#and even when those voices (THAT SOUND LIKE FUCKING STICK) tell him he doesn't deserve the soft things that make his skin hurt less

[pastafossa]

Hi Pasta!! I have a question 🙃 What do you think Matt and Jane got each other for Christmas? I cant stop thinking about it. They’re so cute 🥹

BEHOLD. Like 1.1k so rest is behind a see more, but this was in my drafts for what their gifts would be. I didn't have time to get the whole scene done with everything, but I figured this would do!

It didn’t take long for Matt to make use of some of his Christmas gifts, and you found yourself standing by the couch less than an hour later, staring down in amusement at the happy, melted puddle that was Matt Murdock beneath the glow of a Christmas tree.

He’d burrowed down into his new hoodie, his eyes closed and his nose tucked down into the velvet-soft alpaca wool that lined the inside—some of the softest wool you’d been able to find, and something you’d searched long and hard for. Wrapped around the rest of him was a rich, red alpaca wool blanket, thick and warm and equally soft. You had a feeling that, under the blanket, he’d likely also slipped into his new fleece-lined sweats and fleecy socks, ninety-five percent of his body now cradled in soothing, warm comfort. 

“So is that a yes on those?” you said softly, relieved now that it was obvious you’d chosen right when it came to this. It had been… a while, since you’d given anything for Christmas, much less given a gift to someone who meant as much to you as Matt did. Soft had seemed a good road to take, and you’d spent ages hunting for something that he’d be able to wear even when his senses ramped up to the point of pain. “Soft enough?”

A quiet sigh, almost a moan, was his response, followed by a glutted “Mhm,” before he lazily lifted his arms out from under the blanket, opening them to you. You quickly took up the invitation, climbing into his lap and letting him wind his arms around you. You dropped your head against his shoulder, reaching over to run your palm across the velvet-soft fabric covering his chest. His reaction was instant, arching up into your hand as he purred and melted further into the couch at the sensation of the fabric sliding on his skin, his head lolling back when you nuzzled in past the collar of the hoodie so you could press your lips gently to his pulse. Briefly, you passed over the new necklace chain he wore, the little braille pendant reading ‘Always Loved’ hidden somewhere beneath the fabric, its color a match for the key around your neck. That, at least, you knew was a success, but the rest...   

“You really do like the clothes, don’t you?” you asked him, relaxing a little, curling your fingers to scratch a little as you ran them up and down his chest. “I had a good feeling on the necklace, but for these… I wasn’t sure.” “Why not?” he asked sleepily, fumbling one hand up until he could slip it up under the back of your shirt, palming the line of your spine like you were stroking his chest. You weren’t surprised; he always tried to reciprocate, or maybe he just... liked having an excuse to touch you back. “These are probably the softest things I own now. They’re perfect. They feel amazing.”  

“I was worried it was too… I don’t know. Impersonal.” You drummed your fingers a little against his chest, tucking your legs up until you were more comfortable. “But you shouldn’t have to wear things that hurt on your bad days, or at all really, so I-I guess I just—”

“The hoodie smells like you,” he murmured, tipping his head to lay it atop yours. You went quiet, still and unmoving as he continued, “I can tell that you wore it for me a little after washing it, and that it made you happy to do it, because your scent’s different when you’re happy and when you love someone. And every time I move, nothing scratches. Nothing hurts. All of these feel soft and gentle, like how you touch me when I’m bleeding, and when I need you most.” His chest expanded and then dipped on a contented sigh, and then he reached up, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his thumb coming away wet. His voice dropped to something even softer, low and tender. “So much of my life is pain, sweetheart. How could the way you touch me, the way you want to take away some of that pain from me, be impersonal?”   

You wound yourself a little tighter around him, hiding your face against his neck as you let out a shaky breath, and he pulled you in tighter with a soothing noise. You’d been so… so terrified you’d fuck this up, that you’d do this wrong after so many years of dodging it, of being alone, of being forced to avoid anything like a holiday, anything like friends or love. The idea that you’d gotten it right on your first try… 

And you weren’t the only one. 

You leaned away from him just far enough to pick up one of the two photo frames on the coffee table where it had been set atop a massive pile of books you’d wanted to read for years, years in which you’d been forced to pass them by, story by story, cover by cover until Matt hunted down those stories and placed them back into your hands. You laid back against his chest again after you’d brushed your fingers fondly over the books, and instead, you focused once more on the photo inside the elegant black frame. 

Foggy had taken it at Josie’s at some point—a candid of you and Matt crammed into a booth, his arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into him, a bright grin on his face, your head tipped back as you laughed at something he’d said. The warmth in your eyes and his smile was obvious as you stared fondly up at him beneath the dull glow of the bar, at the very same table Foggy had once worked at to ensure your friendship with Matt was mended. There was no disguising what this was. And… 

“I can’t believe I can put this on my desk now,” you whispered, tracing your fingers over the frame. 

And you didn’t… have to disguise it, did you? There was no need to hide, not anymore. You could have his picture on your desk, could hold his hand as he walked you home, could kiss him when he came to see you at your office or you at his or when you were both out in the rain. And he could do the same with the second picture, one destined for his own desk, all so that he could proudly gesture towards it whenever you came up. 

A… a real life. 

He lifted one arm and you sniffled, crawling back around to wrap your arms around him in return, burying your face against his neck as he held you close. Held you here at home—a home for you both, for your tree, for your books, for an actual life, lived fully and completely and wholly for the first time.

“I love you, so much,” he whispered. "Merry Christmas."

“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

There was no bigger gift he could give you.  

[turtlecleric]

bay!donnie x female reader, angst/hurt/comfort; technically nsfw but this is not a spicy fic

ah fuck. cws: negative thoughts? negative self-image? I... think that's all?

---

Truthfully, you should've seen this coming. Work has been hard lately. You've been feeling a little down and a lot stressed out for a while now. Tired all the time. That negative voice in your head speaking up more frequently, other people's words cutting a little deeper than usual. Amplifying the negative and brushing past the positive, letting things get to you even though you know sometimes your brain is a lying asshole.

So, really. You should've known. You should've said something. Something about how sensitive you're feeling. How normally you love a good mixture of degradation and praise but right now you really, really need him to stick with praise. You should've said something. 

But you didn't. 

The tears come suddenly. The dull ache in your chest sharpens, like a shard of glass, wedging itself between your ribs and pressing in further with every inhale. You feel like you're not getting any oxygen at all, your lungs seizing as your breaths quicken. You can't- you can't breathe. 

Just a stupid fucktoy, Donnie had called you. And normally you love that. Normally that's perfect - you've come to the sound of those words plenty of times before. But now…

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. A stupid fucktoy. That's all you're good for, isn't it? You can't do anything right except be used. But, oh, you can't even do that right, can you? Because now you're crying, and he's stopped using you. He's stopped, and you're truly useless now, and you're so so fucking stupid. 

He calls your name. Takes the gag out of your mouth. Gently wipes at the tears streaming down your cheeks and asks if he's hurt you. If he went too fast, if you weren't fully prepared. If you want him to stop. 

You can't speak, but you shake your head. 

“Dove, what is it? What's wrong?”

Nothing. Everything. You. It's just you, you're what's wrong. You're wrong and useless and stupid, and you can't breathe. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay. It's okay, here, come here, it's okay.” 

He's holding you. Cradling you to his chest as you sob like the pathetic thing that you are. When the soft cuffs that held your hands behind you are released, you can't help but cling to him and bury your face in his neck. The sounds you're making are so ugly, so whiny, and you- you hate yourself. Fuck, you're pathetic. He's murmuring sweet words, brushing a hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. He’s kind, and gentle, and you…

You don't deserve it. 

Donnie is confused. You can tell he is, and you want to explain but at the same time you don't. It doesn't really matter, though. You wouldn't be able to make yourself speak even if you did want to. Everything is too much right now, and you still can't breathe, and you're starting to feel sick to your stomach. 

Stupid. Why are you so goddamn stupid?

You cry. And cry. And cry. Muscles stiff, face swollen, you're miserable and exhausted and fucking mortified. Donnie was feeling good. He was enjoying himself, and you ruined it with your tears. Ruined it. Stupid girl, you ruin everything. 

You try to apologize. It comes out garbled, but somehow he understands. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dove. You've done nothing wrong.” Donnie presses a kiss to your hair, still running a hand up and down your back. Soothing, kind, gentle, he's everything. And you don't deserve him.

Time passes. Sobs turn into sniffles, which start to come farther and farther apart. When you finally go completely quiet, he's still murmuring sweet words into your hair. 

You feel sick. Tense. Nauseous and shaky and gross. Inside and out, you feel wrong. Hollowed out, scraped clean of everything except this ache in your chest that won't go away.

Stupid. So fucking stupid. 

Donnie moves, still cradling you close with one arm as he leans forward and reaches for something. A blanket is draped over you. You hadn't even realized how cold you were, but the relief is instant. Your muscles start to fully relax, and you find yourself melting into his hold even further. 

He presses another kiss into your hair. “What happened, my love?”

You swallow thickly, glad that your face is hidden in his neck. You don't want to tell him. It feels so- so stupid. For you to have reacted like that. For you to be so affected by nothing. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing, nothing, that's all you are. Nothing. 

“I'm going to list some things. Just shake your head or nod for me, okay?”

After a moment, you nod against his neck. 

“Did I go too fast?”

You shake your head. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You hesitate for a moment, then shake your head. There's a stretch of silence where you swear you can hear him thinking, analyzing your hesitation.

“Was it what I said?”

You should nod, but you can't make yourself do it. There's a thick, heavy anxiety there, keeping you from confirming even though you're not sure why. Donnie understands anyway, because of course he does. He's perfect, and kind, and smart, and you're just so-

His arms tighten around you. He doesn't say that you should've told him you were feeling down. He doesn't say that you should know better, that you should know that he doesn't mean it and that it was just part of the fantasy. He doesn't say any of that, because he understands. He understands, as he always does, that what you need is for him to keep murmuring kind words into your hair. To keep gently caressing your skin, holding you like you're something precious. To combat the venomous thoughts that are holding you hostage.

He understands. 

It's okay, Dove. You're okay. Everything is alright. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, okay? You're not stupid. You're not whatever mean things your head is saying right now. You're perfect, and I love you so much. I love you so much, Dove. You're perfect just as you are, okay? My pretty girl. Right here with me, where you belong. You're so good, sweetheart, so good. I've got you. 

His words are like a balm on your soul, and you drink them up greedily. Holding onto him like he's a lifeline - because he is. He is. 

The tears come back. You can't help the ugly keens, the way your body shakes. Through it all, he holds you close and soothes you inside and out in the way only he can. 

Not stupid, Dove. Smart. Kind. Brave and capable and good. You're so good, and I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you-

You'll never understand how he does this - how he makes that feeling of wrong wrong wrong fade away. But he does. The sharp tangle in your chest is unraveling, and you're finally able to breathe and actually feel like you're getting oxygen. You're so grateful, and you're so fucking lucky, and you love him so much. By the time you start to drift, with his soft voice echoing in your ears, both you and the keratin you're resting against are warm. 

Later, when you wake, fully soothed and capable of speech once again, there will be more to talk about. But for now, Donnie holds you. Soothing you with his voice, his hands, his everything. And you finally, finally let yourself rest. 

[prettyboybuckley]

11. "don't make me say it. i can't say the words." from romantic confession dialogue prompts - if it's inspire you

thank you for the prompt 💕 i hope you're in the mood for some angst and repression 😅

They're fighting.

They're fighting because Eddie is a fucking idiot who still has trouble expressing his feelings, despite the countless therapy sessions with Frank.

(Somewhere in the back of his head, Frank's voice tells him to not be so hard on himself).

And Eddie doesn't even really know how they got to this point. All he knows that it involved a whole lot of miscommunication and angry words.

Buck is upset with him, and Eddie doesn't even blame him because he was the one who put his foot in his mouth in the first place. Honestly, he thinks that what Buck is feeling might be closer to hurt than anger.

Usually, this is when Eddie would stick his head in the sand and wait things out. That's what he's always done. It's why, this time, he's doing things differently.

He's regretting that choice the moment he knocks on Buck's door.

The man opens the door looking like he got run over by a truck, eyes red-rimmed and hair a messed. The collar of his t-shirt is stretched out and lopsided.

Buck wordlessly moves aside to let him in.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Eddie starts right away, figuring that if he waits too long, he'll lose his nerve. "It came out wrong."

"Did it?"

Eddie figures he deserves the bitter tone of Buck's voice. He'd almost prefer anger over this resigned version of the man, though.

"It's a defense mechanism," he admits after a moment of silence. "I said those things in an attempt to push you away because at this point I don't know what to do with myself, with the way I feel about you."

"How you feel about me?"

This time, Buck's tone is softer. Eddie doesn't quite know how to place it. He looks at the other man with pleading eyes, knowing that he's worked himself into a corner. It was stupid to come here without a plan.

Eddie shakes his head as Buck looks at him expectantly, and somewhat impatiently.

"Don't make me say it, Buck, I can't say the words," he begs, knowing he sounds so pathetically desperate and yet far beyond caring about it.

Buck tilts his head, looking at him with sad eyes.

"I'll say it then," he says. "I'm in love with you, Eddie, and I know you're in love with me too. I don't need you to say it, but we have to stop acting like it's not true."

He has to take a deep breath to push down the rising panic, attempting to stuff it back into it's neat little box where he's been keeping it alongside his feelings.

"I'm not relationship material, Buck."

That actually makes Buck smile for the first time since he opened the door, even if it's a sad smile.

"And you're saying I am?" Buck asks as he steps closer, hands landing on Eddie's shoulders. "I get that you're scared, Eds, I am too, but don't you think that maybe it could be worth it?"

Maybe, Eddie thinks. Maybe it could be worth it, but what if it's not? What if it ruins everything, what if he loses Buck?"

"Maybe," he answers truthfully. Maybe.

This time the smile reaches Buck's eyes, and it instantly makes him look better.

"Well, maybe we should try it, then."

Eddie cracks a smile as well, his hands finding Buck's waist. He lets out a long breath, leaning his forehead forward and against Buck's shoulder so he doesn't have to look the man in the eyes as he says: "Okay, let's try it."

from the romantic confession dialog prompts

[cutest-bunny-writings]

This isn't gonna be a little fic this time. It's gonna be a short story.

Please don't repost.

Warning: mentions of drugging, rape, sexual assault and harrassment, toxic friendship, swearing, gang interactions (not related to the first 4 things in the warnings), MC basically has a breakdown.

---

Veronica this, Veronica that. Oh my fucking God! Veronica's busy, okay?! Veronica's always busy!

Stacey: Heyyyyyyy, wanna go to the club with us??? :)

Veronica: Do I have a choice?

Stacey: Nope!

Veronica: Fine. Pick me up at 6:30.

Stacey: I'm already here!

Veronica: You need to stop doing that. Come in, I guess.

"I've arrived!" Stacey shives open the front door and almost knocks over my favorite porcelain cat.

I can tell. The obnoxious jingling of the weird metal skirt easily announces her presence. Somehow, we're friends. But I still don't understand how.

"Veronica doesn't deserve that!"

"Is there a particular reason why you keep barging into my house and almost breaking my things? Is this one of your little date plans again? I told you that I'm content to be alone."

"Maybe."

"Spill it."

"Ugh! Why are you always so bitchy? It's just a date!"

"Yeah, "just a date" on a Friday night? Please. Every single person that's upset they're single is searching for a date or one-night stand. I don't feel like being around those people."

"Just give Matt a chance, he's really great once you get to know him."

"That's what you said about Rich, the guy who tried to drug me. That's what you said about Gary, the guy who tried to rape me. That's what you said about all the others. And then I made the mistake of giving them a chance."

I'm starting to wonder if you're trying to get rid of me.

"Just go get dressed."

"Fine." I stalk my way upstairs, pulling out that signature blood red dress.

Maybe I won't end up in the middle of a bar fight this time.

We pull into the parking lot, in my purse is the masquerade mask that I didn't tell I was bringing. I have my reasons and she wouldn't understand.

The neon sign that glares the words "Painter's Heart" make me feel slightly sick to my stomach.

As weird as it may seem, this bar is frequented by gangs. I don't want to be here.

---

"See. What did I tell you boys? I told you she would bring her."

"Boss, I thought you said she'd cover her face."

"She will. Just wait. When her friend in the short ass dress disappears, the mask goes on and she because very social."

"You've been watching her this whole time, haven't you?"

"So what if I have?"

---

In exactly seven minutes after arrival, Stacey will leave to find a hookup and disappear for a few hours.

I await for that seven minutes to be up before I slip into the back to place my mask on.

I let out a heavy sigh. "Peace at last."

"You look lovely this evening."

Oh shit.

Once finished tying the mask's ribbons, I turn to face the sound of the voice.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was alone." I bow to add sincerity to the apology, I even considered doing a kowtow.

"No need to bow. I've been watching you for awhile. I didn't mean to startle you either. I will stay on this side of the room, I know you like your space."

"Awfully considerate but the first part also came out very stalker-ish."

"You are very different with that mask on."

My eyes widen. "What else do you know?"

"I know that your friend drags you here almost every Friday. I know that she only sticks near you for seven minutes then disappears for hours, probably having hookups. I know what your face looks like under that mask."

"Why do you care so much about my Friday evenings?"

"I've been protecting you this whole time."

---

Hurts. My head hurts so bad.

"So for Episode 5, I think she should almost get drugged but the bartender saves her."

"Episode 9 should address how people get raped in clubs, and everyone wants Veronica to have more screen time."

"Episode 12 should be just a but dramatic. But use Veronica. The audience wants her to have more screen time."

"Introduce Matthew without introducing him. Make him a stalker-ish gang leader that wants to protect Veronica."

"At this point, I think we should switch focus to Veronica basically being the main character, not Stacey. The viewers have made it clear that they have a strong distaste for Stacey."

"I bet they like the cliffhanger for Episode 13!"

[To Be Continued]

The Bloody Mask

I'm not real? I was never real? This is why I suffered all those things?! If I was a favorite then why did they put me through those things!

I can hear myself, the loud screaming and crying.

Are these my feelings? Are these even MY feelings?! Or are they just words on pieces of paper!?

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

I hope you enjoyed this!🥰

You are a unimportant background character just trying to survive whatever nonsense the main characters are up to. However you keep finding yourself being drawn into dangerous stituations, and to your horror you realise that you’re a fan favorite character the show is giving more “screen time”.

[luciluck2046]

OKAY NOTE THIS IS A VENT NOT ANYTHING ELSE.

I decided to rewatch Murder Drones. Bcz of boredom. I also want to know every single line. But uhh, got to Cabin Fever.

The breakdown. Idk. How to explain. I kinda feel left out 99% of the time and I feel like smt is wrong with me. Of course. I mean I already am pretty weird. But today I was uhm... Also weirder. I was out with my brother on a walk. Idk why (he was annoying me but I usually don't react like that) I just went on "Smilly Creepy =) " and kept switching between that and "Emotionless"

I am always the last one when I'm alone. I don't understand emotions. For me they're just a social norm that everyone fakes so those more socially inept or incapable of acting stick out. When I'm alone I pretty much feel... Nothing... I have the same face. No smile. No frown. Not even a single glimpse of emotion in the eyes. Talking low with no specific emotion.

But the "Smiling Creepy =)" was... Weird. Just smiling. Absolutely. But not happy. My eyes weren't showing happynes. Mostly insanity. Even my brother kept telling me to stop doing that face because it was creeping him out. And the voice? Just a sarcastic happy voice.

It's weird.

Emotions suck.

Never understood them.

How can everyone know what emotions they are feeling.

H o w . . . ?

I just... I know I'm not the main character. Not even in my own story. I don't have any real value. Other people see your value differently.

...

Most people avoid me. Like the devil aboids blessed water.

Why..?

What am I doing wrong?

Is it because I talk so much?

Because I have stupid humor?

Because of things that I said back in FIFTH GRADE!?

I know that not because I am clearly scared of being violent. Mostly because violence isn't the answer. But deep down I know that I'm just scared to like it.

I like blood

It's warm... Sweet... The way in flows. It's color. It's beautiful. Why.

W h y ?

J u s t w h y . . . ?

Why am I like this. Why am I hated. What did I do..? Did I do something so fucked up in a past life thag I deserve this..? Maybe... But...

I don't want to hate. Never. Hate is not the option. Like violence. Or this is at least what others say...

I can't make the difference between things that I want to do, things that I should do and things that others want me to do.

I should get therapy...

Maybe...

Or maybe I should just be who I am.

...

...

.

..

...

???

WHO THE FUCK AM I!? WHAT THE FUCK AM I? WHAT THE FUCK SHOULD I DO, WHAT THE RUCK SHOULD I BE?

I want ro do something...

I want to...

I don't know...

Maybe try to see if ...

No I shouldn't...

I shouldn't...

Murder is not okay...?

But what if I like it..?

WHAT THE FUCK WILL I DO THEN????

...

I am not okay...

Should I just go back to SH and stop thinking about violence..?

Who am I kidding...

SH is too easy.

Not violent enough.

.

.

..

...

.

Why.

Why.

Why.

Why?

WHY?

W

H

Y

?

WHY!?!?

I wanna live.

I am not scared of death tho...

...

NO I WON'T KILL MYSELF GET OUT OF MY HEAD I HAVE A FUCKING LOVER THAT CARES ABOUT ME AND I CAN'T LET HER DOWN-

...

Haha

Hahahah

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Life is useless.

We just live to do what?

We are killing our planet

We are making things that are going to leave us jobless

We are being dicks to eachothers.

...

HOW CAN WE LIVE IN SUCH A SOCIETY!?!?

LEAVING OUT WEIRDER PEOPLE!?!?

DRIVING THEM TO FUCKING INSANITY!?!?!?

...

Being insane doesn't sound like a bar thing anymore...

Maybe insane people are just..?

The most aware people?

What am I saying!?

XD

Oh...

I should have let the silly take over.

Like usually.

Being happy is pain

But most don't realize this.

Welp...

[calamity-aims]

ough for the angst/hc prompts, #22 and drift? 👁👁

“Please tell me what I can do. There has to be something I can do.”

It hurts.

It hurts like it did when they first integrated his spinal prosthetic, after the Battle of Kamino, after-

After Wing's death. It had hurt then, fire sliding up Drift's every nerve whenever he so much as twitched. Now, the second time around, the metal vertebrae feel heavy and cold, the flesh around them red and raw and weeping.

Remedy had done his best with what he had. Honestly, Drift was somewhat surprised to be alive. A testament to Remedy's skill, he figures.

Thinking about Remedy hurts too - sure, he was right about the circuit boosters, right to take them away. Drift doesn't want to backslide into old habits, he really doesn't, it just-

It just hurts. His back, and the knowledge that he'd failed, in the end. His failure to subdue Pharma had not only cost his spine, it had forced Remedy to kill his own batchmate. Because Drift wasn't strong enough or fast enough to spare him even that.

Another wave of agony ripples through him. He muffles the thin sound of pain into one of Rodi's million pillows.

The line of Rodi's back shifts, settles, but he doesn't wake up. Good.

Drift lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, and tries to not let the pain overwhelm him. He should get painkillers. He should comm a Corrie medic - Nocte, Hedge, Hemlock. Remedy, even.

No.

He should comm Faie. Faie knows where Drift has been, Faie could- could-

Could what? Potentially backslide into addiction himself? Coo over Drift like a pathetic little tubie? No. No. Drift has to be stronger than this. He can handle this, he can get up himself and get the properly prescribed painkillers himself and deal with it himself.

Drift gears himself to sit up. He braces, turns over-

Falls back to the bed with a bitten-off yelp. Shit. Shit. Even that tiny movement had sparked a lightning flash of pure agony. Drift lays frozen, terrified to move in any way that might set it off again-

"Drift?"

Well fuck. He's gone and woken Rodi up anyway. Drift closes his eyes and wishes, desperately, to not be himself, to not be a colossal pain for just one fucking second.

"Drift?"

He opens his eyes. Rodi's hovering above him, blue eyes bright with concern and fire-bright hair sticking up every which way from sleep.

"Hey," Drift manages, through gritted teeth.

"You're hurting," Rodi states. Worry creases his face into unfamiliar lines. "Here." He holds out the medication in a cupped palm.

"Thanks," Drift says. Braces for pain, but tries to keep it off his face. Even lifting one arm for the pills is excruciating; Drift dry-swallows and lets his arm flop back down to his side.

"Drift..." Rodi sounds worried, his face screwed up in concern.

"It's fine. It's fine. It'll just - take a while." Drift's voice is clipped. It hurts to talk, but Rodi deserves an answer. He puts up with so much already.

“Please tell me what I can do. There has to be something I can do.”

"You've done enough already."

"Please, Drift. Let me help you."

Drift could never refuse Rodi anything. Especially not in that tone, with those big massif eyes aimed right at him.

"You could-" his voice breaks with a swell of agony. "You could hold my hand?"

"Of course I will," Rodi breathes, and laces their fingers together. He doesn't react when Drift squeezes too hard, just murmurs soothing words into Drift's temple, hums little Zeltronian lullabies. He smooths sweaty hair back from Drift's forehead with the lightest touch, like Drift is made of glass. Like Drift is one in a million.

He's not. He's one of a million, and not even one in perfect condition. He's broken in more ways than one, but-

Somehow Rodi doesn't seem to mind.

[eremiie]

hbd cornelius springer <3

❥ nsfw | 3.2k words | connie x fem!reader

❥ content - blowjob

❥ the birthday boy deserves some birthday head!!!

happy birthday connie springer, and happy belated birthday @arlerted ily both a whole lot <3... i started this at like 4am so pls bare with this

"you enjoying your birthday?"

connie turns around at the sound of your voice, soda can in hand while he closes the fridge door.

the way his face lights up when he connects your voice to your face makes you beam. his eyes get wide, eyebrows rise up, and a crooked smile graces his features as you walk forth, your hand trailing against the kitchen counter.

it makes you smile, the ways he's immediately stoked to see you. it's endearing if anything and your heart flutters at the excitement that twinkles in his eyes at your appearance.

"duh... yeah of course i like it."

"duh... yeah of course i like it."

"duh... yeah of course i like it."

his stupid smile shifts into a small smirk and he picks up his drink to take another sip. "what're you lookin' at?"

seriously? were you that obvious?

he leans back against the corner of the kitchen counter, twirling the soda can in his hand to shake his drink up while steadying himself with his elbows. you can tell the question was one he was genuinely waiting on an answer for— it was to just rile you up and one for him to shrug off with a 'just messin'.

you roll your eyes. there was no reason to give him an ego. "your ugly party hat." your tone is snarky, and a breathy laugh leaves connie's throat as he shakes his head at you. he beckons with two slender fingers.

"come 'ere."

your stomach turns at the gesture— no at the sentence and you curse the slight stubbornness that keeps you standing where you stood with your arms crossed. "what?"

connie holds your gaze easily, and instead of giving you an answer his hand reaches out to pull you towards him by your forearm.

you stumble forward until you were situated between his feet, a strong hand encasing your wrists and his breath fanning across your face from the proximity of you and connie.

his eyes look more hazel up close, green and yellow dancing like a fiery bright fire. you can feel the denim of his jeans rub against the fat flesh of your thighs from where you stand, and connie makes no effort to move back.

it's a clear invasion of your space but neither you or him seem to mind— and you hope connie didn't take the way your heart jumps in your chest and your suddenly uneven breathing as a sign that you did mind. no, it was the exact opposite of that if anything.

"are you enjoying the party?" his voice comes out a little too smooth for your liking. where was the slight cracks in his voice as he spoke or the lilts in his tone as he tried his best to be a flirt?

the way he looks at you doesn't help. his eyes are low lying, having trouble staying focused on only just yours. you notice them flit a little lower every now and then before popping back up to match your gaze.

you hoped you came off as unbothered— stable and unfazed by his sudden demeanor. if it wasn't obvious by now your slight attraction to connie was something that you couldn't seem to let go of ever since you had first met him.

you hated how goofy he was and how the lame jokes he'd crack would always make you laugh regardless of how stupid. you hated how  somehow he'd always coerce you to do the handy work when it came to class projects because he was too lazy to get up off his own ass and help you. you hated how even through all these little silly quirks of his if he really wanted to with a few slip ups here and there he could make the hairs on your arms stand and have you stop breathing just from a slick look and slick sentence.

you hated all these things because they all made you feel gushy inside no matter how dumb it was. they made your body warm and gave you this comforting feeling that you couldn't get from anyone else.

so when connie repeats another "hm?" catching you off guard for the second time, that warm feeling returns because this time the pads of his fingers drum against your shoulder, a little to close to the junction near your neck.

"as long as ymir and sash keep me entertained, then yeah. this little 'party' isn't that bad." your quick with your response this time once he sets you back on track and you calm a bit.

"so ymir 'n sash are the life of the party for ya?" he pouts, and you scrunch your nose up when he leans in a little more, a mock pitiful expression on his face. "damn, 'n i'm supposed to be the birthday boy... that's crazy."

you can tell he's a little under the influence. despite it being his birthday he was actual one out of a few to keep their drinking at a light tonight. you couldn't say the same for armin who was currently passed out and curled up at the safety of mikasa's side on the large sofa, or for reiner who was last crying to ymir before she managed to 'shut the fuck up jockey' him as you walked pass.

you liked it like this though, liked to know that the interactions between you and connie weren't entirely the alcohol talking.

but it wasn't like it was ever really anything but him talking when he got more than comfortable with you.

light touches up the soft skin of your thighs, moving you around by placing his hands on your waist (where you must say they fit like a puzzle), or attacking you in tickles when he decided to crash at you and sasha's place and you wouldn't pass up the remote.

those were all connie, but it was nice to know that the person in front of you was mostly connie as well.

"you are... you just haven't been keeping me company as you should have." you lift up a hand right in front of his face and pretend to inspect your nails before dropping four fingers down to your palm and turning your nails to you once again.

connie let's out a low laugh at the gesture before using his own palm to cup the top of your hand. you expect him to push it down and let go but he only holds it in his grip with that same dumb smile plastered on his face as he doesn't fail to keep eye contact with you.

"ha-ha, so funny. you act like we didn't dance together," you recall the memory of connie hoisting you up from the couch and spinning you around until your backside was pressed against him, asking you to 'dance'. if anything that encounter is probably what encouraged the tingle between your legs and pushed you to follow connie into the kitchen. "sit together for like a good ass while, and play cards together— cheating together i might add."

you giggle, "did eren not realize that practically half the deck was under my ass and in your pockets?" connie reciprocates your giggle in his cheery tone and he raises the soda can to his lips again to empty it out inside his mouth.

"nah, but for real, what more company do you need?"

in the back of your head you had a solid idea of the kind of company you needed from connie, but you weren't even sure if your mind was quick enough to formulate it into a sentence that sounded appealing to the ears, enticing even.

a dramatic sigh leaves your lips and your hands come up to connie's head, one index plucking at the thin string below his chin and the other one holding the loud party hat until you were pulling it off and fiddling with it in your hand.

connie's hand automatically comes to rub at the short grey strands with a small frown at the absence of his hat. he stands up straight so he's peering down at you and his arm swings over your shoulder as he begins walking the two of you towards the exit to the kitchen abandoning his empty can of soda. "what?"

you slow down your pace so that he slows down and pull his arm from around you just as quickly as he placed it there massaging his knuckles in the process.

the eagerness to stay alone with him and not go back out where the chatters of all your friends would become tenfold is what makes you more bold, is what makes you back connie up towards the kitchen island until your practically leaning on him with doe eyes, fluttering your lashes and saying, "just wanna be alone with you for a minute..." you hesitate for a moment before beginning to speak again, "i gotta present for you, but we gotta go upstairs."

it's like your words alone manage to somewhat crack the demeanor he had going on. how his mouth slightly parts and how his body tenses up slightly tells you. you're thankful for the small adrenaline rush a measly walk to the archway gave you.

"shit, what's upstairs?" you relish in how he feeds into your words instead of stuttering under pressure and his hand moves to the small of your back pulling you even closer.

it's noticeable that he likes to feel your skin on his, and his hands are warm against the skin of your hip, practically singeing it with just his touch. it sends a hot feeling throughout your body and you indulge in him some more, fully enveloping your hand with his free one and giving a nice smile.

"if you come with me then it'll be me and you," and he lets you pull him along like a dog on a leash, sticking as close to its owner as possible as he's so close behind you that you can feel him up against your back as you begin to nonchalantly walk past your group of friends conversing in the living room.

for you it's easy to ignore their remarks and looks of 'finally'. after all, you knew they were coming. but connie couldn't, shooting silly faces to his audience as he lets you pull him along.

"they're finally fucking."

"go, birthday boy!"

"gettin' some birthday pussy!"

"_______, bite his dick off for me!"

the only phrase to elicit some sort of reaction from you is the mumbly one from sasha from whatever was in her mouth as she encouraged you to injure connie.

all the phrases seem to get one out of connie, from him pretending to fuck you from behind causing you to pinch the tan skin of his wrist to him making kissy faces at jean, eren, and even to ymir who further encouraged you to take a chomp out of his little friend.

you lead him through his bedroom door, immediately locking it because you know he'll forget and then turning to face him again.

when you turn back around connie's still looming over you, his hands lankily at his sides and it's as if he doesn't know what to do with them.

it makes you titter, and you take a step towards him pulling at his wrists place his hands back on your hips. "so what's my present?"

your hands come up to come his face and his skin is soft under your touch. he's warm and his breathing is unsteady as you lean forward to press your lips onto his.

he quickly returns the kiss, more fervently than you if anything. connie immediately groans as if the feeling of your lips on his was something he was craving.

connie pushes you against the door, a small thud eliciting from the way your back hits it and he lets go of your hips to cup your face and bring you deeper into the kiss.

the way he presses up so close against you makes you part your lips slightly giving him enough time to slip his tongue into your mouth until it's slotted alongside yours.

his knee parts your legs and bump against your crotch making you moan and let go of his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

you pull back to breathe for a brief moment— and connie's eyes are overcast with lust. he doesn't have that twinkle from earlier and his grip on your hips is tighter than it was a few seconds ago.

he breathes heavily and rests his forehead against yours then dropping his knee. "that wasn't all i get for my birthday, right?"

with another roll of your eyes you shake your head. "it'd be a little rude of me to leave you like this, yeah?"

you slide down the wall until your knees hit the carpet and sit back on your shins. your delicate hands slide down connie's chest until the tips of your fingers are brushing over the buckle of his belt.

"yeah," connie's eyes flutter shut and he places a hand on the door to once again steady himself. "'d be real fuckin' rude of you."

your hands make work of his belt, unclasping the loop, unzipping the zipper and unbuttoning his pants to begin shrugging down the denim.

you had barely even started doing anything yet connie's mouth was slightly parted in anticipation. it was amusing how even the slightest touch from you could elicit a reaction out of him.

you pride yourself in this, and you take your time letting your fingertips massage the length of connie's clothed cock beneath his boxers. his body stutters overtop of you for a quick second and you move your hands to the hem of his boxers to begin pulling them down.

he's pretty; a slightly flushed tip that complimented the tan color of his skin. he's clearly already hard and you swear when your hand wraps around him his dick twitches in your touch. "god," he mumbles.

his dick is heavy in your hand, and he's thick to the touch. with a few test pumps you prop yourself up on your knees once more and place a hand over his thigh. "c'mon," his tone is encouraging yet hurrying, needy.

you click your tongue at him before using it to kitten lip his tip, like you were just trying to get a taste. connie hisses above you and drops his hand down to the top of your head.

"c'mon, we can't take too long with everyone still down there."

you know he's only saying so because he wants to feel your mouth around him. he's only being needy because it's something he'd been craving over the course of a few months. you are something he had been craving and now that you were under him he wanted all of you, starting with what you were willing to give which happened to be your pretty throat.

nevertheless, he's the birthday boy and you want to help pleasure him, making him feel a euphoric feeling that you know he's longed for.

you stick your tongue out and slap his tip against the flat of your tongue, and connie lets out another short groan, his fingers scrunching your hair.

connie shudders from above you and you almost feel bad for teasing him. you let the warmth of your mouth consume him completely— well, as far as you can while your hand works at the remainder.

"yeah, yeah..." he hums and he opens his eyes  again to look down at you.

your mouth around him felt heavenly, and the image of you sucking him off was even better; cheeks hollowed out and hand pumping his length.

you were so pretty.

connie brings the hand in your hand down to your cheek to feel himself through the skin, his tip pressed up against the inside of your cheek as he slightly rolls his hips forward to fuck in your mouth gently.

you pull off of him, pushing spit to the front of your mouth and letting your saliva drip onto his cock.

"fuck, you can't do that," he whines and rubs his tip against your lips until you open up again for him and his hand returns to your hair. "stick your tongue out."

you obey. using the leverage he has on your locks, he pushes deeper into your mouth, bobbing your head as he thrusts forward. small moans leave connie's lips. he's infatuated with the way your tongue slides against his underside as you try your best to relax your throat to let him in.

he loves it, loves how your mouth is so wet and sloppy around him, how it feels so good to be inside you— and he wants to feel every part of you, not stopping at your mouth.

saliva drips from the corner of your mouth and you try to suppress the gags that try to come up. you whimper from underneath connie, and he pulls out to give you a minute to breath.

it's funny how he's breathing harder then you his chest heaving. "that fuckin' mouth,"

you give a slight smile at the compliment, pleased to know you were pleasing him.

"i need it s'more."

what kind of person would you be if you didn't give the birthday boy what he wanted?

so you give him more, using connie's thighs to keep yourself steady, relaxing yourself and breathing through your nose as you let connie fuck your mouth.

he becomes erratic, the grip he has on your hair is slightly painful but you know he's too caught up in his lust, too caught up in the haven that was your throat.

he's so lost in the pleasure that he doesn't warn you when he's about to cum and you only know by the way his cum spills down your throat making you cough and pull off of him.

what you could only assume was a "sorry" comes from him as he calms down, pulling up his boxers and jeans but forgetting to buckle his belt. his hand reached out for you to grab it.

you take it and he pulls you up until you're almost at his height again, that same dumb smile on his face. "did you like your present?" you hum after you clear your throat.

"duh..." his thumb comes up to wipe at the saliva around your mouth before pushing the digit between your lips. you waste no time entertaining him, sucking your spit up and popping off of his thumb. "you thinkin' you could gimme something else though?"

you snort, "what happened to we couldn't take too long cause everyone's downstairs?"

"i'm still hard, it's my birthday, i really don't give a fuck who's downstairs." his words contradict his earlier statement but you brush it off, pulling him by the string of his jacket and pressing another peck to his lips.

"get in the bed birthday boy."

[littlcfreaks]

dante spent his whole life believing that he would never be good enough to deserve the same love that he knew he had to give. mason was the first person to make him feel like he genuinely deserved it, even if doubts still creeped back in too easily when he was alone. he thinks it makes sense that they started out as friends; giving them a chance to build something without expectations other than be a decent person. even then, mason had gone above and beyond, caring about him through bad decisions with his former bandmate. he almost giggles when mason says his name, the emphasis making it sound like something more beautiful, more complete than his own name. it almost overwhelms him, how much mason genuinely cares for him, cares about him being happy - a feat that wasn't exactly an easy undertaking and he reminds himself of that before he answers, that mason hasn't seen that side of him yet, because so far - its just been that easy to push to the side. phone calls with his dad were followed by calling mason, hiding the sadness and resentment in his voice until inevitably, mason's voice made him forget what the problem was to begin with, "you make me happy, mase." he wanted to tell him just how happy he was - but he was still not convinced that mason would stick around through those parts, so, he continued to hide them, "happier than i've ever been in my life." and that was completely true, expression vulnerable and open. he nods when mason says it won't be easy, starts talking over him, "no, i know and i totally get that. i don't need a lot, you know that. i just," he can't stop himself from beaming even as he's going back to saying he doesn't need the things he so clearly does, "right, yeah. fuck what they think." he's relieved, shoulders relaxing. his head tilts back, eyes practically shining, "i can't wait." he didn't care if mason was good, didn't care if he just stood there and let dante dance on him; it was just living and he wanted nothing more than to just exist with mason. he takes his hand from mason's, just to let it rest on his cheek, "hey, i know you're serious about this. you're... you're more serious about me than anyone else has ever been, mase." he can't help but laugh; he's so happy, even if he won't get everything he wants, loves when mason teases him, "i guess you'll just have to come up and find out for yourself." he doesn't own tea, he's a coffee drinker. or he used to not own tea. now he kept a box next to his coffee for mason. leading him up to his apartment feels heavy, more meaningful than it ever has. they cross through the door and it takes everything in dante to not turn around to press mason against it and press kisses everywhere he can reach, but he leads them to the kitchen and drops mason's hand after pressing a quick kiss to the back so he can start filling a kettle.

it wasn't exactly clear to mason when he had fallen for dante. everything seemed like a blur from back when he was still together with his ex and when they had just started talking, but one thing was certain; he wanted to make a good impression on the other. despite what the world's opinion of him as a hockey player, he wanted a fair chance with someone and was grateful that the one person that got to know him for who he truly was — was dante. the noise of what anyone else had to say, had never pushed the two of them apart. mason wasn't sure whether it was luck or because what they had was unlike anything else he had experienced. a mix of both was what made the most sense — because he could both think of a thousand ways he could've fucked this up before it even became a thing. as well as feeling like they were literally becoming one, whenever their skins touched. "dante" the name couldn't ever quite roll of his tongue the same way anymore. it held such weight, feeling like a term of endearment despite just being a name. "i don't think i've ever been this sure about anything before — ever." he wanted to erase every inch of doubt in the other. to take it all away, but he knew those seeds had been planted by the way they had started off. by his previous, closeted habits and public heartbreak that had both gotten them closer as well as created a boundary. "i want to see you happy. if anyone deserves it, it's you." sharply inhaling air, mason couldn't quite get his eyes off of the other as his urgency persisted. "it's not gonna be easy... for me, i mean. but — seeing you like this..." he placed a kiss on dante's smile, the expression of joy igniting the same feeling inside of him too. "fuck what they think." mason added, smile edging his mouth as gray hues focus on their hands connecting as though they were made for each other. "i'll dance with you." his biggest concern was his own feeling for rhythm and the fact that he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of a musician. mason was too much of a rule follower to be good at it — couldn't let loose, whether it was dancing or first date rules. "i want you to know that i'm serious about this." he hoped the other would understand it had nothing to do with how much he wanted to spend every second of his time feeling dante's warmth and burying himself within it if he could. it was about more than that. "you sure about that? the fact that you're saying that makes me thing that's exactly what you have in mind, but — maybe i'm wrong about you." mason gave a brief kiss after his words, squeezing their intertwined hands and ready to follow dante to his door. "i'd love some tea. let's see where it goes."

[bontenten]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December 

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!" 

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied. 

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up. 

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister 

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect. 

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker. 

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle. 

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence. 

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. 

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all. 

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing. 

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven. 

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers.  Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think. 

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that. 

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave. 

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe. 

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen? 

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied. 

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.  

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder. 

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…” 

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting. 

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome. 

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you. 

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

[sevenmerrymagpies]

"I'm listening!" Steve insisted.

"What did I just say then?" 

"Uh, you asked me how many concussions I had?" Steve was suddenly not sure that was the last thing she said. Not from the face she was making at him.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose like he did when he was upset and tried not to show it. When did she pick that up?

"I don't think you have long-term personality changes, Steve," Robin reassured him. "At least, it's too early to tell. I hope you're just grumpy and tired."

"Tired, definitely," Steve said. "I think I could go and take a nap again."

"The doctor says it's good that you're tired. Every time you sleep, your brain heals. The only other stuff you need to do is keep on taking those anticonvulsants so you don't have a seizure, and everything should be fine."

"What?" Steve asked. "Seizure?"

"Yeah, that's what a third of your medication is for," Robin said. "We've gone over this before, Steve. Do you need me to go over it again?"

"We've gone over this before? Like at the hospital when I couldn't remember anything?"

"I think the last time we went over this was two days ago, but I'm happy to go over it again. Short-term memory issues are a thing the doctor said you'd experience while you recover." She ticked off her fingers. "Short-term memory, impulsive and rash decision making, mood swings. And your meds are to prevent strokes, seizures, and dangerously high blood pressure in your brain."

He stared at her in horror.

"Jesus, it's worse than I thought." 

"It's not that bad," she consoled him. 

"Not that bad? That's a pretty dire fucking list, Robin."

"It's good that you know what you're healing from and all the complications." Robin tried.

"I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't do this every time I forget. If I can't retain anything, is it worth it?" Steve asked. He was so frustrated with all of this. Of having conversations, he couldn't remember. Whole days, really. 

"I think it would be worth it," Robin said. "You deserve to know, and maybe this time, it will stick. And if it doesn't, I'll tell you again. I've already written it down so that when your eyesight calms down enough, you can read again without giving you a migraine. That way, you'll still know what happened if you never remember any of these conversations."

Steve felt torn in two as his breathing picked up into a panicked pace. His brain was on fire as frustration rose from deep within him. It washed over him so suddenly he wanted to destroy everything around him: rip open the couch cushions, shatter the coffee mug on the table next to him on the ground, and tear his hair out. At the same time, he felt such a deep, tender, fond affection for this woman who sat on the couch with him, who was doing everything she could to help him heal from brain damage. An injury so intimate that it had changed the very nature of who he was. 

He grabbed the pillow closest to him and screamed into it until the screams turned to tears. 

He hated this. He hated this so much. 

He didn't want to cry in front of someone else. He felt completely out of control like all the tricks and techniques he'd learned over his whole life to remain calm and cool had abandoned him.

"Hey, Steve." Robin's voice was trying to be gentle even though that wasn't her strong suit, and she sounded more constipated than anything else. "It's going to be okay. You are getting so much better every day, and I know it doesn't feel like that to you because you—"

"Because I can't remember yesterday," Steve laughed through his tears, even as the frustration he had felt moments ago flooded away from him, leaving him feeling cavernous inside.

"Okay, I see what you mean about not having a filter," she said, making Steve laugh harder.

"Fuck, Buckley, I'm all over the place, and I hate this so much."

"Alright, how about you go take a nap? Maybe if you're lucky, you won't remember this." She had apparently given up trying to sound comforting. 

"Fuck you," Steve said as the hysterical laughter left him just as quickly as the frustration had. The emotions had sprung up quickly and tore through his body faster than he could control them. Just as he got used to them, they were leaving as soon as they had come.

Four more days!

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess Of All Saiyans

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Masterlist

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Hey guys! Chapter nine is here. And this one is a fun one. As always, I hope you enjoy. And if you have any comments or questions regarding this fic, feel free to let me know.

Also if you've been following this story for a while, then you'd know how inconsistent I am when I post chapters of this story. Sometimes it takes me two weeks to write another chapter, and other times it takes me an entire month. So if you're interested in being notified whenever I post a new chapter, you can join my tag list here.

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Chapter 9

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Vegeta and Raditz land simultaneously, both Saiyans carefully observing their surroundings. All of the Dragon Balls have remained in place, but that provides very little relief. There isn't a trace of your presence, not a footprint, not even a stray hair. "Y/N!" Raditz shouts at the top of his lungs. This was a severe mistake on his part. For his own sake, Raditz better hope the Ginyu force hasn't heard all of his commotion.

Vegeta paces back and forth, his hands knotted through his hair. "Relax, Vegeta. She couldn't have gotten far." Despite Raditz's calm words, his tone gives him away completely. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that he's just as anxious as Vegeta. 

Raditz's advice doesn't seem to calm down the prince even a little. In fact, he only seems to grow more distraught. "Raditz, you don't understand. I never disclosed the location of the Dragon Balls to her."

Raditz furrows his brows at the smaller Saiyan. "What the hell, Vegeta!" Never in his wildest dreams did Raditz ever imagine himself shouting at the prince. He didn't even notice that Gohan and Krillin had joined them. Hopefully, they've picked up bits and pieces of the conversation because neither Saiyan has the patience to deal with their idiocy at the moment. "Just--- What the fuck were you thinking?" Raditz doesn't understand. How can Vegeta go from ordering someone to stay glued to your side at all times to leaving you to fend for yourself on a foreign planet? It's only been a few weeks. How can he have gone through such a drastic change in such a short amount of time?

"If I knew the Ginyu Force was coming, do you think I would've left her alone!" Their bickering is doing nothing to help. In fact, it's probably making the situation worse.

"Alright. How about you both calm down." Krillin decides to jump in and play peacemaker. "Y/N seems more than capable of taking care of herself. We need to focus on the threat. We need to get this over with and summon the dragon before something bad happens."

Both Saiyans turn to the smaller earthling, glaring daggers at him. "Who gives a damn about immortality right now! You don't know the first thing about my sister! So don't stand there all high and mighty and act like you do." Krillin hit a nerve, but it wasn't just in Vegeta. 

The earthling wants to revive his friends, but there is something he doesn't understand about Raditz. You've been the faint speck of light in his otherwise shitty world, the only friend the Saiyan has ever had. Even though he stood with his brother, you're still a priority over the resurrection of a handful of puny earthlings. 

"Interesting to see where your priorities lie, Geta!" Your legs have been sticking out of your handcrafted shelter the entire time. It's funny to see what details people miss while they're in a state of panic. You lean forward, revealing yourself to the abnormal group. Now your entire body hangs off the mountain.

Four sets of eyes look up at you, all with varying responses present on their features. "Oh, thank god," Vegeta whispers, at an octave low enough only for him to hear. Raditz places a hand on his chest, sighing in relief as Vegeta's features contort in displeasure. "What did I tell you about pulling shit like this? Get your ass down here!"

You jump down, landing in front of the Dragon Balls. This ensures that you maintain a safe distance away from your brother just in case he decides to kill you. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Vegeta's nostrils flare, complemented with his entire body shaking with rage. "You scared me half to death." You expected a lecture, but he's not even raising his voice. You may have freaked him out more than you originally intended.

Your lips curve upwards. "That sounds like a you problem, big brother." Something is particularly satisfying about throwing his own words in his face.

"I suppose I deserved that." His features soften. "I'm just relieved that you're alright."

Raditz walks over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Well, what did I do to deserve that scare?" 

"Collateral damage Raditz. Call it a happy accident."

"Enough of the chit-chat. Now let's---" Vegeta cuts himself off as you all lookup. You can sense the Ginyu Force, and they're heading straight for you. You grab Raditz, pulling him into the homemade cave. The others were facing the Dragon Balls. There would've been no time for them to get up here as well. Your higher altitude could be used to your advantage since you'll have the element of surprise. 

It's a bit cramped, but when you created the cave. You never expected to share the space with a Saiyan of Raditz's size. He takes up more space than you and Vegeta combined. You both watch the Ginyu Force land in front of a trembling Gohan, a frozen Krillin, and an aloof Vegeta. You really hope the Genius Force doesn't do those god-awful poses. You've already been traumatized enough for the week.

You decide to keep a close eye on Captain Ginyu, who is currently exchanging pleasantries with your brother. Well, as pleasant as it can get for two beings who are about to murder each other in cold blood. Followed by murmurings from various members of the Ginyu Force and Recoome's delayed laughter. "Just hand over the Dragon Balls, Vegeta. No need to make this any harder than it has to be." Vegeta's posture remains stiff. It's clear your brother isn't going to budge. Their little group is going to have to pry that orb from his dead body. "Come on, Vegeta, be a sport. We already have five." He gestures to the spheres behind him. That means Frieza will have five. Can you really trust those neanderthals to hold onto their Dragon Balls? No, you were raised to trust no one's capabilities but your own, not even Vegeta's. 

Jeice looks around, his green eyes scanning around the area. "Where's that gorgeous sister of yours, Vegeta?"

Vegeta glares at the red man. "Even if my sister was here. I doubt she'd be interested, Jeice. I mean, she never has been." Oh, your brother knows all about your history with the mutant Brench-seijin. He's overly flirty, and you reject him. It was a vicious never-ending cycle. If Vegeta had no self-control, he would've murdered him years ago for even looking in your direction. In his eyes, Jeice is unworthy of a woman of your status.

"Well, with Raditz out of the picture, there's no chance for Saiyan offspring. So I figured I'd shoot my shot." You cringe. You're not sure which idea is more repulsive, a relationship with Jeice or procreating with Raditz.

"Even if you were the last man in the universe. My sister wouldn't so much as glance in your direction." Vegeta and Jeice continue going back and forth as an idea pops in your head. This may be your only opportunity to get your hands on a Dragon Ball. You're only chance to put a fork in Frieza's plans for immortality. 

You silently climb out of the cave, dropping to the ground. The others can unmistakably see you, but they make no expressions alerting the Ginyu Force of your presence. You grab the closest orb before promptly flying back to the cave. Call this your insurance policy for when Krillin and Vegeta ultimately screw up. You escaped that entirely undetected. Is the term elite just thrown around loosely in the Frieza Force? Because that's what you're starting to think.

You hand the Dragon Ball to Raditz, directing your gaze back outside. "Those scouters of yours can't detect Dragon Balls, can they?" It was a rhetorical question. Vegeta knows they don't have that type of technology yet. You know how your brother thinks, and this is a faulty plan on his part. "Then you lose!" Vegeta pivots, launching the ball at an alarming speed. It would be a fatal blow to the head if it hit someone. 

Burter takes off, chasing after the orb. He flips in the air, catching the ball with ease. You swear, Vegeta can be such a dumbass sometimes. He knows Burter rivals you in speed. He may even be a bit faster than you.  

You shake your head, turning to Raditz, lowering your voice to a whisper. "Here's the plan. When I formulate a distraction, you're going to take the Dragon Ball and get the hell out of here. And Raditz, go hide the damn thing, somewhere no one will find it." He grins from ear to ear, causing you to glare at him. You know how this moron thinks by now. "And do not hide it with that Earth woman. That will just get her killed."

"What if that's my intention?"

"I don't think little brother Kakarot would be very pleased with you, but it's your call." You stand in silence for a moment, your piercing gaze lingering on the Saiyan. "Though, I can assure you. If Frieza gets his hands on that Dragon Ball. I'll kill you. In the most graphic and painful way, I can imagine." He gulps nervously, rapidly shaking his head in understanding. To Raditz, you're the only life form that can still sound menacing while whispering. 

You revert your vision back to the little gathering outside. And as you assumed, Krillin lost his Dragon Ball as well. Ginyu decides to take Vegeta for himself, which doesn't go over well with his team. They're acting like a bunch of children. It's almost comical. "Fine." The Captain sighs. "I'll take the Dragon Balls back to Lord Frieza. You all can sort this out amongst yourselves." They chant Ginyu's name a few times. They kinda remind you of a cult.

The four lower members of the Ginyu force move to stand in a circle. "So the winner gets Vegeta. And for second place---" Guldo is cut off by Recoome.

"The rest. Make the two runts a set. Together they'll be more equal to Vegeta." Oh, that can't be going over well with your brother. The fact that Recoome would declare that those two are his equals must be sending his blood pressure through the roof. 

They begin playing rock paper scissors. This must be how they decide their battles. It's like a game to them. Every single match ends in a draw. At this rate, you could be stuck up here forever. 

You doze off until you hear Recoome cheering. The endless match must have finally ceased. "Ya! I get Vegeta!" Fate can be an amusing thing sometimes. Vegeta must be ecstatic, getting to show the moron just how much stronger he is than those pathetic runts. 

"Of course, I'm stuck with the runts." Guldo wines. He's the last creature who should be referring to anyone as a runt. You could squash that little freak like a bug.

Ginyu approaches the Dragon Balls, picking them up with his telekinesis. He counts them before snapping his head toward the dumbest member of the Ginyu Force. "Recoome! There's only four here!"

Recoome scratches the back of his neck, that classic confused look on his face. "I'm sorry, Captain Ginyu. I thought I counted five."

Jeice turns to his superior. "I told you we shouldn't have trusted him with counting the Dragon Balls."

The Captain takes a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. "It doesn't matter. I'll search for the missing Dragon Ball. It's probably with Y/N anyway." He takes off, heading in the direction of Frieza's ship. Well, that takes out your major concern. The others are child's play compared to Ginyu.

You pay minimum attention to Guldo's battle with Krillin and Gohan. You're more focused on finding an opening for a distraction. You begin to notice significant holes in their fight. Guldo will be in one area and then magically appear in another, and he's not teleporting. If he was, you would've been able to track his movements. Could the rumors about that green freak be true? Can he really pause time? They must be. That's the only feasible explanation. So under the assumption that Guldo can stop time, the earthlings don't even stand a chance. No matter what they do, that four-eyed freak will always remain one step ahead of them. 

You do, however, pick up on something. Guldo appears to hold his breath before every skip in time. That must be a limitation in his abilities to pause time. So if those two can somehow prevent him from holding his breath, they should be able to best him. You know what, scratch that. Those two probably haven't picked up on his abnormal behaviors.

Though, the earthlings do appear to have the advantage at the moment. And the rest of the Ginyu Force won't let Guldo forget it. They're heckling him so loud that you can hear them clearly from all the way up here. Guldo's kinda like the Raditz of the group, just a lot less respected. 

Guldo tosses the pair up into the air as a strange yellow light surrounds them. He's claiming it's a paralysis attack. That doesn't sound good for the earthlings. 

Krillin and Gohan struggle almost as if they were trapped in invisible bindings. As far as you can tell, they're immobile. If Guldo felt the need to resort to such dire tactics, he must think that he can't take out the pair any other way. So when the earthling and the half-breed combine their strength, they're mightier than Guldo. That's quite impressive considering how weak they were back on Earth.

"Now I'm gonna show you what happens when you embarrass me in front of the boys." You clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms, as you watch Guldo intently. As much as you hate to admit it, you're going to need those two runts. So if Guldo were to kill them, it would be very unfavorable. He uses another mind trick to pull a tree from the ground, using the bottom end as a makeshift spear. He points the weapon at the pair, taunting them. He's gonna impale them with a fucking stick. What a pathetic way to go.

You do wonder why Vegeta hasn't intervened yet. He's never played by their rules before. So what's stopping him now? Your brother may simply believe that Gohan and Krillin deserve to die. For not adhering to his warning regarding the weakest link of the Ginyu Force. It's not below Vegeta to be that petty. You can't blame him though, those two fools have no sense of self-control.

The slimy green creature's obnoxious cackling invades your ears. Honestly, Guldo's just pissing you off more than he was before.

Amidst the chaos, you jump out of the cave, flying a bit to distance yourself from suspicion. You shoot a purple beam at Guldo, efficiently decapitating him. Raditz seems to have gotten the message since he checked out with the Dragon Ball sometime during the commotion. He better hide that thing somewhere safe because his life depends on it.

"Did you really think I'd let a creature as pathetic as Guldo kill anything with a drop of Saiyan blood!" Your voice booms causing all eyes to land on you. You place a hand on your chest, fixating your gaze on the Ginyu Force. "I'm hurt that you didn't include me in your little game."

"Oh, our apologies Y/N." Jeice's thick accent invades your ears. "We should have assumed. Wherever Vegeta is, you're always somewhere nearby."

You swear you can hear faint grumbling. You just can't quite locate the source. Your eyes scan over the ground until you discover the origin of the sound. Long story short, it was Guldo's severed head. So his species can survive decapitation, good to know. "Defeated by a damn Saiyan. And the weaker one at that." You could run circles around that little freak. If you went head to head, he wouldn't even be considered a challenge. Guldo's giving himself far too much credit.

Vegeta chuckles darkly. "Well, don't worry." He strides over to the talking head. "You won't have to deal with that shame for long." Vegeta finishes the job, eliminating that embarrassment of the group of supposed elite warriors. 

The three remaining members complain about Guldo's demise, but it's not for the reason you may think. They're more upset about the impact his absence will have on their ridiculous pose. You wish you could say you were surprised, but you've known those idiots far too long to believe anything else.

The half-breed and earthling walk over to you, identical expressions of gratitude apparent on their faces. "We owe you one, Y/N." You roll your eyes at Krillin. It was a simple business decision. And it was nothing more than that. 

Gohan nods in agreement. "Ya, thanks." You cringe at his gratitude. Why are they thanking you? You killed Guldo for your own selfish reasons.

"Your lives had nothing to do with it." Well, at least Krillin's. If Guldo did kill the half-breed, it would've been an embarrassment to your entire race in hell. "I needed a distraction. I saw an opportunity."

"She's right, so pull yourselves together. Your lives are incredibly insignificant to us." Vegeta's lying. Your brother knows you need them. He's just far too prideful to admit it.

Burter turns to Jeice, morphing his hands to prepare for another excruciating match of rock paper scissors. "Alright, Jeice. Winner gets the Princess, and the loser gets stuck with the two runts."

Jeice shakes his head. "No, Y/N's all yours." He turns to you, his green eyes meeting your own. "I could never lay a hand on a lady as fine as the Princess." You suppress a gag, deciding to keep your mouth shut. If you were to respond, there's a good chance you could end up fighting both of them.

Burter furrows his brows at his comrade. "Are you sure?"

"Ya, go crazy, Burter." It's actually a reasonable match-up. You and Burter both have incredible speed. I guess you'll finally find out who's faster.

Now with Guldo out of the picture, it's Recoome's turn to fight Vegeta. He reminds you a bit of Nappa. Since he lacks any form of self-control. His punches at your brother are erratic. He even almost hits you, Krillin, and Gohan several times. If Recoome were to hit Krillin with that kind of force, there's no doubt in your mind that it would be a fatal blow.

"Don't go killin them all yourself!" Jeice is second in command to Ginyu, so his authority over Recoome makes sense. "I get the two runts, and Burter get's the Princess of the monkeys." One minute Jeice is flirting with you. The next, he's demeaning you. Talk about mixed signals.

You watch Recoome and Vegeta trade punches, and it's starting to lack any value of entertainment. Vegeta's covered in blood while Recoome's armor is chipped, and he's now missing tufts of hair.

You begin to grow impatient. This will be the first time you've been challenged in a while. "Yo, Burter! Let's just get this over with now. We'll make this battle a double feature." 

"Fine with me." The two of you distance yourselves from Recoome and Vegeta, commencing your battle as well.

Their gazes flicker back and forth between both battles. They were so enthralled in the action that neither Gohan nor Krillin noticed that Raditz had joined them. 

Gohan and Krillin stick to the sidelines. They're in no hurry to fight Jeice. Even though he's significantly smaller than Recoome and Burter, Krillin doesn't think Jeice's smaller size will give them any sort of advantage. 

"Raditz?" Jeice looks far from pleased. He's always been jealous of the Saiyan. Not for his strength, rather the envy stems from Raditz's luscious mane of hair. It took Jeice several years to grow his hair to an adequate length, while that fool was born with that full head of hair. Raditz meets his gaze, an arrogant smirk overtaking his features. As he waves at the green-eyed man mockingly. "But--- Y/N said you ran off!"

Mid-battle, you turn to Jeice. Without even looking, you still manage to keep up with Burter. "I'm a compulsive liar, Jeice! It's a nasty habit."

Jeice huffs, crossing his arms at the largest Saiyan. "Raditz is mine. I'm throwing him in with the two runts." A chuckle escapes your lips. He's underestimating what the three of them could accomplish together. Jeice is letting his own petty feelings cloud his judgment. How arrogant.

Krillin's brows furrow as his eyes linger on you. There's something that isn't quite adding up. He turns to Raditz and Gohan, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Hey, guys. I've been thinking about something. Remember back on Earth how Vegeta said that Saiyans get stronger after battle. Well, Vegeta's gotten stronger after several fights, but do you see Y/N? She's still able to effortlessly keep up. Even though she's barely lifted a finger. How is that possible?" The earthling's eyes widen as the gears begin to shift in his head. "Unless. Is she stronger---"

Raditz's hand covers Krillin's mouth, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. "Silence, you earthling. Keep that big mouth of yours shut."

Krillin's teeth sink into his captor's hand, successfully freeing himself from the Saiyan's clutches. Several muffled phrases of obscenity escape Raditz's lips as he rapidly shakes his hand in an attempt to soothe the pain. "She is. Isn't she?" The look on Raditz's face told Krillin all he needed to know. "But you knew that already, and I bet you know why too. I wonder how Vegeta would feel about this?" His last sentence was clearly a passive-aggressive threat toward both you and Raditz. The earthling wouldn't be dumb enough to follow through with that threat, would he?

Raditz scowls at Krillin. How dare this pathetic little weasel attempt to threaten him. "Not a word to Vegeta. If you value your life. I'd stop talking now. Vegeta doesn't know, and it would be very unfavorable if he found out, for all of us." His tone shifts, his eyes flashing with vulnerability. "Something bad happened to us as children, and Vegeta still doesn't know about it." He returns to his menacing demeanor, your shared childhood trauma getting pushed to the back of his mind becoming yet again a distant memory. "So you will stop your absurd thoughts now. Or I can assure you. The second you resurrect your feeble friends, I will single-handedly slaughter them, and then you will follow." Krillin gulps, nodding in fear. He better pray Vegeta heard none of their conversations because he has a feeling Raditz will stick to his word.

Raditz thinks he knows all your secrets, but he's only aware of the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface lies pain and suffering the older Saiyan could never imagine from you. You keep these secrets to protect him, to protect Vegeta, and most importantly, to protect yourself. But if either of them were to find out the truth, your life as you know it would come crashing down. If they were to find out your greatest shame, your pride would be in shambles, and they would know the truth. You're just a weak Saiyan who's an embarrassment to her family name.

You're not exactly sure how much time has passed. You've completely blocked out the entirety of your surroundings, remaining focused on your battle with Burter. You can't joke around as you did back on Earth. There's no room for error today.

The two of you take turns beating the absolute hell out of each other. If you keep this up, there will be no end to this anytime soon. You shriek, spiking up your energy substantially. Burter's eyes bug out as his scouter explodes. Those pieces of junk are really no match to this energy-sensing technique. 

Even though you've blocked out your surroundings, you know the two of you have moved a significant distance away from the others. You could even be on the other side of the planet by now. In the back of your mind, you can't help but worry about your brother especially, now that you're so far away. Recoome may be an idiot, but he's a strong one. You have to remain focused. You can't help Vegeta if you don't help yourself first.

You begin to get the edge over Burter. Now he's attempting to block your attacks, but due to his large size, he's failing horribly. A couple more blows, and you'll finally be able to knock him down. You've taken down guys much larger than Burter, creatures who were triple his size. 

Over the years, you've learned to use your smaller size to your advantage. Making your opponent's sheer size more of a nuisance than a strength. Burter begins to struggle further. He's now barely able to keep up with you. "I'm the fastest being in the universe! How can one of you monkeys be faster than me?" You scowl at him, finding no humor in his statement as rage boils inside of you. 

Unknown to you, you and Burter aren't alone. Goku has been watching your battle in awe for quite some time now. He knows he should've left to find the others, but he just couldn't help it. He can't take his eyes off of you. This is the first time he's seen you fight, and you're much stronger than the Earthbound Saiyan believed.

Your fists clench as your entire body convulses in rage. It's not often you'll lose your temper like this. Goku swears that he saw your irises flash a shade of red. He rubs his eyes, glancing back at you. Your eyes have returned to normal. Maybe Goku is just seeing things. If you knew someone was watching, you would've kept your temper in check. 

Burter sends a blast of your energy your way. Which you dodge by teleporting behind him. You use all of your body weight to knock him down to the ground. You won't mock him like you typically do after defeating a foe. You won't take the chance of giving him an opening to strike back. In the palm of your hand, you create an orb of energy, disintegrating his head. Successfully, taking out your second member of the great Ginyu Force.

You fall to your knees, desperately gasping for air, before grabbing your side, wincing in excruciating pain. Damn, Burter must have nicked you good. You look to your side, noticing just how much blood has leaked through your armor. This is gonna be an issue, though you've fought through worse. You stand back up to check your body for any further damage. There seems to be no other physical damage to your form. Your armor is a bit ripped, though. 

"Wow! You're really strong." You gasp, moving your fist, aiming it at whoever is in front of you. They swiftly catch your fist, preventing you from attacking. Their grip is secure enough to stop you from escaping, yet at the same time pleasantly gentle.

You move your gaze upwards, finally gathering the courage to look them in the eye. Your brows furrow as Goku's dumb face enters your field of vision. "God, Kakarot! When the hell did you get here?" You shake yourself out of his grasp, taking a few steps back, putting some distance between you two.

"A while ago." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I got distracted by your fight." So he was observing you the whole time. Why does that make you feel incredibly self-conscious?

"Of course you did." You sigh, moving several strands of hair out of your face. Goku steps closer to you, bringing his hand to meet your forehead. It's so big that it takes up the entirety of your forehead and even the top of your head. "Kakarot. What the hell are you doing?"

"Just be quiet for a second." It's official. Goku has lost what was left of his mind. "So it is true. You guys are working together. And that Frieza guy is a much bigger deal than I thought." How does he know about all of that? And why is he still touching you?

You slap his arm, convincing him to remove his hand. "And why's that?"

"Because you're afraid of him."

Your face flushes. "I'm not scared of Frieza. I'm not afraid of anything." Your cross your arm, averting his gaze.

"Yes, you are." He pouts. "I saw it." Kakarot saw it? How the hell--- Did Kakarot acquire the ability to read thoughts? Is that even possible?

You decide to divert his mind from his accusations. Knowing Kakaort, that shouldn't be hard at all. "Since when can you read minds?"

He rubs his chin, lost deep in thought. "I don't know--- I just had a feeling."

"Well, let's go. And new rule." You bring your hand up, pointing your index finger at the buffoon. "Stay out of my thoughts!"

He holds up his hands in surrender, nodding. "Are we gonna go find that Captain Ginyu guy?"

"No. We have to go make sure that Recoome and Jeice haven't killed the others first. Don't bite off more than you can chew." Goku has this aura around him. You can tell he's gotten stronger. He just needs to learn how to get his priorities in order.

Okay. All you have to do is pin down someone's energy. There are at least four sources to choose from, so this should be fairly simple. You shut your eyes. This should help you concentrate adequately. 

"Ohh, what's that?"

Your head snaps toward Goku. "What?" You swear the man has an attention span equivalent of an insect.

He bends down, observing the ground intently. "It's like a green string."

"A green--- Kakarot! Don't!" But you were too late. He's already yanked the tripwire.

The ground concaves beneath you, causing you to lose your footing as the two of you fall down into the pit. You fall on top of Goku. Unintentionally straddling the Saiyan. And if you thought this situation couldn't get any more awkward, you'd be wrong. Goku's arms are wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place. Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. And your face feels like it's been set aflame. As your eyes lock, your face only turns a deeper shade of crimson. "D-Don't touch me!" You're stuttering. What the hell is happening to you?

His brows furrow. "You're the one who fell on top of me!"

"It's not my fault." His classic pout spreads across his lips. "How was I supposed to know that the ground would collapse?" 

"W-Well, you're the reason we're in this mess!" You stand up, wanting to get as far away from Goku as possible. You don't like the way you feel around him. The only time your pulse should be racing like this is during combat.

"Well, it wouldn't be called a trap if you could see it!"

"I don't get why you're so mad. Can't we just fly out?"

You snicker as your lips curve upward. "Give it a shot, Kakarot." You know it won't work, but at least his failures will provide you with some quality entertainment. It would be a pretty pathetic trap if you could simply fly out. Goku flies up, slamming his head on the invisible barrier. You break out into a fit of laughter as he falls back down. Goku jumps back up, rubbing the back of his head. "Ouch. Did you know that would happen?" Your giggling dies down as Goku begins looking around the hole. "How did this place even get here? Is this Frieza's work?"

"No. It's definitely the work of the Namekians. Frieza wouldn't be able to formulate something so elaborate in the amount of time he's had. Besides that dictator never does any of his own dirty work."

"Well, let's just sit back and relax. I'm sure we'll be fine. Someone will have to find us eventually." He has such a laid-back attitude. Maybe another alien baby crash-landed on Earth. Because with every second that passes, you're finding it harder to believe that Goku has Saiyan ancestry. 

"Oh, ya, let's just relax." You mock him. "While the others are probably getting chopped up into little pieces by the remnants of the Ginyu Force as we speak!"

"Why are you always so negative?" Is he serious? Do you have to spell out why this is potentially a very dire situation? You'd think he would show more concern for his son.

Your hands meet the sides of your head. You're practically yanking your hair out at this point. To say you're frustrated would be an understatement. "God, why am I constantly getting trapped in enclosed spaces with your idiotic bloodline! First, it was your spawn, then it was your moronic brother, and now I'm stuck with you. And you're somehow the worst of them all!" Goku just stands in front of you like a statue with that goofy smile plastered on his face. "And stop smiling when I yell at you!" 

Being stuck down here with Kakarot will be the ultimate test of your willpower----

-

Will the others make it to Y/N and Goku in time? Or will Y/N kill Goku before they even get the chance? Find out in the next chapter of The Princess of All Saiyans!

[misseffect]

1st for the WIP game?

I've explained this one in another answer so I'll post a snippet here! It'll be a long, long time before is sees the light of day outside Tumblr so it's a little rough and ready.

I couldn't decide where to cut it off so I've included basically the whole fucking thing lmao

He looks strange without glasses and she feels even stranger for staring; like she's caught him in his underpants and ought to look away. His shoulders are relaxed but his expression furrows a little.

"What?" he says.

Shepard opens her mouth. Closes it again.

She knows his handwriting by sight, how he folds his shirts, the most reliable way to make him laugh, how he likes his eggs, the scar on the palm of his hand from a prank Solana played on him when he was seven, his favourite pair of socks, the way he looks splayed out in bed at 4am - and what more is there to know about a person, really?

"Nothing," she says, quietly.

Maybe it's a trick of the light or the hour, but there's something melancholy in the small smile he gives her. A little like the subdued kind of longing she's been herding around for - well - God only knows how long now. Years.

Except this is Garrus. So it doesn't matter.

"You never took [name] out dancing, did you?" she says, without thinking.

The smile slides away and he reaches for his beer. "No."

"Why not?" she asks. He shrugs, non-commital. "She's smart. Pretty. You got along."

He stops with the bottle half way to his mouth. "Never got around to it, I suppose."

"There must've been something."

He huffs an exasperated sort of laugh. "It was months ago, I can't remember. It just - " He waves the bottle vaguely. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Me. Say it was me.

"Just wondered." Her voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. "I forgot to ask how it went."

He sets the bottle on his leg and picks at the corner of the label with his thumbnail.

Shepard swallows. There's something reckless creeping over her. The kind of feeling that pushes her to one more punch, one more shot, one more needling question to goad out an answer.

"Have you dated at all since Chloé?"

"A little," he says, without looking at her. "Not lately."

"How come?"

"Christ, Shepard - "

"What? You could've had your pick of the damn ward when I was in hospital."

"Yeah, that would've gone down well."

"I didn't mean - " They're steaming towards an argument. "Women like you, Garrus. "

He scoffs.

"Oh, bite me, you're a catch and you know it." Shepard takes a long gulp of her beer so the acrid, cigarette-butt tang sticks to her teeth. "And at this rate you'll have to wait for the good ones to start getting divorced."

Garrus just shakes his head. He doesn't look angry, exactly, but there's something coming off him that she can't get a read on. Shepard sets her bottle down on the coffee table.

"Honey, I don't know why you broke it off with Chloé and I won't ask you to tell me, but - "

"It's not about Chloé."

"Then what?"

For a long, slow moment, Garrus just looks at her. His face is set in stubborn lines but that mournful, affectionate look hasn't left him.

Years of case files and gunfights are stretched out behind them; brass knuckles, lemon muffins, broken bones, cold stake-out breakfasts, favours owed and repaid a hundred times each way, and threaded through them is that incessant, silent wanting. Like an itch. Like grit in her shoe.

Except it's Garrus. And she knows him. In all his vengeance and loyalty and bull-headed kindness, she knows him. The man who holds more of her in his hands than any other living person. Deserving of whatever kindness the world has to offer.

If he'd wanted her at all - in any of those moments - Shepard would've seen it.

"I'm sorry," Garrus says, and suddenly he's all soft, sad, blue eyes and there's an impossible, shivery feeling building in the pit of Shepard's stomach - in her chest - in her throat.

Surely she would've seen it.

Wouldn't she?

"I'm sorry," he says, quieter still, and this time it sounds like goodbye.

"Don't." Her mouth feels like radio static. "Don't."

And she kisses him.

He goes still as startled rabbit. The rain outside seems louder, suddenly, and it's as if everything - as if five long years of trust and loss and joy - is balanced on the head of a pin.

She pulls away. He looks flushed and dumbstruck in the soft, orange light, and the shiver in her chest feels like it's gone to her bones. Her heartbeat is pounding in the base of her skull.

Shit.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Garrus, I'm - "

Then his hand is under her chin and he's dragging his thumb across her bottom lip, and when he kisses her Shepard thinks she really, truly might burn up on the spot. It's like sinking into a steaming bath; like coming home.

[volleychumps]

Heyy!! 💙 Selena here! Would It be posible yo request a scenario, please? So its a normal day at school and suddenly the reader overhear a conversation of her current boyfriend with one of his friends in which he confesses that he's just dating the reader to win a bet of 1.000 yens? Completely crushed she doesn't know how to react but she was not the only one accidentally listening.Noya who has a huge Crush on reader was also there... ¿ What would he do now? Nsfw included please! Enjoy!

It would be possible!! This turned out really fluffy instead of nsfw content just because I like to have a build-up of things, I hope that’s alright<3 🥺

And my inbox has been flooded with need for more Noya so🥰

On the Line. (Nishinoya Yu x Reader)

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

“Noya, you’re drooling again.” 

The libero wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting a glare at a grinning Ennoshita, who casted a glance at your laughing figure a few seats away as his grin widens. Before Nishinoya Yu could completely deny that assumption, he stills in his seat when your eyes flit over to his brown ones, your lips stretching out in a warm smile as you offer a timid wave. 

God, why did you have to smile like that?

Blinking out of a trance, the libero turns away from your direction abruptly as Ennoshita continues to sip his box of strawberry juice, somewhat used to his friend’s odd behavior when it came to you as the second year hums, a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Considering the amount of girls you’re known to fawn over-” 

“excUSE ME-” 

“Y/N’s been kind of a long term thing, no?” Ennoshita questions casually, flipping a page in his manga he had open throughout the lunch period as Noya goes to defend himself- only to open his mouth and shut it again quickly, for he had no defense to that statement. 

“Don’t kid yourself, Y/N’s just a close friend.” Noya chuckles somewhat forcibly as Ennoshita’s eyes lift from his page to arch a challenging brow. “Besides-” 

Brown eyes soften, voice cracking a tad bit as he watches your boyfriend poke his head into the classroom door as a smile- a smile that wasn’t for him- brightens your features more than when you looked at him did. 

“Close friends shouldn’t cross lines when they’re obviously drawn.” Noya finishes, and Ennoshita’s eyes fall back down to his manga, his wrist flicking to throw the empty juice carton at his friend’s head as Noya catches it with a glare. 

“Stick with drooling over Kiyoko- you’re scarier when you say serious stuff.” 

“I’ll have you know- wait, scarier?” 

“Dude, have you met yourself?” 

Before a snarky retort can be made about Ennoshita’s lack of empathy, Noya quiets down to realize you were no longer in the classroom, and Ennoshita had successfully distracted the libero from watching you leave with your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you.” 

“The former would be great, thanks.” 

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

“uGH practice is such a pain.” Noya whines as Tanaka whistles lowly in agreement from next to him, the iconic duo feeling lucky practice was delayed for the day due to Ukai’s tardiness, the coach getting held back by a prior engagement. 

“I’ll meet you in the gym later?” Tanaka questions after Noya had released a groan after the realization that his notebook had been left behind- a notebook that held at least a dozen late homework assignments that needed to be in by tomorrow. 

“Yeah, man- Tell Daddy Dai I’ll be there in a few.” 

“Still can’t believe he lets you call him that.” 

“Oh he doesn’t- on second thought he does. Tanaka, if you love me you’ll call him that when you see him.” 

“Who the hell loves you?” His best friend sneers as Noya puts up a peace sign accompanied by a wide grin as he walks off, his smile lessening when his back turns again to his lonely trek in the mostly empty hallways of Karasuno. 

Yeah, who would?

Before he can stifle it, your face popped up into his mind along with a tug at his heartstrings as Noya continues his slow walk back to his classroom, a glazed look taking over his eyes as he wonders if you made it home safely with that asshat of a boyfriend- 

Until he saw it. 

Noya pauses mid-step, the glazed look being blinked away as he saw you standing outside a classroom that wasn’t yours, the door open slightly ajar as your hair skewed the image of your face. An excited smile spreads on the libero’s face at the thought of an unexpected conservation with you, his pace picking up until he sees something that made his breath hitch in his throat as he stands two steps away from you. 

Your eyes were brimmed with unshed, shining tears that seemed to threaten to spill over at any moment, and before Noya can ask you why on instinct, you had grabbed his arm in a tight grip, putting a weak finger to your lips as you signal him to stay quiet. 

With furrowed brows, the libero complies, leaning against the wall next to you as he remains focused on your grip on his arm, an involuntary blush rising to his cheeks at the situation at hand-

but it didn’t last very long. 

Noya’s ears perk up at the sound of a very familiar voice- a voice that he dreaded hearing call your name every day during break times. 

“...yeah, man- I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” 

He felt your grip seem to loosen on his arm.

“With Y/N? Dude, I don’t know why you would go so far for 1000 yen-” 

He watched a painful expression cross your face as your eyes widened in absolute disbelief. 

“Right? I thought it would be easy, but she looks at me like I’m the best thing to ever happen to her, what would you do in my situation?” 

But the instigating factor? 

“Dump her. You agreed because she seemed cute and easy, right?” 

When the tears tipped over the eyes he loved, his vision turned into a blurry fit of rage, shoving off the wall before ripping his arm from your grasp as you attempt to keep him next to you. Noya stops for a second when your hand reaches out to grab at the back of his shirt material, your reddened eyes widening when the libero smiles a closed-eye grin at you, mouthing the words you needed to hear most. 

It’ll be okay. I’ll be back.

“1000 yen richer, I guess. Anyways, I wonder where that airhead-” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as a fist collided with his cheek, Nishinoya seething so angrily he hardly spared a glance at the friend that made a dash for the exit at the arrival of the school’s known-troublemaker.

All those days watching you be with him. A hidden part wishing he was him. The convincing of himself that he was happy you were happy-

 Noya’s eyes mimicked the ones in which he was on the court, eyes spinning dangerously serious as brown eyes narrowed, a fist grabbing at your boyfriend’s collar from where he now laid with a slightly cracked lip. 

When this was how things were all along? 

“What the hell are you doing?!”

A humorless chuckle. “What does it look like? A fucking tea party?” 

When his fist reels back again, he stops when he feels a hand rest gently on the back of his elbow, Noya just knowing from the touch that it was you as his tense muscles relax almost immediately. 

“N-Noya...” 

At the sound of your cracked, stuttering voice, the libero releases a heavy sigh, releasing your now ex-boyfriend’s shirt so that at least his head hits the classroom floor as Noya stands protectively in front of you. 

“Bastard...you think you’ll get away with something like this?” Your ex seems to chuckle a tad deliriously as Noya ignores him, shuffling through his pockets before dropping a few crumpled bills at his feet, your ex finally taking notice of you with widened eyes.

“I don’t care. I just get suspended again, but you?” Noya sneers, kicking the bills towards what he had always considered not good enough for you. “You fucked with the wrong person, asshole. Here’s 4300 yen (about 40 USD), whatever shitty bet you had going on is off, don’t even look her way anymore. Not like you deserved it in the first place anyway.”

With that, Noya spun on his heel to grab your hand hastily, adrenaline running through his veins before he feels you freeze at the sound of his voice. 

“Y-Y/N, baby please-” 

“I don’t know if he didn’t make it clear enough,” You glance at him once more, etching the image into your mind before mentally discarding it. “But we’re through. If there was any we to begin with.” 

Noya’s brows reach towards his airline before he releases a low whistle at you’re words, surprised when you’re the one to lead him out of the class, stopping only when you reach the exit of the school. 

“Y/N-” 

“Have anywhere I can maybe, I don’t know, cry?” 

Noya’s eyes widen as a million thoughts flit through his head as he takes a chance. Slowly, he turns your figure so you’re facing him fully, gently prying the hands that covered the features you now deemed ugly away before tucking your face into his chest- 

the libero determined to make you feel as beautiful as he saw you as, feeling the sobs wreck through your body as your hands tightened at the shirt material on his chest.

Looks like he’ll be missing practice today. 

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

“You didn’t have to go that far.” 

You smile a little at Noya’s look of seriously? from his place in the kitchen, causing you to giggle a little from underneath the blanket he had given you as you relaxed a bit more into his couch. The smile dwindles as you wonder how you had gotten here, puffy-eyed and broken-hearted in the house of someone you deemed as a close friend- 

but why had your heart beat picked up when his back was to you in that classroom as he faced your ex? Why did that smile he casted to you before rushing in to defend your dignity make you loosen your grip on his shirt as a newfound feeling emerged in your stomach?

Had he always been there? Just in that little pocket in the back of your mind, waiting to be seen, as someone simply stood in front of him? 

“I left my homework at school for you. I’m expecting my payment in m&ms.” 

You shake your head of those thoughts just as Noya sets down a steaming mug of hot tea in front of you, and your eyes widen before you subconsiously raise a hand to his hair, retort falling silent. 

Noya blushes, eyes narrowing at the small giggle that slips your lips as he occupies the couch seat next to you. “What?” 

“Your hair’s not being held up by like, three different products of hair gel.” You observe, genuinely interested in his soft locks as the heat in the libero’s cheeks deepen before he scoffs. 

“Two actually, imagine being uneducated.” 

“Imagine assaulting someone because of a childish bet.” 

“It was self-defense.” 

“In what way?” You find yourself laughing as Noya turns fully towards you, a lopsided grin on his lips that had your laugh dying down at the pounding in your chest.

“You’re pretty when you laugh.” 

Embarrassed, you retract your hand from his hair hastily before picking up the mug and taking a deep sip, flinching at the heat as Noya calms his nerves at the girl he��s been in love with acting so cute next to him.

The mug hits the table gently as you set it down, a far-off look in your eyes as Noya takes his share of the blanket, wondering if you were uncomfortable with the proximity before you relax into his side, your head leaning on his shoulder. 

“I have to wonder...if all I was had been a game all along.” 

“Apparently the no sad talk rule I put in place before we entered my domain was ignored, and it shows.” 

You go to swat him playfully before Noya catches your wrist, brown eyes soft and looking at you as if he were afraid you would break at any moment.  

“Y/N, you’re literally the prettiest, nicest girl in the grade- it’s not your fault you decided to make the worst possible choice.” 

A pink dusts across your cheeks at the compliments before you pout. “But it kinda is.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Oh yeah?” You laugh into your mug, not realizing Noya had been watching you with a gaze you were used to catching in the middle of breaks or class. “And who would be a better choice?” 

“Are you joking?” 

You blink at the deadpan of Noya’s voice before he scoffs as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Ennoshita. Are you dumb?” 

“I was thinking more you, but yeah I could totally-” 

The couch is soft against your back as the blanket drapes over Noya’s back as you find yourself sandwiched between him and the couch, his hands placed firmly next to your head to support himself as he keeps his weight off of you. Your eyes trace over his features as his brown eyes seem to seriously stare into yours, your faces inches apart.

“You can’t take it back.” 

You melt into the feel of his lips upon yours, smiling into it as something in you just feels so right in this moment, pushing him back a little as soon as his hand trails down to your waist. 

“Noya, I just got out of the worst day of my life-” 

“Then I’ll make every day better than the last.” 

“It’s not too soon?” You ask worriedly as Noya digs his face into your neck, and you blush when his lips move against your neck. 

“Nothing’s too soon when I’ve been waiting this long, babe.” 

Noya smirks when your skin seems to heat under his touch, feeling you squirm when his hands move to rest on your waist gently as he peppers your neck in kisses. 

“How long have you been waiting?” You pout, pulling Noya out of your neck as the libero scoffs, his lips moving to trace up your jawline before making his way across your cheek sweetly, stopping only when his lips hover over yours. 

“Too long, apparently.” 

“C-Can I kiss you?”

Rolling his eyes, Noya cups your face gently as his thumb traces your cheek, speaking against your lips as he feels your lips curl upwards into it. 

“I don’t know if I have to make this clear- but you don’t have to ask your boyfriend for permission, babe.” 

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @savemesteeb

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ THE PROPOSITION ❜

with Angel Reyes.

Chapter Three, final. Index.

Request #1: Hola! Angel asking for Felipe to have Marisol's ring cause he went to propose to his girlfriend. But Felipe says No cause he thinks EZ deserve its more. ( And cause WE know he love EZ more ) So Angel is like " Fuck this shit" And either is breaks in Felipe house to steal this ring Or Either he go brought the biggest and perfect ring ! 🤩

BY ANON

Request #2: Hey! Angel do something very impressive for his girlfriend ( like big and impressive asking for marriage or Travel 5 states just for see her) and this ending by Felipe being very impressive by his Sons and take conscience he is a bad dad for Angel. 🙏❤️🤟🤟

BY ANON

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 3k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @pantherclawz

Masterlist.

Almost one week without hearing his voice. Receiving one or two text messages per day, just to tell you that he's tired or that he's working. You know he is hiding something, confirming your suspicion when EZ began to decline all your calls. And, when you talked with Felipe three days ago, the only thing he told you was that he didn't know anything about his kids. So you started to think the worst. At first you thought that maybe Angel had an accident and his brother was trying to cover him, but when you called Bishop this morning, you heard your boyfriend's voice saying that he was ‘going to pick up the girl’. And now, you don't know what to think.

Licking your lips, sitting in the back garden of the house, you play with your phone between your fingers. It's almost midnight and it's a little cold outside, wearing nothing but an Angel's shirt. You decide to call him again, but it's his voicemail who answers again, even if you shouldn't be doing it after drinking too many beers, while your friends are sleeping and resting for the last seminar the next morning. But you wait for the last tone.

“Hey, it's me… your girlfriend, remember? I've been calling you… I don' know, maybe the fucking whole day. Where the fuck are you, Angel? And don't you fucking dare to tell me that you were working, 'cause I heard you this morning talking about some bitch to pick up. But fo' say something, first you have to answer the fucking phone!”

Sounds pathetic the way you are talking to him, saying all the things that you wouldn't say to him being sober. Hiccuping, you find yourself crying unconsolable, with an agonic pain oppressing your chest and squeezing your heart.

“Just… two fucking weeks, Angel! You couldn' keep your fucking dick inside your pants, for two fucking weeks! Is that the… shit I mean to you? Two years thrown overboard because of what? How many times have you done it, ah? All these… shit about not calling during a run… were you doing the same shit, Angel? How many fucking times has you betrayed me?!”

You can't help but laugh bitterly, cleaning your tears with the back of your hand, trying to calm yourself and to not wake up anyone.

“I fucking love you… with all my heart. I didn' complain about anything, never…” Although your voice sounds low and a little bit calmed, inside you there's a storm devastating you. “I put you first, always, since the first moment I met you… I can't fucking believe you're gonna lea—leave me and… the way you're doing it… I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong”.

Hardly sniffing, you close your eyes letting go everything inside your chest, before finishing the message. Curling up your legs to surround them with both arms, you rest your chin over your knees. You can't avoid thinking about all those times he has promised you a future together, living in a big house and having children. Or about all those times he has been crying clinged to you, talking about how his father has been always putting him apart. You have cared about him more than anyone in his life. You have given him all. Without asking anything back, more than loyalty. And you wouldn't even have to ask for it.

Even so, you're starting to regret all the things you have said, without knowing if it's true or not. But how are you going to find it out, if anyone says nothing?

“Oh, shit… Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Angel is sitting on top of his bike, with a hand holding his phone and the other rubbing the bridge of his nose.

His brothers are looking at all the gestures that he's drawing unconsciously on his face. Rage, sadness, incredulous… When the message ends, he lies down over the handerball, softly hitting his head against it. He tries to call you, but your phone is practically dead, off of battery. Bishop walks towards him, having a sip from his beer.

“All good, Angel?”

“She thinks I'm fucking cheating her, because he heard me say about picking up Leti, this morning”. Stepping out from his motorcycle, he looks for Tori's number, hoping she answers the call.

Walking around the parking like a locked lion in the zoo, he's starting to think about driving right now to Los Angeles.

“The hell is wrong with you, shithead?” The female voice sounds tired, being interrupted by a long yawn.

“Tori, listen. Find (Y/N). She's drunk, thinking I'm cheating on her”.

“Yeah, 'cause you have been ignoring her ass”.

“I've been workin—”.

“Nah, c'mon, Angel. Tell these tales to someone wh—”.

“I was working to buy a wedding ring”.

Silence. Tori suddenly sits up on her bed, turning on the lights and waking up Sarah. The girl who was sleeping peacefully, now is being woken up by shaking her left arm. Having some growls as response, she looks at her girlfriend frowning, while she hears Angel's voice through the speaker.

“Just listen, please. Calm her down, okay? 'Am coming tomorrow to LA. I already talked to your boss and I can't tell you anything else. Just… calm her down, please”.

“Okay, we got this, Angel”.

Hanging up the call, both girls jump off from the bed, walking towards your room. Empty. But following your crying, they stick out their heads by the window, finding you in the garden. This hurts them too. They were with you the night you met Angel, and they also love him a lot. They know how much he cares about you and even if Sarah and Tori couldn't believe that he was with another girl, it wasn't normal his way to act the last days. But now, everything has sense, and they are pretty excited to see him tomorrow and discover what he has been preparing for the proposition.

Going downstairs and trying to hide their happiness, your friends sit by each side to hug you. A collective hug to make you feel somewhat better, but you can't stop crying.

“Baby… what's up?” Tori asks, caressing gently your hair.

“This… fucking bastard… I fucking gave him all, the best of me!”

“You talkin' 'bout Angel? C'mon, (Y/N)! He told you he made the most of his time to work a little more, and not miss you. Two weeks is too much time for you both”.

“I heard him talking about another girl”.

“So, what? Since when he can't have friends, ah? I have slept with him at his house… hundred times, and that doesn't mean that I cheated Tori, or he cheated you. And believe me, your boyfriend is a fantasy even for me”. Sarah says, making you chuckle in some way. “I'm sure he has been working hard, as you do when he is traveling. So, don't think any bullshit about Angel. He loves you more than anything, okay?”

“Let's go to bed, okay, honey? We have to be awake in five hours for a long, long, long seminar. Lucky it's the last one”. Tori says standing up on her feet, helping you to get up from the grass.

Angel comes into the clubhouse with an excited smile on his lips, like a child on Christmas Day, rubbing his hands and clapping happily calling everybody's attention.

“You got it, hermano?”

He nods energetically, walking fast to the main round table, where the oldest were waiting for him to come back from the jewelers. The Reyes tucks a hand inside his pocket in complete silence, putting over the wood a small red velvet box. Between his fingers, he supports the bottom part to open the top, showing the ring for what he has been working too hard the last two weeks; without sleeping, without resting, without a drop of alcohol, without partying. Nothing. Just working hard. The fine gold ring is perfectly resting inside a small gap, showing only the top of it. A king's crown with a diamond in it, that shines so easily with natural light that could illuminate a whole room. The crew is looking at it fascinated. And yes, the ring couldn't be perfect, but it's the feeling of pride for Angel that makes them smile.

“Fuck, brother… If she doesn' want to marry you, I will”. Creeper is captivated by the jewel, with his eyes fixed on.

“Why the fuck she wouldn't want to marry me, dumbshit?”

“Ignore him, carnal”. Coco palms his back, resting his arm on a shoulder.

“So, what you say, ah?” He asks, anxious to hear Bishop, Tranq and Taza's opinion. Without them, it couldn't be possible.

“Fuck, man, I would marry you too if you propose me with this ring”. Che is the first one, taking the step to grab the small box and have a closed look from it.

“You did a good job, Angel. You deserve it”. Tranq just says with both arms on the table.

“Prez?”

Bishop keeps looking at the box, seeming thoughtful, slowly raising his eyes to the others after some seconds in silence.

“I think you are doing the right thing for the first time since I know you. That girl deserves a man like you, Angel. And I know she is not the kind of woman who would care about the ring, but you found the perfect one”.

Your boyfriend can't feel more proud. It would be impossible.

“Go change your clothes, you have four hours of road ahead”. El Presidente places a hand on Angel's nape with a soft narrow over it.

He just nods, keeping again the box inside a pocket to get up and leave the place to his dorm, where he has been sleeping the last two weeks. The black jeans and the white shirt are perfectly stretched over his bed. The Reyes hurries up to have a shower, not wasting a second more, brushing and doing his hair with trembling fingers. He hasn't known anything about you since he talked with Tori and Sarah some hours ago, hoping that they finally calmed you down and got you rid of those ideas about him cheating you. When he's already dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress to put on his boots, Angel grabs the black bomber jacket trespassing the box from a piece of clothing to the other, zipping the pocket to not lose it.

Coming back to the main room of the clubhouse, his brothers receive him between whistles and cheers.

“Man, you smell good”. Coco says coming too close.

“Ah, ah. Take care, brother. Don't want you to stain my fresh clothes”. He says taking a step back.

“My apologies, your grace”. He chuckles.

“Bishop?”

“Templo”. Taza says having a sip from a coffee.

Checking the hour on his phone, assuring himself that he has enough time, the Reyes leads his steps to the meeting-room, closing the glass colorful door behind him.

“Already leaving?”

“Yeah, prez, I just… want to thank you for giving me the three k left. I will continue working to gi—”.

“Take it as a wedding gift”. The mexican stops him with his own words, shaking his head and making a light gesture with a hand.

“I couldn't do it without you, Tranq and Taza”.

“I heard what you told to your brother. In the office”. He says then, lying back on his chair. “I am not going to… give you my opinion about your father, but he shouldn't behave like that, Angel”.

“I know, Bishop. And… I would thank you for not telling anything about it to (Y/N). She loves my pops”.

“That honors you”.

“Don't know, but I don't wanna be like him”.

El Presidente simply nods.

“Bring back Mrs. Reyes”.

Your head hurts like hell, having to use your glasses because of the blurry gaze you have got by the hangover. The seminar is turning out eternal. The last thing you care about right now is how to operate with an open heart, you have already done it and you could skip this part. But it's for compulsory attendance. So there you are, drawing nothing on your iPad as if you were taking notes, fighting against the pain, the tiredness and the uncertainty about Angel. He continues not answering your text or calls, and you can't help but think about what Sarah told you last night.

“... you for coming, and I hope that these two weeks have been productive for your learning”.

The claps flood the conference room, while the other doctors begin to pick up their stuff and finally leave the place. You can't believe that it's already done and that you're allowed to come back home, checking again your muttered phone expecting to find something. But the notifications bar is empty.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't mind, I'm going to steal you a couple minutes. Sit back, please”. The voice of your boss through the speakers makes you raise an eyebrow.

“The desire to be noticed by that man fucks me up”. Tori chuckles with a low tone, sitting again over her seat.

“I know that we all are tired, but it's just going to be a couple minutes, I promise. I just want to help a friend”.

“No…” Sarah looks at her girlfriend really surprised, making you frown confused.

“Girls, the fuck you did?”

“You just… enjoy the show, my dear”.

You can see your boss making a gesture to someone by a side of the stage, to come closer. But when your eyes find Angel walking over it, your blood freezes and your heart stops. Lucky you're between almost more than two hundred doctors and surgeons. Leo gives up the micro to your boyfriend, looking for you. And obviously, your two friends start to yell like crazy to call his attention.

“Hey, ahm… You don't know me and I don't know you, but… I'm Angel. Dr. (Y/L/N)'s boyfriend and I came to… give her an important message”. He says with a nervous tone, before smirking at you, clearing his throat. “Hey, baby, can you… can you come here, please?”

“Go”. Your friends push you to get up, but your legs feel like butter about to fall downstairs.

As soon as he's able to hug you, he does, not caring about the claps from the people in front of you.

“Okay, okay, listen”. Holding one of your hands and pulling himself away, he laughs a little bit nervous for a second. “We met two years ago, in the middle of nowhere. I was fuc— sorry. I was hurt because of a fight. And you fixed up my wounds with so much love, patience and care, that I fell for you”.

“Angel…”

“Sh, listen. I think I'm going to have a heart attack, so let me talk before falter to the floor. Listen, you have been my best friend, my anchor, my reason to live since then. I love you more than I could ever love anyone... I can't live without you, baby. And before you say anything else like last night, no. I didn't try and I'm not going to do it, because I'm lost without you, (Y/N). So, ahm… Hey, boss, can you hold the mic'?” Turning to Leo, the man takes it back.

You're trembling, looking at your friends for a moment trying to find an explanation. But when your gaze is again on your boyfriend, he's already kneeling with a hand inside a pocket grabbing something. A small red box. And you can't believe what's happening. Taking a step back and covering your face with both hands, you start to cry like a child, with your pulse racing under your skin.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you marry me?”

The crew is waiting anxiously at the porch, after not receiving any news back from LA. But they all get up from their seats on the sofas and the stairs, when they hear Coco's car being driven by Angel coming closer. As soon as he parks it close to the bikes, not finding you on the passenger seat and looking at the devastated gesture on his face, they know that the proposition wasn't as they were expecting. Stepping out of the car, he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey, carnal, it's okay. She will reconsider it”. Coco says hugging his friend, trying to comfort him.

“She will say yes, Angel, don't give up”. Bishop palms softly his nape.

And you are drowning in laughs hidden on the floor of the back seats. Looking slightly through the window, you find the crew very affected because supposedly you said ‘no’. Taking some air, you jump out of the car yelling with a huge smile on your lips.

“Surprise, madafakas!”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I'm too old for these frights!” Taza shouts at you back, indignant with a hand on his chest barely breathing.

“I'm confused”. Gilly says from nowhere.

“What? Doesn't sound good Mrs. Reyes for you?” Walking towards them, raising the hand with the amazing ring, they all look surprised.

“I'm going to fucking shoot you, Angel”. Bishop threats him, before leading his steps to yours. “Welcome home, querida”.

“Thank you”. Hugging him, you rest your head against his chest. “Angel told me you help him”.

“It was nothing, kid”. Clicking his tongue and pulling himself away, he caresses your cheek for a second.

“Yo! Mami! You look stunning now that you're engaged”. Coco lifts you up between his arms, narrowing you under his grip.

“Yeah, you see?!”

“Hey, hey, social distancing”. Your future husband takes you off from his friend's hands, to hold you closer with an arm surrounding your neck.

“Look at you, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes”. Creeper says very proud, nodding in accordance.

“Let's celebrate it that you didn' kick my ass, mi dulce”.

✨ Tag list:

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If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

[herstarburststories]

Beautiful Ghosts [p1]

A/N: HAPPY BDAY TO ME, YAY! The first chapter of this hopefully mini series is for @alleiradayne 's 1k celebration! Congrats, hon. A mix of angst and two kinds of comfort here. I gotta admit that I started working on this months ago and kept going until I was satisfied with how it was going. Hope you guys like this one! Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

Summary: Something as tribal as death wouldn't keep you away from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Prompt: I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise.

Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, you

Rating: PG 13

Word count: 2404

As always, you are in Dean's arms when the two brothers enter the bunker after a hunt. There isn’t any sound to break the silence, no raucous laughter, or even a snarky comment about today’s slain monsters. Their steps are stronger than usual, and one breath is missing.

Of course, it’s different from your usual entrance. Your arms aren't tangled with Dean's and his aren’t wrapped around your waist or shoulders. You are in his arms, yes, but you are lying still in a state of lifeless despondency. To think, he was once hopeful, stupid enough to believe that he'd only be carrying you like this when he was marrying you. 

Sam is awfully quiet. He can think and organize a hundred words into speeches in his mind, but nothing comes out. The younger brother feels like a kid during a class presentation too worried to say the wrong word and receive the wrong reaction. Therefore, he chooses silence, just like the other Winchester. They both make room for the grief that way.

It's a silent agreement that you are gone for good. The spell used to bring Eileen back is no longer available, and there is no devil willing to make a pact — not that one would allow the others to do so, after all.

Dean still considers it. More than once, more than a million times between the drive back home when you laid in the backseat with your guts on the car's floor and putting your body on the couch with more tenderness he’d thought himself capable of. 

He would come back to hell just to save you, even if it meant not staying to see you thrive. The agony would be more bearable if he knew that for each scream of his, there would be a grin of yours.

He has no hope now. All Dean Winchester has is anger and unprocessed grief slowly metamorphosing into sadness, hate, and bloodthirst. Even when he killed the fucking werewolf right after he laid his teeth on you, it wasn’t enough. He needed to make someone hurt as much as he did.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but isn’t that life with this job? It's usually supposed to be a quick thing, and then you are choking your own blood like it's tequila.

“She is in a better place now.” Sam is the first to speak, utterly doubting that his brother would make a noise if he didn't first.

Sammy was always full of faith, but this time it made Dean furious. “You don't know that.”

“Dean.”

“Don't, Sammy. Don't even fucking try. You know who we are and what Billie thinks about us. Do you think (Y/N) won't get the same destiny as we will? Alone in the empty, going crazy for years, decades!?”

“We can find a way—“ 

“No, we can't! We all signed her death sentence the minute we asked her to move in. And she—“ Dean cuts himself off with the sharp knife of silence, staving any hope left with harsh thoughts. The living room is maybe the most similar it’s ever been to the old glory days now: men of letters used to get frustrated there all the time, usually with a bottle of whiskey and a dead body on the floor, full of holes from experiments. 

The eldest Winchester wants to scream, throw a chair, break a lamp. He’d do anything to get this heavy sensation out of his veins, as if every single drop of blood weighs 500 pounds.

Still, he doesn't fall on his knees.

An inconsistently wry smirk consumes Dean’s face, warped with grief. “I had to put her guts back in her body, you know? To carry her in the car.”

He lifts his hands. They are stained red. Sam purses his lips together, trying to find something to say that would have helped him when Jess died. Nothing but an annoying little voice saying time comes to mind. It's gonna be hard, but they will make it. They always do.

Sammy doesn't tell that to Dean, though. He isn't ready yet. And neither is Sam to vocalize the words.

We are gonna be okay because we always do. And the dead bodies end up like frightening memories and nothing else.

That would sound too cold, like most truths for hunters. If Sam says those words, it becomes real. Not even the bloodstained picture of murder is stronger than words of farewell. Besides, you were his best friend. He had to recompose and convince himself that everything would be okay before he helped Dean. For once, he had to be the brother who shut all the turmoil in to take care of the other

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

And then, Sam does the only thing that he could think of as useful for making the ache bearable. He hugs his big brother.

Dean struggles to get away from the hold, even with every fiber of his being screaming to remain there. “Let me go! Sam, I'm serious. Fucking let me go!”

“It's gonna be okay, Dean.”

“Let me go, Sammy! Now!”

“You are not alone, Dean. I'm here. She will be okay, too.”

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Until he finally gives in, collapsing in Sam's arms like that little kid in Kansas who didn't want to cry in front of his dad after seeing his mom get killed.

There is blood on Sammy’s favorite shirt now, but he doesn’t care. He just tightens his embrace around Dean while his brother is lost into racking sobs. 

His grief is just as expansive as Dean’s, their ragged souls laced with a sickening kind of sweetness that can only show up when someone you love needs help. It squirms and crawls in their guts to make a home that sticks. It’s their tiny comforts— the good feelings always show up in defiance of the ache like a plant growing on concrete. They just have to get the energy to look for them.

Everything is still the way you left it in Dean's bedroom. He didn't put your clothes away. You left your book on the shelf and kept your perfume in the wardrobe. Your pillow is still scrambled as if you had left for a couple of minutes to grab a cup of water and would soon come back to snuggle up to him. Well, it could always be from the fact that he's holding onto that piece of cotton for dear life. If he had long nails, his floor would be a complete mess now.

He's glaring at the wall, mind trying to come up with ways to cope with the growing ache in his whole body. Yes, the books and poets and films speak fondly about heartbreak, but he already threw the last glimpses of his bruised heart on the fire, burning with your body to the point no one could say it was ever in his chest to begin with. What could he do? There's always a way for the Winchesters. If Dean thinks hard enough, maybe he can defeat death. Maybe he can have you back.

Dean puts the pillow away after another sniff. The smell of your pepper shampoo is almost fading — he shouldn't have hugged it. Nonetheless, the green-eyed hunter focuses on coming up with ideas, and it's a stupid, humanly behavior when his mind goes to what desperate people usually seek.

Dean was never a pious man. The fact his mother died while angels were too busy watching over him to help her didn’t do it any good. Yet in stolen moments like these, he, like most humans, would bear his soul in a peace offering to all the holy things he doubted. The Winchester never prayed for himself, though. Who would answer his cry for help? He never deserved to be saved. So, he put his hands together and closed his eyes for who he cared about. As the Layla woman who told him to have faith or Sammy as something scandalous happened. It was rare, but Dean did that sometimes. He used to hope someone was listening. He doesn't pray anymore, not even now. Because he knows someone is listening, and he doesn't care.

Can an empty room seem crowded? Yes, when touch-starving grief is piled inside, begging to be seen. Why can't he allow himself to feel it? Why can't he cry? Why can't he just stop using anger as a comfort? Dean doesn't know. It used to be easier to cry before. He'd say he's lost his emotions, but the all-consuming anger and his ferocious barks to keep the hurt is burning proof he isn't yet.

Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault.

His nostrils are opening, the wrath that swaths him as comfortable as his own skin. It’s not natural enough that he doesn't feel the burn, and you know he's going to break again. Your Dean doesn't break easily, but when he does, it's in a million little pieces that he wouldn't allow people to help pick them up. He’d rather shove them under the bed with his childhood monsters or bruising his hands as he exasperatedly tries to get them all by himself. You know he's going to shift into a storm and start breaking things. You know it's a temporary morphine, and the sickness will remain in the morning.

That's the incentive you need to try harder, to flash yourself into this plane of existence long enough to be seen. You force every fragment of yourself and light and whatever other pieces you are made of now to appear. To be heard. To show Dean he isn't all by himself again.

An image starts glitching in front of him. It’s rapid enough for Dean's reaction to come as a frown and his hand to snake around to the gun at the hem of his pants. 

And then, he blinks and a heart-stopping joy hits him. He can't believe the unbreakable heaven that he's being blessed with. Every feeling that should be burrowed under his skin is fighting to come to the light, and God, he wants to. For the first time, he doesn't want to hold back because what was trying to come together finally is you.

You. You are standing right before his own green eyes. There is a soft look on your face. It’s laced with that pretty smile that’s always spread happiness to him as well. You are here, standing in his room, clean clothes and blood in your veins. Guts inside your body! He never imagined he'd be happy to think that.

Is this his heart? Oh God, it is. And it's beating. No, no. It's racing. His heart is working again and now he almost falls on his knees. The pain was never able to break him, but he had forgotten how strong happiness could be. He's relieved.

Dean's eyes burn when he looks at you. Maybe it’s because he’s too shocked to even blink or perhaps it is all the tears that were flowing. Who cares? That man would allow his entire body to collapse in flames if the smoke signaled you back home. 

He takes a few steps, having the nerve to touch you — probably the most daring thing he has ever done. He is ready for you to dissipate, for that to be a dream, anything. And you don’t. You remain there. You don’t leave him too. Your usually warm body is gelid, but Dean doesn't care. It's an honest warning, yet he's happy to ignore those for once. You're here. 

“Dean, I—“ Your voice. It's your voice saying his name. He recognizes the importance of a name now. For a brief moment, he's confused. What the fuck is happening? You purse your lips and Dean chortles in dismay, unable to discern his inner state of being. “I don't know what to say.”

“I thought I had lost you. I was so fucking scared, Y/N. I thought you were gone for good.” He's found the words for you, exhibiting his vulnerability so quietly. Your entire soul feels it— it's not true what they say. You don't stop feeling when you are dead. You start to feel everything deeper because after leaving your meatsuit, all that is left is your soul. And what's a soul but the patchwork of emotions? “I thought you'd never come back again. That I'd have to go on without you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should have saved you.”

“No, Dean. Don't start self-loathing and all that. It wasn't your fault. What happened to us could've happened to any hunter. And if it happened to me, there is a reason for it.”

“A reason for you to be ripped apart?” He scoffs at your belief of fate. You always had a graceful heart in you, even after you met Chuck. 

“I'm back, right? I told you I'd always be with you, and I'm here. Always.” You intertwine your fingers, and he watches your hands for a little while. While it’s difficult for him to grasp anything but pain nowadays, he accepts the rush of joy in his chest. Dean looks up, and you're still here, big eyes offering him a loving gaze. “I'm not going to leave you. You're never going to suffer by yourself again. I promise.”

He kisses you, and it feels like your emotions have finally found a perfect body to rest in when yours is a little bit tired — a place to call home. He kisses you, and everything is worth it. Because he kisses you. And you kiss him back.

Dean Winchester is a marvelous hunter. He should know that the cold his tongue experiences in your mouth while you two make out ferociously isn't quite right. You should feel fervid, and you are warm in every way of being but skin. He should pay attention to that. He should stop trying to make you come alive with love. Still, he can't bring his rational side to care. That man was always guided by emotion, anyway. What could matter more than you on his arms? Worries could be postponed because you did what no one else ever could.

You came back to him.

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[theymetinargentina]

All that is and All that Can Be / H.S. - Chapter 1

Authors Note: Hello! This is the first chapter in a series I’m writing about Harry Styles and his wife, Rose, who is a journalist. The story will be set in both present day and past events. There will be lots of angst and fluff:) Hope you enjoy and stick around for future chapters. My inbox is always open so feel free to drop by and say hello<3 Any feedback or comment is greatly appreciated!!!

Moodboard

My Other Work

Summary: Harry and Rose have an important conversation about the future. Mainly an introduction chapter:)

Warnings: Smut, anxiety

Word Count: 2k

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Each day I woke and felt this heavy feeling in my chest, like what I had wouldn’t be mine for much longer. I couldn’t explain why I felt this way. Everything was fine, sure we had our moments-doesn’t every couple?-but it never even reached a level where I felt I had to worry about our standing. Of course, I wondered if it was me, was I the problem in my life?

“You’re starring again.”

“What?” I snapped out of my daydream- was it really a daydream or a nightmare?

“What’s been with you? Every time we sit down your mind is somewhere else.” I couldn’t help but notice the slight annoyance in his voice, yet I couldn’t blame him. If he suddenly became distant and hardly acted like himself, I would probably cause hell.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong. It might be my new medicine but I’m not sure.”

“I wish I could help. You know, sometimes I think it’s me. Like you’re getting tired of me-”

“Oh my god Harry it’s not that, I swear. I love you, I promise it has nothing to do with you. I wish you could help too but I can’t even manage to help myself.” I say sadly.

It was a white lie. Not knowing what was wrong. Of course, I knew. I just didn’t know how to tell him. How do you tell your husband you got a new job in a different country? A country he was never exactly fond of. I knew, deep down, he would have no choice but to be okay with it. Yet, every time I wanted to tell him I felt this sudden rush of anxiety. What if he didn’t want to move and decided divorce was best? What if he grew to resent me and my career? I so badly wish we could stay in Italy, where we weren’t Rockstar Harry Styles and his Nobel Peace Prize-Winning Journalist Wife Rose. We lived a free and simple life here, with no cameras. Sure we ran into fans, but they were always kind. Harry and I loved it here, it’s where we took our honeymoon and decided we liked it enough to stay. He knew when we got married that my job was based in New York. We both did, but it worked there was never any trouble. The only thing that has changed is the promotion I received. A chance to be the Editor of the newspaper I work for.

“Maybe we should take a trip to visit some friends and family. Just to get away from our work and explore a bit.” He smiled at me, I smiled back and thought what a time if ever to finally tell him. Most of my family and friends are in New York.

“Can we talk about something?” I can hear the shakiness in my voice. He chuckles and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

“Of course, you don’t have to ask baby.” Hearing him be so kind, calling me baby, is almost too much. Because I’m gonna make him move from the place he loves so much. I feel my eyes fill with water and I take a shaky breath.

“What’s wrong, I can’t imagine anything you’re gonna say is that upsetting.” He places his hand on my back and starts rubbing my back.

“I got a promotion at work, they asked me to become an editor,” I say tearfully.

“That’s amazing, why are you crying? This is so wonderful baby.” He has the biggest smile on his face and he’s slightly bouncing in his seat, but I know what I’m gonna say next is gonna stop all of it.

“But they said I have to be in New York for it.” I look up and see he still has his eyebrows raised like he doesn't understand why I’m still crying.

“And…..?” he has a questioning tone. He’s stopped smiling but his soft pink lips are still slightly turned up.

“It means we, or I, have to move to New York.”

“It means WE do, we’re married.” He says almost defensively

“Yeah, like full time, we’d need to get a house and everything.”

“I still don’t get why you’re upset? We’ll get a house and we’ll be okay,” He breaths in, “Besides I think a new environment will be good for you, both of us, and you’ll be doing a job you’ve always dreamed about.” I can’t say I’m surprised he’s not more upset. He cares too much about the people he loves to be selfish. If he really wanted to he could say he didn’t want to move and I wouldn’t accept the promotion, but he won’t, I know he won’t because he loves too much.

I laugh and rub my red, wet eyes, “God I was so worried that you’d be upset or hate me-”

“Why would I ever hate you? We’re a team, you’ve traveled across the world for me, you left your home for me. I don’t think I have a lot of room to complain. I care about you too much, you know I would get on my hands and knees for you,” I get embarrassed and lower my head, he chuckles, “ ‘m serious, anything you want I’ll give it to you darlin’.”

I wonder all the time, but especially now, just how I got so lucky. I’ll never understand why the universe deemed me deserving of all the love I have received and continue to receive. I feel so blessed to be the one on the other end of his love. Growing up, I never imagined myself going through life with someone else, someone who loved me so much it made me want to burst with happiness. I look at him with dry tears on my face and mouth ‘thank you’. He smiles, a genuine, bright smile, and gets up to walk toward the backdoor. I follow and immediately the fresh air filled with flowers blooming hits me. Oh, how lucky I am.

Immediately out the back door of the villa, we call home is a small patch of assorted flowers. Roses, Sunflowers, violets, and tulips. I argued against the roses, but Harry refused to pass up the irony in it. It’s early spring so they are barely being to bloom. When we first moved in, I had mentioned-off-handly- how lovely it would be to have a garden. And not even a week later, I woke to him outside, planting flowers in a neat patch. He looked angelic. In the sun, a light amount of sweat on his hairline, squinting getting his hands dirty for me. If it was even possible I fell more in love, and I still fall in love each and every day.

“I never want you to feel like my career is more important than yours,” he mentioned quietly. He was looking out toward the setting sun but had a relaxed look on his face.

“I know, I just never want you to be unhappy, especially with how much we both travel. I’m willing to give some things up,” I say quietly. It’s true I would be more than willing to turn down the promotion if he asked if he made it clear he would rather stay in our home.

“But you don’t have to,” he breathes coming up to me and holding my face in his hands gently, “Yes, I fuckin’ love it here. But it means nothing if you pass up the opportunities you want.” I look at him and simply nod because I don’t know what else to say. “Everything will be alright, I promise.” He kisses my forehead and steps down toward the table we had set up near the patch of flowers, it was placed strategically so we could sit outside in the evening and watch the sunset. Today, Harry brings out a shirt he has been meaning to finish embroidering, while I decide to use the watercolor paints Gemma had bought me as a Christmas present.

Our evenings are filled with silence more times than not. It isn’t the uncomfortable suffocating silence, where you feel anger thick in the air between you two. No, it’s a silence shared between two people who are so completely comfortable with each other, who don’t feel the need to fill each second with noise. It stems from relationships that are built on empathy and love for one another.

✩✧♥⁂☀☁⁎☽

“Oh fuck, right there….” I let out a breathy moan as Harry sets a slow but deep pace. I look behind and see his head is tipped back, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He’s letting out short pants. The air in the room is thick with the smell of our arousal and the breathy pants we both let out.

“Shit, you’re so goddam tight, ‘s so warm and snug around me……” He hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of me that has my arms collapsing underneath me. I moan loudly as I fill each vein and ridge pulse inside me. He grabs me and pulls me up against his chest, with one hand around my neck and the other gripping my hip, he pounds into me. His fingers are holding onto my hip so hard I know there will be a bruise, it’ll go with the rest that litter my thighs and legs.

He grips my jaw and presses his lips against my ear, grunting into it. I know he’s close because I can feel his rhythm falter. “ ‘m so close baby,” he sounds so close to tears and for some reason, it makes me just want to please him, give him the release he desperately needs.

“Come for me, Harry, please…..god I need it,” When he snaps his hip I let out a small yelp, “I need to feel you, feel how much you love me.” Those words, the ones that let him know he can show his love for me, sends him over the edge and I feel his thick, hot cum spill inside me. He moans a breathy light moan. And that sound alone makes me cum, I clench tightly around him and whimper. He’s still holding onto me while we both try to catch our breaths.

I know he won’t pull out right away because he prefers to go soft inside me. I don’t mind it, there’s something so intimate about it. He gently pushes me onto my stomach while he tries not to crush me.

“My darlin’,” he chuckles, “I love you so, so much.”

“I know Harry,” I smile sweetly at him, “I know, and I love you so, so much more.”

He gives me another goofy grin and pulls his soft member out slowly. I let out a low hiss that empty feeling. As I walk to the bathroom to get cleaned up, the phone in the living room rings loudly. We both groan, hating being disturbed.

“You should probably go get that,” I smirk at him. He gets up and playfully throws a ‘fuck you’ before he heads to the living to see what disturbed our otherwise peaceful night.

I look at myself in the mirror and notice the plethora of small purple bruises that spread over my thighs. At least he didn’t attack my neck, I chuckle. As I grab my face wash and began rubbing it to rid my face of the sweat that accumulated during our activity, Harry walks into the room with his head down.

Somehow I knew, I just knew. Really, there was no way I could know, nothing that night or any of the previous nights would be any clue to what I would find out. It seems silly saying it but the connection we had, made it easy to know when something was wrong with either one of us. And in that moment, in the stuffy bedroom of our home, I knew my world had fallen.