It was beautiful sunny weather and you didn't want to waste any time waiting. "Come on let's go, we can do this on our own. They won't come." You went backwards and waited for her to come with you.

,,I hope you like red roses’’ Suddenly you heard this familiar voice behind you. 

,,We are late and I don’t want you get angry, so I brought you this rose. I hope you are not mad.’’ He was visibly happy to see you again. His bright blue shirt matched exactly with his eyes, he looked amazing.

He lifted you up so that only the tips of your toes touched the ground. You hugged him tight, like he did.

Marco and Alex rented bikes, so you could change quickly the places. You were impressed by the beauty of this colorful city.

~~·······~~

You stopped at a park. They prepared a picnic for lunch. It was so cozy to lay on that blanket; you closed your eyes to feel the sunbeams warming your face. You felt Alex searching for your hand. His thumb stroking the back of your hand. Your hand squeezed his, signaling that you liked his touch.

You turned your head to the other side looking for Ana. Marco was lying on the top of her, kissing her slowly. They were hidden behind a tree, so you couldn’t see what they exactly were doing. You looked at Alex again in the hope he also saw that, so he maybe would kiss you too, but he didn't.

You broke the silence ,,I want to go up there’’ And pointed with the other hand to Tivoli’s ferris wheel.

,,The view up there is beautiful. Good idea." He sat up and glanced down at you. It was a perfect situation to kiss you, so you took a deep breath.

But Alex got up and went to Marco. "Marco!’’ He yelled.

"Hey, Marco! He yelled again. He was too busy, kissing her neck.

,,Hey lovebirds, you can continue at home, let’s go to the ferris wheel’’. Marco seemed a little bit annoyed, that you disturbed them, but after a minute he was laughing and smiling again.

You got on the ferris wheel and were a bit nervous. The sun was slowly going down, so the view turned out to be much better than expected. The wheel started to move, and you reached for his hand. To be on the highest point of the wheel was a magical moment.

You looked at Alex and said quietly, 

,,Thank you…this is an overwhelming city, but just because you’re by my side’. He touched your chin so lightly that you barely felt it, like he was afraid to hurt you.

His bottom lip touched yours, he was so nervous that he wasn’t even breathing. You closed your eyes, to feel the kiss more intense. Your knees were shaking, you felt the kiss all over your body, that you almost got dizzy.

It got cold as soon as the sun went away. Alex and Marco had a surprise for Ana and you, so couldn’t go straight to their apartment, they said, so you went to the hotel first to take a shower and then to their home for dinner. Ana had the address, because you didn't still have Alex's number.

The building looked from outside discreet and a little bit old fashioned. Their apartment was in the top floor, so you took the elevator. You checked your make-up and hair in the mirror for the last time. Marco and Alex were leaning against the door frame as you walked out.

Ana directly jumped into Marco's arms and kissed him. Your shyness prevented you from taking the first step. You weren't sure whether you could kiss him or not and especially because he was the one who kissed you. Alex took you by the hip and pulled you to him. His lips awakened your feelings again.

He stopped kissing you abruptly. "Come in, our neighbors are too curious, I don't want to be their evening show".

The apartment was modern and decorated in a minimalist way. You could see hole Copenhagen through those huge windows. Alex did a room tour; you liked his grey bedsheets and the colossal jacuzzi in his bathroom. You imagined how hot it would be seeing Alex naked in there.

,, Why do you need a mirror above your bed?" You noticed how he thought about what to say.

"Hm, what do you think?" He grabbed your hips. You put your arms around his neck.

"Tell me." He nibbled on your lip before kissing your neck.

,,Because I want to look at your ass while you're riding me." He whispered in your left ear. You became goosebumps all over your body and you felt a cool wave running over your back.

His hand slipped over your ass. "You can also see yourself cumming while I please you with my tongue." He kissed him so rough that your back hit against the door frame.

"I would like to keep watching you guys, but we should eat dinner first, I'm so hungry!" Marco stared at you with a little smirk in his face. You nodded. Alex squeezed your ass before you let go of him and clapped it as you turned away.

You had absolutely no idea what Danish dish this was, but it smelled so good and the taste was even better. Marco was telling a funny story, but you noticed that Alex did not pay attention at all. He was staring at at your breasts. You were wearing a top with deep V-neck, the fabric was thin so he could see the pattern of your bra throught it. You leaned forward, to let him see more of your body and of course to provoke him. You ran your wet tongue over your lip and smirked. He took a sip from his glass, but his gaze remained on your decollete. You liked that game.

,,So how can you have so much time for us? We have already Tuesday and none of you went to work." commented Ana.

It seemed as Marco either Alex wanted to answer the question. 

Marco answered after a while. ,,We are actors, we play in the same series and finished shooting last Friday."

"Oh really, I hope you are not disappointed, if I never saw you on TV’’ you said ashamed.

Alex told you everything about it, how long they we’re acting and what the series is about.

,,To be honest, I’m really happy about that. I want you to love me Alex and not this character Ivar. Yesterday in the pub, we noticed that you didn’t know who we really are, so we decided to keep it secret for the moment.’’ He hoped you didn’t get mad. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. You felt so attracted to him.

,,Should we give them our present now?’’ Marco whispered to Alex. They stand up and came back with two big golden gift boxes.

You thanked and opened it carefully to not damage this beautiful loop. 

,,Oh wow, is this a dress? How I deserve this?’’. It was a beautiful dark blue shimmering dress with the matching high heels, it overwhelmed you. You took the dress out of the box and discovered a second little box.

,,I want you to come with me to a charity event tomorrow, you will repent.’’ Alex said and took the diamond chain out of the little box, to put it on you.

"But Alex, I can't" You pressed the dress against your chest you to feel the soft fabric.

"No, why? Don't you like the dress?" He couldn't hide the disappointment.

,Yes, of course...I’d be glad to, but I do not necessarily wish to be on TV."

"I'll do my best to keep you out of the public eye, I promise."

"So if that is the case, I will be in the background, if you are ok with it.’’

,,Of course, there will be no cameras at the afterparty, don’t worry.’’ 

He hugged you and kissed you. ,,More wine? Let’s celebrate!’’ He raised his glass.

Marco and Ana had a lot more wine than you and were already pretty drunk. Marco ran to music player and started a playlist. The first song was Only Fan-Kiana Ledé and Jacquees. Ana and he went to the balcony and rocked gently in their own rhythm.

You loved that song. ,,I want to dance’’. You pulled him by the hand and pushed him onto the sofa. 

,,Keep your hands next to you’’ you said in a stern voice. Your hips moved according to the rhythm of the music. Your butt brushed his crotch and you heard a low moan. You went on your knees, your face passed his crotch again. You pulled with your teeth his zipper down, his dick nudged your jaw. The wine made disappear your shyness. You sat on his lap and moved slowly feeling his dick on your ass. Your hips did circles, up and down, side to side. His hands slid slowly under your shirt and grabbed you by the waist. They felled down, he squeezed your ass and pressed his lips against yours. You were already horny before the lap dance, but he didn’t know it.

You noticed Marco's eyes watching you through the balcony window, at the same time kissing Ana's neck. He smirked when your eyes met.

Alex stood up and walked into his bedroom. Your legs were around his waist, holding you tight so you couldn’t fall. He started to kiss your neck, his tongue traced over your breasts without touching the nipples and passed your navel. He teased you.

Alex forgot to close the door completely, so Marco heard your loud moan, when Alex finally reached your clit. Alex looked up to you and smirked. You took his head away from pussy, jumped on him and thrusted his thick dick into you, without warning him first. One short moan escaped his mouth. He glanced down at his cock and watched it disappear into your pussy again and again.

He let his head fall back and mumbled. "You're crazy"

,,Do you like what you see in the ceiling mirror, huh?’’ you asked him while making him a hickey on his neck. 

,,I could watch you for hours, elskede’’. You jumped harder and faster, hearing your buttcheeks clapping against his hips.

"Uh, yes." He groaned and smacked your ass with both hands.

He loved this roughness and couldn’t prolong his orgasm. You keeped the pace. Feeling his warm seed running out your pussy triggered yours.

He grabbed your chin and pulled you down. "Stick out your tongue" He bit into it and you whined. "Hush and kiss me!"

~~·······~~

Alex was still sleeping, when you stood up the next morning. You had to put his shirt on, because you didn't have any clothes with you. The shirt covered your ass and you didn’t wear underwear. Everyone was sleeping anyway so it didn't matter.

,,Do you want a cup of coffee?" You were frightened.

"What are you doing awake Marco?" Your nipples shimmered through the light fabric, so you tried to cover your breasts with your hands.

"I could ask you that as well" He poured himself a cup.

"I made too much and Ana is still sleeping. So do you want or not?’’ You took your cup and sat on the couch and saw Alex's belt laying on the floor.

Your shirt slipped up as exposing your butt cheeks unintentionally as you leaned forwards to pick it up.

,,I saw you having sex yesterday, he satisfied you well’’ He said in a jealous tone.

,,Weren’t you with Ana?’’

,,Ana was so drunk. She felled asleep little later."

You were so shocked that you didn't comment on it.

"I’m sorry, a gap was open and...-"

"and what?!" Your tone became brisk.

"- you were so sexy." You blushed.

"I won't tell anyone, don't worry.’’ He added.

You were confused. Did you like it or not?

Alex interrupted your thoughts. ,,Are you grabbing my girlfriend? Maybe you should ask for permission first.’’ He laughed.

Chapter III: I kissed you and you don’t even know

[rydergrace]

Have I told today how much I love the K-Teacher universe? (And that's not just trying to butter you up because I have another request - this series makes me melt with softness and love)

What happens when there's an incident downtown and suddenly Eddie's on the news for being in danger, and Buck wants to be glued to his TV but he has a classroom of students who need him first?

here with you

Eddie’s hurt on the job. It’s not the first time and won’t be the last. Buck’s not as used to it as he thought he’d be. 

somehow your prompt got swallowed up in the middle and this thing because a whole other thing. I don’t even know what happened. 

It wasn’t that Buck wasn’t used to Eddie being still. He’d always had a calm about him. He didn’t have the same need to move, to shift, to be in near constant motion the way Buck did. When they first started sleeping together, Eddie’s stillness had unnerved Buck, and Buck’s constant movement, even in sleep, had driven Eddie crazy. 

But this was different. Eddie was unnaturally still as he slept in the hospital bed, and Buck had to remind himself that was all he was doing. He was just sleeping. Sleeping to heal. Sleeping off the pain medication they had given him. According to the doctors, he was okay. According to Chim and Hen, he’d been conscious and talking the entire ride to the hospital. He knew enough to know that was good. Yet, he still couldn’t turn off the fear that everyone had missed something. 

He knew he needed to check on Ana. See how she was doing. Knew the fear still running through his veins was the fear she was feeling too. Bosko had been right beside Eddie, like she always was. He knew when Eddie woke up, he’d demand to know how Bosko was doing. But Buck couldn’t bring himself to let go of Eddie’s hand. Couldn’t force himself to leave Eddie’s hospital room.

When his cell phone rang, he’d been expecting the call. He’d seen the news report about the fire. Knew Eddie’s house was there. He knew there were injuries. But he still hadn’t been ready to hear Bobby tell him Eddie was on the way to the hospital. Hadn’t been prepared to hear the worry Bobby hadn’t quite kept out of his voice. Buck was sure there would never be a day when his stomach didn’t drop to the floor when he found out Eddie had been hurt. 

He barely kept himself together after he saw a clip about the fire on the news - even when he reminded himself he didn’t know if it was Eddie. The story hadn’t been specific about who was injured, even if he knew in his gut it was Eddie. As hard as it was to keep himself together; he didn’t have a choice. Not when there was a room of five and six year olds counting on him. While he had never been one to believe he had to separate himself from his students and keep up a wall between Buck and Mr. Buckley, he knew this wasn’t a thing they needed to know.

His focus shifted back to Eddie’s face when his husband shifted. He caught the pain that flashed across Eddie’s bruised face before it smoothed out again. He would wake up when he woke up. There was no rushing it; no matter how much Buck wanted to. The doctor had been clear about that. Still, all Buck wanted was to see those familiar brown eyes. 

His head snapped up when he heard a soft tapping on the door. Bobby stood just inside the door, smiling tiredly at him. “How are you holding up, kid?” he asked, pulling the only other chair in the room beside Buck’s. 

Buck shrugged. It didn’t matter how he was doing. He hadn’t been the one hurt. “How’s Bosko?” he asked instead. 

Bobby let the deflection go, but Buck could read him well enough to see that he didn’t like it. “They just moved her to a room after surgery. She’s looking at a few weeks in a cast and some physio. She has some minor burns too. But the doctor said things are looking good. Ana’s sitting with her. She sent me to check on you.” 

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, Buck shook his head. Of course, she’d sent someone to check on him when he hadn’t managed to bring himself to check on her. “I’m fine, Bobby,” he murmured, forcing a smile. 

Bobby’s brows arched, silently challenging the truth of those words. Had it been almost anyone else, Buck would have ignored the obvious challenge. But he respected Bobby enough to be honest with him, even when he wanted to hide. 

“Not fine,” Buck admitted with a shrug, “I’m worried about him.” He glanced at Eddie’s bruised face again. Eddie had been hurt before. When they had been nothing more than friends, he’d been hurt more worse than this. And Buck had come home to find Eddie icing bruises or favoring an arm or a leg. He’d helped him through a concussion, too. But for reasons Buck couldn’t even explain to himself, this felt different. 

Silence fell between the two men. The only sound was the study, comforting beep of the heart monitor Eddie was attached to. “He’s going to be fine,” Bobby said after several moments of silence. 

Pulling his gaze away from Eddie’s face, he nodded. Logically, Buck knew that. Of course he did. But the fear was still there. 

“I’m going to head out. Let me know when he wakes up?” Bobby stood, clapping Buck on the shoulder before he slipped out of the room as quietly as he’d been when he came in. 

He turns his attention to his phone. Staring at Eddie would do nothing but drive him crazy. And there were people who would want to be kept updated. If he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room, at least he could make sure everyone knew what was going on. 

He’d just pressed send on a text to Ana when he heard the uptick in the heart monitor.

“Eddie?” he asked, eyes searching his husband’s face for any sign he was actually waking up. Buck had only been there for a couple of hours, but it still felt like an eternity. 

When Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, brown meeting blue, something settled in Buck.

“Hey,” he breathed, grip tightening on Eddie’s hand. “How’re you feeling?” 

Eyes closing again, Buck froze until he saw the way Eddie’s brows furrowed together. He was cataloging how he felt. Buck had seen him do it plenty of times before. 

“Everything hurts,” Eddie answered honestly, shifting toward Buck with a badly concealed wince. “What’s the damage?” 

As much as he didn’t want to, this Buck could do. This felt almost familiar. Running his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, Buck recounted what he heard from the doctor not long ago. 

“Concussion that’s pretty worrisome only because of your history of concussions. A lot of bruising, some of it is pretty bad. And some burns and smoke inhalation. You’re looking at a couple days in the hospital at least.” He answered Eddie’s question before the man could ask it, knowing it was coming. 

“And Bosko?” Eddie asked, shifting again as he tried to get comfortable. 

“Bobby said she was gonna be fine. She’s been out of surgery for a while. Guess she’s looking at a few weeks in a cast and some physio. I haven’t gone to check on her yet,” he admitted, teeth tugging his lower lip into his mouth. He wouldn’t admit he felt like an awful friend for not checking on her. Even if Bosko wasn’t his friend, which at this point, she was. Ana had been his closest friend for far longer than he’d even known Eddie, and her partner was hurt. 

“Stop.” Eddie tugged Buck’s hand, forcing him closer. “Don’t do that.” Buck couldn’t even pretend he didn’t know what Eddie was talking about, so he hummed noncommittally.  

“Chris?” Buck appreciated the shift. “With Pepa and your abuela.” It had taken Buck promising to call with updates to convince abuela she didn’t need to come, that Eddie was fine. 

“The rest of the 118?” Eddie asked, eyes drooping but fighting to stay awake.

“Fine. They’re all fine. Bobby wanted me to call him when you woke up. Go back to sleep so I can.” Pulling his hand out of Eddie’s he gently lay it on the other man’s cheek, thumb moving over his cheek, careful of the cuts and bruises on his face. 

Eddie blinked slower and slower before finally his eyes stayed closed and his breathing evened out again. For a moment, Buck stayed, thumb moving along Eddie’s cheek before he pushed himself up. Pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s temple, he slipped out of the room. He owed abuela an update and he wanted to talk to Chris too. Then he’d call Bobby to let him know Eddie had been awake. And now that some of his fear had settled, he’d go up and see Bosko. 

[lppsidefics]

Meihem Fanfic: Victim Parallel

Chapter 05: Miles behind

><><><><

Officer Morrison zoomed passed vehicles on the highway, his motorbike easily threading through traffic. Inside his helmet, a robotic sound repeated until he pressed a small button on the ear protecter.

“This is Officer John Morrison. I’m in pursuit of the punks that orchestrated the robbery at Valiant Marks…and Ana… They’ve got a girl with them.”

“A hostage?” Officer Ana concluded, bringing her hand up over the ear piece, internally praying she’d simply misunderstood him.

“Affirmative.” He replied, switching lanes to pass a slow moving storage truck. “They’ve stolen an emergency vehicle, and entered the ramp going westbound out of town.”

Clicking the computer monitor awake, Ana attempted to locate Officer Morrison via G.P.S. “Do you have eyes on the fugitives?”

“I’m on their tale, but they’re fleeing fast…” Officer Morrison slipped his bike between two cars, thrusting forward once clear of the traffic. “I’m gonna need a barricade at the merger onto Highway 7, and every exit leading up to it.”

“Understood, but John…” Ana had already begun the data input as she voiced her concerns. “…I doubt another barricade is going to stop them, they’ve plowed through everything we’ve thrown at them so far. Now that they have a hostage, do you really think we should be giving them another wall to demolish?”

“I’m hoping I can get to them before they reach that point, but we can’t let them get away again.” He insisted, as the target vehicle sped further ahead.

With a moment of radio silence, the female officer sighed. “Alright, all other dispatched units have been informed, they should be moving in on your location now.”

“Thank’s Ana.” John said, a smile cracking on his face despite the circumstances, but then his features stoned again as the vehicle vanished over the other side of a steep incline. “Damnit. Those punks are really booking it. Can you get me a leg up?”

“Give me a moment…” Ana clicked away at the keys, and the maps of transit routes and highway lines flashed in her eyes as she scoured for a possible short cut. “Okay, go ahead and take the left most exit.”

“The exit?” John questioned, but when he spotted the suggested ramp, he did as he was told, following the single lane into another crowded highway.

“You need to get three lanes over to your left now.” She directed, but the road was congested and there was little room for such a maneuver. “Do it now, John!”

When Ana demanded him, Officer Morrison abruptly weaved across the lanes, dangerously cutting off another driver in the process, and the cars sang a harmony of angry honks. But he made it to the other side, and up another ramp he went.

The road bent and curved like a rainbow, with cement boarders on either side. This upper lane was clear of traffic and far above the packed side streets. He revved the throttle, and zipped faster on the speedy motorbike, before connecting with the westbound highway again from the right side.

He could see the ambulance again, bullet holes pathed across it’s back wall and door still swinging wildly. Officer Morrison chuckled quietly, before swerving into the next lane and gaining speed.

Oblivious of the cycle closing in from behind, the ambulance careened dangerously forward. The Shark didn’t even bother to maneuver around the cars that blocked the path, only powering through the traffic, causing other drivers to swerve out of the way.

Actually, the cars seemed to part in anticipation of their approach, perhaps because it was an emergency vehicle, and unaware that it had been commandeered and gone rogue.

In the trailer, metal tools and other things needed for medical purposes, jingled and clattered in the drawers beneath the bed. Mei-ling desperately clung to the hand rest, nails digging into the plastic pleather, as the vehicle reached eighty- ninty- one hundred miles per hour, and the force of escalation pressed her backward.

An ambulance wasn’t really made for derby like conditions, and it’s suspension jittered on every bump. Legs jiggling like noodles, and stomach churned in knots, Mei’s eyes shut with nausea as she was bounced in place upon the uncomfortably stiff seat.

The Scarecrow on the other hand, stood solidly at the back exit, one hand firmly bracing the doorway and the other on his holstered gun. He leaned into the force like a professional surfer, riding the road like a wild wave.

Barely able to see the man through her jostling glasses, Mei watched him bend and brace over every bump. Then she was tossed up, and came right back down onto the hard pull down seat, leaving her rump sore and tingling with pain. She made a pathetic whimpering sound, and clapped a hand over her lips.

His attention shifted to her, tilting his masked face down to meet her stare, and she shrank away. The Scarecrow seemed to be inspecting her appearance, and then made a bubbly giggle at her disheveled state.

Mei’s brows furrowed and her face flushed with embarrassment, but she could only continue to sit limply as the vehicle shimmied about. Turning away from the masked man didn’t deter his gaze though, as he simply stared at her jiggling body in amusement.

Then there was a noise emanating from the distance behind the speeding ambulance. It was the prolonged purring of an electric engine, and Mei spun back around toward the noise, her hand pushing her glasses up as she peered beyond the Scarecrows body.

A motorcycle was gaining on them, and the man riding it was wearing a black helmet, but the bright blue long coat was unmistakable. It was the Policeman from the hospital, Mei realized with an elated smile, and with some confusion, the Scarecrow followed her gaze.

“Wot? This bloke again?” He sneered, before digging into the pack on his hip and retrieving a frisbee like disk. Crouching at the door, the Scarecrow waited for the Officer to speed up closer to the back of the trailer. “G’day.” He greeted cheerfully.

“Pull over!” Officer Morrison commanded, and the criminal just tilted his head to the side, as if considering it.

“Mmmm… No thanks mate.” He said, and then casually tossed the disk like thing out the back, which then clung to the front fender of the bike. John’s attention snapped to it, trying to quickly discern it’s purpose, but before he could do anything to remove the disk, the Scarecrow revealed a detonator in his other hand. “G’bye.”

The bike veered a head and out of sight, but when the Scarecrow pressed his thumb into the tiny red button, there was a blast, and the wreckage of what was left of the motorcycle crashed and twisted into the cars behind them.

Traffic squealed and swerved to avoid the damaged bike, but a heavier truck that couldn’t turn as abruptly, crushed it beneath it’s large tires, and snapped bits of plastic went flying across the roads.

“No!” Mei screeched, thrusting out of her seat and reaching for the doorframe, but once again, the Scarecrow stood between her and the exit.

Barring the open door with his flesh arm, he loomed over her, the stitched smile of his mask hiding his true expression. Mei searched the landscape for the Officer, but the bike was too far away for her to see it in clarity anymore, and hot tears burned the edges of her eyes.

She shot the Scarecrow a glare, her head painfully turned upward to stare into his masked eyes. “You!” Mei-ling screamed, and his shoulders hunched in surprise, as if he’d been called out by a teacher on the school playground.

“Nǐ zhè guàiwù! Nǐ shāle tā!” She thrashed her arms at the man, not really aiming her hits but simply swinging blindly at his chest. It didn’t hurt him, as her dainty fists struck his tight muscles, but the frantic-ness of her motion was irritating.

“Oi sheila!” He grabbed her by the wrists, preventing her from attacking anymore, and stretched her arms out above her. He then lowered his head to her eye level, with a curious little tilt to the right. “What’s gat’n inta you all-a’sudden?”

With her hands being forcefully held helpless, Mei kicked at his shin, though it felt so wrong to do. The Scarecrow hissed through his teeth, releasing her and clenching his fists in pain.

She almost immediately apologized, but the argument was interrupted by the sounds of rumbling on the roof above them. With a frustrated groan, the Scarecrow drew his weapon again, and Mei flinched in place.

But, then the man gave her an expressive shot of a flesh finger gun. “Hold that thought miss, this’ll just take’a tick.” With that, he anchored his metal hand onto the roof of the vehicle, and impressively lifted himself up on over the top.

Rising to stand, the Scarecrow braced into the hard winds that lashed against him. His eyes locked with Officer Morrison’s, who’d recklessly leapt onto the side of the ambulance before the bike exploded.

The Officer brought his fists up in a brawlers stance, shifting his boots to firm his balance, and the Scarecrow plucked a homemade grenade from his hip pack.

“Ya know… I’m getti’n re~eal tired of blow’n ya up mate.”

Mei had watched in horror as the criminal disappeared beyond the open door of the moving vehicle, and the sounds from above brought her no ease. There was stomping of boot against metal, and then the clank of the Scarecrow’s prosthetic, but then another sound caught her very thinly spread attention.

The Shark was wheezing, gruff and sickly gasps from behind his mask. Grabbing onto the back of the chair, Mei hesitantly peeked over the man’s shoulder. Her eyes stayed on the side of his mask, forcing herself not to look at the road ahead, and she gulped when asking, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer at first, only taking another deep scratchy breath, but then the Shark groaned something that actually sounded like a word. “Nǐ shuō- What?” Mei couldn’t quite make out what he’d said through the thick gravelly voice, and he repeated the word with much more aggression.

“Morphine!”

“Oh, o-okay.” This time she understood, and his agitation jolted her nerves into a scramble, yanking out drawers and throwing open small tin boxes, searching for a vile somewhere in the many storage compartments. Mei wasn’t sure if she should be obeying the man’s obscure demands, but she didn’t really feel she had a choice.

Trapped in a small space, speeding down an open highway, with men who were clearly dangerous, and she was so scared, that her instinct to help was overpowering all other logical thoughts. She knew what she should have been doing, she should be trying to escape, she should have run when the Shark yelled at her in the street, she should have struggled harder when the Scarecrow grabbed hers she should have just- found it!

Taking up a tiny bottle labeled ‘Morphine’ on the paper sticker, Mei prepared a syringe. Volunteer work at the hospital had taught her about these sorts of things, injections were simple enough, just mortifying to preform. She pierced the vile and started to extract the medicine, pausing for a moment to rethink her actions,

With another impatient gurgled demand from the Shark, Mei-ling withdrew the needle and returned to the man. “Nǎlǐ? Wh-where should I?” She stuttered, and he made a stabbing motion with two thick fingers into his shoulder.

Again gulping back her fear, Mei injected the syringe into the Shark’s neck, aiming for the small slip of skin visible between his jacket and his mask. As the liquid entered his blood stream, the man gave a relieved sigh, and his breathing seemed to steady again.

Removing the needle, Mei rubbed the spot with her feather like fingers, a habit from having to inject children with insulin, and the soothing motion relaxed the muscles there. Her comforts were interrupted though, as the sounds from above became more worrying.

Guns fired, something hit the roof hard, and then with the final blow of a smokey blast, Officer Morrison tumbled off the top of the car, being left to lay in a heap on the mostly empty road behind them.

The Scarecrow crouched at the back of the vehicle, laughing at his fallen enemy. “Oi! An’ by tha way! I lied!” He called out with a prosthetic hand cupped at his mouth. Then he stood tall with his hands on either hip, and the back of his mask bent against the force of the wind. “I never get tired of blow’n things up…”

Satisfied with himself, the Scarecrow swung back in the open door like he’d just been playing in a tree house, and he giggled dementedly before dropping into the passenger seat beside the Shark driver.

With a giddy sigh, the Scarecrow rested his hands behind his head and wiggled comfortably in the seat. “I think that’ll be tha last’a him this time, but just in case, let’s put’a few behind us mate.”

The Shark didn’t reply as usual, and Mei who was still standing directly behind the drivers seat, looked over her shoulder at the fallen Officer she could no longer see in the distance.

[cinncmonrolls]

[ January 1st, 2021, after New Year’s Eve party - hospital. ]

@bxllewvtch​

It was one thing to wake up with garbled wires to the brain followed by a discombobulation that could make one feel like a stomped peanut, and another when doing it was also accompanied by the sensation of numbness on one half of their face. Those were the words to construe what the brunette had been feeling ever since she lost consciouness at that — party, of sorts, a fragment she had yet to recall in the entirety, for all the ruckus that had ensued — devouring with partially muddled state when she was later told the austere damage to her right eye and the high odds of her no longer being able to grasp its vision anymore. It had been hours since, the morning dusk whirling into another evening and whilst she was able to comprehend more about the situation, it was still taking awhile for her to fully assess what it meant to her bodily functions. Refusing to discuss more about yet another surgery in the meanwhile, she chose to remain in her room while the rest of her wounds were recovering, solely accepting family members to glimpse inside, mostly her spouse to check in with their children at home every now and then, as well as the injuries that the redhead might have received. Pressure bandage wrapped from her forehead down to her non-functioning eye, she sat on the side of her bed, back against the door as the windows flaunted the mystifying town — sirens continued to echo in the distance and she grit her teeth, age-old ire brewing upon the reminders of the event, the perils that place could bring. She was relieved to know Anabelle was dealt with less gruesome turns of events, but how long would it take before the hazard continued to lap and spread their territories? ( and you’re becoming more and more broken too — one decaying screw, grasping those cracked pieces from falling apart ) Her lull was interrupted when the door opened, and Heather stiffened slightly, struggling to address who it was with just a tilt with her blind side, so she had to turn, had to look without anything to see for a moment too long. “Ana?” She paused, analyzing the footsteps, any possible hints that it was in fact her wife. “Hey. Did you check on the kids? Come sit here. They said I could go home soon once my bruises are all healed up.” She waited then, until she heard and felt a plop on the cushion, smell the redhead’s fragrance. The brunette turned to the other side, seemingly looking for something else, a rustle of plastic bag sounded and then she slipped out a posy of peonies; she had a present at home, prepared days ago before the cataclysm, but she knew that her spouse much preferred less sour circumstances when it came to her birthday. Still she wanted to offer a small gesture in the meantime. “Someone from the shop came to visit earlier so I thought I could request somethin’ extra to bring while we were at it. Happy birthday, darling.” 

[amphetameme-queen-blog]

If you slip up...

Here’s my master list of how to take care of yourself after a b/p, stay strong my lovelies!

1. Physical Damage Control

Teeth -

It's usually a warning sign to have bad teeth as someone less than seventy years old. It's a 'classic' symptom of bulimia and I've heard a lot of (rookies) swear by brushing their teeth. DON'T FUCKIN DO IT MAN. I used to b/p anywhere between three to ten times a day at my worst, but I always kept a handy supply of TUMS or antacids on me. Your teeth become weakened when you b/p in the first place, so the abrasiveness of toothbrush bristles tends to wear down on your enamel. I never brushed my teeth after I would purge, and I've been b/p'ing on and off for about four years now. Like I said - ten times a day at the worst. I went to the dentist last month and they said that my teeth were like, perfect. It was actually shocking. Thank god for chemistry I suppose.

So how does it work? Well, the calcium carbonate (the main ingredient of TUMS) neutralizes the hydrochloric acid (stomach acid) on our teeth like it would in our stomach. It's basically a high school chemistry equation.

CaCO3+ HCl -> CaCl2 + CO2 + H2O.

The symptoms you'll get (after an antacid) is basically just burping up the CO2 lol. It's much more preferable to tooth decay, might I say. OH and if you don't have any antacids on you, baking soda works in the same way. Just put a teaspoon of baking soda into water, swish it around your mouth, and spit it out. It doesn't taste great, but you could probably mix it with a little alcohol-free toothpaste so it tastes more minty. I highly recommend against swallowing baking soda because it will most likely irritate your stomach and make you even more nauseous, and not in an emetic way. (Ana butterflies don't get any stupid ideas it's not gonna work like you think). Swallowing baking soda just makes you kind of uncomfortable, really.

Y'all need to floss too. I sound like I've got a major stick up my ass, because who actually flosses flossing is for old people and l0zers fuck that shit. Nope. Flossing once before you go to bed helps your teeth against yellowing, in my experience. I wouldn’t recommend flossing post-purge as your gums tend to be much more sensitive. ‘Cuz who’s trynna get gingivitis yeah no one.

Sinuses -

​Remember that time you (regrettably) b/p’d on rice? And you felt that rice grain up there and took a napkin and blew fuckin snot rice into your napkin, like the sexy beast you are?

Yeah I remember that too.

It’s pretty apparent that stomach acid anywhere besides your stomach is a recipe for havoc. The stomach acid eats away at the mucous membranes in your nose, leading to constant sniffling, loss of smell, and chronic sinus infections. Even if you don't feel irritation in your nose immediately following a b/p, the acid can still lead to damage.

So how do you remedy this?

From my experience, the Neti-Pot saline rinse is the best bet. You can use the one that looks like a tea kettle or the one that's a squeezy bottle - both do the same thing. I have the squeezy bottle and it's really simple to use. You add water up to the fill line

And then you pour the saline packet into the bottle and mix thoroughly (just shake the bottle). Be sure to use FILTERED DRINKING WATER because tap water often contains heavy metals like copper or iron, which isn't good for your nose. Then put the plastic bottle with the saline-water solution into the microwave for approximately 35 seconds, and be careful to make sure it isn't too hot. Make sure it's just slightly warm and then screw the cap on tightly. Lean over a sink and gently squeeze the bottle into one nostril until the water comes out the other. Don't worry, it doesn't provoke the dreaded “oh god there's water in my nose I feel like I'm drowning” feeling. Your sinuses are connected and because the water is warm (like body temperature) it won't come as a shock to your body. Repeat the process on both nostrils until the bottle is done.

I've had actual chunks of food come out of my nose before, and I'm like, “shit, that would have just been hangin out in my nose the entire time?” So it's really important for preventing sinus infections or acid damage to the nasal cavity.

​Electrolyte Imbalances -

​If I had a dollar for the amount of times I've seen THAT PICTURE of the dead bulimic girl I would be richer than Donald Trump. Yeah, she died from gastric rupture blah blah blah but I always see blogs referencing that picture with the danger of heart failure and death in bulimics.

Despite how frequently I used to purge, I'm not dead yet! Hurray I guess! I used to get serious heart palpitations after a long day of purging, but I could mitigate some of those side effects with proper hydration and electrolyte drinks.

I ain't talkin no purple Gatorade shit either. Gatorade isn't as hydrating as one would think. It's made for athletes who are working out and sweating, and releasing salt through their skin. Gatorade replenishes the sodium and sugar, but if you're not working out/sweating a lot, the extra sodium could cause water retention *panics* The best option for electrolyte-replenishing is coconut water, in my opinion. It's naturally high in potassium, which is the principle electrolyte lost by vomiting. Pedialyte takes a close second for hydration because it's designed to replenish electrolytes, like if you have the flu or something. You can buy Pedialyte over the counter at most (American) pharmacies.

Electrolytes are important in muscle contraction, which includes the heart. This is why many bulimics die from heart attacks

Of course, the best way to get potassium is through potassium-rich foods. Some examples:

Avocado

Acorn squash

Spinach

Sweet potato

Wild-caught salmon

Dried apricots

Pomegranate

Coconut water

White beans

Banana

Source: Dr. Axe

Y'all also gotta be mindful of your magnesium too. Magnesium is lost (most notably) through diarrhea and thus laxative abuse. Here's how to remember the electrolytes:

Potassium is lost through Purging and Magnesium is lost by taking Mega Shits.

I'm laughing bahahah but I shouldn't be because the magnesium thing is no joke.

2. Psychological Damage Control

The Post Purge Freakout-

​Quit playin. You know what I’m talkin’ about, that anxiety like fuck fuck fuck what did I just do I’m a worthless human I deserve to-

Stop.

These thoughts seem real, like ground-breaking realizations that affirm your worthlessness and desire to continue hurting yourself with ED behaviors. Diffusing these thoughts feels like the hardest thing to do in the moment, of course, but self-care is one of the most important factors in preventing another episode. I’m not trying to be some over-simplifying, self-righteous therapist who thinks that mindfulness is the only way out ‘it’s all about positive self talk, honey!’ Nah fam, anyone who’s dealt with the vicious cycle of bulimia knows it’s not that fuckin’ easy, and so I’m not trying to sugarcoat the fact that post-b/p self-care can be really goddamn difficult.

The best post-b/p self care I’ve implemented is putting on cozy pajamas (if you’re at home) and just taking a five minute break from what you’re doing to listen to music, draw/write, or go on a short walk. Let yourself feel comfy and secure, like being wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket. Give yourself just five minutes to collect your feelings, and realize that a past slip-up can’t determine the future. Because that’s all it is - in the past. What’s in the past is done, and no amount of hateful self talk or self-injury will change that. But what you do in the present is what matters. Think about it as a fork in the road -

“Okay, so I just binged and purged, I have urges to hurt myself or compensate for what I just did, but what will happen if I don’t do either of those things?”

Nothing.

You might panic. You might cry. Let the tears come, if you are in a safe place where you feel you can do so. We know that the day might have sucked, but time stops for no one. The next thing you know, it’s the next morning. The sun is shining through your window, you are alive and your body is resilient. BOI IT’S A NEW FUCKIN DAY! YESTERDAY WAS A CAN OF SHIT, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, TODAY DOESN’T HAVE TO BE. The important thing is that you lived through those horrible feelings, and you’ll remember that. You’re stronger, more resilient, and persistent than you think. You don’t even have to be in recovery to apply this. That’s not what I’m getting at. If you’re pursuing a goal, whether it be eating at regular intervals or meeting a certain calorie limit, there are going to be times you might mess up. And good god, it is absolutely okay.

Imagine yourself going to bed the next night, realizing that you had your first binge free, purge free day since you could remember. Knowing that you fought your urge to b/p will help you remember that next time, “hey, I’m stronger than my urges.”

I guess what I’m emphasizing here is self-forgiveness. I know a lot of people’s ED’s are driven by self-hatred and you’re all such beautiful human beings who deserve to love yourself as others love you. Wow. That got really deep real fast. But hey, I’ve been through it all.

~

Yo. I'm gonna add more to this, but only if people are interested in my ED-related writing. I'm actually working on a blog right now but I figured I might as well post some stuff here for feedback. PLEASE comment I would love to hear from you guys. 'Do I write like a sappy self-help book'? 'Is it relatable and/or helpful?' Let me know in a comment or DM what you're feelin about it. Sending hugs!

[futurerichian]

Accidents Happen

Title: Accidents Happen

Word Count: 2,201

Written By: J

Member: Jeon Jungkook (Jungkook)

Rated: 🌹M/NSFW 🌹

-JUNGKOOK'S POV-

The quiet air around me was soothing enough to inspire everything about this song. It gave me time to think. Gave me a clear head. The song title quickly popped into my head and I write it down.

"Begin..." I say out loud and echo my thoughts. My pocket vibrated, kicking me off my very long stream of consciousness.

💙🙄ANA MONTANA🙄💙: STACIIIEEEE! I just got some new lingerie from pink!!! Check it ☺️

💙🙄ANA MONTANA🙄💙: attachment.jpg

She can't seriously think I'm her sister right? She did read the name first? I tap the notification bar and I swear I almost choked on nonexistent water. I flip my phone down onto the desk and walk away. What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?! SHE JUST SENT A FUCKING NUDE!!?! WHAT? THE? FUCK?

🙃💀JUNGSHOOK💀🙃: you're not serious right?

💙🙄ANA MONTANA🙄💙: you don't like it? You love pink Stacie?

🙃💀JUNGSHOOK💀🙃: I like it but I'm not Stacie....

She took a minute to respond. Hopefully, she realized what just happened.

💙🙄ANA MONTANA🙄💙: OMGOMGOMGOMG! KOOKIE IM SO SOSORRY! THOUGHT YOU WERE MY SISTER! I DIDNT CHECK THE NAME! OMGOMGOMG!

This is probably gonna be so bad when I go over there later.

🙃💀JUNGSHOOK💀🙃: it's fine 😅 it's just gonna be messing with me for a few days.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later at Ana's

-ANA'S POV-

It's been three hours since the little...nude... situation happened and I'mI'm still shaking. I've done everything I usually do to calm down but it's not working. Listen to music? Nope. Read a book? No. Draw for an actual hour straight? Not that either. Sit on my bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplate my every life decision ever made? Nope. NOTHING HELPS! If I know him well enough he'll probably tease me about it when he gets here. My phone vibrated in my lap while I listened to his latest song with the boys. Speaking of the devil.

🙃💀JUNGSHOOK💀🙃: I'm outside. Can I come in? It's cold?

I turn off my music and rush to the door. He's standing there shivering and almost blue. He bombards me with a hug as soon as I open the door. He picks me up and pushes us through the door. Slamming it behind us.

"Why do you have on a spring jacket, In the winter?" He doesn't answer. Running upstairs and in my room. He finally puts me down. Kicking his shoes off and jumping on my bed and under the covers. "So are you gonna answer my question sir freeze a lot?" He just glares at me while checking me out.

"You literally have on short shorts, socks, and a sweater. You can't talk." He tried to say without messing up. I just huff a laugh through my nose.

"I'm home. It's almost summer in here. You, on the other hand, are trying to intentionally get hypothermia." I walk over to him and hug him. He's freezing. I can hear the chatter from his teeth. I pull away and turn the tv on.

"I'll be right back, ok? I'm gonna make you some hot chocolate and bring you another blanket." I try to get up but he stops me. Snaking his arm around my waist.

"You...you don't have to go. Just stay here I'll be fine. You're warm enough." He lays his head on my shoulder. His lips graze my neck, his breath fanning me. I tense up slightly as he pulls me onto his lap. I look up to the ceiling.

"Your health is more important than me being warm. I'll go make you some hot cocoa. That'll warm you up." He lifts his head up. I can see him lick his lips from my peripheral vision. I gulp quietly.

"You know what'll really warm me up? Even better than that drink?" His hands move around to my hips. One hand trailing down my thigh.

"What?" I question at barely a whisper.

"You." He whispered in my ear before placing a warm kiss there. I scrambled to get off of him and off the bed.

"What? What did I say? Did I say something wrong?" He pulls the blanket off of him.

"Are you insinuating that you want to....oh, my God." I start to freak out. I can't even finish my sentence.

"Yes! I thought you did too. You couldn't have possibly thought I was Stacie. You sent me that on purpose." He points at me accusingly. He gets up and walks to me. Rubbing his hands down my arms. "You know I like you right?"

"You..you like me?" He just nods his head at me.

"And I know you like me too. You do don't you?" I try to answer him but I don't trust my voice. So I respond with a nod.

"Ok so then why is it a problem that I want to have sex with you?"

"It's not it's just weird! I mean your m- " he cut me off with a kiss. Hand cupping my face. I'm shocked at first. Then I give in. His hand moves down to my neck, pulling me closer. He pulls away out of breath.

"Why don't you...go hop on the bed? I'm taller than you and I want to do this right." I look up to him. His breathing is slightly labored and his eyes are closed. I realized that he must've been a bit uncomfortable. I smile shyly and walk past him to get back on the bed. He climbs on top of me with no words. Stopping to wrap my legs around his waist. Pulling my hips into his. He dips his head to the crook of my neck and starts placing light kisses there. I bit my lip and wrap my arms around his neck. A small groan slipping out as he bites my neck. He slowly starts to trail his hand under my shirt and up my chest. He bites me again. Harder than last time.

"You're doing this on purpose. I know you are." He whispered before biting my bottom lip. He then slides his free hand down into my shorts. And over my unclothed center. He sighs before pulling away.

"I can't believe we're doing this. I've been wanting to do this for so long." He lifts my shirt off of me before repeating the action to himself.  He kissed me again then just stared at me. I start to feel just a bit self-conscious.

"What?" I feel the red rush to my cheeks. He must've sensed my uneasiness and kissed my forehead.

"Nothing. You're beautiful. Absolutely stunning." He kisses all over my face. Making me giggle. I feel him smile too as he moves down my jaw and neck. He makes his way down my chest. Leaving bites here and there. Taking one nipple in between his lips, sucking lightly. He grabs the other, swiping the unoccupied nub back and forth. Trying to give it just as much attention. He continues his journey downward. Stopping at my waistband. Pulling back to take off my shorts, he spreads my legs. Kissing my inner thighs and getting off the bed.

"What? What happened?" I try to sit up but he grabs my ankles before I can. He tugs me to the edge in front of him. Getting on his knees he kissed up my thighs again. Spreading my legs, he licks a bold stripe up my center slowly.

"Oh my gosh." I whimper out. He wraps his lips around my clit, sucking in lightly. Running his tongue over me again. My chest concaves at the feeling. he does it again, flicking my clit with the tip of his tongue. I lose my breath, quietly saying his name. he looks up at me with a smirk. he stops and he just breaths over me.

"what was that?" he asks taunting me. he licks me again when I don't respond to him.

"Pardon?." he flicks my clit again. I sigh out of pleasure. he runs his hand up the inside of my thigh before slipping his middle finger into me. slow and teasingly. heart racing. he sucks at my clit, making me call out his name,

"Jungkook..." he hums against me with a smirk. he pulls back taking a breath. still pumping his finger in and out of me.

"There we Go," he says before diving back in and licking my clit furiously, making me shake with pleasure. he slowly added his ring finger. with his tongue sticking only to my clit, the build-up was intense. I pushed myself away from him, but his hand had a tight hold on my thigh and kept me there, my clit never leaving his mouth.

"JUNGKOOK !" I scream as I reach my high, reaching down to grab onto his hair. he moans onto me causing shivers up my spine.  he rides out my high but doesn't stop. he continues working at my clit.

"Oh my god." I gasp out when he slips half of his index finger into me. I start to grind against his mouth and fingers. he pumps his fingers quickly, curling his fingers. he hits that one spot making me scream, gripping his hair tighter.

"you like that?" he growls against my core.

"yes," I moan pornographically. he curls his fingers rhythmically, thrusting roughly into me as he coaxes me to cum. as I near my orgasm, he stops, rubbing his fingertips directly on my g-spot. I groan as I let go all over his face once again, back arched at a usually painful angle. he backs up taking in the damage he's done. I close my legs. I lay there frozen, on a cloud. it's quiet for about 15 seconds before he climbs on top of me saying,

"can you give me one more baby? you did so good for me. give me one more." he kisses my neck roughly before ridding himself of his pants and boxers. "give me one more," he whispers.

"okay.....okay," I say catching my breath.

"good girl." he pushes my legs apart once more before lining himself up with me.

"are you on the pill?" I nod.

"use your words," he says with his eyes closed, kissing down my shoulder. Gentle in his movement.

"yes," I whisper out using the only breath I had.

"Okay." As he pushes in, he captures my lips, biting mine instead of his own. his hips move against mine, both of us moaning in unison. he pulls nearly all the way out before thrusting deep inside. his pace speeds up he gets closer and closer. reaching down, he rubs my clit quickly.

"I'm so close, baby," he growls in my ear.

"Cum for me, please, baby" I tilt my head back. He speeds up, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"let go for me." he moans. He hits my g-spot perfectly, pushing me over the edge. I scream out his name, gripping his biceps as he rides out my orgasm, finally reaching his own. he fills me up. my back arched and our chests touching. he stays there for a second before pulling out and hopping off the bed. he looks down at my body, stopping at my center.

"I should clean you up," he whispers. before I can respond he's on his knees again. he dips his tongue in me, tasting our cum mixed together. he drags it up to my clit and the swirls his tongue around it. he envelopes his lips around it and sucks, hollowing his cheeks.

"Look at me, Princess. it's rude not to." he teases, forcing me to open my eyes. I tangle my hands in his hair as he tongue fucks me, going as deep as he can. the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against my g-spot, making me whimper and squirm against him. he holds my hips in place, not letting me move. he finally looks up at me, making eye contact as my fourth orgasm intensifies it. I see the lust in his eyes, caused by my moans and the hair pulling

He laps at me, not missing anything. "Why haven't we done this before?." he whispers, pecking my hypersensitive clit once before coming up. he kisses up my body, stopping at my lips. I taste myself on his tongue as he deepens the kiss. he lays on top of me for what seems like hours, In reality only a few minutes.

"That...That was.....great." I manage to say through my gasps. He kisses me again before laying down beside me.

"Ana." He calls out to me. I turn to look at him. He looks serious through his dazed expression.

"Yes?"

"I actually really do like you. I didn't just say that to get in bed with you. I've been wanting to tell you that for a while. We don't have to talk about it now but I do want to talk." I feel myself smile. I start to drift off.

"That's fine with me kookie." I scoot closer to him and lay on his chest. "Let's just sleep for now."

"Alright." He kissed my forehead again. "I love you, Ana."

"I love you too."

- J 

[torn-and-frayed]

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Tragedy Strikes

Word Count: 3148

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Some angst

A/N: Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine. This part was written for 3 different challenges:

Ana’s PJO Challenge: Quote in bold in the fic (modified a bit) 

Karina’s Season’s of Love Challenge Prompt: Frostbite

and Taylor’s Favorite Seasons Gif Challenge

Feedback and Constructive Criticism Always Appreciated

Series Masterlist 

“Jensen, you look like absolute crap. You shouldn’t be filming today.” You pressed your lips to his forehead, despite his grumbling. “And you’re really warm. I think you have a fever.” Jensen had been sick for days and getting progressively worse, but he refused to slow down for even just a day to rest. He was driving you crazy.

 “Can’t.” He murmured, sounding even more congested than just hours ago when you went to sleep. “If I don’t film it slows production down and throws everything off.” He wasn’t really wrong. This episode was very heavy on your character and Dean. You’d both had to travel over an hour every day to a place north of Vancouver to shoot on location in the snow.

 “Then at least drink some coffee and take some medicine.” You sighed, grabbing a bottle of medicine off the shelf. “What’ll it be? Pumpkin spice or peppermint mocha, fancypants?”

 “Shut up.” He glared at you, a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t help but break into laughter. “Whatever you’re drinkin�� I guess.”

 “So, peppermint.” You pursed your lips and nodded, moving to make him a travel cup. “I’m really glad you’re embracing your inner fancy coffee snob, you know? It’s really endearing. I still really wish you’d stay home today. We could just do my coverage or something. We could figure it out.” You moved to rest your hand on his face and he really was way too warm and pale.

 “I’m OK. I Promise.” Jensen smiled although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come on, Clif is probably already waiting outside with Jared and Misha.” You made sure you had everything, including enough medicine for Jensen in your bag before you left with a heavy sigh, knowing full well he was just making himself worse.

 The ride to the location shoot was long enough that it gave Jensen time to rest and he fell asleep with his head on your shoulder about 5 minutes away from your apartment while you kept running your fingers through his hair. Jared and Misha could tell he was sick enough they didn’t even try to fuck with him. “We could’ve figured something out and he could’ve stayed home today.” Jared spoke low from the front seat. “You’re both gonna be out in the snow all day. He’s just gonna get worse.”

 “That’s what I said this morning. He’s a jackass he doesn’t listen.” You sighed. “I’m gonna have the doctor take a look at him on set when we get some down time.” You didn’t miss the small smirk and shake of his head from Jared. “What?”

 “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just you, acting like so wifely already.” You shoved your hand over Jensen’s ear, hoping he hadn’t heard that. His other ear was pressed firmly against your shoulder.

 “Dude.” You hissed at Jared. “Shut up. We’re not – I’m not ready for that yet.” Your stuttering gave you away and you could feel both Jared’s and Misha’s eyes on you, knowing you were full of shit. The truth was you were more than ready for Jensen to propose to you, but he hadn’t, so obviously he wasn’t ready, and you didn’t want to rush him. What you didn’t know was Jensen had a ring hidden away, but he was scared to ask you to marry him, afraid that you weren’t ready and he’d chase you away.

  “We’re here.” Clif broke up your conversation, parking the SUV in the lot with the rest of the crew’s cars. “Now leave Y/N alone, please.”

 “Thanks, Clif.” You smiled indignantly back at Jared then turned your attention to Jensen, shaking him gently. “Jens, hey. We’re here.” When all he did was grumble and rub his face further against your shoulder, you decided on a different tactic. You leaned down, pressing your lips gently against his. His eyes fluttered softly until he realized you were kissing him and he pulled back in protest.

 “You’re gonna get sick.” He grumbled and you shrugged your shoulders with a smile.

 “Then you can take care of me. We share a bed. I’m gonna get sick anyway.” You pecked his lips again and this time he reciprocated, giving in to your very sound logic. “Come on, sicko. Let’s get this done so we can get you home and medicated and tucked into bed where you belong.”

 The two of you slid out of the SUV and made your way in the opposite direction of Jared and Misha to film.

 It took several hours of filming in frigid, snowy conditions but you were finally able to get Jensen seen the doctor who said he had walking pneumonia. He still refused to go home, though. He insisted he would tough it out for the rest of the day and then see how he felt tomorrow before making any major decisions. You sighed in defeat, deciding to quit arguing when you’d never win.

 You both made your way back to the set, trudging through the snow drifts to get there. “It’s fucking freezing. And now it’s getting dark.” You complained, rubbing your hands together and leaning into Jensen’s feverishly warm body to get warm. “Could they have picked a colder day?” Snow stuck to the pieces of your hair under your beanie and your hood and you tried to shake the flakes away, succeeding only in making them stick to your already frigid face.

 “I’m sure they could’ve.” Jensen chuckled. “At least we’re spending most of the night in the car.”

 “Jensen, Y/N.” Phil approached and you both looked up, wondering why he was practically running through the snow to you. “There’s a storm rolling in, we wanna try to wrap your scenes before it gets here. We’re gonna have you both drive out ahead of us in the Impala with the camera attached just to get some driving scenes from you two and we’ll follow you out in a few.”

 “Got it.” Jensen nodded and laced his gloved fingers with yours, leading you to the Impala and opening your door for you. You practically dove inside to the warmth and shed your winter jacket and gloves, down to your character’s normal clothes. Jensen took his place in the driver’s side and took off driving down the snow covered back roads.

 The snow had started to fall a little harder as you drove further away and the car was sliding despite Jensen’s driving skills, making you nervous. The crew was nowhere in sight yet and you were starting to worry that the storm was rushing in faster than anticipated. “Are you OK?” Jensen questioned. “You look like you might throw up.”

 “Me? I’m fine. I’m just worried we’re not – “ A scream erupted from your throat before you could finish your sentence, the Impala hit a patch of black ice that sent it spinning across the road. Jensen tried hard to save it, but the entire road was a sheet of ice and there was nothing he could do but let it play out however it was supposed to. The Impala spun into a nearby ditch, the front end crashing hard into a tree.

 “Y/N? Hey!” Jensen grabbed you across the seat, checking you for injuries.

 “I’m OK.” You nodded, checking him over for the same thing, finding him to be just fine. “Car’s not.” There was smoke coming from the hood; no way was it in any condition to drive back.

 “Shit.” Jensen muttered and pulled your jackets, hats, and gloves from the back seat, handing you yours. You shimmied into them and slid across the seat, huddling with Jensen for warmth. It was already starting to get cold inside the Impala, the wind outside had picked up considerably and with no heat inside anymore it was only a matter of time before it started freezing inside. He dug inside his pockets, pulling out his phone. “Fuck. It’s dead. Do you have yours?”

 “Yeah, I should.” You shifted away, fumbling through your pockets. Panic started to overtake you when all your pockets came up empty. “Oh no.”

 “What?”

 “I think I left it back in the doctor’s trailer when we got you checked out.” Tears started to burn in your eyes and Jensen pulled you back against his chest, kissing your temple. “They’ll never find us out here. They might not be coming anymore since the storm picked up. They might’ve called us to tell us to come back and we didn’t get the call.”

 “They’re comin’, sweetheart.” Jensen rubbed up and down your arms, creating friction for warmth. “Even if they did cancel the shoot, if they couldn’t get us, they’ll come looking.”

 Jensen started to shiver after about 15 minutes, his fever making him feel even colder than he actually was. He was still burning up to the touch. You lasted a bit longer than him before you were utterly freezing, his body heat helping to keep you warm. “We can’t stay in this car.” You said through chattering teeth. “We’ll freeze to death if they don’t find us. Or end up buried in the snow.”

 “There was a cabin a little ways back. The one we were gonna film in. You think we can make it there?” Jensen asked.

 “I’m more worried about you, Jens.” You sighed. “You’re already sick. I can make it just fine, what about you?”

 “Well, it’s that or freeze, right?” Jensen chuckled and you glared at him, not seeing the humor in it at all. “I’m fine, baby, come on. Let’s get whatever we can use outta the car and get going before the storm really amps up.” You wrote a note before getting out of the car, letting whoever found the damaged car know you were both unharmed and where you were going so they knew where to look.

 Jensen pulled you out of the car and into the wind and the snow, moving to the trunk. You pulled out the duffel and stuffed a blanket inside along with some working lighters and started on your way, your arm linked with Jensen’s.

 The cabin wasn’t far. It was less than a mile down the road, but it felt like a lifetime away. The cold from the wind was burning every bit of exposed skin. You could barely breathe and the snow was piling higher, making it harder and harder to walk. The cold was seeping through your jeans, moist from the snow, and your legs were refusing to move, slowing you both down.

 When the cabin finally came in to view, you were practically dragging each other to the door. You couldn’t feel your hands or feet anymore, you probably had frostbite, but you were determined to get Jensen somewhere warm and safe before taking care of yourself.

 It took all your combined strength to pull the door open but when you finally did you shoved Jensen inside first and followed behind him, slamming the door shut behind you. The cabin was tiny, consisting of only a small kitchen with a table and a few chairs, a bed, a couch, and a fireplace. The bathroom was in a room off to the side, but other than that, you’d seen the whole place as soon as you opened the door.

 Jensen went straight for the lights, flipping the switch several times to no avail. “Power’s out.” He sighed in defeat. “At least it has a fireplace.” He looked absolutely exhausted and so much paler than before.

 “I got it. Get your wet clothes off.” Jensen glared at you like you were absolutely insane. “I know you think I’m crazy but if you don’t get those wet clothes off you’re gonna get frostbite or hypothermia.” You moved to the fireplace and started stacking wood and paper in it. You were freezing and you hands were fumbling everything, dropping them in the fireplace more than organized stacking. Your gloves were soaked and your jeans were soaked, but you needed to start the fire and get Jensen warm before you could think about yourself.

 You finally ripped off your gloves, the skin on your hands an angry red, and tried to light the lighter. You couldn’t get a grip on it, fumbling with it and dropping it on the floor several times before Jensen appeared behind you. “I got it.” Jensen murmured in your ear, gently taking the lighter from your hands. “Get those wet clothes off before you freeze to death. You were right. It’s the fever, I’m not thinking clear or I would’ve known to do that on my own.”’

 You quickly stripped down to the layer of clothes that wasn’t soaked through, leaving you in just a flannel shirt, t-shirt, and underwear. Jensen hadn’t fared much better when you really looked at him. He was still wearing his flannel and his t-shirt, along with his boxers. You made quick work of checking the small kitchen in the cabin for supplies, finding it barren. You slammed one of the cabinet doors shut in frustration, catching Jensen’s attention. “I’m sorry.” You huffed. “I just thought there’d be food or something.”

  “Hopefully we won’t be here long enough to need it.” Jensen was always so hopeful. You weren’t sure if he did that for his own benefit, yours, both, or if he was truly that optimistic. “Come get warm.” You hadn’t even noticed Jensen had managed to get the fire going. It was small but the warmth was spreading through the tiny room. You quickly grabbed his and your balled up clothes and laid them out by the fire and moved to the bed, crawling in with him.

 “Here, get close.” Jensen said and pulled you in. “Body heat is good.” Any excuse to snuggle with him, you’d gladly take, and you snuggled as close as you could get, tangling your arms and legs together and pressing your chest to his. You pulled the blankets up and he snuggled even closer, the fever and the cold making him shiver.

 “How do you feel? Be honest.” You said, looking him in his gorgeous green eyes.

 “Like shit.” He let out a cough and laid his head on the pillow right in front of you, seeing the concern in your eyes. “I’ve been worse. I promise.” He took your free hand in his under the covers and you hissed in pain at the simple touch. “Oh, baby, I think it’s frostbitten.” He let go, releasing the pressure and gently laid it against his burning skin for warmth instead. You moved your other hand to rest against his back, sliding it under the t-shirt and sighed in pleasure at how nice it felt.

 Both of you laid there in silence after that, listening to the howling wind and the crackle of the fire. You could see the snow building up outside the window. It was so high it was halfway up the window now. No way were you getting out of here without someone to plow you out.

 Your eyelids started to flutter despite yourself. Your hope was Jensen didn’t catch it, but of course he did. “You’re tired.” He said. “I’ll take first watch. They should be here soon. Sleep. I’ll wake you up when they get here.”

 “Jensen, no. It’s ok.” You tried to protest but all he did was pull you in closer and cradle you to his body. His fever was higher, that much was clear from just how warm he was. Part of you knew sleeping was a bad idea right now, but your brain was cloudy and confused. Maybe if you’d given it more thought you wouldn’t have given in so easily, or maybe your body wasn’t giving you a choice. You didn’t want to sleep, but your body betrayed you. Your eyelids turned to lead. “Hey, wake me for second watch. Don’t be a hero.”

 He gave you that smirk you’d come to love. “Who, me?” He kissed you, his lips parched and feverishly warm. “Sleep.”  You fell asleep in seconds wrapped in his embrace like this.

 Jensen waited, rubbing your back, watching out the window for any sign of someone coming to rescue you. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and he drifted off, his face buried in your hair. Neither of you heard the crackle of the fire die and the howling of the winds pick up. Neither of you felt the temperatures dip down even colder than they had been before. Neither of you noticed when help finally arrived.

 “They’re here!” Jared yelled from the door and ran inside, shaking you both. “Hey, Y/N/N, Jackles! Wake up!” When he got no response from either of you he started with you, turning you gently to your back. Your skin was absolutely freezing to the touch and your lips were a shade of blue he’d only seen in movies, but you were still breathing, ragged and shallow. Jensen’s breathing could be heard, the congestion rattling in his chest, but also shallow and terrifying. “Get the fucking medics in here! Now!”

 It took too long for anyone’s liking to get you both out of the woods and to a hospital where real rewarming could start. Jared tried hard to get you both in the same room so he and Misha weren’t running between rooms contacting your families, but the hospital had been adamantly against that. They traded off periodically, one taking your room and the other taking Jensen’s. Misha sat in your room tonight while Jared took Jensen’s, texting each other progress notes back in forth. So far, there hadn’t been any. Neither of you showed any signs of waking up anytime soon, no signs of life at all other than the fact that you were both there, right in front of them. All they could do was wait.

 “This is amazing.” You leaned back into Jensen’s chest in the huge cabin on the mountain he’d brought you to for the much anticipated week off, clutching your peppermint hot chocolate in your hand and watching the snow fall lightly out the window. “You’re amazing. You think of everything.” The fire was roaring, everything was quiet and peaceful, just you and Jensen, just like you wanted.

“I’m really glad you love it.” Jensen leaned down and kissed your neck, making you shiver.

 “I love any time I get to spend with you alone.” You leaned your head back, capturing his lips with yours. The light of the fire caught your wedding ring when you shifted and you stared at it, moving your fingers against the light. “I can’t believe we finally got married. I thought we never would. I love you, Mr. Ackles.”

 “I love you too, Mrs. Ackles.” Jensen chuckled, lacing his fingers with your free hand and pulling you back in for another tender kiss.

Part 3 Coming Spring 2018

Jensen Tags: @a-girl-who-loves-disney @adaliamalfoy @aiaranradnay @akshi8278 @apeshit7x @ariannnawinchester @arryn-nyxx @aubreystilinski @autopistaaningunaparte @babydanixox @bakabozza @beacon-hills-chance-harbor @betterlattethennever @blacktithe7 @bloodysideofhell @boredoutofmymindstuff @born-to-be-his-baby88 @bringmesomepie56 @capsofwinchesters @captainradicalpassion @charliebradbury1104 @chickenmcsade @clarewinchester @d-s-winchester @dancingalone21  @deanswhiskeyveins @deanwinchesterisamazing @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @docharleythegeekqueen  @dragontearsandunicornfears @dreamsfromthebunker @duckieburns @duherica @ellen-reincarnated1967 @emohermione @emoryhemsworth @escabell @evansrogerskitten @evilskank-inthemegacoven @fangirlingfanatic2442 @feelmyroarrrr @gabavaldman  @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @growningupgeek @impala-dreamer @impalaimagining @itseverythingilike @iwantthedean @iwriteshortstuff @jalove-wecallhimdean @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @jayankles @jensen-gal @jensen-jarpad @jojo-nz @jotink78 @kalliravenne @kgbrenner @kittenofdoomage @kittycat-cas @lenaabs @like-a-bag-of-potatoes   @mayasmedberg @meeshw777 @mogaruke @my-supernatural-dreams  @nichelle-my-belle @not-moose-one-shots @nothingeverdies @notmoose45 @outerxorbit @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @riakie @riversong-sam @rlawson418 @ruprecht0420 @sammysflannels @sandlee44 @silver-and-green @sis-tafics @skybinx-blog @smoothdogsgirl @soobi89 @spn-fan-girl-173 @spontaneousam @starswirlblitz @stilinski15 @summoningsupernatural @supernatural-girl97 @supernatural-jackles @supernatural0826 @taste-of-dean @tattooedluci @teepartyy @the-angels-stole-the-tardis @thelastxgoodthing @thereisnolumos @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @waywardjoy @whit85-blog @winchestdiaries @winchester-writes  @winchesterprincessbride @winchesters-favorite-girl @yellowtheremarvelfan @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou

[projectsoleil]

HARBINGER || Angel || Chapter 5

[ ♫ ♫ ♫ ]

For so many years, Angel had been very patient. In times where troubles would get the btter of others, they have always made it their priority to remain calm in the storm.

For many years, Angel has tolerated hardship for the sake of survival.

As they witness Red jump into assist Plague, watching her take the brunt of the damage in order to potentially save the lad’s life, a wash of terror briefly splashes Angel’s face like a restless wave colliding with the shore. Unmistakeable in its presence, and yet in their stunned silence Angel cannot find the words to call her name, to warn her.

Instead, something else happens. Terror turns to realization, and realization turns into somehting far more profound - as profound as it was sinister.

For many years, Angel has tolerated hardship and looked on by, but one thing remains unchaged. 

Family is to be protected, no matter what price must be paid.

Their eyes fixate on the beast standing before them. With careful, deliberate steps, they begin to move from where they hide. They approach, as if they were moving from the edge of the storm into its very heart, where a single moment of calm and quiet could not possibly hope to quell what was waiting at the edge of the hurricane. Seething, like acid weeping from the bed of their nails and the corner of their eyes, something in Angel’s heart finally gives way to their vehement desire to protect the things they love.

In the eye of the storm, there is peace in a moment of hell.

And Angel was going to drag this monster, kicking and screaming, right to the very edge of it.

But they had to be fast, and they were no fighter by any means. With a kick of their heel, their cane turns in their hand as they plunge it in to one of the wrists of the beast with a quick motion. With a loud, shattering scream as their cue, they split from the group in a flash. At the very least, running was their forte, and heels were no match for a villain with a flair for fashion.

Once far enough, they skid to a halt, calling out to the beast with a mocking hint to their voice. It turns with a huff of breath, and Angel doesn’t move until they know for sure the focus is on them.

Like a wolf in the night, all they had to do was catch it once.

The next few moments are filled with baited breath, accompanied by a dance of near misses and close calls. Angel had never been a fighter, but they have been running for their whole life. They were fast, and they were very, very good at dodging the corners just right. With every blow of impact to the ground, Angel had only just managed to skirt out of harms way. Every time they reached for the monster’s idle limbs, they were always a second too late incomparison to how fast it would move. Like a mouse inbetween the claws of a tiger they move, until,

Angel is flung back. A single hit causes them to cascade into one of the walls in the laboratory with a resounding crack. Like a ragdoll, Angel drops to the floor, a small splatter of blood escapes their lips as they try to catch their breath.

No, they think to themself. It won’t end like this. Not with people I still have to protect.

No, they think. Not with the future of this world shining so brilliantly in the souls of the people living here.

As they stagger to their feet, albeit slowly, they continue to stare the beast down with burning eyes. It won’t end like this. Not when people like Rina suffer in the ways she did. When people like Gabi had to die when his soul was so kind. When people like Ana had to burden the weight of pain from people like Min, who had to catch a bullet in her teeth so her family could life another day.

There were still people here - bright, brilliant people - who’s simple desire to live brought hope to their heart. People like Leo, who’s sombre ways kept them stable when they needed. People like Nate and Papillon who’s friendship was a delight to witness. People like Riley, like Roger, even like Shougo, who were all just people trying to do right by those they held dear. People who still had kindness in their hearts. Their eyes ignite. A faint glow appears about them.

People like Fergus who, despite all odds, brought love to their life. An embrace only death once filled. A light where their was none. When hurt, the first thing he did was heal them. It was about time to return the favor.

With another step forward, the beast begins to swing again.

People like, Red, who-

In that moment, contact is made. At the edge of the storm, light erupts from the very earth itself and into the sky like a bolt of white lightning. The ground shakes with immeasurable magnitude. A shriek fills the air as it’s accompanied by gushing wind.

Thirty five years of life, stolen and stored from every person they’ve ever touched, explodes from their very being in that single moment.

Fueled solely by the desire to preserve what future these people had left, Angel channels everything they have into the beast. The very essence of life itself coursed through its being like machine on overclock, accelerating its functions, overriding its ability to move, powering it beyond what it was ever originally capable to control or contain.

Overwhelmed with the sheer force of energy, the beast begins to scream louder, with a blood-curdling pitch layering into its voice. As Angel burns ever brighter, the beast too soon begins to burn with them.

…

Until it stops.

The light ever so suddenly fades into nothing. With the beast still shrieking, it stumbles backwards as its let go of the connection they made. It takes off running deep into the overgrowth of the island, before all that’s left is the echo of cries it leaves behind.

And then there was Angel.

The air begins to clear around them. Their hands no longer scarred, they watch as the beast takes off.

They breathe as relief engulfs them, knowing that it was over for now, that the others were safe.

They stand as they take in the moment, breathing harder as they mull over what had just happened, as their eyes fall heavy, as their vision goes blurry…

And then they falter, collapsing to the floor as their legs give way beneath them.

[rowan-buzzard-whitethorn]

Control- Rowcan Part III

I was finally able to finish this bad boy. Fun fact: did you know what I literally look at every single reblog of these fics and see if anyone says something in the tags? That’s how much of an attention whore I am. I have a problem.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Kinkier and Kinkier

Word Count: 4.3K

Part 1, Part 2

AO3

Rowan jerked awake, immediately stiffening and hissing in a breath at the sharp agony in his arm. He forced his body to relax, to not pull against the chains. He had somehow succumb to the weight of exhaustion, falling into a form of unconsciousness that was in no way restful.

The iron was wrapped around his neck, his chest, each thigh, each ankle, each bicep and each wrist. It felt like a castle was resting on his chest. He couldn’t lift his head, but he had a shadowy sense of awareness toward his right arm. He couldn’t see what they did, but considering the tools they had used and the cut they made... the sounds- the cracking and squelching, the grinding sensation, the screaming of his muscles- he knew that both of the bones in his forearm were bulging from his skin, twisted far past their normal rotation. That was where they had started. They had done the same thing to the left calf. His torso and thighs were striped with welts, burns, and cuts. Though both of his eyes were almost completely swollen shut, they opened just enough to look over to the nearest lantern. He stared at the flame. Begging it to flicker, to bend under the force of a breath, a whisper of wind. Nothing.

His vision swam and he knew that in a moment he would succumb to another round of fever induced nothingness. His heavy lids had almost collapsed when the door to the dungeon slammed open, nearly coming off the hinges. He didn’t bother trying to turn his head. He expected a taunting voice, a cold sneer to enter his vision, but instead he saw the faces of Lorcan and Gavriel. He must be hallucinating- he knew the fever would develop into madness at some point but this seemed far too soon. They were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. His lids were about to close again when he felt a hand smack his cheek. Hard.

“Don’t you dare, asshole."

“Rowan, we’re getting you out of here, we’re going home.”

Home. His home was gone. He hadn’t had a home in over one hundred fifty seven years.

Gavriel, Vaughan, and Lorcan sat in the back of a wagon. Gavriel and Vaughan trailed their fingers over Rowan’s wounds, methodically addressing the infection swimming in his blood. They left the bones alone, the damage comprehensive enough that they wanted to wait for the professional healers to address them when they got back to Doranelle. Lorcan had half a mind to stay behind. They had destroyed the fort, leaving a river of blood behind them. This Eastern kingdom was already weak, grasping at scraps of power already, and Lorcan had a foggy plan in his mind to come back and wipe it entirely off the map. For now though, they had to get back to his Queen as fast as possible. Rowan was still unconscious on the bench, and Lorcan resisted the urge to wipe away the hair sticking to his face. He was not a whimpering nursemaid and he refused to worry. They were going to go home, Rowan would heal, and they would both be back to bring this kingdom to its knees. Everything would be fine.

The carriage gave a harsh jerk to the left, and Rowan’s limp body listed to the side. “Watch where you’re fucking going will you?!” Lorcan snarled.

Gavriel glanced up from his work, giving Lorcan a look. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Yeah and preferably in one piece,” he growled.  

Gavriel’s tawny eyes slid down to Lorcan’s hands, which he then realized were holding the grip of his axe, rhythmically pounding the head on the floor of the wagon. He chucked it aside and kept his eyes on the road.

Six months later

They did return to that kingdom. Rowan had spent two weeks with the healers, repairing his ribs and the bones of his arm and leg. Replacing the missing bits of muscle. Restoring joints. A week after that, Lorcan showed up to Rowan’s door to drag his ass to the yard. They worked to restore the strength in those new muscles, had ensured that his wrist and ankle had returned to their full strength and range of motion. Being blessed with fae blood didn’t mean that there weren’t consequences from being tortured for two weeks. The rest of the blood-sworn had helped. And they had decided to go together, regardless of the fact that the whole lot of them was more than enough to cripple that little Eastern kingdom. Maeve had given them leave to do as they wished. She had no interest in the east. By the time they were done, they were absolutely no threat to anyone.

After they had decimated the army, they had all celebrated. However, Rowan only showed a grim sense of satisfaction that had barely lasted. Even during the journey back to Doranelle, Lorcan had noticed that Rowan’s eyes seemed somehow even deader than before. His face was set in a constant mask. His lips and shoulders all set in tight, fixed lines. When they returned, Rowan said the bare minimum in every meeting they had before immediately returning to the yard or to his quarters. He could only be seen during mealtimes, where Lorcan tried and failed not to notice that he was eating less than usual.

It was during one of these meals, dinner at the table they always shared, that Lorcan noticed that Rowan kept bouncing his leg under the table. In the many years that Lorcan had known Rowan, he had had never seen him without a tight sense of control over every movement he made. He might use that control to train for hours on end, to use the last dregs of his magical reserves, or even to lash out in rage, but the sense of ownership over every muscle remained. This bouncing thigh showed a crack in that command. He shared a look with Gavriel who just shook his head. Gavriel had told him that he tried to have a conversation with Rowan several of days ago and it had...not ended well.

When Rowan stood from the table, leaving almost half of his food on his plate, Lorcan counted several breaths before standing up to follow him. He caught sight of him when he turned down an empty corridor.

“Whitethorn.”

“Whatever it is it can wait until tomorrow.”

Lorcan caught up to him and decided to be at least somewhat smart about this and abandoned the urge to grab Rowan by the arm and spin him around. Instead, he sped up so he could stand in front of Rowan to simply block his path.

“What.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“Since when has being alone ever worked for you?”

“It’s gotten me through this far.”

Lorcan dared a step closer. “No, it hasn’t. The only thing you’ve had under control is your own body. And even that was taken from you.”

“So what- you think fucking you will help?” Rowan sneered.

“I think you need a better way to get through immortality. But I also think you need to gain back that sense of control.”

Rowan considered him for a moment, distaste still painting his features. Then, something shifted, and he almost smirked. He closed the distance between them, every movement predatory. “You know what, Commander? Fine. You think i need to feel in control again? Come to my quarters tomorrow night. And you better come prepared, inside and out.”

The next night, Lorcan made his way to Rowan’s quarters, walking at a deliberately slow pace. When he got to the door, he paused for a moment, steeling himself. This might not work. Hell, Rowan might decide to punch him in the face and slam the door. He may stay the same way he’s been. Present in body but not in mind. Lorcan knew that if Rowan actually followed through with… whatever this was, that Lorcan could take it. He was used to being the one in charge of these types of situations, so he felt the awkwardness of putting himself out of his comfort zone. But he was willing to accept that Rowan needed to have an equal and opposite experience to drown out the mental warfare that occurs after going through the type of torture he went through. So, he lifted his fist and gave two swift knocks on the door.

He only had to wait two heartbeats before the door opened and he was dragged into the room by the front of his shirt. Rowan pulled him inside and shoved him against the door. Their mouths crashed together and Lorcan opened his mouth immediately. Rowan lifted Lorcan’s arms above his head and devoured his mouth, his teeth scraping against sensitive flesh.

When his mouth moved down to his throat, Lorcan said, “is this what your control looks like? It looks a lot like more of the same.”

Rowan squeezed Lorcan's jaw and snarled in his face. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

He spun them around and began pushing Lorcan towards the bed. His legs hit the edge of the mattress and Rowan shoved him down onto his back. Rowan climbed on top of him and they slid their way to the head of the bed. Rowan straddled Lorcan’s hips, occasionally grinding against him as their tongues entwined again. Rowan’s hands slid up under Lorcan's shirt, pressing up his torso until Lorcan lifted his arms to allow Rowan to yank the shirt over his head and throw it behind him.

“I know what I want. What I need to get past this,” Rowan breathed.  

Lorcan’s eyebrows lifted, waiting. Rowan reached over to the bedside table and held a rope in front of Lorcan’s face. He looked Rowan in the eyes. They both knew that this kind of rope would offer resistance, but that Lorcan could break through bonds like that if he wished.

Lorcan just nodded and Rowan began looping and wrapping the rope around one wrist until he was able to drag Lorcan’s arm across the bed to secure the end of the rope to the bedpost. After Lorcan watched him finish with the first one, he focused instead on Rowan’s face. It was set in a mask of concentration, but his breathing was ragged and uneven. No doubt thinking of a different set of bonds. Iron ones. No doubt the very reason he chose to do it this way. He was still trying to analyze Rowan’s features, to figure out where his mind was at, when his other arm is stretched towards the other post and secured there.

Rowan slid down his body, resting between Lorcan’s legs. Quickly, roughly, and efficiently, he pulled at the ties of his trousers and yanked everything off him until Lorcan lay there naked and ready. He grabbed Lorcan under his knees and spread his legs. Rowan ignored his cock completely as his mouth dove for Lorcan’s hole, licking and probing and devouring him. Lorcan’s eyes lost focus as he stared at the ceiling, luxuriating in the touch, feeling Rowan’s breaths through his nose tickle the hair of his seam. He lifted his head only to be able to see the top of Rowan’s head, his long hair tied at the base of his skull. He wanted to reach down and grab it, to pull it free and wrap it around his fist, but instead all he got to do was pull against the ropes.

Rowan pushed himself up and started to come towards him again, only to reach across him again to the bedside table. Lorcan finally took a moment to look over to see what else rested on the table and his jaw dropped. There was a jar of oil...and…

The wood was polished to a perfect sheen, making the fire light dance off the conical shape- perfectly round in the middle and narrowing to a soft point at the top. The bottom narrowed quickly before flaring again to the base which held the piece upright. A plug.

Lorcan’s eyes snapped back to Rowan’s, but the male didn’t even look at him, just opened the jar of oil, smearing it on the plug before getting another generous dip on his fingers and leaning back to reposition himself between Lorcan’s legs. This took a turn.

“You do enjoy surprising me don’t you, Prince.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never used one before.”

“Oh i have, I’m usually the one using it on other people...but I’m more scandalized by the image of you going out and purchasing one”

Rowan just snorted and began rubbing his slick hand against Lorcan’s puckered hole, circling the edges with the tip of his finger. “Did you prepare like i asked?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Rowan placed the tip of the plug against Lorcan’s skin and pressed lightly, no preamble. It was a good thing that Lorcan did indeed follow his orders, and did some… preliminary stretching. Then again, Lorcan had only used his fingers. So, as the widest part of the plug pushed past that ring of muscle, Lorcan had to devote his concentration and control his breathing to slightly push against that wide end, allowing it to be fully engulfed before resting against his skin. It had been quite some time since he used one of these and… he had forgotten. Forgotten how mind numbing the constant pressure was inside him. How that wide end pressed against that one spot every time he shifted or clenched. He widened his legs and grunted at that sensation, trying to get his breathing under control, but Rowan moved his still slick hand up to Lorcan’s cock and gave the head a hard, tight squeeze that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It didn’t escape him that he was laying here in Rowan’s bed, completely naked, tied and helpless- with a plug inside him- while Rowan remained fully clothed.

“And here I thought that preparation was so that you could bend my legs up to my ears and fill me yourself. What’s your plan now?”

“You aren’t the only one who prepared.”

Rowan allowed himself a brief moment to take in Lorcan’s wide eyes, the utter stillness of his features, before he ripped off his own clothing in rough tugs. Once naked, he straddled Lorcan's hips again and reached for the oil, bending awkwardly between his legs to swipe the oil across his entrance.

“Rowan…” Lorcan growled and Rowan looked up to his face. He gazed at him while he reached again between his legs, taking hold of Lorcan and guiding him, sliding him up and down his cleft, breathing in rough gasps as he started to slide down onto his cock. He paused for a moment to relax into the blunt, wide head of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, needing this and only this right now. This moment. He was eager to return to that memory of bliss, that all encompassing sensation of being filled, stretched. Fucking was one thing. But this... It was like a flood, drowning every thought, silencing the words in his mind: that he was alone- that he deserved nothing and no one. That thought had echoed and reverberated in his mind for those two weeks on that table. He didn’t understand it. He had been tortured before. Why had this time been so different?

He sank lower and lower onto Lorcan’s cock, until he was sitting again on Lorcan’s hips. He sat there for a moment, bracing his hands against Lorcan’s chest, feeling the powerful muscles and bones expand with each gasping breath. He looked down at himself, at his hard length aching and throbbing. When he mustered the strength to move, he lifted up slightly, shuddering at the smooth glide of their skin against one another. The movement felt foreign and uneasy. He hadn’t considered the fact that this position meant that each movement of his hips was different than what he was used to.

His mind drifted to memories of women atop him, their hips grinding and bouncing against him and he suddenly had a moment of doubt. He had meant for this to be a moment of power, of taking, and suddenly he felt very vulnerable and out of his element. His eyes found one of Lorcan’s wrists- his arm straining against the bonds, hand in a fist. He reminded himself that every sensation and movement was under his control. This moment belonged to him and only him. He forced his muscles to move, to grind against the fullness inside him. He registered that Lorcan was growling and grunting on each exhale, and he used the sound as a measure, a way to modulate each movement of his hips- finding a way to teach his hips and legs how to seek out his pleasure this new way. A harsh breath gusted out of him and he picked up his pace as he threw his head back and groaned.

This was quite possibly the best view Lorcan had ever seen in his gods-forsaken life. Segments of hair had fallen out of Rowan’s tie and hung in his face, tucked hastily behind an ear, and clung down the side of his neck, sticking to the sweat running down him. Every muscle was taut and rippling with each movement he made. He couldn’t remember a time when he had every one of his senses under such assault. His arms were under continual tension, feeling the slight panic at not being able to reach out and touch. Deep inside him, he felt the plug pressing with constant demand against the base of him. And Rowan’s ass was squeezing his dick so hard he was certain that if rowan lifted off him for a moment he would be able to see that it was alarmingly red and full.

His neck was straining but he didn’t care, not as he watched Rowan’s cock bob up and down, feeling his sack press against him every time that Rowan fully seated himself against his lap. Rowan continued to neglect himself, his hands having moved to brace against his thighs, his head still tilted back, exposing the strong column of his throat. Gods, Lorcan wanted to lick that neck.

Through the haze of sensation, his instincts began to pick up on an insidious undercurrent in the room. Rowan’s hands were pressed against his legs so hard that the fingertips were wholly white. His shoulders were locked and bunched. When he looked again to Rowan’s throat, he could see that his jaw was wide open and he was panting like an animal, seemingly unable to take in a full breath.

“Rowan.” He didn’t respond, didn’t look at him.

“Rowan,” he snarled. “Look at me you bastard.”

He was still rocking his hips, but Rowan looked down at him like he was just remembering he was here.

“Where the fuck are you.”

“Nowhere,” Rowan responded, and then his hips finally stilled, the words sinking in.

“Be here. I’m right here. You aren’t alone."

The words hit like a physical blow. Rowan fell forward, his hands braced on either side of Lorcan’s chest. He bowed his head, long hairs hanging in Lorcan’s face.

“Rowan. Come here,” he commanded. Rowan fell to his elbows, allowing his chest to fall against Lorcan’s. They sat there like that for a long moment, their sweat sticky and hot between them, Rowan’s breathing was possibly even more labored and fast than before.

“Rowan, my hands.”

He lifted just far enough to allow one arm to reach over and tug against the knot, sliding it along the length of the rope far enough that Lorcan could slide his right hand through. Then Rowan shifted his weight to do the same to the other side before falling again, his forehead braced on Lorcan’s shoulder. Lorcan wrapped his arms tightly around the Prince, crushing their bodies together, a part of him still registering the way they were still joined. He lifted his head, almost alarming himself at the gentleness of the kisses he placed against Rowan’s neck. They were in foreign territory, neither knowing the words to say in this moment but both feeling the tide shift, feeling their bodies no longer in a state of primal need but shifting into something more subtle and layered.

He ran his hand up Rowan’s back, grabbing a fist full of ponytail and gently tugging Rowan up to look him in the eye. The Prince’s eyes searched furiously between his own, clearly at war with his desire to appear the master of himself and this new sense of vulnerability. He settled somewhere in between as he said, “kiss me.”

Lorcan only need to lean up a little further so that their lips could touch. The kiss was slow at first, only the tips of their lips brushing against each other. Then Rowan’s hand slid up and he grasped the back of Lorcan’s head, his fingers sliding into Lorcan’s hair as the kiss deepened.

This heat was different somehow, a silent conversation. Lorcan’s other hand moved down his spine to stroke one cheek, barely lifting his hips to slide a little deeper. Rowan lifted his head, his eyes blazing as he rocked his hips back, a counterweight to Lorcan’s movements. They did not look away from each other as they found a slow, luxurious rhythm. Rowan’s eyes drooped, his forehead coming to rest against Lorcan’s, sharing breath.

“Like this,” Lorcan said, softer now. “Stop fighting everything. Just let go and be here in this moment.”

Rowan groaned, keeping their heads together as his hips responded in a deep grind. Lorcan made every push a focused communication, gaining speed without losing purpose. Rowan’s cock was a solid weight between their bodies, sliding between them easier and easier as each bead of precum slicked their skin. His head dropped to Lorcan’s neck- seemingly unable to continue holding it up, directing each moan and intake of breath directly to Lorcan’s ear. Lorcan felt every ounce of tension from the night begging to release, his body roaring at him to let go, but he wouldn’t allow himself to until Rowan did.

“Rowan, come with me.” Rowan lifted on his elbows again, arching his back only enough so there was a bare separation between their torsos.

“Do it for me.”

Lorcan eased a hand between them, grabbing Rowan’s cock and stroking him the exact way he had seen Rowan do it, eager to get him to come quickly. He was focused on his task enough that he was surprised when Rowan’s lips found his again, his tongue sliding into his mouth. He could feel the vibrations of Rowan’s groan against him, and then Rowan pulled his lips back a hair’s breadth away to sob out his release, coating both of them in wetness. Lorcan kept up his stroking as his hips finally faltered under the weight of his own release, the plug making his climax even more intense. They both collapsed, Rowan’s full body weight pressing against him.

Rowan finally felt his breathing slow, his body and mind still under the effects of euphoria. It was different this time. Instead of the silence he had been hunting, he was overcome by a sense of calm . He felt calmer and more at rest than he had… in a long time. It wasn’t complete. No, he would never feel complete again. He knew that. But still, this was like blessed relief. Like coming up for a breath of air while in the throes of a harsh current.

He brushed his lips against Lorcan’s one last time- the only gratitude he could offer, before rolling to the side. Lorcan rolled towards him, reaching behind himself to gently ease the plug out, then he turned and slid out of bed.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said. Not a question.

Lorcan snorted. “Of course I am.”

He got up and walked towards the bathroom and Rowan felt a smirk tug at his lips at the sight. When lorcan was done, they passed each other in the center of the room while he was making his way to bathroom as well. A loud smack reverberated against the stone walls as Lorcan smacked his ass.

Rowan didn’t even turn around, just said, “you’ll pay for that,” before closing the bathroom door behind him.

Lorcan lay in the middle of Rowan’s bed, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, as he usually did after nights like this. He watched as Rowan made his way back to bed, enjoying the ability to see him naked this way- casually and without the cloud of lust around him.

“You’re in my spot,” Rowan said as he climbed on the mattress, and Lorcan shifted away from the middle only enough so that Rowan could lay down before falling against his chest, throwing a leg over him. They lay there in silence for a good while, neither wanting to disrupt the peaceful quiet they had found somehow. Eventually, Rowan’s arm came up and rested against Lorcan’s back. There were no sweet nothings whispered, no idle stroking, just their bodies relaxed against one another, their breathing synced.

Lorcan felt his eyes droop at the sensation of their chests rising and falling in unison. The sound against Lorcan’s ear like a gentle tide. It was enough to pull him under into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

[zarcake-writes]

An Oni and a Family of Hunters

Technically a Part 2. Do you all remember that one fic called Your Oni? Well this is the second part of it. This is also on my Ao3 in case you want to read the first part and then this part. Hope you all enjoy this!

Warnings: Blood, some gore, loss of limb

You and Genji were in the kitchen, he was pushing himself against your ass while you were washing a bowl. He would occasionally kiss your shoulder; his red tongue ran across your neck and his teeth grazed your skin. You moaned and rubbed your ass against his growing bulge. You knew he would take you right here in the kitchen, his teeth would sink into your skin and the spirits would be in a tizzy about him fucking you.

Before anything else could go on, your front door was opened roughly and your name was shouted. You and Genji jumped, you ran out of the kitchen and met your dad in the doorway. You saw blood on his clothes and his hands, you quickly ran to his side.

“Dad? What’s wrong? Whose blood is that? Where’s Jesse?” you asked.

“Genji, get Jesse from the car. Mija, get the silver,” Gabe ordered. Your heart sank and Genji moved quickly and you followed your dad to the back room, you grabbed the silver blades and the wolfs bane.

“Dad, what happened? How bad is Jesse’s wound?” you asked as you prepped the blades.

“The… that damn witch of the wilds, she told the werewolves we were tracking we’re going to kill them and they believed her. They ambushed us and… one of them bit Jesse on his left arm mija,” your dad said. He looked horrified and you realized he was shaking and he was still covered in blood. You looked away from him. Fucking Angela, you thought. That damn witch, you knew she was trouble from the moment you met her.

Genji brought your brother in and laid him on the bed, you saw the blood dripping on the floor and the tear in his jacket. You cut off this jacket above the bite and you realized how bad it was. The bite was right all around his elbow. His arm was barely hanging on by a few strands of muscle and nerves, the bone was crushed and most of the muscle was gone. It was still bleeding profusely, so you attached a tourniquet to his upper arm.

“Dad, call Ana. Genji, make sure nothing comes near our house,” you said calmly. Your hands were shaking and your heart was pounding.

“Mija, his arm…” you dad said, his voice cracked. Genji lingered in the doorway.

“Dad, call Ana now. I… I need her help. Genji, check all the runes along our house and make sure every one of them is strong enough. Use your demon magic if you need to,” you ordered, you voice louder than before. Both men nodded and left you alone.

You didn’t bother wrapping the arm, there was no point. You couldn’t save the arm, this wasn’t just a bite. The werewolf must have been large and wanted to do extensive damage, it wanted to maim. Jesse would lose him arm, or he would bleed out. You almost cried as you realized that was Jesse’s shooting arm. You would have to remove his arm, there was nothing that could be done.

“I’m sorry brother,” you whispered softly.

Not only will he lose his arm, but his chances of becoming a werewolf is high now. You know a person who was bitten was much more dangerous than a werewolf born with the curse, they tend to be much more violent and their bodies don’t understand what is happening. But Ana had come up with an elixir that helped turned werewolves, she would help.

You began prepping your tools, silver medical tools and medicine to stop the infection and to keep him asleep. You knew Ana would bring her own, but you got your stuff out. You sat beside your brother and held his remaining hand.

“The runes are set my love and your father has called Ana. She’s on her way now,” Genji said from behind you. You glanced at him and nodded your head.

“He’s going to lose his arm,” you said softly.

“Go see your father. I’ll stay here with your brother.” Genji’s hand rested on your shoulder. You nodded and left the room.

Your dad was in the living room crying, his face was in his hands. You saw his shoulder’s shaking and heard his soft sobs. You had only seen your father cry one time before, it was before you met Genji and a spirit latched onto you. It took several witches to get it away from you, one of them was the witch of the wilds.

“Dad.”

“Yes mija?” he asked, his voice was thick.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, your brother took the brunt of the attack. I killed the werewolf and barely got us out of there. I let your brother down. That should be me, not him in there.” You sat beside your dad and touched his back.

“Dad it’s no one’s fault. Jesse’s going to need us, he’s going to lose his arm.”

“I know. I figured he would.”

“Dad, what she did, this means war,” you said softly. A hunter war hasn’t happened in several years. Usually a family of hunters would declare war on another group or one specific creature, they all gathered their allies and went to war. Gabe had allies, old friends, to help. You and Jesse had made friends and had those you could call on, but you were scared.

“I know. Ana already knows, she’s getting in touch with some other people,” Gabe said. You leaned against your dad and he hugged you tightly. You felt like a little kid whenever he would hug you, maybe it had something to do with him being so much bigger than you or because you would always be his baby.

A half hour later and Ana arrived. You and her quickly discussed Jesse’s wound and she agreed it’s best to remove it. Not even because of the curse, the arm was shredded and there was nothing that could be saved. Ana gave your brother a dosage of something that would keep him asleep and numb any pain.

You and she removed his arm, just above his elbow. You both stitched it closed and wrapped it. Ana took the removed arm and narrowed her eye at it. You knew that look on her face.

“What are you thinking?” you asked her as you wiped blood off your hands and removed the bloodied towels beneath your brother’s amputated arm.

“I think, Torbjörn can help make him a new arm. You can add your magic and it might be able to work for him. I’ll take his arm,” the older woman said. She put his amputated arm in a box, you nodded your head and sat beside your brother. You were glad Ana was here.

“I’m sorry Jesse,” you said softly.

“He’ll live love. And if he does turn, the werewolf curse is easy to manage,” Ana said. Her hand rested on your back.

“Did dad tell you who did this?”

“Yes. I never liked that woman, too quick to use her magic to get what she desired. I’ve already gotten in contact with some people who will help you. We’ll teach her a lesson. I’m just a phone call away if you need anything, alright?”

“Thank you, Ana. I’m going to contact a few demons and spirits. See if they know anything,” you said standing.

“Be safe. You know demons can be tricky.”

“I know Ana. My lover is an oni, I know their tricks.”

Ana left and your dad sat with Jesse while you went to rest on your bed. Genji was making sure the house was safe. He checked all the runes and made sure there were no spirits lingering around the house, good or bad. Genji checked Gabe and Jesse, Gabe was holding Jesse’s remaining hand and talking to him softly. Genji touched Gabe’s back, the man nodded at Genji but turned back to his son.

Genji’s heart ached for your family. He always like Jesse, and seeing such pain inflicted on him angered the oni. Seeing your father crying and hearing you cry pained the oni greatly. He knew you three were close, Gabe took Jesse and you in when you were small. Your parents were once hunters and died. Gabe’s been your father since then. Genji left the room and went to see you. You were laying in your bed starring at the ceiling, he saw the tears on your face.

Genji climbed into bed with you and pulled you onto his chest. The steady and slow beat of his heart soothed you, you fell asleep on his chest. Genji watched as you slept. He knew this witch of the wilds was dangerous and manipulative, he heard rumors that she could raise things from the dead. He just hoped he would be strong enough to protect you.

[caelystrae]

Two Ghosts (Standing in the Place of You and Me)

Read it on AO3.

Pairing: Anamercy

Rating: E

Words: 7.5k+

Whatever Ana might have expected, it is not this: Angela pulling her into a hug, as soon as the door is closed, arms trembling around her not with anger but with some other, unnameable emotion.  Whatever she might have expected it is not this: lips on her skin and roaming hands, two eyes desperately trying to make contact with her own remaining one.  Whatever she might have expected it is not this: a second chance at having something she thought long lost.

Or,

Ana finally answers the Recall, and receives a far warmer welcome than she could have anticipated.

Returning to Overwatch goes much how Ana expected it would; Reinhardt is tearful, Lena is overjoyed, and Fareeha is a knot of emotions, all felt and expressed at once.  

(Who could blame her?  Certainly not Ana.)

For the most part, being once again at Watchpoint: Gibraltar is—not routine, because there are some things, like dying, and explosions, after which nothing can be routine again, but they are—familiar, in the same way returning to one’s childhood home seems familiar.  Despite a number of changes, mostly to Ana herself, and to the other people gathered, there is a sameness to rejoining Overwatch.  Some things, it seems, can never change (even when she has wanted them to).

This is not, of course, to say that everything is as she left it; yes, she takes the same quarters she once occupied, and yes, owing in part to Fareeha’s presence on base, her favorite tea can still be found in the kitchen, but some people are notably absent.

Gabriel, for one, and for obvious reasons.

Jack, whom she last saw in pursuit of the former.

Angela, too, is absent.  On base, or so Winston assures Ana when she asks, but—elsewhere.  Wherever it is that Ana is not.

That Angela has made herself scarce should not come as a surprise to Ana; for all that they were lovers, once, it was purely in the euphemistic, physical sense, and if there was any deeper affection there, they never spoke of it. Furthermore, for all that Angela can be downright showy in many ways, there are parts of herself she likes to hide, such as anger.

To the public, and to those who do not know her well, Angela is a bright, shining thing, is kind and caring and calm, and certainly, she has the capacity to be all of those things, but that is not all she is.  Sometimes, Ana knows, that tranquil smile masks a slowly building anger, one Angela would not dare show the public, for fear of losing face, fear of how they would think of her, fear that if she is not likeable, then she will be alone.  In private, Ana has seen her shake with anger, be reduced to tears as she tries so hard to repress the feeling, to modulate her emotions and reach what she considers an acceptable level of anger, of fear, of sadness.  

(It was beneficial to both of them, then, their arrangement—Ana was someone to whom Angela could express those feelings, before whom she could be vulnerable, and in turn Angela was someone whom, even if only for the duration of a given scene, Ana had some control over, even as Jack and Gabriel’s disputes grew beyond her ability to mediate—and Ana wonders what Angela has done, in the meantime.  Reverted to her old unhealthy mechanisms of coping, perhaps, or found someone else?  The former is more likely, but Ana hopes for the unlikeliest scenario of all: that Angela has found some equilibrium, even if Ana herself never could.)

Given what Ana knows of Angela, she expects one of two outcomes when she arrives at the door to her quarters: first, that Angela will put up the same calm, distant mask she does before others, when feeling something unpleasant, and politely greet Ana before finding some excuse to dismiss her, or second, that Angela will be furious, and expect Ana to step right in and take control, stealing her anger from her as happened so many times before.

(Third, of course, is the option—slim—that Angela will simply be angry, and that will be that, but Ana has a harder time picturing this; would Angela yell?  Would she hiss?  Would she say nothing at all?  In the most heated of meetings, years ago, Angela’s voice would grow hard and her words would be cold and precise, then later she would shake and sob while Ana tied buried three fingers in her.  Such an outcome seems unlikely today, for many reasons.)

Whatever Ana might have expected, it is not this: Angela pulling her into a hug, as soon as the door is closed, arms trembling around her not with anger but with some other, unnameable emotion.

(This is not the first time Ana considers that, perhaps, they lied to themselves when they laid the boundaries of their arrangement, but this time, the thought is not so easily dismissed.)

Rather than say anything, at first, Ana simply pulls Angela in closer, allows herself to hold someone for the first time in years, and to be held in turn.   When she breathes in, she expects Angela will still smell the same, and it will be almost as if time never passed, save for the fact that this time, it is Angela who holds her.

Of course, things are not the same, and Angela smells different—is different. It is a little thing, a change in perfume, but it is enough to startle Ana from the moment of fantasy she has indulged in, pretending as if Angela were her lover in all senses of the word, and this some touching reunion.

(Angela never loved her, and she never loved Angela, so both of them said—it ought, still, to hold true.)

“Aren’t you angry?”  she asks, stepping back, tilting her head up just slightly to meet Angela in the eye.

You should be, is the implication, and she knows Angela hears it in her tone, wonders if it will be taken as she might have meant it once, a judgement, a condemnation of the way Angela deals with feelings, or if it will be heard, instead, as it is intended now: an acknowledgement that Angela would have the right to be angry, after Ana left as she did.

(Ana is not the woman she was when she left; it is easier, now, to admit her own culpability.)

“Of course,” says Angela, brow furrowing, “But I’m happy too and—can’t we have just this?”

Just once?

Ana is not certain.  What would it do to them, to allow such a change?  Would they truly be able to go back to being what they were afterwards? She does not think so.

But, then, perhaps they could not do so already.  Perhaps the past is already lost to them—they have changed, both of them, have they not?

What, then, is there to lose?

So she kisses Angela, and it is different, already, from the way things were, gentler, sweeter.  Ana does not quite know what to make of the change, is not sure she is deserving of such tenderness—but she will take what she is offered, for she has always been good at taking things.

(Sometimes, she has worried that taking is the only thing she is good at, any longer, taking technology, taking leave, taking lives.  She worries that she takes too much and gives too little.)

When Angela half-leads half-pulls her to the bed, Ana finds herself giving in.

Just this once.

It is strange, to let herself be led by Angela, strange to see how Angela has matured—not that she was immature, before, but she is older now, certainly, crow’s feet beginning at the corners of her eyes, and weight that was not there before pads her hips and thighs—strange to think that the woman before her now, thirty-seven years old, is not young, in any sense of the word, but is younger still than Ana was when the two of them met.

When they break apart for a moment, Angela catches her stare, but what she thinks of it, Ana does not know, for she says nothing, and they are not so close, now, that Ana can anticipate her thoughts.  Years apart have taken that from them.

(But perhaps things, once lost, can been regained—has she not returned?)

This time, unlike years past, they do not undress one another—probably, Ana thinks, this is for the best, she doubts Angela would know where to find the pins in her hijab, does not want the fabric carelessly damaged.  In time, they can relearn this step, she can teach Angela where the pins are and how to fold the fabric.  They may not have a feel for one another just yet, but things can be (re)learned, if need be.

When Ana has finished divesting herself of her clothing, she turns, and takes the opportunity to truly look at her lover, for the first time in years.  What she intends to be a thorough and drawn out cataloguing of changes is cut quite short when Angela turns around and Ana realizes that what she had previously assumed to be the same silicone inserts of years previous are now organic breasts, flesh and blood and fat, are part of Angela’s body, and not only adhesives.  It catches her quite off guard—in the half a dozen years they were lovers, Angela only spoke of any sort of medical transition as a distant, nebulous thing, to happen, perhaps, once her life had settled down.

(Of course, her life never did settle down.  Things grew worse and more turbulent steadily and steadily until finally nothing else could go wrong and Overwatch imploded and exploded both.)

She must stare a moment too long—and truthfully, she does not mean to, does not mean to stare at all, only wonders what changed and how she could have missed it—because then Angela is crossing her arms over her chest in a way that could almost be shy, were it not for the fact that Ana cannot reconcile shyness with the woman she once knew.

“I should have mentioned…” Angela says, teeth sinking into her lower lip at the end of the statement.  It is not an apology—nor should it be—or an expression of shame or embarrassment; she is simply considering.  “Well, next time.”  

Perhaps, Ana thinks, this is new to her also.  

(Ana wants to ask if Angela is happier now, but does not know if such a question would be appropriate, or quantifiable.  In any case, they were never close enough to want to ask such things before, and simultaneously too close to need to ask them.)

“You look beautiful,” Ana says, in lieu of something more meaningful, unable and unwilling both to delve deeper, to threaten whatever temporary peace they have found themselves in, “You always do.”  

“They’re smaller than I had hoped,” Angela confesses, and moves her hand to cup one breast, as if weighing it.  

(This phrasing puts Ana back in the territory of the familiar—Angela has always referred to parts of her body as if they were some foreign object, something wholly separate, and not a part of herself.  In the past, Ana could not imagine what it must be like to conceive of oneself in a way that is so fragmented, to think of the body and the mind as two separate pieces of something greater, but now, having been both herself and the Shrike, she thinks knows.)

"But," Angela adds, a coy smile playing at the corner of her lips, "Much more sensitive.”  

"Really now?”  Ana asks her. "I suppose I'll have to determine the truth of that myself, hmm?"

"Well," says Angela, huffing a little laugh.  "That is what you came for, yes?"

It is not, in fact, what Ana came for—but, then, she also does not know what precisely she was thinking, what she expected from coming here, and this is much better, in any case, that any outcome she imagined, and so she does not contest the assertion when Angela pulls her in for a kiss, follows her one-time lover onto the bed without so much as a second thought.

(That is not to say she will not second guess this, later, but for now, it feels right.)

While Angela leading her might be a change from the usual order of things, they quickly cross into the territory of the familiar once they are on the bed itself, and Ana finds herself on top of Angela, lips returning to their favorite spot on Angela's neck.  Time has not changed everything, and the little sigh her attention elicits is the same as it was before.

Similar, too, is the feeling of Angela's hands on her body, clinging to her as surely as they ever did, one fisted in her hair and one moving down to grab her ass, pulling her in as close as is possible.

There is difference, however, when she moves to play with Angela's breasts—it seems the assessment of much more sensitive was not an exaggeration.  Certainly, Ana is not complaining; Angela always did make such pretty noises, and some part of her did worry about this, not that she would have forgotten what it is that Angela likes, but that perhaps after so many years she would no longer be attractive enough for this.  While she does not think she is ugly, not by any stretch of the imagination, she knows that she is decidedly older, and the twenty-three years between them may not have mattered as much, when she was just beginning to grey and to wrinkle, but seven years apart changes many things.

Many things, but not this, not the way her name is gasped as she plays with a nipple, not the way Angela arches into her touch and bares her throat—a surrender, in years previous and now something else, a sign of trust.  Time has not changed her ability to please Angela, to draw a response from her and to please her.

Or, so she thinks.

When she reaches down, intending to assess just how close Angela is, she finds her still soft.

Immediately, she pulls back from her place at Angela's breast, moves so she can look her lover in the eye.  

"Are you not enjoying this?”  she asks, and if she were anyone else, her voice might waver, and while a part of her is embarrassed, uncertain, insecure, the greater part of her is concerned, concerned that this is not something Angela wants, not really, or that she has done something wrong.

"What?”  is the answer, and Angela seems genuinely confused.

"You're...”   Ana gestures vaguely with one hand towards Angela's crotch.

"Oh!" and now, Angela looks away, a blush blooming on her cheeks which is distinct from her earlier flush of arousal.  "It doesn't really...”   she trails off, and then her tone switches to the same clinical one Ana has heard time and again outside of this room, "Estradiol injections have an adverse effect on the ability to maintain erectile function.”   If, perhaps, she says the words a bit hastily, betraying some emotion that need not be named, Ana will not comment on it.

"Should we stop, then?”  Of all the ways Ana had considered this reunion going awry, this was admittedly an unexpected one.

"No!" says Angela, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is necessary.  "I mean...  not unless you want to?"

Now Angela looks nervous, and Ana is quick to reassure her, "Not at all, I just need you to tell me what to do differently.”  

"Could we just go back to what we were doing before?  It was nice.”  

Ana certainly has no objections—her arousal has faded considerably as they were talking, and starting again from the beginning ought to help that.  So she returns to what she was doing, hands finding Angela's breasts again, and allowing Angela to take a turn sucking at her neck for a moment.

(She considers it fortunate that it is considerably harder to visibly mark her skin than it is to mark Angela's—although her lover is flippant in her use of nanobiotics to heal embarrassing bruises, Ana is a bit more cautious about an over-reliance on the technology.)

This time, what is different stands out to Ana more readily than what is similar—the way their breasts now brush up against each other, the fact that Angela's bangs and her own eyepatch being on opposite sides prevents them from easily making eye contact as they do this, the way her voice, changed both by age and disuse, sounds as she gasps Angela's name.  

For all that is different, this is certainly no worse.  Perhaps her knees are more quickly growing sore from kneeling than they used to, and perhaps things were briefly a bit awkward, but she is no less wet than ever by the time Angela moves a hand down to slide a finger between her folds, cannot help but rock into the motion.

She shivers as Angela whispers into her ear—and she does not catch the exact words, far more focused on the sound of her own heartbeat, but she knows well enough the meaning and suddenly everything is too much.

(She was dead, she was dead she was dead she was dead.  She was dead, and gone, and this was too, and she was never to have it again.  After years alone to suddenly be here, be back like this and to have this—admission, this confession before her, a desire long unfulfilled suddenly offered her—she is not ready, does not deserve this.)

When she hears it, she does not jerk back, is careful, does not want to ruin everything by not being able, yet, to return the sentiment she just—refocuses. Switches targets.  Changes objectives.

(Running from things again, she thinks, and it is not untrue, but if anyone else were to say it she would say she is only buying time.)

Beneath her, Angela's back is arched, her breathing growing more labored, and Ana thinks This is the perfect distraction, knows that if she can only divert Angela's attention elsewhere, she will not need to answer the question, not until she is ready to do so.

So, she says nothing, only moves her mouth again to Angela's neck, hands kneading her lover's breasts and teasing her nipples, feels the heartbeat under her tongue increase as Angela's voice changes in pitch and volume, until she is gasping, begging.

"Please," says Angela, and then again, "Please, Ana.”

(Once, Angela might have called her another by her rank, or callsign, or something else entirely, but after so long spent living as not-herself it is nice, now, for Ana to hear her own name like this, to have her identity reaffirmed so.)

"What should I do?”  she asks, because although she knew, once, the answer to her question, she has learned the value in asking questions, in their years apart.

"Want you inside me," Angela answers, and Ana feels a familiar stab of arousal in response—there is some power culturally ascribed to the act of penetrating, and outside of this room Ana would be quick to scoff, to dismiss it as men being as they are, but instead...  well, there is something uniquely heady about knowing Angela allows her to take a position of power, to know that Angela, proud and stubborn, surrenders to her.

The lubricant is still in the top bedside drawer, tucked in next to a pair of toys and a box of tissues, although the condoms she might once have found next to it have disappeared.  Although it may not be strictly necessary, she reaches for it anyway, makes quick work of slicking her fingers, and nearly as easily gets to work at fingering Angela.

It is not immediate, locating and slipping into a canal, and she is gentle as she does it, but things quickly fall into a familiar rhythm and it is not long before she finds herself slipping two fingers into Angela—in fact, the whole process is much faster than she remembered it being.  That could just be the effect of time, however, and it really does not seem worth asking in the moment.

(They will have time enough for questions later, about many things; a part of her cannot help but note that it never seemed like such a luxury before.)

After a few exploratory thrusts, Ana finds what she is looking for, knows she has brushed against Angela’s inguinal nerve by the reaction she gets from her lover: a sudden jerk of hips, a gasping breath, eyes squeezing shut.  Finding it took a moment longer than she might have considered usual, years before, but the sensations Angela experiences are clearly the same.

Pleased with herself, Ana shifts her weight, knees moving to bracket Angela’s thighs and free hand and forearm up beside Angela’s torso, supporting her weight so she can bring her mouth to Angela’s breasts, can tease and lick and suck and see what new reactions she can draw from Angela.

(It is a good thing, she thinks, that she wears her hair braided now—if it were loose it would get in the way, and she has not a spare hand to move it.)

Despite the not inconsiderable amount of time they spent on foreplay, she goes slowly, knows that doing so will get the best reaction out of Angela—and knows, too, that hearing her lover beg is quite scintillating for herself, and this is the best way to go about it.  She times her movements carefully, circling a nipple with her tongue as she curls her fingers inside Angela, nipping lightly at the edge of her breast in time with a hard thrust.

Soon, one of Angela’s own hands moves to the breast Ana has been ignoring—she can see it in the periphery with her one good eye—and the other comes to join Ana’s hand, arm bent at what must surely be an awkward angle in order to entwine their fingers.  It is… sweet, and unexpected, and utterly unlike what Ana has come to expect from the two of them, and she can feel her eye begin to mist slightly in response to the unexpected tenderness.

(She never thought she would feel such things with Angela, and once she became the Shrike she thought she could not feel such things with anyone.)

To distract herself, she redoubles her efforts, increasing the speed of her motions and feeling Angela react above her, below her, around her.  She feels as Angela’s fingers tighten around her own, hears gasps turn to moans, notes the feeling of Angela’s thighs tensing and untensing between her knees.  

Angela is, of course, not the only one feeling the effects of this, Ana finds herself growing wetter in response to the way Angela is saying her name, the feeling of Angela tight around her fingers, the knowledge that she can still provoke such a response.  

It has been quite some time since she was involved with anyone else sexually, and it seems like longer still since she was able to think of herself as sensual, or desirable.  But now, after years away, to see that for all that she looks differently—acts differently, thinks differently—some part of her elicits the same reactions, is no less attractive than she once was… it is a heady thing.

Also heady is the way she can smell Angela and herself both, their scents combined with sweat and arousal, and the taste of salt beneath her lips.  Above her, the sounds Angela is making are increasing in volume, and she feels the hand she is not holding move between them, reaching downward.

Briefly, she entertains the idea of sitting back, grabbing Angela's wrist, and finishing off her lover herself, but she is not certain, quite, what she might need to do differently, does not want to interrupt this with more fumbling, more questions—she is impatient now, not only from arousal but because she feels her knees growing more sore by the moment, the arm supporting her wait beginning to tremble from the effort.  Maintaining this position for so long is not so easy as it once was.

Despite being tired, she cannot help that her hips roll a little against empty air as she hears Angela begin to plead in earnest, hears her beg, a familiar litany of please and more and her name, over and over, Ana, Ana, Ana.

(Ana decidedly does not think of a phrase beginning with a word that sounds all too similar, dare not do so, but she hears it all the same, in Angela's tone, heard it years ago, if she is honest with herself, but, then, she was rarely honest with herself, not when she could avoid it.  Time and distance have made such things harder for her, have provided greater perspective for the both of them.)

"Please," Angela is gasping, "Ana, please," and Ana realizes that oh, she is still waiting, still obeying rules Ana would not have dreamed applied any longer.

So Ana does sit back, moves so she can look Angela in one eye, their intertwined hands forcing their arms to half hang in the air between them, and orders her to come.

The effect is immediate, Angela's thighs closing tightly, her back bowing, her grip on Ana's outstretched hand tightening.  She is beautiful like this, much as she ever was, and there is too much to look at all at once, and so instead Ana just maintains eye contact, watches an unnamable emotion pass behind Angela's eyes as this happens, rocks her own center against her forearm in the meantime to relieve some pressure.  

Unlike in the past, Angela does not say anything as this happens—makes no noise at all—and so what it is Ana now knows stays hanging between them for the duration of the moment, there but not, a specter not unlike their history—

—Until, abruptly, the moment ends, Angela dropping her half-raised arm, head turning away from Ana's gaze, her now free hand reaching to the side table to grab tissues.

Unsure, suddenly, of what she ought to do, and feeling somewhat voyeuristic, watching Angela clean herself up, Ana moves to sit slightly to the side; in the past, this was always her job, was filed under the umbrella of aftercare, but now, it seems, Angela can handle herself, is more than willing to clean up her own messes.

"There we go," says Angela, signaling she is clean, and drawing Ana's attention back to her face, "Now it's your turn.”  

The second sentence is accompanied with a gesture, and Ana knows the meaning immediately.

"Ah, no," says she, not unkindly but with enough firmness that the Angela of seven years ago would have taken it as an order, and left it unquestioned.

But the woman before her is not the woman of seven years ago, so a question does follow, and swiftly, "Why ever not?  I seem to remember you quite enjoying it.”  

Ana huffs—that is true, Angela's mouth has always been good for more than just asking petulant questions, and there is something unquestionably dominant about the position—and then answers, "I'm sore," says she. "That was more than enough kneeling before.”  

Angela hums, considering, before she perks up and says, "Well, there are benefits to fucking the doctor you know.”  

"No," says Ana firmly.

"But—"

"No.  I may not have been here, but I know well enough that the PETRAS Act impeded your ability to finish testing.  You still don't know the long term effects of nanobiotics, so I won't have them used on me so casually.”  

(Never mind that Ana has been using them on others, but that is a conversation for another day, and she rather suspects that if she mentions the rifle to Angela now then she will not get a chance to come, either kneeling over Angela or on her back.)

For a moment, Angela looks as if she wants to say something else, expression pleased and confused, before she seems to quell the thought, and return to the matter at hand.  "Well, I suppose I could get on the floor and you could stand over me, if you like. I mean, it isn't the most comfortable, for either of us, but it works.  Or there's the chair, which—"

"Angela," Ana interrupts her, before things somehow get more complicated, "There's a much simpler way to do all this.”   She pats the bed with the hand which is not covered in lube as she says it.

A brief frown makes the wrinkles that have appeared on Angela's face deeper, "I thought you didn't like to be...  you know.”   The statement is followed by a vague gesture.

"It's fine," she answers.  

(In this context, with the two of them as equals, it is fine.  In this year, the old Overwatch being entirely destroyed, and gone with it the dread Ana felt then, the terrible overwhelming anxiety and inability to let down her guard for even a moment, it is fine. In this scenario, the two of them having changed and been changed, it is fine.  Allowing herself to feel vulnerable is no longer the danger it once was.)

"If you're certain...”  

"I am," says she, as much strength in her voice as there ever was.

For a moment, they are still, before Angela breaks the silence again, "Well, I suppose you should just lie down then.”  

Ana laughs, then, cannot help it, "You're currently lying on top of all three of the pillows, Angela.”  

"Oh," says Angela, "Scheisse," but she too, is laughing a bit as the two of them switch positions, bumping into each other awkwardly as the dipping of the bed offsets Angela's balance.

It takes a moment for both of them to settle, even after they have switched places, for the laughter to fade and the mood to return somewhat, but it does, and then Angela is the one leaning over her, bangs tickling Ana's cheek.

"Do you mind?”  she asks, fingers trailing the edge of Ana's eyepatch.

Does she?  Ana is not certain.  

"It's hardly attractive," she answers, to avoid having to ask the question of herself.

"I guarantee I've seen worse," is Angela's reply, and Ana supposes this must be true.  She is still considering whether or not to remove it when Angela adds, "You're going to get sweaty, too.  It'll be gross, if it isn't already.”  

That, at least, she cannot object to, and it does feel a bit silly to cover the old injury in front of Angela, whose job has put her in a position to see many a more recent, messy injury.  So she brings her own hands up to her face, brushing Angela's aside, and takes the eyepatch off, setting it aside on the nightstand.  This somehow feels more vulnerable than nudity, more vulnerable than lying on her back and allowing Angela to crouch over her.  

For her part, Angela does not react badly—looks for a moment as if she is studying the injury, assessing it, but does not say anything.  Instead, she presses a kiss to the tattoo beneath it, whispers a word of thanks, and carries on her way, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ana's mouth, then to her neck, trailing lower and lower.

There is a tenderness, here that did not exist before—or, perhaps, one that was not allowed—a reverence to the way Angela's lips touch her skin, and the way clever fingers trail over all the new blemishes on Ana's skin, the scars, the sagging, the stretch marks made more evident by time.  While Angela might have respected her before, might have been awed, that awe was in in the classical sense, with a respect towards potential for destruction, whereas now there is simply wonder, disbelief, and with it an aching gentleness, one the two of them have never known.  

(A part of Ana wishes Angela were rougher, wishes she did not need to watch the emotions play across her lover's face as each new scar is revealed to her—but she cannot stand to look away, knows that now is not the time to run, not if she wants to ever be able to return again.  Still, this would be simpler if only Angela were rougher, if only this were something more like what Ana were used to.  Anger, she can defend against, and all other harsh things, but she is unaccustomed now to anything soft, does not know how to react to being treated so nicely.)

For a long time, Angela's gaze lingers upon one scar in particular, a shrapnel wound in Ana's abdomen.  It would have killed her without nanobiotic intervention, nearly still did, as her supply of grenades and bullets dwindled—and Angela must recognize the severity, must know from the way it is healed that it ought to have killed, if not for extraordinary means.  Her fingers trail along it, and her lips after, and Ana shivers in response, feels her nipples harden just a little bit more, and the physical reaction is distraction enough to compel Angela to move on.

Words will be had later, Ana is certain, a lecture on when field medicine is inadequate, but there are many other fights looming of greater priority too, You left, and You took, and You should have all awaiting them both, so she can hardly worry about it now.  

(Even in the moment, she did not worry about it.  A dead woman cannot be killed.)

Far more pleasant things exist to dwell upon, in the moment, and living in the moment is what kept Ana alive, in the between years, so it is easy for her to brush all thoughts of past, future, past-become-future, future-become-past from her head.

She refocuses just as she learned to, a deep breath, eye closing, focus turned only to sensation—a mattress, too soft beneath her, cool air against her skin where sweat has risen, heat as her internal temperature rises, soft lips moving to suck at the point of one hip, and an aching.

With one hand, she moves to nudge Angela's head over, to move things along, pushing Angela from her hip to her center, and Angela obliges, though Ana can feel her lips curling into a smile as she presses one last kiss—amusement, presumably, at the impatience so uncharacteristic of a sniper.

Ana opens her thighs to give Angela space, and is glad she does not have to ask for this; begging always was Angela's realm.

Of course, this does not mean Angela will oblige her immediately, does not mean that they are not equals in stubbornness.  Instead of doing what it is that Ana wills, Angela bites and sucks along her inner thighs, and Ana finds herself unsure whether to arch into it or to squirm away.  Angela is so close to where Ana wants her, yet so far away, and each time Angela turns her head she just barely brushes against Ana's exposed sex, in a way that is certainly not accidental.  

Rolling her hips a bit towards Angela's face, Ana hopes to force the issue without betraying herself, without losing whatever small battle of wills they have found themselves in—so unlike the games they played in years before, given the reversal of roles, but so similar in other ways—but seven years is a very long time, and Ana almost wonders if losing might not be worth it, here.

Almost.

Instead she bites her lip, tries not to think too hard about what it is she would very much like her lover to be doing right now, and instead brings both her hands to her breasts, hoping that the motion will draw Angela's eye, that the image will be enough to spur her lover to action.  She bites her lip as she does so, not wanting to give away how much she wants this, how much the delay, now and before, has frustrated her.

Still, when a particularly sharp nip from Angela accidentally syncs up with a flick of her nipple, she realizes that this is a game she will not win, does not want to, if waiting longer is the win condition available to her.

(Never mind that her wetness must have given her away already, anyway.  She has been noticeably so since before she was ever inside Angela, and that is something she cannot mask, even if her pride demands she save face elsewhere.)

If she cannot win like this, she will do as she has always done—in the bedroom, and elsewhere—will change the rules to suit her favor.  If Angela will not touch where she wants her to, well, she will touch herself.  No matter what, she will not beg, cannot be made to ask for this.  

(Before, only pride would have prevented her from doing so, but now, it is more than that, is not only pride but a need to know she does not rely on others, a need to feel that she can care for herself, here or anywhere.)

One hand she brings up to the headboard, giving herself something to hold onto, and the other she brings downward trigger finger sliding through coarse hair before finding her clit.  She is not gentle—never is, with herself—and does nothing to hide the moan that escapes when, at last, she is able to find some relief.

That draws Angela's attention, and it is only a moment before she is being hoisted up, thighs over shoulders, hand pushed out of the way by Angela's nose as she moves to finally, finally satisfy Ana.

Had the teasing not gone on so long, she might be embarrassed by the immediacy of her reaction, by how much her thighs are already trembling, by the way she is already rocking into Angela's face, by the way her hand buries itself in Angela's hair, pushing her head forward.  She might be, but she is not—she has waited long enough.  

After so long, it does not seem as if Angela has forgotten any of what she likes, clever tongue remembering the rhythm from years before—one loose circle followed by two tighter ones and then a flick at the clit—and Ana can already feel the hot coil of arousal deep in her stomach, knows that if she wanted to, she could orgasm soon with just a little effort on either of their parts, and as alluring as that sounds, as much as she wants this, has wanted this, a part of her is not ready, yet, for anything to end, so she nudges Angela's face a little lower, to tease at her entrance, and allows the heat to uncoil slightly, allows the tension to fade a bit, her heartbeat slowing slightly and breathing more regular.

(Once this ends, she is afraid of what will happen, does not know where the arguments to come will leave them, does not know if she will ever again be able to be with Angela in this way, or if they will instead lapse into their old ways, will find themselves again unable to be open before one another outside of their prescribed roles.  So she fights it ending, lets the orgasm escape her, allows them just a few minutes longer of this little interlude.)

It is not unpleasant, to feel Angela inside her, but such has never been enough for Ana—not with any partner—to result in an orgasm, and likely never will be. Still, there is something to be said for the knowledge that her lover is inside her, that she is vulnerable now in a way she rarely allows herself to be, and that Angela sees her like this and does not mind, does not care that she is not the same woman she once was, is not the same Captain who was strong, and brave, and never accessible in any way, was almost aloof, the knowledge that she is different, now, after her return, but it does not matter.

(She would be lying if she said that she could have anticipated even that she would want this, but want it she does.  After too many years of being too strong she wants to be allowed to be weak, and to do so in a way that is not selfish, is not her leaving behind all that she has known, is normal, human weakness.)

Soon enough, Angela grows bored of just teasing, moves her attention to sucking at Ana's labia, teasing and pulling on them with her lips and tiny scrapes of her tongue—deliberate, in her intent to only excite but not to get Ana close, again, to orgasm.

Perhaps she still believes that she could win this, that Ana conceded by allowing her first potential orgasm to fizzle out, that she will wring a request from Ana yet.

She will not, of course, could never make Ana beg—would only ever get a command at best—but optimism is something that Ana's lover has never lacked, is to be seen in the way she pursues the impossible professionally, ethically, and here.

Knowing this, Ana teases her a little, lets free a few sounds that she might never otherwise, allows Angela to think that she is more desperate than she is, hears, feels Angela's corresponding hum of contentment.  It is all the confirmation that Ana needs.

"Angela," she starts as if she were begging, and wishes she could see the grin she can feel pressed against her.  Then again, "Angela.”  

For a moment she thinks she has overplayed it—undercover missions were never Ana's forte—but then Angela is pulling back just slightly, looking so smug, "Yes, Ana?”  Her voice is almost saccharine.

"You'll have to try harder than that," says she, flatly as is possible given the situation.

This, at least, startles a laugh out of Angela, a little shake of her head, and then they are moving again, Angela's lips and tongue finding her clit once more.

This time, there will be no backing down, will be no putting off an orgasm.  She can feel it already, in the way her spine is arching into it, in the speeding of her heart, in the way both of her hands grip harder, one on the headboard and one in Angela's hair, pulling blonde bangs out of her face to make this easier.

Of course, Ana can hardly focus on the sudden eye contact, finds herself almost entirely absorbed by sensation, by the desire of all her muscles to tighten until they can do so no longer, all feeling focused on a single point of her body.

So close, Ana thinks, so close, so close, so fucking close.

Just one more hard suck, just one more graze of teeth, and she will finally, finally come.  She closes her eye in anticipation of the sensation, bites down on her lip to silence herself and, and—

—And her attention is snapped away at the last minute by Angela moving a hand to snap near her face.

Fuck.

"Angela," she grits out.

They are, it seems, at an impasse.

Or, so Ana thinks.  Angela has something else in mind.

"I want you to look at me," she says, breaking rhythm only long enough to get the words out, the feeling of her breath an almost unbearable tease in and of itself.

Well.  Ana is not a fan of compromise, not really, it always tastes to her vaguely of defeat, but when Angela is keeping her on the edge like this, not giving her that one final push she needs—a concession may be worthwhile.  Just this once.

So she concedes, opens her good eye and looks it with one of Angela’s, and it does not seem so much like losing now, as she feels Angela suck on her just so, and she thinks—

—She does not think, because that little movement, and Angela’s gaze upon her, and the way she has been tensing in preparation for what feels like so long now are enough, and there is hardly room for thought anymore, only sensation, the pulsing of her muscles and the clenching of her thighs, the way her heart races and head spins.

(Perhaps compromise need not always be a defeat.)

Throughout everything, Angela’s eyes are meeting her own eye, and she could not look away even if she wanted to.  It might be nicer to say her gaze were one of defiance, a final small victory, but instead she is transfixed, is lost in feeling and space and time and possibility and Angela.  Above all else, Angela.

But then, as most things do, it ends.  They break eye contact and then the gulf of time and distance is there between them once more.

Angela is moving to wipe off her face, the sweat on their skin is cooling, and Ana is suddenly very thirsty. She gathers her strength to go walk into the bathroom, knowing that if she lets herself get comfortable now it will only be more unpleasant to stand up later, and ignores the slight shake to her legs as she does so.

When she returns, again, Angela’s clothes have found their way into a hamper, the sheets are once again straightened, and Angela is sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her.  Perhaps, if Ana ignores her, this conversation need not happen, she can just put on her clothes and walk out, and they can say all that it is they need to tomorrow, have this one night untarnished by past or future.  She bends to grab her bra and—

“Please,” says Angela, “Stay.”  

(In her voice, Ana thinks she can hear another conversation, thinks she can hear so many more words; Don’t leave, and Not again, and Not like everyone else.)

Like this, Angela easily seems seven years younger, naked before her as if the time never passed, and Ana finds herself wavering.

Should she stay?  Likely, no—come tomorrow there will be conversations she would rather not have, about her leaving, about her rifle, about what Angela did say and what she yet cannot—but in coming back to Overwatch Ana is already acting against her own best interest and, well, what, then, is one thing more?

(How much could one night mean?)

“Alright,” says she, “Alright.”  

Just this once.

[berevityandquiet]

i’m slowly editing more fics for moo!jack, so here have the toot fic.

i still have no clue how to tie the two together, but at least i’ve gotten a chance to flesh the first part out

“He's underweight.”

Angela's got a stare that could freeze fire. She looks over her clipboard, eyeing Gabriel sternly

“He's very underweight. Do you feed him at all?”

“No, Ange, I tie him up and make him watch me eat steak – of course I feed him.” Gabriel rolls his eyes, “But I'm not going to stick a funnel down his throat.”

“I'm not saying 'use a funnel', but him being his underweight is seriously hampering his recovery.” Angel sits at her desk, slamming down her clipboard, “I'm his primary physician, I'm sure you can appreciate that worries me.”

Angela had been involved in Jack since he'd shown up at the shop, checking up on him every now and then and making sure he took his vitamins and supplements. She's a pretty good doctor – best one they've got in town, honestly. And although Jack still shys away from Angela over long periods, he's slowly come around to being cooperative for exams.

It's a relief – Gabriel's knowledge of medicine is solid, but it's not unlimited. Jack's still skittish about a lot – having a third party they both trust saves a lot of hassle.

Well. Some hassle – the hassle of getting his ass chewed out remains.

“So, what's the plan, doc?” Gabriel sits up, resting his arms on his knees, “Because I don't think bitching at me's going to get his weight up.”

“But it might make you take this seriously.” She rolls her eyes and thrusts a sheet of paper at him, “Proteins. He needs them. Time to put those master-chef skills to use, Gabriel.”

Gabriel snatches the paper, matching the sneer on her face, “Finally. I'll get to try out all those new, exciting dishes I keep seeing.”

“Try not to kill my patient, Señor.”

“I'll give it my best shot, Fraulein.”

“What smell so good?”

Gabriel peaks out of the kitchen – Jack's returned from one of his daily wanderings. He's surprisingly clean, still holding the knapsack Ana'd given him. Jack tosses it on the coatrack and walks into the kitchen, obviously following his nose.

“Pupusas.” Gabriel smiles at him, patting the dough between his hands, “I've already made a few, they're just cooling down right now.”

He motions towards the plate covered in dishtowels. Oil soaks the fabric, making small, oily circles.

“What's a pupusa?” Jack tilts his head, eyes big and blue. Gabriel turns away from his dough.

“It's like..filled pancakes.”

“Are they sweet?”

“Not really – some of them can be, but most are savory.” Gabriel tosses the dough into the air to form it, “I'm guessing you've never had one before?”

“Nope...They smell good.” Jack seems entranced, leaning forward as Gabriel begins to form the morsel, “They smell really good.”

“So you've said.” Gabriel tosses the cake onto the frying pan. It snarls and sizzles, “You can have one, if you want.”

He's not entirely sure if this is what Angela meant. There's a lot of oil in making these things, a lot of carbohydrates. But they're filled with good stuff – beans, cheese, avocado (he's smartly avoided using any meat). They're easy to store, easy to cook – if he's going to entice Jack to eat more, maybe having smaller foods with more portions would help?

He's not a doctor – but he's giving it his best shot.

“I'm...I'm okay, I still have-”

“No c'mon.” Gabriel turns from the griddle and pouts, “I can't eat these all on my own, Ana doesn't like them, and I don't want them to go to waste!”

“If you didn't want to waste them, why did you make so many?” He laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “I got carried away?”

“You don't say.”

Jack's frowning at the plate, rubbing his chin. Gabriel has to stomp down a good natured laugh – Jack looks so much better from when he first arrived. His pelt, which was once almost white-blonde) has taken a more sunny color, the tan patches a richer color. He was shaggy when he arrived – now he's freshly trimmed and washed, his face shaved clean (admittedly, he's got a pit of a baby face all cleaned up like that). The bags under his eyes are the only thing that speaks of his age.

“Look, just...try one.” Gabriel leans over and rips the fabric off, letting the smell of the freshly made treats waft in the air, “Eat one for me, and if you want more, then you can have them.”

Jack's eyes narrow – the suspicious, wary look breaks Gabriel's heart a little bit. It's the 'what's your goal, what's your scheme' look that's so ingrained in Jack now.

“...half?” He bargains, pulling the most brilliant smile he can muster, “A third? A fourth? C'mon Jackie, don't leave me hanging here.”

“My name's not Jackie.” Jack says grumpily as he snatches one cake from the plate and tosses it between his fingers. They're still hot – not scalding, but not cool enough to hold easily. He slowly lifts the food to his mouth before he stops and glares at it, giving it another sniff, “Why do you want me to eat this so bad?”

“Because you've never had one.”

“How could you know that – I literally just told you that.”

“Okay. Well, how does “I wanted pupsas and didn't want to eat them alone” sound?”

Jack turns his glare to Gabriel, ears flopping back and forth – and then he grabs of a hunk of pupusa with his teeth and rips the hunk off, chewing noisily.

Gabriel turns back to the griddle – busying himself with his cooking. He keeps an ear out – hears Jack finish the first one, hesitate, and then take a second pupsa.

You can never just have one.

Jack gains a good chunk of weight that night on the cakes alone – Gabriel's pleased as punch, happy to hand him more and more food.

It's all about presentation – Jack doesn't like being watched while he eats, so Gabriel turns to make more food. He doesn't mention how much he takes or how quickly he eats it, just shoves another plate towards him and asks him to “try this batch too”.

Getting him to even consider the food is a step in the right direction after all – they quickly learned upon moving in that Jack's got a host of food allergies that he's apparently just dealt with the past few months by limiting what he ate or not eating entirely – even on the auction diet he was forced on, he would forgo food for days on end until he was forced to eat by a stablehand. Angela wonders if they're stress related – the first (and subsequently last) time Gabriel made macaroni and cheese ended in a three hour trip to the restroom, followed by a plumber coming out to fix the “damage” and him having to comfort a distraught, embarrassed Jack by saying “shit happens” (even the plumber groaned at that).

He's temperamental about being forced to eat things he doesn't know – the first few weeks had one-too-many days running to the bathroom and dealing with horrible cramps and when pushed too hard, Jack does one of two things: breaks down or runs away.

So it's been a slow, steady process. They eat in the same room now, they even eat the same things sometimes. And the portions are slowly getting bigger and bigger – even if it's at a snail's crawl, every pound he gains brings Gabriel joy.

“I...shit, Gabe, I'm done.” Jack sits back, pushing the plate away.

Gabriel plops onto the other side of the table, taking a cake of his own – the last of the batch sits between them, still steaming and glistening. Jack sighs, his face twisting between utterly content and utterly....concentrated.

Gabriel gives Jack a good one-over as he slowly chews his food – there's a rosy glow in his cheeks that stand out stark against his pale skin and a bump's formed in Jack's belly. A food baby (Gabriel chuckles to himself – Jack could use a few more curves on him, he looks cute)

“Thanks for trying all those dishes for me – I haven't done those in forever.”

Jack blushes, sipping his glass, “Yeah...no problem.”

He shifts in his chair; Gabriel can hear his hoof starting to tap.

“What's the matter?”

Jack starts, ears perking up, “What?”

“You're staring off into space – you okay?”

“Yeah....yeah, I'm. I'm fine.”

Gabriel blinks – Jack doesn't look fine, he looks nervous as hell.

“Is it your stomach?”

“Huh?”

“Is your stomach acting up again?” Gabriel sits up, frowning – he learned from last time, get the kid some water and some space to let his body rest, “Do you need to lie down?”

“No...no, my stomach's fine but...” He puts an uneasy hand on his belly, not looking Gabriel in the eye. His ears flop nervously as he rubs his stomach, “Bloating. I guess.”

“Oh.” Gabriel sits back, taking another pupusa, “It doesn't hurt does it?”

“Naw, not at all.” Jack reassures him quietly, “Just...haydit.”

He mumbles the last word, propping his chin up on his hand, fingers covering his mouth. Gabriel smiles slightly and stands, scooting his chair to move next to Jack.

“Why?” He asks as Jack instinctively leans against his side.

“Don' like feelin fat.” He presses his face against Gabriel's chest, muttering into his shirt. Gabriel's heart breaks a little more. Jack's always had a horrible self-image – Gabriel would love him even if he was the size of a houseboat, but Gabriel can't “fix” him with love alone. That's what Angela and Ana and his therapist is for – Gabriel can only support him and help him get better.

“Lo siento, toro.” He lays his head against Jack's, pressing a kiss to his horn, “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“Nothin'.” Jack mutters, reaching out and snagging a hunk of Gabriel's pupusa – he nibbles on it miserably, “Just support me. I guess.”

“Of course.”

The night starts out normal enough.

Gabe's used to going to bed stark naked – he's taken to wearing boxers now that Jack has conquered his bed. Beneath the covers, he tries to make an effort to hide the hard-on he gets as Jack gets ready for bed, brushing his hair, his teeth, shinning his stubby (but growing!) horns.

To which Jack laughs and proceeds to suck him off as they fall asleep, lapping and sucking on Gabriel's cock, mouthing at his heavy sac. Jack loves giving head, can't get enough of it – he's a greedy bovine in that regard, giving head the way Gabriel likes it, sloppy, wet, mouthy.

He swallows around Gabe as he cums, not letting a drop slip past his lips. Gabriel's delicious, the perfect mix of salty, bitter, and creamy.

He pushes away Gabriel's hand when Gabriel reaches to touch him.

“Unlike you I don't need to get off before bed every night.” He teases as he lays on the bed. Gabriel slots himself against Jack's back, one hand resting against the curve of Jack's thigh. He can just feel how wet Jack is but Jack is a horrible tease and won't let Gabriel taste him yet.

What a brat.

someone help i can’t tie these two together still OTL

“Jesus fuck”

Gabriel presses his thighs together, hooves knocking each other other loudly. The bright red that coated Jack's face runs down his neck, creeping over his shoulders. Gabriel's cock is slick, between the thick folds of Jack's cunt, soaking wet and sticky. There's another blast of air – it's like the best toy he's ever used times a hundred, the hot vibration directly against the sheath of his cock. Gabriel laughs snidely, thrusting his cock up against those slippery folds.

“You're so disgusting.” he laughs, squeezing Jack's thighs. The flesh dimples beneath his fingertips, his pelt wonderfully soft, “Is your stomach really that sensitive?”

“F-Fuck off.” Jack grumbles, bitting his lip, his hands locked over Gabriel's. Even if Gabriel wanted to let go – he certainly wouldn't be now. Jack groans, his stomach groaning again – every shallow thrust drives him wild, his sex dripping against Gabriel's pelvis, “Fuck!”

He huffs, utterly humiliated as he rips a loud one against Gabriel, ears hanging low. One hand covers his face, the other still over Gabriel's hand, “You're the sick one you- oh god right there – how are you g-getting – fuck fuck fuck – how are you getting off on this?”

“How could I not? Your sloppy pussy's all wet for me, ready for me to wreck you.”

[penpaperandstories-blog]

The Note

If you are reading this, it means that the story has come to an end. Or what I hope it is. You only live once. No, cross that out. Let’s try again, you live every day, but you only die once. You live every day as if it were your last. In my case, I can’t possibly know it until it happened to me. But I know someone who did.

Surviving each day that is full of tiresome and gruesome events that you thought has no end. But it does have an end. One small spark could start a wild fire. Let me start my story at its end. Where I thought it ended…

« « I » »

It all started on that sorrowful day. A day, I presume, is again full of repetitive events that happen in my life for sixteen years. In this town where everything seems constant, has its life-ending change. I heard my parents talking that the old man at the end of the town has already died. Yes he died, not passed away. Let’s just face that he died, his life ended and we could not change the fact, even if we use phrases with the same meaning. He died. He was such a good man, that man. I remembered that when I was little, he often gave me candies as I passed his house to do some errands for my mother. He always sits on his rocking chair, where he waits for me to pass his house and call me to give me candies.

Whenever I thanked him, he always smiles at me and pat my head. And when I ate the sweet he has given me, he tells me stories of his adventure. Too many for me to count, but they are magnificent to hear, all the challenges he faced during his youth. I stayed with him before the sun sets, before I go home. As I overheard my mother sobbing while she talked to my father about Mr. Edmund’s death. Memories of Mr. Edmund flashed in my head: “Shouldn’t you be home right now, little Elio?” He always asked me when I stayed longer. “No, I want to watch the sunset with you, Mr. Edmund.” I replied. “But your mother will scold you if you are not home before the sun sets.” He reasoned out with me. “But what about you, Mr. Edmund, you’ll be alone here.” I asked. “Oh, I am not alone, little Elio, as long as you come to my house, I am not alone.” He replied with a smile, as I looked up to him with curious eyes. “Okay, Mr. Edmund, if you say so.” I always say and get up to my feet and bid my good bye to him. I went downstairs and asked my mother, even though I already knew. “What happened?” “Do you remember, Mr. Edmund, Elio?” My father asked. “Yes, what happened to him?” “He died yesterday, in the middle of the night. He’s body was found dead this morning.” “Who found his body?” My mom sobs more loudly. Right then, it was her who found the dead body of Mr. Edmund. “I was about to bring some bread to his house. But he didn’t open the door. I opened his door and found him dead on the floor. He was smiling, he looked peaceful.” My mom burst out crying. “How would you say so?” I asked. “He looks like sleeping, but when I checked his heart beat, it’s not beating.” She replied. My father calmed my mother and told her to get some rest. They already called an ambulance so that Mr. Edmund’s body could be moved to the morgue. When the ambulance came, I peered through the windows and saw a little crowd obscuring the view of Mr. Edmund’s house. Probably those who weren’t so busy enough to mind their own business. “These people never change.” My mother mutters. “They can’t even let the old man have his rest, even he’s already dead they keep on talking about him. ”She said what was on my mind and she was right about that. Mr. Edmund has been living in this town longer than these people crowding the view of his house. He and his wife moved here long before I was born. Their house belonged to his parents, where he grew up as a child. His wife Isabel was kind and gentle; she was the one who used to give children some sweets and cookies, while Mr. Edmund worked of a candy factory. They had no child; it was very saddening that they could not bear a child. But they didn’t mind about not having a child. Instead they gave children that pass their house some candies and cookies so that their sorrow of not having a child could be lifted. That’s when the gossip started. A housewife spread news that her son had stomachaches after eating some cookies from Mrs. Isabel. But it was later proved that the reason for the boy to have stomachache is because his mother fed him too much pie. Another housewife tells that her daughter had her teeth gone because of eating too much candy from Mr. Edmund. But it was just a hoax because the housewife only painted her daughter’s teeth with a dark-colored food colorant. My thoughts on the gossips about Mr. Edmund and his wife stopped when my mother reminded me that I must hurry and finish eating so I could go to school. I gulped down the remaining milk on my glass and went upstairs and took a bath.

« « II » »

It’s been a week since Mr. Edmund’s death. He was buried along side with his wife’s tomb, now no one can keep them apart anymore. Some of our neighbors come to the funeral, not because they want to, but simply because they want to gossip about his death. I still remember when he first took me to his wife’s tomb, there we sat and ate some biscuits and drank some juice, he told stories that he and Mrs. Isabelle’s journey on different places. He told me that it was Mrs. Isabelle’s birthday, that’s why he took me to her grave. We watched the sunset and he took me home. I went to school and heard all of my classmates talking about Mr. Edmund’s death. They even made fun of how his body would’ve looked like if he died surprised, sad or afraid. All of them are laughing, except me. Then I realized that I wasn’t the only one who was laughing, there was Ana, she looks at my classmates with disgust on her eyes, but her face looks sad. She held her a huge notebook in front of her as if it will protect her from being talked about. A moment came and we looked into each other’s eyes, but she quickly turned away. As soon as the bell rings, which indicates that it’s time for our lunch; Ana quickly stood up and walks as fast as she could outside the room. She clasped the notebook she’s holding very tight on her chest. It was like her life depended on the notebook itself. I’m the only one who noticed her movements, everyone see her as something different, an outcast. Ana and her family moved here 5 summers ago, but I hardly even see her in the celebrations and festivities that happened here in town. I heard some rumors that they travel when there’s a celebration in town. I’m not quite sure if that rumor is true; their house is fifteen blocks away from Mr. Edmund’s house, so that I could not pass their front yard. But I heard my classmates talking about their house; they said that it was a mixture of black and white. Ana was nowhere to be found in the corridors, as soon as I went back on my seat to get my novel and read out my whole time for lunch, I take a peek of Ana’s seat, and there lies an envelope. I stood up to get the envelope, but something tells me that I should not do that; but another part of me tells me that I should take a look at it.

A string was pulling towards the envelope; something tells me that it’s very important. The envelope has a black and white wax with a stamp of a Victorian letter ‘A’. I looked at the back of the envelope to know the recipient of the letter, but there was none. I carefully tear the paper above the stamp so that the stamp would not be damaged. I carefully get the letter and read it: “Go to the abode of dark and light, Of the sun and moon are at sight, To seek the truth and live not with lies, To see things that is not plain in the eyes…” The words were too deep to be understood by an ordinary person in our room. The good thing is I have read some of Mr. Edmund’s books that tell many tales about adventures of the main character to various places. Places of dark mysteries to enlightening scriptures. But the tales were too vague for me to understand when I was a child so Mr. Edmund would elaborate it for me. But before I could tell another tale about Mr. Edmund’s story, I have to know what this letter mean, I have to return it to Ana. I have to find her.

« « III » »

After our last subject, which was English, I went home as soon as I could. I entered my room and saw another envelope laid on my bed. The stamp was differentt; it was a red wax stamp and an Old English letter ‘E’. I opened it just like how I opened Ana’s envelope. I read the letter: “Helion of the Sun, Talk to Diana of the Moon.” Why does it have to do with Ana? And what’s with the weird name-titles? The letter was so confusing that I fell asleep thinking what it really meant. I woke up with a sudden jot on my body; I quickly sit up from my bed and saw the ghostly light of the moon on my window pane. My windows were open, guess I forgot to close them that afternoon. But as soon as my gaze landed on my study table, I saw Ana’s letter of deep words. There was something odd about it though. I took it and read it again using the light of the moon as my source of light. I tried to decipher its hidden meanings: “Go to the abode of dark and light, “ This means where it’s a house, of dark and light. “Of the sun and moon are at sight, “ Obviously, it is where you could see the sun and the moon at the same time. “To seek the truth and live not with lies, “ Self-explanatory, how see the truth behind the lies. “To see things that is not plain in the eyes…” This means, to see what others think something ordinary. “To see things that is not plain in the eyes…” I remembered this quotation, it’s one of Mr. Edmund’s sayings to me when I little! Of course, it’s from one his stories. About a certain character that saw through the lies and secrets of his town. “Little Elio, we must not only see things as it is, we have to see right through it to know if it is true or not.” “What do you mean, Mr. Edmund?” “Things are sometimes not what they seemed to be. Sometimes they could be so much more of what you think it is.” “Okay, I really don’t understand it Mr. Edmund.” He chuckled, a very happy chuckle, I couldn’t simply forget. I remembered those moments because of Mr. Edmund’s laughter that time. He was so happy that I could not even understand what he meant on what he had said to me back then. I checked my clock and saw that it was thirty minutes after eleven. I brought my satchel, inside it were Ana’s letter, and the one I found on my lamp right after I got home and some matches and a flash light. I have some business to do. I have to go to Mr. Edmund’s house.

« « IV » »

I walked the streets with caution. People might see me and thought of me as a thief or whatnot. I moved along the patches of shadows that the moon created throughout the night. I checked my watch; it was already fifteen minutes after I left our house. I was tempted to move a bit faster than my current speed, but any more fast movement would cause me my doom of being seen in the night. It’s already pass the time of which, children of my age should be going out at night. So I must be ridiculously cautious of every movement that I make. I reached Mr. Edmund’s gate. I was enticed to use the gate, but that would make an ear tearing sound that could break the silence of the cool night. This means I would give the neighbors a hint that someone was here. Instead of doing just that, I climbed the post where the gate lights are placed; I avoided the pointed tendrils of gate and carefully climb to the other side. “Someday, Little Elio, you will be climbing gates and it will be easier for you to do so.” “Why did you say so, Mr. Edmund?” “Because you would be a lot taller and bigger at that time, you would be strong and lean.” “Why would I even climb gates, there are doors which I could use to enter?” “Someday, you will know its purpose.” I remember Mr. Edmund saying to me with eyes full of hope and aspiration. I didn’t know that I would be climbing his gates. And the purpose was to know what his letter meant. Though I knew that he had already passed away; I still hear his stories echoing in my ears every time I remembered them. I landed carefully on my feet. “What took you so long?” A voice said. I froze, someone was here, and I’ve been caught. My doom has come. “Come here this instant, Helion. We must hurry.” The voice said. It was a girl. “Diana? Is that you?” I tried to see through the darkness. “Who else could it be?” She said and emerged on a patch of moonlight in the lawn. Her hair was shimmering silver. “Your hair. Why was it different?” “It’s always been like this, Helion.” She said while rolling her eyes. “No, it’s glowing silver.” I pointed. She looks at it and her eyes went bigger with surprise. “Goodness, you should not have seen that.” She said, alarmed. “Why should I not have seen that?” “Nothing. Forget everything I said.” She said avoiding my question. “Answer me, Diana.” “No, we must enter Mr. Edmund’s house first.” I stopped as I was supposed to step on the plank stairs. She looks at me skeptically. “Why do you know him?” “You’re not the only one whom he had told his stories, you know.” “Wh-“ “Enough questions, Helion. We must figure out how we open these doors. It’s been locked ever since your mother ran out of the house.” I looked at her again. She saw everything. She was observing everything, but how? “I was also supposed to go here when I saw your mother came out running in panic. The doors were slammed shut and I tried to open it. But I couldn’t open it.” I touched the door knob and twist it. The doors creaked open, Ana’s eyes widened again. I opened my flash light and beamed it inside the house. It was the same as I remembered, his chair and his wife’s chair where a feet away from the table. We entered the house and the door remained opened, I thought it would close like the movies. Ana was beside me with her flash light as well, the lights from our flash lights met on the table where another envelope was laid on top of a book. I looked at her and at the same time she looks at me. We both wondered what’s written inside.

« «V » »

Diana picks up the envelope and opened it, avoiding tearing the beautiful stamp. I looked at the letter as soon as she held it out of the envelope. “You Helion of the Sun, and Diana of the Moon, are our two greatest gifts that we could not wish. Elio, who joined me to watch as the sun sets at the horizon. And Ana, who stayed with me during the moon’s time in the heavens. Thank you for all the moments we have shared together. Now you two must continue the Legacy that was passed down to me and Isabelle.” Diana’s eyes were filled with tears. And it made its way down to her cheeks. I wiped her tear and she stopped crying. “The Legacy. What is he talking about?” “I know nothing of it. He only told me stories from his books and tales.” “So was I, so what do you think this Legacy was?” “Something worth keeping, something that Mr. Edmund would not easily give to anyone.” I looked for a switch so that we could easily see around the house, and I was lucky to find it right beside the door frame. I flick it open and the light went on. I closed the door and was about to go to Diana when I saw a picture. I take a look at it. It was drawn using crayons and pencil. “It was my first drawing of this house; it’s when I met Mrs. Isabelle. I was with my father, she was planting some flowers and she smiled at me.” And right beside the picture was my own version of the drawing, drawn also from crayons and pencil. Diana looks at it. “It was the same as mine, but-“ “It was my drawing, when I first met Mr. Edmund. I was with my mother when we walked past his house and saw him sitting on his chair. And he waved at us.” “So, how come you stayed with Mr. Edmund during the night?” I asked “My parents owned a business that only opens at night, though I have only been there once, they introduced me to Mrs. Isabelle who took care of me while my parents are away. One night, she took me to her house, and there I met Mr. Edmund, who told me a lot of different stories. And since then, I come to their house every night, to wait for my parents. How about you, how did you met Mr. Edmund?” “I always passed his house when I was little. One day, I was flying my kite but it got stuck on a tree and I cried because I could not get it. Mr. Edmund gets the kite for me, but it got broken. He took me to his house and we fixed my kite, but as we fixed it, he told me a lot of stories.” “I wish he was still alive.” Diana said in a melancholic tone. “I wish the same, too. I wished I had stayed longer than the sun sets.” We heard a twitching sound on the book shelves near the stairs of the house. I quickly stood up and went to it. But as I approach it I stepped on a broken floor board and fell on the basement of the house. The last thing I heard was Diana screaming my name. « «VI » »

I remembered the stories of Mr. Edmund. They were all about heroes who faced great odds to become one. Like Odysseus, Hercules and Perseus. There were also tales from the Faerie Prince and A wrecked ship. But the one I love the most from his stories was his, on how he met Mrs. Isabelle and how he proved his love to her. “Elio, wake up. Please” I heard a voice. I opened my eyes and saw Diana looking at me. Her eyes were teary, she was crying. I reached her face to wipe her tears. “What happened?” “You stepped on a broken floor board and landed here in the basement.” “Did you found out what was the twitching sound?” “No, but I found something much more important than that.” She said with caution. “What is it?” “The basement was full of books, but all of them were too old to be opened.” I tried to sit up, and Diana assisted me. I looked around and she was right, there were many books here. Some were too old to be opened, if I open one of them, it might crumble to dust. I tried to stand up, but my ankle was broken from the landing. Diana assisted me, weighing me on her shoulders. I caught a glimpse of light hitting my eyes; I squinted and look where it was coming from. I carefully balanced myself and walked for it, with Diana on my back. I reached for it, it was an old journal, but the pages were still new. I opened it and it burst into light. The light was blinding that I could not see the journal itself. “Elio, Ana. You have found the Legacy. You have come to seek the truth behind the lies. And to see past the things on plain sight that hides.” A voice boomed. “Who are you?” Diana asked. “The Truth that you Seek. The Answer that you wish to Know. Let me tell you the story which Edmund has not told you before.” ”There was a man who wished nothing but for the good of all. I saw Mr. Edmund standing up and helping other people. He would do anything even if he falls. He was struggling on his own pain and suffering. For the one he loves and dears the most. Images of me and Ana and our family was shown. To help the confused and the lost. I saw Mr. Edmund helping my parents and Ana’s parents as well. That was their mission the both of them. To give treasure that is worth more that gold and gem. I saw Mr. Edmund and Mrs. Isabelle giving people gifts and food during calamities and war. They give love and it was returned. Love that will always and continue to burn.” And the blinding light stops and the voice became fainter and fainter. The journal was again in my hands. I tried to stand up properly and my ankle was not broken anymore. “Did you see what I’ve seen?” Ana asked. “Yes, they were living their lives at its fullest. Even Death could not stop the happiness they’ve brought to the people.” “They were heroes.” Ana said with her eyes teary. I wiped her tears. “It’s okay; don’t be sad because they’re gone. Be happy because we happened to meet two people who love unconditionally. They are happy wherever they are now.” I assured her. I was surprised on what Ana did next. She put embraces me and put her face on my chest. I embraced her too, and feel her long silver hair turning to blond. We walked out of Mr. Edmund’s house holding the journal. We stared into the horizon and saw the sun about to rise and the skies on its crimson orange color. Since then I knew something different happened not only in my life, but also in Ana’s life. It’s been twenty years after we found the Legacy on Mr. Edmund’s house. And now we live on his house now, telling children the stories he have told us when we were at the same age as they are now. Ana and I no lived our lives to its fullest as Mr. Edmund and Mrs. Isabelle did.

Life is so much more of what it seems to be. You have to look a little closer to see the meaning on everything that happens to it. And that is truly something worth remembering.

-Cassandra Audrey C. Kabiling