#even though i was struggling to speak through my throat constricting and i was ripping my hair out five minutes before

[lavendarsarepretty]

stuck in the cycle of never accepting or asking for help because i’m scared of making a spectacle of myself and am hyperaware of being seen as ‘over exaggerating’ the things that i deal with but that then leads to more stress and anxiety and general energy consumption which makes it hard to dampen my responses to stress and increases my need for coping mechanisms which are visible from the outside which feeds back into the fear of being seen and judged sensitive to minor slights which only makes me feel like i have to hide my struggles more which ends up making people not believing so struggle which then makes them more likely to believe i overreact which further increases my fear-

[yionji]

Open wide

A/N: So i got insipired by this today,so here I go.

Tags: Vibrators,smut,humillation,denigrated reader,slut shaming,hair pulling,rough,denigration,piss kink,hits,personal use,deepthroat,overstimulation,forced stimulation, personal use,someone hearing,big cock,forced wetting,urine,cum inside,dirty talk,blowjobs,human,stepping on reader clit, toilet,light mind break,semi passed out,sub reader,pubics hair,urine retention,gaggin,crying.

Pairings: Getou x f!reader

Summary: Getou is obbsesed with y/n so he start being possesive.

“Well, if you’re so terrified of someone overhearing us…” Getou said, his voice lower than previously. “We could always go somewhere more private.” You didn’t even agree with or deny his statement, still, he just started walking away, with you following like some obedient dog

You were still in your academy uniform, he was playing with you for a long time, he even put a vibrator in your pussy everything you did was under his control, he always had fun speeding you up very fast in serious situations. He lead you back to your dorm room, halting in front of the door and making you open it. Once the two of you were inside, he closed the door behind him.

With a simple flick of his wrist, Getou dialled the vibrator up to its highest setting. You barely bit back a squeal and your knees buckle. You were panting and shaking, not daring enough to look him in the eye right now. It was too much, you were so sensitive it nearly hurt. Shame thrummed in your veins with his gaze burning holes into you, yet it just served to make you more aroused, your thighs impatiently rubbing together. Despite how the stimulation was driving you crazy, it was even worse once he turned it off and you whined in protest.

“I don’t think you should be complaining right now,” He said in a voice a little too cheery for this situation as he took another step towards you. “You should feel lucky I’m even considering putting my hands on such a filthy mutt .” In any other situation those comments would’ve made you upset or annoyed, now it sent a pang of arousal between your legs.

Getou gave you a harsh shove, which sent you falling to your knees. The impact hurt, but with the pleasure still clouding your mind, it only made you let out a weak moan, now he was the one looking down at you. You felt pathetic and small, slick dripping from your abused hole. You’d been kept on edge for such a while now, the only thing you could think of was that you just wanted to come already.

“Now that’s more like it!” He turned the vibrator on its lowest setting and you shuddered. It wasn’t enough to get you anywhere close to an orgasm, nonetheless, it was way better than nothing at all. Getou pushed your legs slightly apart, shoving his foot against your clothed crotch. "Ooh the smell of your pussy is so disgusting it gets up here, it makes me want to fuck you" he exclaim with a deep voice and a smile.

You immediately began grinding against it but because of your position, it was hard to get any actual relief from it. He just snickered, clearly revelling in your pitiful display.

“God, even I couldn’t have imagined how much of a whore you actually are. You’re like bitch in heat,” The words cut at you and made you whimper pathetically as his foot applied more pressure. “But I’m getting a bit bored here, you’re the one having all the fun!” Judging by the bulge in his pants he was definitely enjoying this, yet you kept your mouth shut. Nevertheless, a small smile spread over your lips. With your flushed skin and shivering form, it looked coyer than you meant it too.

“What are you smiling at, stupid slut? Didn’t I just say it? I’m. Bored. Do something to entertain me!”

“Well, uh,” It was hard to think straight, given the state you were in. The vibrator was still buzzing away, giving you just enough pleasure to feel good but never enough to get you to cum. You couldn’t really get creative right now. “What do you want me to do?...”

Getou sneered at you, one of his hands grabbing a handful of your hair and tugging harshly on it. A moan was ripped from your throat, pain and pleasure mingling together. “Do I have to think of everything for you? You can’t even think of a way to distract me momentarily?” He huffed, digging his shoes against your clothed clit painfully. “You really are only good enough as a wet hole for me to fuck.”

Keeping his fingers tied into your hair, he uses his other hand to unzip his pants. His dick is hard and leaking from the tip when he pulls it out.  “Open wide!” He said with a deep voice, before shoving his cock into your mouth. Getou didn’t give you any time to adjust or to let yourself relax, instead making you gag by immediately thrusting. You couldn’t breathe and tears welled up in your eyes. He kept your head in place by keeping a tight grip on your hair, his fingernails digging into your skin. This wasn’t a blowjob, no, he was using your mouth as a fleshlight.

Getou was anything except quiet, moans and grunts constantly falling from his lips and the sounds coming out of your mouth were loud and sloppy, Getou was so entertained playing with your mouth that he was distracted from what was going on around him that he didn't realize that gojo was listening to everything from outside your room.

"Maybe I can use y/n later for myself" he said quietly to himself.

Getou continue,though you weren’t sure if they were all real, or he was just acting at some points. “Ahh- You must do this soooo often, rright?” He panted out, smirking down at you. “I bet you’d suck a-anyone off if they asked!”

Your teeth scrape against the underside and he actually let out a high pitched whine. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed full and you weren’t almost suffocating, you would’ve laughed.

He didn’t appear to like it as much, however, he dug his shoe against your pussy. Hard, practically digging in. Getou was still fucking your mouth, though his hips were starting to stutter, and his foot moved because of it. Now, he was putting a lot of stress on your bladder more than anywhere else. You’d been too strung up to use the bathroom for a while and with this weight, you were sure you’d piss yourself if this was kept up for too long.

But you were unable to speak while he was still fucking your mouth, so you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Any attempt you made merely sent vibrations up his cock, making him moan appreciatively. You hollow out your cheeks and are rewarded with a sharp moan and another tug at your hair as he hits the back of your throat. Your legs shook with the effort of keeping it in.

A gush of urine escaped at a particular harsh movement and once it started, there was no way you were able to stop it. The stream made an audible hissing sound, making an embarrassed flush rise to your cheeks. Your body sent mixed signals to rush through you, both bliss and utter humiliation and you shivered in confused pleasure. The heat was trapped in your skirt for a few moments before it leaked through, turning your skirt a darker shade and allowing a small puddle to form beneath you. On one side you wanted to curl up and never open your eyes again, but the relief felt just as amazing as an orgasm could have. Tears streamed down your cheeks because of the conflicting emotions.

You didn’t, couldn’t, look him in the eye as he stilled his hips and almost pulled out completely, allowing you to breathe again and to make the blurry edges of your vision return to normal. This surely had to be the end of it, right? He couldn’t possibly be into this, he would actually get grossed out and leave. Honestly, you didn’t want that to happen, the thought of it making you nauseous.

Getou had been brought into a stunned silence, a blank expression overtaking his features. He blinked once, twice. You were about to mutter out an apology and usher him to leave so you could clean up, nonetheless, before you were able to do that, he let out a low hum and the familiar, condescending smirk returned to him. Looking up at him, his cheeks were red and his breaths were stuttery and quick.        

Could it be?...

“I’d say you almost look pretty when you’re crying,” Every thought is robbed away again as his hips make contact with your face once more and he let out a cackle. “B-but you look prettier sucking on my dick~!” It only took him a few thrusts, with your throat constricting around him further with every movement, before he finished inside you without warning, grunting loudly as he did so. You didn’t have much of a choice except swallowing.

He pulled his veiny cock out of you again.

"You know men have a certain urge to pee after they finish," you couldn't believe what you were hearing, could you?

Without a squeak he grabbed you roughly by the hair making you swallow his cock again and the tip of his head hit the back of your throat, you star gagging and crying so much more than before.

"Shh, shhh" Getou said as he pressed your head with his hips, your nose tickled his pubic hairs, he smelled so great.

Getou took a long breath and you began to feel a liquid running down your throat and into your stomach.

He let out a breath of relief and a grunt and continued to pee until he finished and looked down to see your face.

"You really look good sucking my cock, y/n" He let go of you roughly causing you to bang your head against the wall, only to hear the sound of his pants buckling.

"You're such a grear human toilet,my human toilet"

You coughed and wheezed for air once he finally fully released you, glad that air was freely available. Your head hurt and your throat felt scratchy and sore, the fabric of your plants clinging against your skin. Basically, you were a disgusting mess. Once you returned to reality.

“Good luck cleaning, whore!” He called out while glancing over his shoulder for the last time. “See you next time!” Then, he slammed your door shut. You simply continued to sit there for a few seconds, brain still struggling to comprehend that all of that had actually happened.

Well, that definitely was an experience.

<3

[toosicktoocare]

ya’ll ever dissect a brief two-second clip in a trailer for a season of a show that hasn’t come out yet and concoct a small story around it that turns into an almost 2k-word fic at almost 2 am in the morning? no? just me? 

anyway, i’m obviously hung up on that brief clip in the 911 season 5 trailer where Eddie falls. Is he panicking? Maybe, and that’s definitely what I wrote about. though, halfway through writing, when I was just watching a gif set for the clip, i had a thought that maybe he was poisoned instead. but, well, I was in too deep by that point. 

Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks. 

There’s panic, Eddie thinks, when he’s on the job. Panic that strikes a chord against the adrenaline thumping in his blood. Panic that drives his muscles and activates the sheer need to act and save in his mind.

This, Eddie thinks, is not that type of panic.

This is the panic that pools at the bottom of his stomach, always there and always waiting to accumulate, to feed on his fears, to expand upward. This is the panic that slides past his rib cage in the background until it’s snaking around his lungs, constricting slowly until he suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath and thus panics harder.

This is the panic that chips away at his brain, replacing the known with the biting edge of the unknown. Burning away the calm and revealing the trauma that’s been tucked away. This panic nips at his heart and eats at his nerves until he succumbs to it, the icy trace of its presence bringing with it a cold sweat that slips down Eddie’s temples.

He tugs at his collar, his pulse pounding hard against his neck, but it’s not enough. His breath is trapped, unable to sneak past the panic molding over his lungs. His hand falls to his side limply, and for a moment, he stares at the ground, his vision swimming, the faint background sounds becoming lost to the roar of his heart.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling until his back hits the ground, the air trapped in his lungs pushing out with a low wheeze. The pain that erupts along his back is numbed under the weight of bottled memories, of the gun shot that ripped through his arm, of the blood painting his world in a thick, deep red that drowns him.  

“Eddie? I heard something fall.”

He’s no longer on the floor, instead lost in a hazy limbo, what he fears most unfolding before him. He’s gone, and Christopher is grieving. His son is shutting everyone out, his voice muted under the pain. The 118, once a solid foundation, cracks, and Buck? Buck screams his voice raw. Buck punches at a brick wall, over and over until his knuckles tear and bleed. He swings when Bobby tries to stop him, and then he crumbles.

“Edmundo!”

As quickly as it comes, it’s gone, and Eddie gasps, the single breath a mountain to climb over. He’s at Ana’s. It’s their date night, and she was finding a pair of earrings she received as a birthday gift a few years back. They were set to leave for their dinner reservation in just a few minutes.

His shirt is damp against his skin, and he trembles the entire way to his feet, each muscle wobblier than the last.

“Edmundo, what happened? Are you ill?”

Ana’s frantic at his side, and she palms at his forehead, the worry across her face evident even through his fuzzy vision. He shakes his head, and she pulls her hand away, lips pointed downward.

“You’re ice cold,” she worries, one hand sliding down his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head again, unable to speak around what little breaths he’s able to take in. He’s on autopilot when he’s helped over to Ana’s couch, and he fades in and out of the present, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he struggles to recapture his breathing. His hands are fists at his knees, and he hunches over, curling in on himself, shielding himself.

He stays this way until a hand tugs lightly at his wrist and a voice calls out his name gently. He’s slow to lift his gaze, but when he does, Buck crowds his vision, blue eyes impossibly worried before him.

“Buck?” He croaks out, and Buck nods sharply, his fingers pressing to the inside of Eddie’s wrist.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures calmly. “I’m going to check your pulse, okay? Keep your eyes on mine.”

Eddie can only nod, the lump in his throat keeping his words from him. He trains his gaze to Buck’s. He knows Buck is counting silently to himself, and yet, Buck’s gaze doesn’t waver; his concentration doesn’t fold in the slightest. His eyes are sharp, focused, and after sixty seconds, his face relaxes a fraction, and Eddie’s lungs deflate with a low sigh.

“You’re okay,” Buck whispers, leaning forward until his forehead knocks lightly against Eddie’s, warm compared to his Eddie’s clammy one. His hand finds the side of Eddie’s neck, cups it gently, and Eddie holds the position, pulling all his focus toward the weight of Buck’s hand, the heat spreading across his forehead and down to his cheeks, his neck, stopping at his heart.

“I’m okay,” he finally repeats, voice low, cracking slightly, and only then does Buck pull away, frowning.

“Ana called.” Buck keeps his voice quiet, just a breath above a whisper. “She said she found you on the floor.” He opens his mouth, prepared to press further, but Eddie shakes his head sharply.

“Not here. Where’s Chris?”

“Kitchen with Ana.” Buck rises to his feet and steps away from Eddie’s view. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave him—”

“—It’s fine,” Eddie mutters, his ears perking up to hear Christopher and Ana talking nearby. Christopher giggles quietly, and the furrow of Eddie’s brow smooths over slightly. “I need to postpone our date,” he adds, more to himself, and Buck extends a steady hand to help him off the couch.

“I’ll get Chris settled back in the jeep. Will you be okay to drive your truck back, or should I arrange to get it for you later?”

“I can drive,” Eddie mumbles weakly, and then Buck crowds his vision again, worry painted down every inch of his face.

“Try that again. If I still don’t believe it, I’m taking your keys.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath. His chest still hurts, the panic still a nagging sheet of ice burrowed deep in the base of his stomach, but he’s able to hold air in his lungs until he exhales slowly, the line of tension across his shoulders breaking.

“I can drive.” He repeats, stronger, and Buck nods, his own body relaxing.

“I’ll see you back at your house, then. Be careful.” Buck turns on his heel, a smile playing across his lips as he rounds into the kitchen with Eddie close behind him.

“Chris! Do you want to put the band-aid on your dad’s arm?” Buck turns to lean in close to Eddie, whispering, “I told him you fell and hurt your arm.”

Eddie mouths ‘thank you’ at the same time Christopher shouts, “Yeah!”

Eddie plants a smile across his lips, forced against the lingering, nagging edge of panic, and he rolls up a single jacket sleeve halfway up his arm. He crouches down, points to an unmarked spot on his arm, and Chris carefully, almost delicately, spreads a Superman band-aid across his arm.

“All better?” Chris asks, and Eddie nods as he gets to his feet. He ruffles Christopher’s hair, his own smile warming across his lips.

“All better,” he repeats. “Thanks, bud. You okay to go back to the house with Buck? I’ll meet you there?”

“Yep!”

Christopher offers multiple goodbyes before he and Buck slip out the door, leaving Eddie to work around just how exactly to explain to Ana that he’s not sure he can do this right now, that he’s succumbing to the issues he’s been too stubborn to recognize over the last couple of months. That he would be miserable company for he’s too wrapped up in a gut-wrenching fear that bears its fangs when he least expects it.

“It’s okay, Eddie.”

Her voice is impossibly soft beside him, soft but classically genuine, and he turns toward her, frowning.

“Ana, I’m so sorr—”

“—Don’t,” Ana interrupts, stepping toward him and brushing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her breath is warm against his skin, her voice delicate, her words knowing where to step and where to tread gently. When she pulls away, Eddie almost feels guilty at the relief, at the weight that drops from his shoulders.

“Talk soon?” He asks, and she nods, a small smile tight at her lips.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he tells her, and he means it. Every inch of him means it.

---

When Eddie pulls into his driveway, he turns off his truck, but he doesn’t rush to get out, instead sinking against the exhaustion that’s been creeping over him his entire drive home. He’s drained, emotionally and physically, and he tips his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. He doesn’t look when his car door opens at his side; he only sighs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

Buck’s being careful, Eddie thinks. He can tell by the way Buck’s tone almost tips up into a question, just not quite reaching that pitch. He’s leaving an opening for Eddie, and Eddie takes it. His eyes flutter open, and he rolls his head toward Buck.

“I’ve got some issues,” he says, and the laugh Buck lets out is nervous, worried.

“You don’t say.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Eddie admits, twisting around until his legs are hanging out of the door. “Tonight was a lot.” He can see Buck taking in his words, dissecting them in a way he does best.

“You look exhausted. Do you want me to go—”

“—No!”

Buck’s jaw snaps shut at the force of Eddie’s single shout, and Eddie slides out of the car, slumping forward, his forehead dropping against Buck’s shoulder. “Sorry. No, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone right now. My thoughts are—”

“—dark?” Buck finishes, his hand slipping to the small of Eddie’s back. “Not you,” he continues. “Scary?”

“All of the above,” Eddie mutters, and Buck’s hand presses against his back, pushing until Eddie’s flush against his chest. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s back, and Eddie returns the hug, melting against him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Buck whispers. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to help you.”

Though Eddie knows Buck would quite literally bend over backwards for him, the ease of Buck’s tone, the determination laced within Buck’s words, cracks the icy panic that’s nestled in his stomach. It surprises Eddie still—just how much Buck is willing to be there for him no matter what.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and for the second time in a single night, every entire inch of his being means it.

[plsimsuchasimp]

Haikyuu Angst

ft: Toru Oikawa x gender neutral reader

warnings: angst, fighting, cursing

genre: angst to fluff

word count: 1700+

not proofread LOL

- Oikawa had a bad day. Everything was piling up on him and he was super stressed- stressed enough to avoid you all day, and when he did see you, be short and tense with you.

- This, naturally, caused you to be a little concerned, but you didn’t think much of it because sometimes he had these moods. You still tried to hang out with him, though, and you got a little dejected when he refused. 

Coming over to him, you tried to hug him, but he stiffened as soon as you got close. You ran your fingers down his arm, and he moved away, not even making an effort to hide it. Slightly hurt, you tried one more time to reach for his hand, but he pushed you away yet again, causing you to furrow your brow.

“Are you okay?” You asked, looking concernedly at him.

“Just fucking leave me alone! God, you’re so clingy all the time! What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, eyes narrowing at you as he ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck, y/n, why did I start dating you in the first place? Everything I do, you’re so overbearing! I wish I never said yes when you asked me out.”

Your eyes stung as badly as your heart, his words slicing into you like daggers. Pain flashed through your eyes and they darkened, hardening into a cool stare that just barely concealed the tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks.

“Okay, Oikawa,” you whispered, hating the way your voice trembled and cracked, “I’ll leave.” 

The silence permeating the room was deadly and threatening to choke you both as he stared down at the table and you turned away. Your heartbeat seemed to be the only sound you could hear anymore, racing and seeming to rip at your chest in pain. Oikawa listened to your measured footsteps ringing out as you headed to the door, your hand miraculously finding the doorknob and turning it. Seconds later, the door slammed shut and he was left alone in the apartment. 

You started walking- to where, you didn’t know. Soon, you were crossing the bridge over a little creek, remembering how Oikawa’s eyes sparkled as he splashed you with water there. One foot at a time, you forced yourself to keep going. Walking across the street to the park where Oikawa took you on your first date, you stared down at your feet and finally let the tears pour out of your eyes, shoulders shaking. Not realizing it, you sank to the ground, knees collapsing underneath you as your body was wracked with sobs. Until then, you hadn’t let yourself feel, hadn’t processed what just happened. It felt like guilt and pain were tearing you apart from the inside, constricting your throat so you couldn’t breathe anymore. You slumped against a tree, not caring who saw a person crying in the shade. Once the worst of the sobs had escaped your body, they turned into small hiccups, tears spilling out of your eyes as you let yourself be carried away into numbness. You couldn’t handle your emotions right now, rocking back and forth slightly as you tried to stop the pain. 

Meanwhile, Oikawa was stunned at what he’d just done. Did I really just say those things? Oh god, what did I do? He got up from his position at the table, starting to pace across the floor. I didn’t mean it- any of it. He hadn’t looked when you left, hadn’t seen the tears brimming in your eyes, hadn’t seen how you hesitated before grasping the knob. When he was yelling, he’d seen your face turn from surprise to anger to sadness to pain. He’d hit your deepest insecurities, the ones you’d told him late at night when it was just you two in the darkness, and he knew it. He felt nauseous- he’d promised not to do that, promised that he wouldn’t hurt you, and now he had, and there was no going back. 

He needed to find you. Where would you be? His first guess was somewhere that was special to both of you, and if not, a friend’s house. He walked to the door, turning it and jogging down to the bridge. He’d already let this sit for too long. Looking as he ran, he couldn’t find you until he spotted a figure huddled under a tree in the park in which you two had your first date in. He froze, breath stopping in his throat. Quietly, he approached, expecting you to lash out, but to his surprise you were fast asleep under the tree. As he got closer, he noticed you were trembling and making soft cries in your sleep, making his heart twist even more than it already was. Crouching, he studied the slight fluttering of your eyelids as your eyes moved, locked in a dream. For the first time, he noticed the dark circles under your puffy eyes and chided himself for not noticing earlier. When was the last time he really looked at you? You looked so small, curled against the tree trunk, and Oikawa’s breathing became shakier as he watched the one person who he loved most in the world in pain. 

Gently reaching under you, he lifted your body and started walking, careful not to disturb you. In your sleep, you clung to him tightly, and his breathing hitched for a second as he knew he was probably the source of this nightmare. As the rhythm of his steps lulled you, you stopped shaking and a small sigh of relief escaped your sleeping mouth. Letting himself in, he carried you to your bedroom and placed you down on the bed, pulling the covers over you and retreating to the kitchen to think and make tea. 

When you woke up, you were in bed, cradled by the sheets and blankets that you couldn’t sleep without. Swinging your feet onto the floor, you noticed for the first time that you were barefoot. He must have taken your shoes off. Quietly, you padded to the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching Oikawa make your favorite tea. The water boiled and he turned the stove off, head bent as he performed the methodical movements that he was so used to. Seeming to sense you, he turned around and you locked eyes. 

For a minute, neither of you moved. He looked so helpless standing there, shoulders slumped and an endless pool of regret in his eyes. He wanted to move towards you so badly, to hug you and kiss you and tell you that everything was going to be okay, that he was so, so sorry. 

“Y/n.” He was the first to speak, voice coarse. “I-I’m so sorry.” As his voice cracked, he dropped your gaze, staring at the floor so you wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. You didn’t say anything, just walked towards him until you were just out of arm’s reach. His shoulders began to shake, silent tears dripping off his face onto the floor. 

“Oikawa,” you mumbled, voice breaking before you could get all the way through, “I...Why did you say it?” The pain in your eyes is clear to him, and it kills him to know that he’s the one responsible for it. Now he’s the one beginning to shake, willing you to hug him, touch him, anything to show that you still cared even a bit. He was so, so afraid of losing you- it haunted his thoughts as he trained, his dreams as he slept, nagging at the back of his brain when you held him and told him you’d never leave. 

“I- I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I-I was so stressed and I-I felt guilty about not being a good boyfriend to you and I just- just snapped...” He fell silent, his words falling short of the gap they need to cross to reach you. Oikawa swallowed, shivering, as his fears started to become realities. “Please don’t leave me. I-I can’t do this without you. I need you. Please. I love you so much, you-you’re the only thing that matters to me.” His breaths were getting faster, grasping at thin air as he begged you for forgiveness. Tears were filling both of your eyes now, falling fast and hard. He sank to his knees on the floor, his lanky frame seeming impossibly small as he stared at the floor, his shame and guilt and pain overcoming him. Waiting for any sign that you still loved him.

“You love me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and that’s when Oikawa remembered that he hadn’t said that to you. He’d been too afraid to say it, been too afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same. His eyes widened.

“Y-yes. I love you more than anything else in the world,” he whispered, baring his soul raw for you to see. He waited, holding his breath, for your reply.

Dropping to your knees beside him, you took his face in your hands and gently lifted his chin to look at you, his eyes pleading you. “Toru Oikawa, I’ve loved you since the day we met.” 

He crashed into you, bringing you with him to the floor and burying his head in your chest. Slowly, your arms encircled him, coming up to the nape of his neck and entangling your hands in his hair as he sobbed into your body. Relief flowed through him and he held you so tight that you struggled to breathe until you tugged on him to loosen up. He refused to let go of you, clinging to you like you were the last person on earth. You kissed his head, reassuring him that you weren’t going to break up with him, that he was good enough, and as his sobs gradually subsided, he held you close and kissed you, craving your touch and attention. you stayed there for a good hour, entangled on the kitchen floor, the cold tea resting on the counter top above.

You finally smiled just a little bit, face buried in his chest. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, you know.”

“No, no, no, of course not, that’s totally understandable,” he rambled, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You let him hug you close, drinking in his scent, until you had to get up because the kitchen floor was uncomfortable, causing Oikawa to mightily protest. For days afterwards, he had to be touching you or near you at all times, looking at you anxiously whenever he set for his team to make sure you saw. Of course you did- you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

a/n: this is my first time writing fanfic, much less angst! i hope you enjoyed!

[katelyn--renee]

Out of the Fire (Part one)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part one)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2500 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later. 

Part one summary: Fire erupts and engulfs her beloved business, but something arises from the ashes and ignites a new desire.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death. 

Author’s note: This is my first series and my first attempt at an Supernatural AU. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I will try to release new chapters at a timely fashion, but as we all know, life sometimes gets in the way. 

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All dividers and graphics done by me! 

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! 

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

It was so hot… Why was it so hot? And why was it so hard to breathe? 

You stirred from your position on the tile floor, the long lashes of your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttering lightly as you woke. The first thing you registered was the intensity of the heat that surrounded you, quickly followed by the tightness of your chest as you struggled to take a deep breath. A vicious cough ripped through you with the effort, your throat raw. 

You winced, your face scrunching with discomfort. You stirred again, needing to get up and move, to get away from the threatening heat, but your body protested with the effort. Your head was hammering, your brain  pounding against your skull with every forceful beat of your heart. 

What the hell happened? 

You groaned as you brought a hand to your head, feeling something damp and slick against your skin. Blood. You forced your eyes open despite their heaviness, a futile attempt to gather your bearings; you couldn't see much through the thick, black smoke that hung in the air around you. Another cough tore from your lungs and stung your throat.

Fuck. That hurt.

You sucked in a rigid breath, wheezing as the smoke filtered in through your lungs. Get up! Move! You needed to get moving and find a source of fresh air, find somewhere safe, and quickly, before the smoke suffocated you and the flames consumed your body. 

You scanned your surroundings swiftly, trying desperately to make every second count. Red hot flames licked the southwestern walls of the building on your right, engulfing everything that stood too close. That was where your office had been located, meaning the exit would be behind you, to the northeast. However, the counter separated you from your freedom, standing tall and stretching out and into the north wall, obstructing your path. The layout would force you to find another way around and take up so much of your precious time.

Rolling off your back and onto your belly, you supported your weight with your elbows and knees, making  a point to stay as low to the ground as possible. You forced yourself to move, driven onward by adrenaline and the sheer will to survive. You were not going to die like this.

You army crawled through the rubble and debris that was once your beloved café, ignoring the way it made your heart clench with sorrow. Now was not the time to grieve. You needed to stay focused. Your life, literally, depended on it.

There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance - perhaps it was the ceiling caving in from structural damage, you weren't entirely sure - but the sound of it was startling and shook the floor beneath you, causing you to instinctively freeze and cradle your head, bracing yourself for impact.

A small yelp of surprise escaped from your throat as your body trembled with fear. You couldn't move, your muscles refusing to cooperate even though your brain screamed at you to do so. 

There was another crash, much closer this time, as the flames ate away pieces of your heart and soul; all the years of hard work, burning to ash. You'd put everything into that little café, and now it was, quite literally, falling in around you. A ceiling beam landed  in front of you , engulfed by flames and blocking your path.

You jerked back and shielded your face from the inferno with your arms, the skin burning from the intense heat. "Oh god," You cried out without realizing it, any hope of escape beginning to slip away. Tears filled your eyes and spilled over your lashes, streaming down your soot-covered cheeks as dread began to creep its way in.

Just breath, stay calm, you're okay, you told yourself, trying to prevent the lingering panic attack. You exhaled slowly, struggling to remain calm,  willing the tears away. You banished them from your face with a swipe of your hand as you searched for another way out. With your back pressed against the counter to try and ground yourself, you pictured the floorplan around you in your head, trying to reassess where you were and which direction to go.

The kitchen. There was an employee exit through the kitchen. Changing direction and crawling back the way you came, you began your frantic crawl toward the swinging metal door. Your limbs felt like concrete as you forced yourself to move, and even though your vision started to get spotty and dark around the edges, making you feel nauseous, you kept on going, putting one arm in front of the other. 

Just a little further. Don’t give up! But it was so hot, and you were so, so tired... 

Just then, when you thought you weren't going to make it in time, you heard it… the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Anyone in here?!" He called out, his voice booming out over the roar of the flames. You could see the beam from his flashlight strapped to his shoulder, even through the thick wall of smoke. "Y/N?! Answer me, sweetheart!"

Your heart swelled with hope again as you recognized the man who was searching for you. Even though he sounded muffled through the oxygen mask covering his handsome face, you would recognize that voice anywhere. 

It was Dean.

Dean, the firefighter you've grown so fond of these past few weeks, was here to save you.

You shifted on the floor and craned your neck to try and see him. "D-Dean! I-" A harsh cough interrupted you, "I'm he-here!" You cried out, your voice hoarse from the smoke. You went into another coughing fit, this one much rougher and longer than the others. You gasped for air, your lungs tight and constricting in your chest.

"I hear you, (Y/N)!" You heard him quickly respond, his voice gaining in volume as he grew closer. "Guys, over here!" He called out to the rest of the crew before following your voice. "I'm coming, sweetheart! Just hang on for me!"

"De-" You tried again, but your voice gave out. Your eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, and your body began to shake with the exertion and lack of fresh oxygen. Your head spun and your vision blurred as Dean came into view, the counter dividing the two of you. 

In one effortless move, you watched through droopy lids as Dean vaulted over the counter and landed on the other side, his heavy boots thudding against the tile. He was now only an arm’s length away from you. You wanted to reach out for him, to touch him and make sure that he was actually there. But your limbs wouldn’t cooperate, feeling like stone at your sides.

He crouched down beside you and gripped your hand tightly as if reading your mind. His glove was thick and rough against your palm, but the material didn’t dampen the emotion or firmness that Dean put into the reassuring gesture. 

With apprehensive, yet determined emerald eyes, he quickly assessed your body for any obvious injuries that would raise concern, ones that could be worsened or become life-threatening if he were to move you. He must have been satisfied with his examination, the look in his eye becoming slightly more hopeful. 

His actions were rushed yet calculated as he removed his red lieutenant helmet, the mask quick to follow. His hair was tousled and sticking up in odd places. If this were any other, less dire situation and you were able to speak, you would have teased him about the messy heap on his head. 

You heard one of the other firemen protest his actions, warning Dean that it was against protocol to remove his mask and put himself, and in turn everyone else, in more danger. "Fuck the protocol." Dean shot back over his shoulder sternly as he slipped the mask over your head, his large hands surprisingly delicate and gentle, even through the rough material of his gloves. 

"There you go, sweetheart," He said a bit softer, turning his attention back to you. "That's it. Nice, deep breaths for me." He coaxed, nodding his head. "Good girl." He flashed you a brief, yet dazzling smile as you inhaled, following his instructions.

Your body rejoiced as the purest form of oxygen-filled your lungs, easing the tension inside of your chest, only momentarily. You struggled to keep your eyes open and focused on the beautiful man above you, his forest green eyes filled with so much concern. "Good girl," You heard him coo again, securing the helmet back onto his head.

The building creaked and groaned, threatening them with another collapse. Dean glanced up at the ceiling, his experience telling him that their time had been cut in half. You felt his large hands on your body as he scooped you into his strong arms, protectively holding you against his chest. 

"I've got you." He muttered assumingly, trying to keep you calm as he rose to his full height, lifting you with ease. He scanned the surroundings, and you saw a hint of a frown tug at his lips, noticing the scowl on his brow. The fire was closing in, limiting his options and growing hotter by the second. 

You made a motion toward the only exit available, lifting a shaky hand to point him in the right direction, and Dean seemed to have noticed your silent instruction. His eyes followed your finger, darting to the window on the metal door that framed the kitchen. He nodded before letting the others know, directing them to head back out through the front. They hesitated only briefly, knowing they’re not supposed to leave anyone alone, before following Dean's lead, trusting their lieutenant's judgment. 

The experienced firefighter moved with determined strides, having wasted enough time as more of the building began to collapse down around the pair of you. There was a crack, and a loud pop from the ceiling as the building shifted again. The fireman shielded you as a few clusters of hot debris and flames fell from above, protecting you from the fire. One of the balls landed and burst onto his shoulder, the flames licking at his face. He shrugged it off with a low grunt, gritting his teeth through the sting of his cheek. 

He refocused and took three large steps toward the kitchen, his heavy boots crunching the rubble beneath his feet as he closed the distance to freedom. Using his foot to force open the door, he let out a breath of relief, grateful to find that the exit was still a clear shot. 

Despite the combined weight of his bulky gear, the oxygen tank strapped to his back, and the extra body cradled in his arms, Dean made good time and jogged toward the sizable steel door, determined to get you to safety. 

Once again, he grunted through clenched teeth and lifted his powerful leg, the sole of his thick boot connecting with the push bar. The force of the impact caused it to swing swiftly on its hinges and crash against the brick wall. 

Smoke billowed out from the now open door as Dean rushed out into the alley behind the café, sucking down gulps of fresh air. He grunted and coughed, staggering briefly before correcting himself. You wanted to ask him if he was okay, wanted to comfort your rescuer, but couldn't seem to find your voice.

The nighttime air was cool against your overheated skin, despite being this close to the fire, and it made you shudder in Dean's arms, goosebumps rising over your sensitive flesh. The firefighter shifted you in his strong arms, getting a better, more comfortable hold. Your head was nuzzled in the crook of his arm, giving you a perfect view of his handsome face.

Flashing red and blue lights bounced off the brink surrounding you and lit up Dean’s face, highlighting his strongest features. You’d never seen anything quite like it, but then again, you’d never been this exhausted before. Surely your head was playing tricks? You gazed up at him in awe, studying the determination that hardened his usual gentle features. His face was dirty with soot and darkened by the smoke, covering the freckles that normally adorned the bridge of his nose. His jaw was lined with stubble, emphasizing just how strong it was. There was a noticeable red patch on his cheek, the skin irritated and angry from the burn. 

You were vaguely aware of the familiar, yet frantic, voice of your best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury. Her voice, regardless of its urgency, was drowned out by the sirens, fire hoses, and roaring flames behind you.

Sleep was beginning to linger at the forefront of your mind, tugging firmly and trying to force you into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. You struggled to keep your eyes open, not wanting to give up the extraordinary view before you. But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep them open any longer, and your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttered shut, despite your best efforts to keep them open and on the face of your rescuer. 

You could hear the muffled voices of your redheaded friend and the first responders that surrounded you, specifically Dean and Charlie, but you couldn't quite make out what was being said, the drowsiness making it hard to stay focused. You felt yourself being moved, and the noise died down drastically as you were lifted and strapped down to something solid yet oddly comfortable as you fought to stay awake. 

You peaked your eyes open, although they burned from all the smoke, you fought through the sting in search of your rescuer, but was met instead with the inside of an ambulance. It was bright, and the fluorescent light hurt your sensitive eyes. 

Something warm and made of thick wool was draped over your body, stealing your attention. You refocused and spotted the green eyes you had been desperate to find. You never broke his gaze as the fireman's mask was removed and replaced by a much smaller one. You grabbed at his hand desperately when he shifted to leave, desperate to have him near. 

His eyes dropped to where your hand touched his, and his expression softened almost instantly at your attempt to stop him, his large hand embracing yours. “They’re gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart.” He assured, his affectionate gaze turning back to you as he offered you a closed-lip smile. You could hear Charlie’s voice, sounding somewhere close by, but you couldn’t concentrate on anyone other than your hero. 

Your vision darkened around the edges, and your grip on consciousness was growing weak. Your hand loosened from Dean’s grasp and fell limp as your eyes fluttered shut. “I’m right behind ya.” He promised as the paramedics ushered him out so they could get moving. His voice was the last thing you heard before the ambulance doors slammed shut, and the darkness of unconsciousness took over.

Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for part two!

Read part two, here! -->>

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​

Out of the Fire (series)

@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness

[ohnojustimagine]

Heated

The Shield/Reader, with a focus on Roman/Reader; 3500 words, smut smut smut

This is A/B/O, but kind of... just the bits of A/B/O I enjoy. So like, heats and lots of come but no knotting.

(And theoretically there is supposed to be a part 2 to this, but yeah, given my record on that, who knows.)

-

It's always embarrassed you, how irregular your heat cycle is. Other omegas seem to be able to predict the timing of their heats down to the day, marked safely on the calendar so they can plan ahead, but your own seem to ebb and flow, as if your cycle has a mind of its own.

And the worst of it is that your heats come on hard and fast, so fast that you've often ended up in awkward, sometimes even dangerous situations, unprotected by an alpha when in full heat, unable to isolate yourself.

Most of the alphas you've been with have hated it, dumping you when they can no longer handle the rollercoaster that is your cycle; always putting the blame squarely on you, too prideful to admit they're not up to the task of dealing with it.

But Roman, Seth and Dean are different. They seem to take it all in stride, always managing to somehow get you through your heat even if the timing isn't ideal, finding ways to work around any awkwardness. And the care and understanding they show has meant you've bonded with all three of them on a level that's deeper than you would have ever imagined you're capable of.

Tonight you're in the Shield's private locker room as they gear up ready for a six man tag match, and you haven't felt quite right all day, but you've been so busy that you haven't paid much attention, vaguely assuming it's simply exhaustion.

But then suddenly you start to feel dizzy, faint enough that you have to sit down, your skin tingling hot, a light buzzing sound in your ears, as if the air of the room is vibrating around you.

"Oh, god," you say, closing your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying not to start crying, because the timing couldn't be worse, and you hate this about yourself, that you can't control it in any way.

"What's wrong, baby?" Roman asks you, frowning. He takes a step towards you, and you hear him breathe in, the change in your scent already obvious. "Ohhh," he says. "Another heat."

"Again?" Seth says, incredulous, and though he doesn't exactly sound displeased Roman still shoots him a sharp look, shushing him.

"It's okay," he tells you, sitting down next to you, wrapping one big arm around you, kissing the top of your head.

"But it's nearly time for your match," you say, utterly miserable.

"I know," Roman replies, rubbing your arm. "But it'll be okay, I promise."

"We got time to fuck her before we go out?" Dean asks, sounding eager.  

"No." Roman shakes his head. "We'll need all our energy for the match." He strokes your hair, looking down at your affectionately. "You know you always drain us, baby, with how bad you need it."

"I'm so sorry, I..." You breathe in, because you're already struggling to concentrate, the ache inside you growing into an acutely insistent throb of need, wetness gathering between your legs. "I don't think I can be by myself. Not here." WWE is a hotbed of the most alpha of alphas, and you know that once anyone catches your scent, they'll be after you, unable to resist the lure of your heat.

"We'll lock the door," says Roman.

"You know we always make sure we have a secure room, just in case," Seth chimes in.

"You promise?" you ask anxiously.

"We promise, baby," Roman tells you.

"Wouldn't hurt to have a little extra insurance policy, though?" Dean suggests, and Roman nods, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as he rises to his feet. He rummages through his bag, pulling out the chastity belt they'll often use on you when you're in heat. There's a small dildo attachment on the crotch of it, and you stand up, breathing in as you look at it.

Your clothes feel too hot and constricting on your body, like they're choking you, and you pull them off impatiently, not caring how you look, your t-shirt nearly getting stuck over your head, ignoring the sound of the zipper on your skirt ripping open, tossing it aside and stepping out of your panties.

You move your feet wider, biting down on the moan rising up in your throat as Roman walks around you, bending lower to guide the dildo inside you, getting it as deep as possible. And though it feels good, it's nowhere near big enough, you think, fretting a little as he fastens the belt into place, adjusting the straps, making sure you're comfortable. You exhale as the padlock on the front clicks into place, and Roman tugs on it, just to be sure.

The key is on a string that he loops around his neck, tucking it under his vest, out of sight.

"All safely locked away," he tells you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and you whine as he pulls away, trying to hold onto him, but he peels you off him with a kindly smile.

"You good to go?" he asks Seth and Dean, who both nod.

"We're gonna be thinking about you," Seth tells you. "The whole time. Gonna be real hot to fuck you by the time we get back."

Dean inhales a deep breath, staring at you, lust in his eyes. "You sure we don't have time?" he asks, again. "Just a quickie to tide us over?"

"No," Roman replies firmly. "Got to do it right for her, you know that."

Dean shrugs, like he doesn't agree, but he doesn't say anything further, and Roman looks at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he assures you. "You just sit tight."

You nod, unable to even speak by now, watching them leave, closing the door behind them.

You note that Roman has locked it from both sides, and you know it's not that they don't trust you, it's just to make sure, but it's still humiliating, that you have to be contained like this, even if it is for your own good.

You throw yourself down on the couch, hand over your eyes, trying to breathe through it, need building inside you until you feel like you might explode, and you don't know how you're going to hold on.

You find a cloth, running it under the cold tap at the sink in the corner of the room and then folding it in half, pressing it to your forehead, dabbing it on your throat, your skin so hot it's almost burning, the coolness barely registering. You sigh, tossing the cloth aside, and pace up and down the room for a while, back and forth, counting your steps, but that only makes it worse, the dildo shifting inside you with every step. Your pussy is dripping wet, slick seeping out the sides of the belt, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around the dildo, spasming helplessly. It's too small, you think, barely enough to fill you, and it's no good, anyway, because what you're craving inside you is come, alpha come, the only thing that can bring you even the slightest relief when you're in heat.

Your breasts are already starting to swell, firm when you touch them, your nipples taut and hard, and you lick your fingers, teasing the tight peaks, pinching them. You moan, too loud, you know, but you don't care, straddling the arm of the couch, rubbing yourself on it almost mindlessly, but you can't feel anything, the metal of the belt thick enough not to allow you any sensation. You groan in frustration, anger flaring inside you, childish resentment at the fact that your alphas aren't here to take care of you, and the logical part of your brain might know that's unreasonable, but your heat is taking over, and you can't think.

But then, out of nowhere, there's a sharp knock on the door and you jump up, guilty. Your heart races as you stand there, silent, watching as the door handle rattles, but the lock holds.

"Pretty baby," someone croons from outside in a sing-song voice. "I can smell you in there, sweet little omega all alone." You hear them suck in a deep breath, then exhale. "That's a nice heat you got going there, why don't you open the door for me, little one, and I'll give you what you need."

You stay frozen in place, barely daring to breathe, and the handle again rattles, this time with more force. You flinch as the surface of the door resounds with a violent kick, pressing your hand tight over your mouth so you don't gasp aloud, trembling with fear.

There's silence for a minute, and you dare to creep closer to the door, tiptoeing across the carpet, holding your breath. And you can hear something, rhythmic, small wet noises, and then there's a grunt, the sound of something spattering onto the door.

It drips down onto the floor, and you can smell it, and though it's not the same, not from your alphas, you're desperate enough that you let out a broken whine.

A laugh echoes from outside, and then the voice says, "Enjoy that, omega, and  if you ever want a real alpha you can come find me anytime."

Footsteps echo away, and you back up into the furthest corner of the room, sinking down onto the floor, bending your knees up to your chest, tears running hot down your cheeks. You sob, quietly, and you don't know how much time passes, lost in your own private misery, but finally the door opens, and you look up, vision still blurred by tears.

Dean, Seth and Roman are standing there, staring at the door. "Gross," Dean comments.

"Seems like someone had themselves some fun," Seth says, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter," Roman states. "As long as they stayed out." He walks towards you, asking, "You okay?" And you shake your head, hiccuping out one last sob. "Oh, baby," Roman says, giving you a concerned smile. "You're really not okay, are you?" He takes your hand, pulling you up to your feet.

"C'mon, man," Dean says, grabbing his crotch, rubbing at it. "Get that fucking belt off of her and I'll make her feel better than okay."

"Patience," Roman tells him, pulling the key out from under his vest.

"Yeah, fuck patience," Dean snaps back. "And just so you know, I'm going first."

"Why does he get to go first?" Seth complains.

"It doesn't matter who goes first," Roman says, calmly. "As long as we give her what she needs."

He carefully unlocks the belt, unfastening the straps, lifting it away from your body. You mewl at the feet of the dildo slipping out of your pussy, the thick scent of your heat suddenly filling the room, potent and undeniable. And all three of your alphas practically growl in desire, their spines straightening, standing tall and dominant, predatory instincts awakened, eyes flashing dark, but it's Dean that moves first, as promised, grabbing you. He drags you over to the table at the side of the room, shoving you down onto it face first, his hand tight on the back of your neck, your hips jammed up against the edge, digging into you. You feel him fumble with his pants, barely able to wait, wailing in relief as his cock sinks into you, fucking you, pumping hard.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

You moan, trying to push your hips back into him, pussy tightening rhythmically around him, keeping time with his thrusts, the need of your heat as if trying to pull his orgasm out of him, hungry for his come.

And it doesn't take long for him to finish, letting out a guttural, bitten-off moan as he comes, shooting thick and hot inside you, spurt after spurt, and it feels so good, but it's not enough, barely beginning to slake the thirst of your heat.

He pulls out of you, and Seth's right there, roughly flipping you over onto your back. He lifts up your legs, your ankles resting on his shoulders as he plows his cock into you, deep and hard and fast, holding on to your legs, his teeth gritted, face twisted up in desire.

His hips piston, thrusting with enough violence that you have to hold on to the edges of the table, your head rolling back, chest arching up towards him, your body begging for what you need.

And you see him close his eyes, tensing as his orgasm hits him, his cock releasing inside you, alpha come filling you yet again, but it only seems to make you want more.

His cock slips out of you, and you slide down onto the floor, legs so weak you doubt they could hold you, but Roman's sitting on the couch, waiting, and he beckons to you. "Come here, my sweet girl," he says, and you crawl over to him, letting him help you up into his lap, facing him, sitting astride his thighs. His hands are on your waist, pulling you up onto your knees, closer to him so your breasts are right in his face, and he nuzzles at them, humming in delight.

They're even more swollen now, taut and tender as he kisses your skin, licking, sucking on the hard peaks of your nipples, so sensitive it's almost unbearable.

It forever astonishes you that he can take his time with you like this when you're in heat, because the man has self-control like no alpha you've ever known, but Roman's special, always worth the wait even if right now you're too impatient to think about anything but his cock.

He gets one hand between your legs, pushing his palm firm up against the fullness of your clit, and you rut yourself on it, your hips working, feeling Seth and Dean's come leaking slowly out of you, gasping as Roman's teeth sink into the flesh of your breast, biting down hard enough to mark you.

You whine as he removes his hand, your hips still moving helplessly even though all that's there now is now empty air, and he kisses your mouth, tongue teasing frustratingly light over your lips.

"Yeah, you want Daddy's cock, don't you?" he murmurs. "Need more of that alpha come."

You nod at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and he smiles at you, hauling you up off his lap.

He sets you down on the floor, on your knees, turning you around so you're facing the couch, arms braced on the edge of the seat in front of you, and you arch your spine, your knees apart, pussy wet and hungry for him.

You pant, barely able to control your breathing you're so dizzy with anticipation, but then Roman slides into you, cock thick and slow, filling you up until you feel like you can't take anymore, and when he's as deep as he'll go, bottomed out inside you, he stops, not moving.

You're whining with every exhale, shaking all over, but Roman can't be rushed.

"Yeah," he says, softly. "So tight, aren't you?" He shifts himself slightly, and you moan at the feel of it. "Never had an omega like you, baby girl, full in heat but so hot and tight on my cock." He lets out a breathless, careless laugh, and you feel tears burning hot in your eyes, your whole being consumed with nothing but want. "Fuck you all night and that sweet pussy will still try and milk me for more."

You squirm, trying to move yourself on him, but he's ruthlessly unyielding, a solid wall behind you.

"You need to let go," he orders, gently yet firmly, "and let me take care of you." He rests one hand in the curve of your back, just above your ass, and you focus on your breath, inhaling and then exhaling, knowing that you have to stop fighting it, that you need to surrender, give yourself and your heat over to him, submit to the will of a true alpha.

You feel your body start to relax, trusting him, and it's only then that he starts to fuck you, slowly at first, but building in intensity and speed until he's pounding into you, holding onto your hips, your pussy so wet with slick that the noise of it seems to fill the room like something obscene.

Roman leans forward, hands either side of yours on the edge of the couch, his body over yours, broad chest pressed to your back. You feel as if you're being consumed by him, fucked until you're split wide open, nothing but a vessel for this need and when he finally comes it's like a rush, ecstasy and relief all at once, because this is what you've been craving, and you don't want it to ever stop, his cock pumping into you until you're so high you're not sure you'll ever come down from it.

But then at last he's done, pulling out of you, and you slump down, sitting on your heels on the floor, swaying slightly, the room feeling as if it's moving slowly around you. And Dean's already hard again, right there with his cock in your face. He gets one hand on your jaw, forcing your mouth open, pushing himself in past your lips, thrusting. And you're way too far gone to do anything but let him take what he needs, your heat meaning your throat is just as open as your pussy, and he goes deep, over and over until he's coming so hard that you struggle to keep up. You swallow as much as you can, lapping up the taste, the rest dripping warm down your chin.

He backs off, and you lean against the couch, exhausted, barely able to stay upright. And you can't even imagine the sight you must make, breathing hard, sweating, come and spit all over your face but Roman, Seth and Dean only gaze at you like you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

"You want her again?" Roman asks Seth, who shakes his head.

"Nah, I'll wait," he says. "We should get on the road."

"Yeah, it's getting late," Dean agrees, and they begin to pack up their bags.

You sit quietly, watching, only standing up when Roman brings one of his hoodies over to you, helping you put it on. He knows it's uncomfortable for you to wear too many clothes when you're in heat, but you need to be covered, and the hoodie is soft, comfortingly imbued with his scent, big enough that it reaches mid-thigh on your smaller frame.

But Seth looks at you, frowning. "Should we clean her up a little first?" he asks. "Can we get her out of here like this?"

"She's fine," Roman replies, no trace of doubt in his voice.

"Everyone's gonna to be able to smell her," says Dean, sounding unsure. "I mean, every alpha in the place will be after her."

Seth smirks, laughing. "Might be fun to stir up some trouble with the opposition, boys."

"They know their place," Roman says. "She's ours." But then he frowns to himself. "Still," he adds, "better put this back on her." He picks up the chastity belt, taking off the dildo attachment, and then he seems to think for a moment before going through one of his bags, producing a small, remote-controlled vibe.

And you whimper in discomforted anticipation, because you know how that's going to feel inside you, your pussy already so overstimulated that it will be way too much for you to deal with.

"Just for on the ride, baby girl," Roman tells you. "Got to keep you nice and hot for us."

You shake your head no, pouting in distress.

"Hey," Roman says, firmly. "You need to trust us." He cradles your face in one hand, his thumb stroking tender across your cheek. "Don't we always take care of you?"

And you nod, biting your lip, knowing you need to accept his authority.  

"Hold her," he directs Seth, who stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You squirm a little, whining in protest, but Roman pays no attention, pushing the vibe into your pussy. It slips in easily with how wet you are, nestling up against your walls, and you bite down on your bottom lip, breathing out, because even the presence of it inside you is reigniting the intensity of your heat, urges beginning to return in full force.

"Don't worry," Roman says with a smile, clearly observing your reaction, "we won't turn it on yet."

You shift restlessly as he and Seth help you into the chastity belt, fastening it, locking it tightly, securing you for no one's use but theirs, under their protection.

You breathe out as Roman drops a brief kiss on your lips before draping one arm protectively over your shoulders.

"Ready, boys?" he asks.

"Ready," Seth agrees.

"Always," Dean says.

"Then let's go," says Roman, and he opens the door.

[poptod]

The Ivory Haunting pt. 4 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: It’s getting a little harder to exist with your truth.

Notes: its such a struggle to find new gifs for stories these days (cause i fucking used all of them already). also quick note: this starts off kinda spooky and depressing but theres also some heavy petting shit going on WC: 2.3k

+

They come to you at any moment. Terrorizing your normal life. You hadn't considered this, hadn't even thought of it becoming reality, but it's true and clear enough to see by now.

It's ripping you apart, slowly. You're not really supposed to be here, but are you even yourself anymore? When had the change occurred when you were no longer familiar in the mirror, when you expected nails doused in Egyptian blue rather than the plain ones on your hands? Sometimes you don't respond to your name––ever since remembering the name you carried as a servant, it stuck in your head. Plaguing you. Tearing down the life you've made, duct-taping in its' place Ahk's life for you.

Memories can make you sick, and they often do, striking you anytime something remotely reminds you of something you used to know. Unlike the first time it happened, you can't seem to stay fully conscious. Now you're missing the feeling of blacking out – it's safer than when you collapse to the floor, waking up with bile in your mouth.

How dreadfully pathetic you've grown.

You barely sleep but can't seem to stay awake, desperate for rest but unable to reach it. Most food doesn't sit well in your stomach––for the past five days you've eaten three pieces of toast and drank your weight in water. Fortunately it doesn't physically show all that much, so it allows you an excuse as to why you still won't tell Ahk. He doesn't notice. He doesn't need to, and it's not important.

Your laugh is quiet, and rare these days, so it delights Ahk when you do. By now he's noticed your anxiety––he's horribly protective of you, but he understands what boundaries are. Just wants what will make you happy. So he spends time making sure there are more people in the room than just the two of you, moving the pressure of conversation off you. When he does want to speak to you alone, he takes you on these long walks.

It's cold as fuck.

Sleet lines the sidewalks, wet and slimy and full of dirt spiralling off car wheels. It can't even be called snow anymore––it's just a slush, but fortunately the actual sidewalks are still walkable. Like most evenings these days the streets are empty, barren of conversation and a social desert. That's what's safe, but it still puts you on edge. The only other movement ––cars included––is a man about a block in front of you, smoking something beside the only open store; a Tesco.

"Whoof," Ahk says as you get closer, his hand sneaking up around your waist to pull you closer. You don't trust that guy either. "That.. is very strong."

"What is?" You ask softly, looking up at him.

"That smell. I think it's what he's smoking. Can you not smell it?"

"No," you say, though you don't particularly mind. Tobacco isn't an all-too pleasant smell.

"You'll see soon, we'll have to pass him anyway," he mumbles, rubbing circles into your side with his thumb when he feels your shoulders tense.

You step slightly into Ahk's side as you pass the smoker, your mask already on from the moment you saw him. Ahk doesn't wear one––which is fair, since he's already dead and can't get sick––but this man doesn't seem like he cares whether or not you have a mask. You avert your eyes as you pass him. He does the exact opposite; stares at you, blowing a hefty cloud of smoke into your face.

That's not tobacco. Not at all. You can't even tell what it is, but it makes your vision spot out, head swirling in your skull as you lose your balance. Your eyes shut the moment you try to blink.

"Don't pay attention to him," he whispers against your temple, barely having to move with you pressed against his side.

What little sunlight gets through the tented room is turned a vibrant red, casted onto the carpet with swirling designs. They reflect from the tapestries hung on the ceilings, drooping just slightly and lined with knotted fringes. The doorway is made of the same thin cloth, a tiny crack between the two flaps letting pure sun seep in, illuminating the smoke dancing just below the ceiling.

The whole room is shaped in a circle, allowing a ring of seats, all of which are taken up by people you don't know. The prince knows them––or he says he knows them––but that in no way comforts you. Just because he's nice doesn't mean the people he knows are. They certainly don't seem nice, eyeing you up and gauging your thoughts, sizing you down to what they can get away with. It's a look you're familiar with; you got a lot of them when you were on sale, sat outside in the boiling sun all day till your skin cracked.

And suddenly you're property again. Time with Ahk sort of... made you forget about that. You're not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

While some of the smoke in the small, humid room is coming from burning incense, the majority of it is coming from a strange glass and metal mechanism the men are handing back and forth. The smoke isn't all that thick like the incense, but the smell is pungent––unlike anything you've smelled before, which is strange, since according to Ahk it's a plant he gave you once.

He hasn't told you what it is he's smoking, giving you that single hint before falling quiet with a sly, mischievous smile. When the mechanism is handed to him he doesn't hesitate––sets his lips upon the mouthpiece and intakes a deep breath. He fiddles with something on the side that you can't see before letting go, a long breath tainted with heavy smoke leaving his chest. It spins in the air, curls in the rays of sunlight, dancing in a way that shouldn't be beautiful but mystifies you.

Their eyes are still on you. Your chest constricts, mind telling you that you mustn't move, too terrified of making the wrong one. Even breathing is suspect as the eyes drag back up to your face, demanding you look to them.

You don't.

The soft conversation in the room isn't enough to steady your nerves, and to your immense relief the prince notices. He leans away from you, towards the man that owns the smoking den, muttering something in his ear that gets him to stand. You don't miss the bag of coin Ahk slips him, either. Though the man's eyes do fall to you for a moment he doesn't linger, calling the rest of those gathered to leave the tent.

When the last person steps out your shoulders instantly release their tension, your breathing once more returning to you.

"Better?" He asks you.

You nod. He's had his arm around the back of your seat the entire time, but without outside stimulus, it's now all you can feel. His skin is always warm, always soft, but you never give into it first. He has to initiate it. So as much as you want to lean into him and rest your head against him, you don't.

"Have you ever smoked?" He asks, reaching forward to put the glass contraption back in his lap.

"No," you say. "What is it?"

"It's... a mix of things. Won't do much but calm you down," he assures you, and though you know that's probably not the whole truth, you allow him to hand it to you anyway.

It's a little heavy––the weight is unbalanced, but Ahk helps balance it in your lap, instructing you with his hands in how to use it. When you take in the smoke––or is it vapor?––it slides hot down your throat, drying you out and swelling in your lungs. A long sigh allows the smoke to leave you, plumes of it coming from your lips and drifting up into the low ceiling. You don't cough but you do need water.

"See?" He says. "That was a very smooth draw. I'm impressed."

You blush a bright red at the compliment, visible even in the dim of the room, and he doesn't even give you the courtesy of hiding his reaction. He chuckles softly, leans over and presses a kiss to your temple before taking in more smoke.

Two more draws and you're feeling it heavy on your skull. There's pressure around your chest, like you're being squeezed, but it's a pleasant sensation. A bit like being hugged. Everything else is just warm––dry on your tongue, hot on your cheeks and down between your thighs. You shift in your seat, hoping to relieve some of the pressure without giving anything away. How inappropriately your body reacts to something simple in the presence of the Prince.

"You're very quiet company," he notes softly, and you can feel his eyes on the top of your head. Slowly you turn, meeting his almost concerned gaze. "Do you ever have anything on your mind? You can speak freely around me."

Now he has to ask you what you're thinking about? Now of all times? Couldn't have done it when the two of you were staring at the stars, or when he took you by the riverside––it has to be now, when all you can think about is the places on you he hasn't touched, places that burn with desperation to be touched for once, away from the hunger affection's absence has given you.

Now.

"My mind is... a little... not alive right now," you say in slow, enunciated words that shake on your lips.

"Ah, yes," he says as though he understands, and considering how familiar he was with smoking, you're sure he does. But he lets out a soft sigh as he speaks, leaning into you as you press your back against a wall of cushions, allowing him to rest his head upon your chest. "I understand perfectly well. Blue lotus can do that. Mmm..."

He drifts off, words falling flat as he moves against you. Not once does he stop––just keeps shifting till he's wedged gently between your legs, lips on your collar. It isn't quite fear that courses through you, though it is familiar in a way that should be frightening. Just the touch is familiar, and with each grace you can feel echoes in your mind of other times you were touched in such ways. Times where you didn't have a choice. His fingers run down your back, and now he feels the marks of whips.

He's felt them before. When he feels them again, his kisses are softer, sweeter on your skin than anyone before ever cared to do. Your heart beats out of its' chest but you know you can make him stop. You find you don't especially want to––that heat between your legs couples nicely with the feel of his hips on yours, pushing and grinding against you until a moan falls unwillingly from your mouth.

Too good––your body shakes at simple stimulation, too sensitive just from his hand climbing lower against your waist. You breathe in sharply each time his fingertips brush your skin. It's then that he rests his palm on your knee, climbing upwards on the skin of your thighs. You know he can feel your nerves––it practically burns you, but he chuckles, rumbles warm against your chest as he just climbs higher. The tip of his thumb reaches your heat and you jump, shocked at the sudden gentle touch.

"Breathe, my love," he murmurs right in your ear, low and sweet and oh so assuring. "Breathe."

Your eyes flutter shut, darkness encompassing you as his touch turns cold.

"(Y/N)? Breathe, please," he pants out, hands unable to choose which part of you to hold; your face, your hands, your waist. You open your eyes and the stars are above you, muted by a bright streetlight.

"Ahk?" You mumble, half-slurred in your half-conscious state. There’s a piercing freeze around you.

"There you are," he says, relief staining his eyes with tears when he pulls you into a tight hug, practically ripping you away from the cold ground and into his touch. You melt into him––of course you do.

"Shit, I'm sorry man," says a strange voice, rough and soft-spoken. You turn away from Ahk, finding the smoking man above you, his cigarette put out on the ground a few feet away. "Didn't know you had asthma. You should probably get that checked out, could'a died without an inhaler."

"Why.. didn't I, then?" You ask quietly, still unable to fully keep your balance.

"I had an inhaler," another voice says. Over Ahk's shoulder there's yet another stranger, but this one has a mask. "Don't worry about the germs, I disinfected it before we used it," he assures you.

"Thank you," you mutter.

You sway even in your seated position, counting on Ahk to catch you, which he does. Your head lolls onto his shoulder as he moves to his feet. Before leaving he thanks both strangers––even the one who caused it, since he's nice––and keeps you close as the two of you head back to the museum.

"You didn't tell me you have asthma," Ahk says, one arm still set protectively around you.

"I don't," you answer hoarsely.

"Oh. Then what do you think caused it?"

"Maybe it's the scent," you say, as nothing rings clearer in your mind than the scent of burning blue lotus.

"Makes sense. The man––he told me he was smoking blue lotus. Have you ever been around that before?"

There’s your trigger right there, then.

"... no," you say. It's technically true; you, as yourself, in this body, have never been around it.

"I'll make sure to keep it away from you, now that we know. Alright?"

"Yeah, um.. yes. Thank you," you mumble, leaning into him with eyes that can't seem to stay open.

"Of course, my love."

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 || Sequel: A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry

Summary: The goddamned Red Dragon. 

2,384 words

The smell was what hit you first. It entered your nostrils, filled your lungs like smoke, and shivered down your spine. The charcoal of burned flesh. If not for the bitter mingling of burned hair and gasoline, it might have smelled like steak on the grill. The thought turned your stomach. You gave yourself a moment to get used to it, to calm your breathing, before pulling back the curtain.

It was shocking. Horrifying beyond anything you could have prepared for.

He lay unmoving in the hydrotherapy tub in the ICU, burned over ninety percent of his body. You knew it would be bad, but you thought you had already cried your eyes dry when you were first told what had happened, and you stood in the hospital waiting room for hours begging every receptionist and nurse to tell you if he was going to live.

When they finally let you see him, you knew you had to be brave. Breaking down would only make it harder on him. Whatever you do, don’t react.

“Hey there,” you greeted him cheerfully like nothing was wrong. Don’t react. Monitors beeped steadily, and a strong antiseptic smell overpowered the smell of burning. His eyes lifted sluggishly, unfocused. Don’t... Your head swam, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut with all your might to force back the tears biting behind the lids. It felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs, and it was all you could do not to fall to your knees crying.

“Hard… to look at… huh?” he croaked after a while. You gasped at the sound of it, so pained that he had given up on forming proper words halfway through the question and ended it with a grunt. His voice was as charred as his flesh.

There was no skin left. None, except a few patches below the waist, cooling in the tub in an effort to preserve them. His hair was singed off down to the muscle, and the red remains of his scalp were blackened, cracked open and oozing in places. White teeth stood out in sharp contrast in his lipless mouth, like a skull. His lips were gone. Ripped off his face even before being burned alive by a serial killer who thought he was a fucking William Blake painting. A serial killer Will Graham had thrown in Frederick’s path, just to see what would happen.

Little fly, Thy summer’s play My thoughtless hand Has brush’d away

You opened your eyes, surrendering to the tears that poured out unimpeded.

“I don’t know what to say,” you breathed, trying to collect your thoughts. You stepped up to the edge of tub and looked him directly in the eye, making a point of showing that his appearance wasn’t why you had to close your eyes. He had bigger things to worry about than what he looked like right now, but you were sure he was going to be acutely insecure about it. With his contact lens removed, his one dead eye completed the living-corpse effect, but you weren’t repulsed. “I was trying to think of something to say to you—something I could say that would make things better. Because I don’t want to ask a stupid question like ‘how are you feeling?’… or make cliché promises like it’s going to be OK. I tried to think of what I would want someone to say to me if I was the one lying there, but there’s nothing. Nothing I can say will magically make anything better, and I...”

The urge to hold him overwhelmed you. You wanted so badly to kiss him, but you couldn’t even touch him—not an inch of his scorched body—without hurting him more. Choked sobs broke through the tight constriction of your throat, and you gave up trying to speak, kneeling instead by the side of the water tank, your head leaning against its cold metal walls. It was all you could do, the closest you could get.

The last thing you wanted was to make him have to comfort you, but that was exactly what you did; Chilton started whispering sweet consolations to you, though every syllable was an effort, and without lips to press together he had great difficulty forming many sounds, and could no longer pronounce the letters b or p at all. You struggled to make out the words, but you understood the meaning behind them.

You just wanted to touch him again, and he felt the same way.

“Put your hand near mine,” he suggested, slow and raspy.

Carefully, you placed your palm down on the smooth white rim of the tub, avoiding medical tubing and wires, next to his. His wrist was restrained in a soft bandage to keep his arm from sliding off the edge and to keep the IV needles in place.

With painful effort, he stretched his fingers out. Even moving an inch hurt, the skin crisp and easily broken, but he gently touched the back of your hand. He released his muscles and let his hand relax on top of yours. A sigh of relief puffed from his chest. It was exhausting, but worth it.

You still wore your engagement ring, but his had to be cut off of him. A nurse had handed it back to you in pieces, the gold warped from the heat.

Chilton was furious with his situation. He was furious with Will Graham—his initial diagnosis of intelligent psychopath seemingly more accurate by the day. He was furious with Hannibal Lecter, with Jack Crawford, and with himself. Every part of his body screamed in pain the drugs could barely dull. He was grateful for one thing, however.

He was glad Dolarhyde had taken him in his car, and not at home. The goddamned Red Dragon. Francis Dolarhyde tortured him and killed two of his best bodyguards, but his modus operandi was murdering whole families. If Chilton had considered the risk, he would have never agreed to that interview. It was supposed to be publicity for his newest book, The Dragon Slayer. He pictured the headline: “Hero psychiatrist once again aids in the capture of serial killer.” If anything had happened to you, he wouldn’t have survived. He wouldn’t have wanted to.

God, he wished he could touch you. Wished you could comfort him. Wished he could feel anything besides pain. Would he ever kiss you again? Would whatever they could reconstruct of his face be something you would ever want to kiss? You stood by him through so much, but he could never ask you to walk through this hell with him.

  *****

Two familiar voices spoke in hushed whispers outside the thin curtain. No. The hairs on the back of your neck bristled like an angry dog. Those were not the people you wanted to see right now.

“He’s trashed. You ought to get ready for this,” said the deeper of the voices, as if you couldn’t hear him.

Will Graham and Jack Crawford pulled back the curtain divider and entered the room, and you immediately leaped to your feet and rounded on them. You'd been holding in a scream since you saw Frederick burned, and now you unleashed it on them in full force.

“You bastards. You fucking bastards!”

Will’s eyes fell on Chilton, and regarded him with a disturbed, yet wholly unsurprised expression, like someone who set a mouse trap and now had to deal with the bloated carcass.

“Frederick, it’s Will Graham,” he said, ignoring you. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He wasn’t.

“He knows who you are,” you hissed through bared teeth. You would have screamed at him, physically pushed him out of the room, but you heard Frederick rasping, tongue moving behind his teeth as he tried to talk, his eyes locked on Will. You stood aside and let him speak for himself.

“You… set me… up. You knew it… You put your hand on me in the picture… like a pet.”

Will translated his broken speech for Crawford, and asked if he saw anything in the Red Dragon’s lair.

A blind black woman.

“Reba,” Crawford said. “The Dragon said her name when he called Lecter.”

With a lead to follow, the pair turned to leave.

“That’s it? That’s all you came here for, huh? You get your answers? Was it worth it?” you laughed bitterly. “Why the hell didn’t you protect him?!” you roared at Crawford, snarling savagely. “You gave Will a SWAT team when both of them were in that fucking article! Why wasn’t anybody watching him?”

Crawford shifted uncomfortably, unable to show the guilt he deeply felt while there was still a killer to catch. “We believed that the Dragon would—”

“Yeah, you believed he’d target Will, right?” you interrupted. “Because that’s what Will told you? You are at best a criminally negligent idiot being led around by the nose by psychopaths, and at worst, you are complicit in enabling them!” The fierce tears streaming down your face warned him better than to argue. You turned your fury back to Will where it truly belonged. “You! Stay the hell away from us. If you come near him again, I swear I’ll—” you spat, but stopped your threat short. You wanted to rip him limb from limb. You did. But saying you’ll kill someone was more than empty words around people like this. And the truth was, you didn’t have that in you. Not like Will did.

So you let them walk out without taking any revenge, or even promising to.

As soon as the curtain swished shut behind them, you wanted to fall to your knees again, but your anger hadn’t yet burned itself out. You turned on Frederick. “Stop getting involved with them! You keep trying to swim with the sharks, but you’re not a shark, Frederick—you’re chum on the water!” Your chest heaved with emotion and your voice was too hoarse to continue without a fresh round of tears.

Chilton wouldn’t dignify that analogy with a response, but grumpily turned his head away to stare at the opposite wall. At least you imagined it was grumpily—he was unable to cross his arms over his chest with annoyance, or leer haughtily through his brow which was singed to the bone, or curl his torn-off lips into a scowl, or even produce an offended growl from his raw throat, and yet you could see him doing all of it clearly in your head.

He was still your Frederick. He hadn’t changed. He never did. No matter what horrific punishment he suffered for his hubris, he would pick himself back up and continue to stick his nose where it didn’t belong until the fates knocked him down again. You admired that most about him—surviving the worst odds again and again, and keeping his ego intact. It was what first made you fall for him, all those years ago.

It never was pity at all, was it? It was always his strength that drew you in.

“I don’t… want you to get hurt again,” you explained, calmer, softer, your voice a trembling mess. “It’s a miracle you survived this, and I…” You wondered how much more could his body take before there was nothing left to recover—before he was nothing but a mass of scar tissue and empty space where bones and organs once were. But you couldn’t tell him that. He had to focus on healing now, not long-term outcomes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He survived, but with massive trauma. It had to all add up. His blind eye, lost facial bones and teeth, missing organs, and now the majority of skin would be scar tissue and grafts. How many medications and risks of complications were stacking up? How many years were taken off his life? If he went septic before the grafts were completed he could he still die here in the ICU. If he made it out, he might still never move without pain again.

His maxillary prosthetic would get sore after wearing it for too long, but the sagging of his cheek and eyelid without it was also uncomfortable. It was difficult for him to reach things above his head because of the way stretching pulled at his abdominal scar. And those were small compared to this.

What would his life be now?

“You don’t have to stay… out of loyalty,” he wheezed, sensing the way your eyes drifted over his broken body.

“It’s alright,” you smiled through tears, the salt getting in your mouth, “I cleared my schedule. I’ve got nowhere else to be but here.”

“You know… what I mean…”

“Are you suggesting we call off the engagement because you can’t fuck for awhile?”

He made an attempt at a laugh that sounded like choking, then fixed you with a desperate gaze. “This is… not what you signed up for...” He knew he would never be the man you had wanted to marry again. He couldn’t ask you to help him through a long recovery, to look at the nightmare he had become and pretend to still love him.

“How uncharacteristically selfless of you, Dr. Chilton,” you teased, “but I just told you I don’t want to lose you. Asshole.”

His one good eye searched your face through a layer of tears that clung to its surface, but you couldn’t tell if he was smiling or frowning.

There was so little left of his face that was recognizable, but around the gaping hole of teeth the cheeks were still Chilton’s cheeks, the shape of his nose still Chilton’s nose. His one good eye was still the color of water at Chesapeake Beach.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so the only thing you should worry about is living long enough to make that happen. I’m never going to leave you, however bad things get. I love you, dummy. Always.”

Slowly, he released a breath he’d been holding since he was fished out of that fountain. The side of his mouth that always tugged up into a crooked smile when he was winning twitched. A contented, charred noise hummed in his throat. “You thought of something to say… to make it… a little better.”

[98prilla]

Deathworlder Down

Next

Previous

AO3

Warning for blood/violent imagery.

based on @delimeful ‘s wonderful WIBAR AU

...

Flashes.

 The arena, blood on his hands, of all different colors, teeth bared, trying, begging, the other aliens to stop, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but they don’t understand or don’t believe him, and then they’re lunging and instinct takes over, and when he blinks, it’s to a puddle of pepto pink ichor and a mangled body in his hands.

…

The cell, he’s back in the cell, and they’re coming, and he wasn’t ready and Patton isn’t hiding and the door opens, and he lunges, biting, scratching, kicking, screaming, the stun batons sending lightning through his veins, spasming his muscles, and he was aware of Patton’s scream, as he’s dragged away, his pretty blood splattering across the floor, and he’s beaten, shocked, kicked, all the while hearing Patton’s anguish as his feathers were stripped from him all over again, only this time, when they throw Patton back in his cell, his eyes are empty and blank, his body broken and still, and there’s nothing left of the chirping little ampen, and there’s nothing left of himself, as he loses his mind, ripping and tearing through the wall, tearing everything in his path to shreds until a blaster goes off and shoots a hole clean through his chest.

…

He’s running. He’s on an alien planet, and he’s running, and he can hear them behind him, they’re catching up, as he tears through the brush and the trees, leading them away, away, away, from camp, and he staggers as a dart hits his neck, the world spinning on it’s axis as he goes down hard. He can feel the chains being shackled around him, the collar fastened onto his neck, and he can’t even breathe, as electricity burns his skin, from the collar, sends him into unconsciousness, and when he wakes, he’s back in the cell. And the nightmare restarts.

…

“no…” He’s walking home, it’s late, the streetlights on, as he slinks through the shortcut through the park. He hates it, but it’s the fastest way home, and he’s never had any trouble, though he’s heard stories of people getting jumped.

 “No…” He winces, at a sharp pain in his neck, for a moment thinking he’d been stung by a bee or a wasp, but when he reaches to feel, a small dart comes away in his hand. He stares at it, befuddled, before he feels another sting, stumbling against a tree as the world starts to tilt, trying to stay upright. Cloaked figures, shrouded figures, language he doesn’t know, and he tried to call out for help, tried to get away, but another wash of dizziness stole his breath, and he fainted.

 When he woke up, he was on the ship, in the cell.

 “NO!” He jolted upright, pulse racing, breath caught in his throat, the cell, the ship, he was on the ship, needle, needle in his arm, what were they taking this time? What else could they take, they were going to sell him for parts, maybe this was finally to off him for the scientists, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, weak, disoriented, maybe the tranq patch had worn off early, maybe he had a chance to get away, maybe-

 A hand, a scaled hand came into view, and he hissed, scrambling backwards, falling off the edge of the furniture he was on. One second it was the sterile room, the iron bed, the suited figures, then it was a couch, smooth walls, soft light. His vision flicked between the two and he couldn’t figure out which was the truth and which was the lie, the suited figures turning towards him, batons out, crackling with energy, the scaled figure trying to reach out, trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t and it burned, and he was dying, he was sure this is what dying felt like, as he scrambled further back, further away, hissing again as the tug pulled the needle out of his arm, pressing his hoodie sleeve against it to stop the bleeding, but the red, red, red, brought him right back, and it was everywhere, and there was too much, and it wasn’t all his, the bodies scattered across the floor, the colors blending like some macabre watercolor painting, swirling and blending and mixing and-

 Touch. Touch against his shoulder. He’d curled into a ball, hands over his ears, forehead touching the floor, making himself as small as possible, trying to hide, but the noise was everywhere and they’d found him and he was going to die, going to be sold off for parts and he was so stupid-

 Then the touch moved, a small, so small, hand slipping under his chin, gently tilting his head up, feathers tickling his skin, as he met those big, doe eyes. Feathers. Blue. Antennae, moth like. Fluffy. Safe.

 Safe?

 “Breathe, Virgil. Can you do that? In… out…” the words sounded so far away, and not quite in sync with the mouth movements, but he tried to follow them, tried to understand, tried to copy his movements. “good, kiddo. You’re doing good. Do you know who I am?” The feathery being asked, and his mind stalled. It must have shown on his face, because the being’s dropped, expression sad, and he hated that look on Patton’s face-

 “Patton!” He rasped, voice barely a whisper, throat dry and sore, not helped from the hyperventilating he’d just been doing, from the panic attack. “Patton…” his eyes welled up, and he opened his arms, Patton flying into them without a second thought, hugging him as wide as he could around his chest, Virgil careful as he held him, letting his face rest against his soft feathers, mumbling an apology about getting them wet, met with Patton’s relieved little choked laugh.

 He was shaking, he couldn’t stop shaking, the room still flickering, time and space folding in on itself, and it was making him dizzy.

 Then Patton started doing the chirp, coo, pattern, vibrating against his chest, grounding him as he struggled to get his breathing under control, to force his mind to the present, but it wouldn’t stop slipping.

 “s-sorry… I… I'm so-rry…”

 “Shhh, you’re ok, kiddo, it’s ok.” He just shook his head, chest constricting, choking on the air, it burned in his lungs and made him want to scream, just to relieve some of the pressure, but there wasn’t enough air.

 “virgil. Can you tell me, five things you can see? Take your time.” Logan, crouched down a fair distance away, to give him space.

 “Y-you… patton… R-roman… the… the couch and the… the… n-needle" his breath caught again, his panic flaring, eating him up.

 “Alright, good, stay with me, Virgil. Four things you can feel.”

 “Pa-tton. My hoodie… the fl-floor. B-andages?” he asked, realizing his arms were carefully wrapped in them.

 “you hurt yourself. Nothing serious, it’s alright. Three things you can hear.” He managed a deep breath in, forcing air in and out to answer.

 “Chirp/coo.” He said, smiling slightly at Patton's added little trill. “my h-eart, my voice.” He answered, focusing on the feeling of his hands against his hoodie, Patton's warmth against him.

 “Excellent. Two things you can smell?”

 “Metal… myself" he wrinkled his nose slightly, smelling his own sweat.

 “Last one, one thing you can taste.” Logan's steady voice, and he thought for a moment.

 “Copper.” He answered, looking up, finally, meeting Logan's eyes for a brief moment, before his gaze flicked to Roman, who stood frozen by the couch, scales half raised in alarm, but also… worry?

 “Virgil. How are you feeling?” Logan asked, snapping him back to attention, realizing he’d started to drift.

 “um. Sore. Achy. Tired.” He answered, head thumping back against the wall, hissing as it hurt more than expected.

 “I was going to warn you about that. We found you fallen over, unconscious on the bathroom floor, bleeding from your head. You’ve been severely ill, and mostly fitfully unconscious, for nearly seven days.” Logan explained.

 “Why didn’t you tell us you were so sick!?” Patton scolded, though his voice was gentle.

 “i… I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve been sick before. It’s… its fine.”

 “no, it isn’t. Virgil. You are severely underweight and malnourished and sleep deprived, all factors that compromise your immune system making it more difficult to fight off disease and you very nearly died because you seemingly cannot comprehend that you are an important member of this crew and we will gladly help if you just ask for it!” He flinched at Logan shouting, his hands clenched into fists. He’d never heard Logan raise his voice, didn’t even know he could, but his mind snagged on what Logan had just said, and he shook his head.

 “I… but I’m not. Important. You’re…a family. I’m just a tag along, because you were basically guilted into taking me with. You don’t… want me, here, and that’s fine, I wouldn’t want me here either, so the least I can do is take up the least space and use the least stuff and make myself as little of a nuisance as possible because then maybe I’ll get to stay longer before you get sick of me and kick me off.” Usually he wouldn’t be this candid, but he was tired, and he felt floaty and not all there, his normal anxiety not holding him back.

 “Virgil… that's not true.” Roman added, Virgil's bitter laugh echoing harshly through the space.

 “Sure it isn’t. You’ve made it clear, what you think of me. And you know what? I’m terrified, constantly, that you might be right. Sooner or later I’m going to hurt someone. It’s… it’s the only thing I’m good at, hurting people. Sometimes I think I should just bail, just leave a note and run, before I hurt anyone. Before I ruin it all. Before I ruin this… this amazing little family, you guys have.”

 His eyes slipped closed, against his will, exhaustion weighing him down, settling into his bones from the panic attacks. “I w-want it so badly, it h-urts sometimes, but I can’t… I know I can’t have it. Be part of it. Know I’ll just… just be in the way.” He mumbled, not even sure if he was speaking aloud, anymore.

  “Virg… we'll talk about this later, ok? Just… can you make it back to the couch? You need more sleep.” Patton asked, moving off his chest. He nodded, managing to peel his eyes open, stumble to his feet, collapsing face down on the couch before blacking out as soon as his head hit the cushions.

…

 “Well. His fever’s broken. There’s no point using these, any further.” Logan, trying to keep his voice steady as he packed up the IV line and supplies, considering hurling the needle out the airlock, just to spite the universe for forcing him to use it.

 “I… I need to go. Think. About… things…” Roman poorly explained, darting from the room, as Patton sighed, feathers fluffing and resettling, worried gaze flicking between the doorway Roman had vanished down, Logan storing the medical supplies, and Virgil, face down on the couch. His forehead was a lot cooler, now, and his breathing finally seemed to be normal, deep, steady breaths. His eyes weren’t twitching in his sleep either, a good sign, Patton had learned early on that eye twitches meant bad dreams, nightmares. That was when he would curl up around Virgil’s head and churr softly, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest, that he used to soothe kits, but it also seemed to do the trick on the human. Most of the ampen soothing methods did, which he would have once considered odd, since they relied on empathy to work. But if anything, Virgil had too much empathy, his words playing back in Patton’s mind.

 “He thinks we don’t care. We don’t… don’t consider him family, why would he… after everything, still think that?” Patton asked softly, looking up at Logan’s sigh.

 “He’s been hurt, Patton. Deeply, psychologically, hurt. He’s so used to being in fight or flight mode, that is all his body knows how to do. His body, his mind, it doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend, safety. And after… after what he went through, how they demeaned him and treated him like a wild animal, like a… a specimen, it’s no wonder that he struggles to comprehend his own self worth, lacks any sense of self esteem or importance. He had to fight every day just to survive, just to keep you safe, and though I am thankful for it, it likely has contributed to his fear of himself. He knows how easily he could hurt any one of us.”

 “He won’t though! He’d rather tear himself apart than hurt any of us.” Patton protested.

 “I know, Patton. But he clearly doesn’t. He doesn’t take care of himself, he doesn’t trust himself, Patton, and until he starts doing that, understanding that he is wanted and loved and safe, I’m afraid he won’t take care of himself.”

 “Then we’ll make sure he does. I will physically fight him.” Patton muttered, determination clear in every bristling feather, and Logan chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

 “I would enjoy watching you take down a human, Patton, especially since Virgil would let you, but violence is not going to help in this situation.”

 “Still. If he won’t take care of himself, I’m going to make him take care of himself.” He ruffled Patton’s head as he passed the couch, barely containing his smile at the small squeak the motion illicited, stopping at a small tug of his hand.

 “Lo? Thank you. For getting him through.” He softened, looking back at Patton, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

 “Of course, Patton. Get some more sleep, now that he’s safe, won’t you?” Patton nodded, drawing away and circling a couple times before settling down curled around Virgil’s head, careful to keep a layer of blanket between them, so he wouldn’t accidentally siphon off energy in his sleep. Virgil needed all of it he could get.

@fortheloveofjanus

[stevetonymotherload]

WIP!

Steve ran down the hall, out of breath and sweaty as he tried to figure out which way the HYDRA agents went. They took Peter. Peter Parker. Spiderman. 

His and Tony’s kid. 

“Shit. Tony-”

“I know. They have him. I can’t,” he pauses and takes a breath, already down for the count as he looks at the offline suit and the fading injury report, “I’m down. I can’t help.”

Steve perked up then, coming to a full stop when he heard his boyfriend say he was down. “Are you okay? Tony, are you hurt?” His voice was steadily gaining panicked undertones and he braced his hand against the wall to keep himself upright. “What are the damages?”

Tony shakes his head and breathes a bit heavy for a moment before catching himself and responding, “I’m fine. Go get Peter.” Steve was torn. Help their adoptive child, with the possibility that he won’t even be able to save the young boy. Or help his fiance, who he knows the location and the fact that the other man is alive. The hardest choice to make. An immediate answer would be ‘always help the kid’, but when you know the fiance is alive, and know that the kid has a 50/50 chance of survival… who do you choose?

Steve sat there, quickly running through  every scenario in his head and eventually made his decision. He tapped the communication device in his ear to turn it back on and spoke only two words to Tony. 

“I’m sorry.”

With that, he shuts the device off and takes off running, in the same direction he had seen Peter. After about twenty minutes of seemingly mindless running, Steve hears something. It’s faint, but it’s there. People talking. 

He sprints in their direction, connecting pointlessly in his brain for just a moment, that it seems he has been doing a lot of running today. At any other time, he would have taken pride in the fact that anyone else would be out of breath on their last leg of the race right now, but not him. He doesn’t have that mindset right now. He’s playing one command on repeat in his head. 

Find our kid. Find our kid. Find our- “Kid?!” He cries when he stops in a clearing. Peter is sitting there, hands cuffed with some sharp, jagged metal. A blindfold was  over his eyes and a HYDRA agent stood over him, a syringe filled with a  toxic looking yellow fluid. 

“S-Steve?” Peter’s shaky, quiet voice carrying across the fifty feet between them. 

Steve let out the most uncertain breath he has ever held and nodded, despite the boy being blindfolded. 

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s me. It’s Steve.” He pauses and takes a cautious step forward while he speaks. “Listen to me, you’re going to be just fine. Okay? Just fine.”

Steve continues with his slow, baby steps until one of the three agents aims a gun at Peter’s temple. The agent, with a name tag on their maintenance disguise of Tommy, doesn’t even have to say anything for Steve to know he needs to stand still. 

“Good, you know the drill.” There has been one agent that wasn’t holding some form of weapon towards Peter, and that was the female who had spoken to Steve. “That means you must know that if you even think of taking another step, or if you speak to anyone in your precious comms, or if you say one more word without us permitting you to, the kid dies.”

At that, Peter lets out a soft whimper and bows his head , squeaking when the agent with the syringe-- his name is Carter-- grabs his hair and yanks his head up again. 

“Please, just let him go…” Steve tries, realizing that he broke a rule. He sighs and looks down, willing the tears in his eyes to stay put. 

Peter flinches slightly as he feels the sharp prick of a needle in the back of his neck. Steve’s cries were drowned out in his ears as he started losing control of his senses. Peter’s eyes slipped shut behind the mask and he crumbled to the ground in front of the three agents. 

Steve watches helplessly as the two bigger men lift his kid into the back of a tinted van and lock the doors. Taking that as his only moment of opportunity, Steve springs forward and swings at Carter. Tommy and the other guy-- John-- came at Steve, both carrying long bladed knives now. Steve didn’t have a fast enough reaction time anymore, too worked up over trying to get to his kid. He shook his head and dodged the first swing of the knife that came at him. He wasn’t as lucky trying to get past the second slice through the air. 

The knife embedded itself in his left shoulder and he grit his teeth, fighting through the pain. He took out Carter with a swift punch to the temple that sent the short, skinny man flying across the field. John was next, and Steve ripped the knife out of his shoulder, plunging it into his opponent’s gut. 

“Let the kid go, or you’re next on my list.” His voice was predatory, though it didn’t intimidate the broad shouldered man at all. 

“I don’t think you’re in a great place to make commands, Captain.” Tommy shoves Steve back, taking advantage of his unbridled anger. Steve stumbles back, unfocused and losing blood slowly. He let out a grunt of exertion, panicking slightly as he sees a fourth agent running towards them, keys to the van jingling noisily in his pocket. 

Steve all but growled as he regained his control and hurled himself at the other man. Tommy was surprised, giving Steve the upper hand. The super soldier flipped over Tommy’s shoulders, landing on the man’s back with an arm constricting air flow across his throat. “I said. Let. Him. Go.”

Tommy struggled, and he almost got free, but Steve tightened his grip and watched with a grim satisfaction as his opponent passed out. “Thank you, Natasha.” Steve mumbles, grateful for the new move that she had taught him shortly after he unfroze. 

As soon as he had contained all three of the Hydra agents, he was taking off towards the van. The already moving van. The van with his kid in it. 

“No… No, no! Peter!” He screams, trying to catch up to the speeding vehicle. Then the fatigue and the hopelessness hits him and he tumbles to the ground. Breathing in heavy pants, heart racing wildly he turns his comms back on. 

“-eve! Steven! I have been trying to get a hold of you for thirty minutes! What the hell have- Steve?” Tony’s voice goes from anger to worry within twenty seconds. He must have heard the ragged breathing from his boyfriend’s end of the devices. 

“I’m- Tony, I can’t- I just- They have him… Peter- he’s.” Steve hyperventilates as he tries to explain what happened. But he can’t breathe. He can’t see straight through the hot, angry tears forming in his eyes. He can barely hear Tony over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Steve…” Tony’s voice is heartbroken now. The concern is heavy still, but Steve isn’t sure who he is concerned for. Peter or him. 

The blond shakes his head, looking down at the ground, seeing the blood pool down from his shoulder. He shakily sighs once he can manage to get his breathing under control and pushes himself up. 

“I’m on my way.” 

When he finally gets back to where the team had agreed to meet up, he immediately scans the crowd of people for Tony. His gaze skips over the other members of the team, skips over the civilians who are crying, rejoicing with their families. He skips over the individuals who are mourning over lost ones, skips over the Shield medical teams. Well, most of them. 

Steve’s eyes finally stop on one professional with the Shield badge who is wrapping a bandage around his boyfriend’s torso. Steve could just barely see the deep purple bruise flowering from Tony’s rib cage.

[scoobydoominuscoobydoo]

Can you write and example of "good shaphne angst?"

Oh there are so many different categories of angst that could be considered good but this tends to be my default so here you go!

(This was a slow process and I’m super sorry for the wait but writers block was intense the past couple of weeks!)

-

Daphne was no novice when it came to being tied up.

The whole routine of getting constricted by a bunch of rope and tossed into the nearest crypt or sarcophagus had gotten old and the amount of time it took for the gang to find her again was shrinking. It gave her just enough time to assess the damages done to her manicure or wonder how well she did on her chemistry test that Monday. It had all become rather lighthearted to her (at this point she had to get used to it the poor girl practically carried a big neon sign begging criminals in rubber masks to kidnap her).

That is - when she didn’t sense any immediate danger.

Men in masks had the tendency to just toss their hostages (Daphne) somewhere (see previous crypts or sarcophagus) and then forget about them which had worked out in Daph’s favor for the most part.

She’s really trying to separate herself entirely from the situation she’s in now. Being handcuffed to a lead pipe was not the same as being tied up with rope. The rope would start to scratch and burn her skin at this point if she was still struggling to get out of it. She usually wasn’t, just to avoid the aforementioned scratching and burning. The handcuffs however, started digging into her wrists right from the get-go and even if Daphne was perfectly still she could feel how raw the skin was becoming.

She wasn’t stowed away in some abandoned storage shed behind the creepy house at the end of the street that nobody talks about. No - Daph was actually cuffed to a lead pipe and sitting right behind the man who had captured her. That was all she was able to discern about her captor; the broad shoulders and large hands couldn’t belong to a woman. Although she has been surprised before. The space seemed to be some sort of rinky dink office with file cabinets and a big mahogany desk in the center of the room.

The man in the mask was currently sitting at this desk.

It sounded like he was shuffling through papers, Daphne would occasionally hear the scratch of a pencil. She noted that he was very careful not to speak around her - she wondered if she would recognize his voice if he spoke. I wasn’t much of a clue but Daph was doing anything she could to not let the nerves get to her.

‘Amazing that being tied up and alone in a crypt is more relaxing than this.’ Daphne thought, joking about the situation made her feel a little more at ease.

Shaggy was a lot better at it but he wasn’t here and Daph kept being plagued by the terrible thought that him and the rest of the gang had no earthly idea where she was.

If her mouth wasn’t sealed by a strip of duct tape than you would see her lower lip tremble. The image of Fred breaking down the door to this office was becoming more and more akin to a hopeless dream. Daphne was losing hope and she was losing it fast.

She ran scenarios in her head of the worst possible things this man could do to her and shuddered at all of the ones she genuinely feared. Over and over again, on repeat in her mind. Daph had no clue how long she was in that office but by the time her captor had stood from his chair and pressed the foul smelling cloth to her nose - Daphne’s legs had gone numb.

The last thing she remembered before darkness were vibrant green eyes. Eyes she had definitely seen somewhere before.

Daph awoke to a jarring change in scenery.

The cramped office was now what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. Although her vision was semi-blurry and her head was killing her, Daphne knew where she was. They had been here once before while investigating the case but had quickly ruled it as a dead end and crossed it off the map. She then noticed a second thing - it was nighttime.

Daph had first been taken in the late afternoon and thrown in the trunk of an old  blue Mustang. She stayed there for a little bit (she actually fell asleep at one point because this wasn’t her first time being locked in the trunk of a car) and when she was eventually taken out night had already fallen.

‘I’ve been missing for at least two days then...’ She thought as her head began to clear up.

She, once again, had both hands cuffed to a lead pipe (this one was a little bigger though) and was resting on her knees. The concrete floor of the building was a little too cold to be comforting and that was the first time Daphne noticed her shoes were missing.

‘Ugh and I just bought those too!’

The tape was still over her mouth, although Daph didn’t see much point in shouting for help since there wasn’t much of a chance anyone would hear her. It was at that point that Daphne realized she was currently alone.

‘Has that asshole finally decided to ditch me?’

She barely had time to consider it when a loud creaking echoed throughout the area. Her heart leapt for a moment, against all odds somebody had decided to investigate this seemingly inconspicuous location. Then everything in her went cold when she saw the familiar white coat of the man who kidnapped her.

The culprit’s whole shtick was somewhere along the lines of zombie mad scientist. Which - as dumb as it sounds - is surprisingly intimidating. Maybe it’s just how realistic the details of his mask are.

‘Nothing is truly creepier than the uncanny valley. And mullets.’ Daphne could almost picture the eye rolls that comment would earn from the gang. It embarrassed her since humor wasn’t exactly her forte but it never stopped Daph from giving it a shot. Plus, every so often her attempts at jokes would earn a soft laugh from Shaggy. And those laughs sent butterflies storming in her stomach.

Suddenly, the lump is back in her throat.

She misses him. She misses them. And she’s worried that they’re pulling their hair out trying to find her. Daphne hates seeing her friends so distressed.

She almost jumps out of her own skin when she sees that Zombie Albert Einstein is standing directly in front of her, just staring down at her.  

Without missing a beat, Daphne glares up at him and desperately hopes that it doesn’t look like she’s a step away from bursting into tears. Those green eyes seem to crinkle in amusement - evidently her anger wasn’t all that convincing. Daph’s shoulders droop and she tries with all of her might to swallow the lump in her throat.

And most likely with the desire of prolonging her suffering, Albert decides to rip the tape off her mouth.

The sudden sting is just enough to bring tears pooling in her eyes.

“Ouch...” she murmurs with a shaky gasp. Biting down hard on her lip with the hope of pulling it together. When Daphne let herself go hysterical then she went hysterical to the highest degree and then she wasn’t any help to anyone.

But then she hears a chuckle; it’s low and gravelly and so dang familiar that it’s killing her. And it’s telling her one thing:

She’s giving him exactly what he wanted.

All of her efforts to remain calm and collected have failed because he can still see how she really feels. He can see how hopeless Daphne feels.

She sucks in a deep breath through her teeth, trying desperately to hold onto that composure; trying so hard to put a face to that laugh. And it’s just not working - he’s still looking down at her like the game is finished and she never had a fighting chance.

As he turns his back to her and walks away, Daph bows her head and tries her best to cry silently. Not that there’s any point to it, Mr. Einstein already knows that she’s given up. She coughs out a laugh at the nickname she’s christened her kidnapper with in between her sobs - she can still find the humor in the situation and that brings her some comfort.

Shaggy did that all the time without any effort at all, boosting moral without even realizing it.

Daphne wonders how worried he is, if he’s able to keep the mood light so that Fred and Velma can stay focused. God she hoped so.

He was always the one to keep everyone grounded despite not ever being grounded himself. Daph couldn’t help but wish she tried more to be that for him; wish she was brave enough to say all of the things resting on her tongue.

Not just that she loved him (even though that was a biggie) but that he was valuable and mattered so much to not just her but the rest of the gang.

It was hard not to just force him to gain the self-confidence he lacked (since that was her main way of solving problems) but she knew that wasn’t what he needed.

Damn it she wished she knew what he did need.

If she ever made it out of this alive, she was gonna figure it out.

She sobbed softly through the night and eventually woke up to sunlight pouring in from the large windows and skylights above her. Leaving Daph to wonder when exactly she fell asleep and how long she’s been out.

Her decomposing captor was nowhere to be seen which fills her with a small amount of relief.

Judging by the color of the light and the angle that it was shining in on it had to be late afternoon-ish.

‘It’s been three days...’

At that thought, Daphne suddenly realized how hungry and thirsty she was. Her head was pounding her tongue was almost totally dry (which she was sure was really bad). She remained dizzy after waking up even after waiting for around an hour and Daph wondered if Albert had any intention of keeping her alive.

‘Ugh and I had just cried all night too! I just want to waste water and die of dehydration.’

She also noted that her body was still sweating, or at least trying to. This was not good, Daphne knew that she could survive for a while without food but water needed to be going through her constantly.

‘This is gonna make my skin look awful.’ Daph thought, finding it harder to make jokes about the impending doom her body was facing.

She could feel herself trembling and her stomach began to twist in knots as the whole warehouse seemed to start spinning.

Suddenly, she was shaken awake by the sound of one of the huge doors creaking open. Her whole body felt as if it was frozen inside a huge ice cube even though she knew it wasn’t cold. A shaken examination of the area showed that night had already fallen. The fact that she had lost consciousness without recollection was seriously concerning but she didn’t have time to worry about her health. Because Albert was dragging in another body.

The room may have been spinning and noises sounded a little echoey but she didn’t need to be at full strength to recognize that familiar shade of green.

Instantly her body became alert and she leaned forward, being stopped by the damned handcuffs. She’s soon able to process all the muffled noise as Shaggy talking a mile a minute.

“Listen- I-.. I don’t think you understand dude. Like we’re living in the 20th century and kidnapping minors - and probably eating them - is totally not okay! Look I get it... Entering into the workforce as a respected American citizen is hard and seems like a... like a major sacrifice of your time - not to mention your social life - but I promise you - anything is better than eating people!”

He’s being dragged in by his ankles and - despite the fact that he isn’t tied up - he isn’t making any move to escape. Which doesn’t seem on brand for the gang’s own Harry Houdini.

As Shaggy continued to nervously ramble, Albert dragged him to the center of the room beneath the largest skylight where most of the moonlight was pooling in. He was about 20 feet directly in front of her and right when Daphne was about to announce her presence to the highly distracted boy, she choked.

Daph fell into a violent coughing fit as her throat complained about the lack of moisture.

She begins to tear up and bows her head as she tries to calm the whole situation. When she looks up again, lungs on fire, her eyes lock onto Shaggy’s brown ones. He’s seen her.

Instantly his eyes widen and he begins to struggle with Albert for the freedom of his legs, “Daphne! You’re alive!”

Daph finds herself filled with so many conflicting emotions that she isn’t sure if she should laugh, cry, or yell at him for getting captured. Especially since it’s almost impossible to catch him.

Not that it matters anyway, she’s afraid to try and speak again. That fit had caused her head to pound even worse than before and now she could barely hear Shaggy over the drumming.

The fight for the freedom of Shag’s legs is brought to an abrupt end when Albert simply lets go. Shaggy’s heels crash hard into the concrete and Daph can barely make out his face contorting in pain. She pulls against the handcuffs again and this time she is aware of how irate the skin of her wrists is. Ignoring it, Daphne continues to try and lean further toward him only with the hope of seeing him in a clearer focus.

“Sha-...Shaggy...” She just barely rasps out and after a moment she can tell he probably didn’t hear her.

Perhaps because he’s a tad distracted, what with the massive demon in a lab coat pinning him down by pressing a knee right to the center of Shaggy’s chest.

“Alright! Agh- Okay!” He coughs, “You’ve made your point! A-And who...who am I to argue really?! Especially when you outweigh me by like 800 tofu dogs!” He lets out a nervous laugh and Daphne wants to cry again because she can just hear the trembling in that laugh.

She presses her forehead down against the cool warehouse floor; she can’t handle watching one of her best friends get hurt while she remains powerless to do something.

“Like, do you really wanna add assaulting a minor to the list of charges stacking up against you buddy?” Now the shaking in his voice is so clear it’s making Daph’s toes curl, she bites her lip.

A few seconds pass and Daph finds that she doesn’t hear anything, no cries of pain or anything. She has no time to deliberate if this is a good or bad thing because another few seconds go by and suddenly warm hands are gripping her shoulders. She gasps and looks up before shoving herself roughly against the wall in an effort to distance herself from whoever grabbed her. This doesn’t entirely work out in her favor because she forgot that there was a large lead pipe behind her and she had just slammed her lower back into it head-on. A loud clang echos throughout the building.

Daphne lets another shaky gasp, this time in response to the pain running all over her body.

“Jesus Daph... Like are you alright?” The warmth is back on her shoulders and it sends a wave a relief that almost overpowers all of her other senses. Evidently, Albert had been swayed by Shag’s persuasive words.

She nods slowly, “How-” Did you find me? Instead of choking out the rest of that sentence, Daphne rests her forehead on his shoulder.

Not that she even needed to finish the question - Daph knows that he understood. Shaggy just barely whispers out his answer against her ear and my God she is just so happy to hear his voice.

“Well we had gone back to ask the HR guy some more questions when we saw your shoes just chilling under a chair in the waiting room. Professor Freakenstein over there had left a note demanding some things in exchange for your location.” He said with a touch of annoyance at the end.

Daphne nodded against him, “I-... I was wondering where they were...” Whispering is so much easier than talking

“Yeah, like mystery solved.” He deadpans, she smiles in response, “Anyway... I wanted to go to the fucking police but you know how Mr. and Mrs Taking Matters Into Our Own Hands answered.

Her body tensed, “Is that why you’re here?”

There was silence for a moment and Daphne was building up quite the lecture when she saw Fred and Velma again. If she saw Fred and Velma again.

“Like, to be fair we all thought Fred’s trap was gonna work...” He mumbled. He explains that the note had a time and location for a meeting and so Fred and Velms had spent the day setting up a trap in the area. But she isn’t listening.

Daphne groaned, “I thought we agreed that ransom notes were when we actually get qualified adults involved. The vote was unanimous on that movement!”

“I don’t really think they pay attention during our staff meetings.” He replies with a lilt of amusement.

“They’re not staff meetings! They’re discussions on our code of conduct, we need rules Shags! Order!”

He lets out a short laugh before wrapping his arms around her neck and saying, “Shit I was so worried about you...”

Daphne feels her chest go warm and her cheeks heat up - she nuzzles further into the crook of his neck.

‘Shit I am so in love with you...’

She thinks.

And then... blackness.

When she awakes she hears the almost heavenly beeping of a heart monitor.

The second she opens her eyes three teenagers and dog practically jump on top of her. All of their words are overlapping and Scooby is licking at her face ferociously so Daphne doesn’t even bother trying to glean anything. The one thing she does do is reach out and grab onto Shaggy’s hand in a sort of death grip - something she wasn’t able to do with her wrists cuffed.

Fred and Velma both excitedly recount the details of tracking down Shaggy all the way back to the warehouse through tire tracks and corresponding surveillance footage. It truly was a riveting tale that Daphne couldn’t be bothered to listen to, she was way too exhausted. Plus, Shag was looking down at her with those beautiful eyes and how the hell was she supposed to look away.

“And! And - you’re gonna love this Daph - we called the police!” Fred stated proudly, eyes glittering like he was a child who cleaned his room without his mother asking him to.

Daphne’s eyes widened and she smiled, “Wow! I’m really proud of you two!”

Velma rolled her eyes, picking up on the sarcasm, “Whatever the big issue is that asshole got away.”

“Albert Einstein?”

“Professor Freakenstein?”

Daphne and Shag inquired at the same time, they both looked at each other and Shaggy smirked. Daph blushed.

“Riiigghtt... I’m sticking with that asshole.” Velma stated.

Suddenly, Daphne perked up, “Shags... You said that you guys found my shoes at the office building where Mr. Griesling worked right?”

Shaggy nodded and squeezed her hand; she squeezed back.

“Well before he moved me to the warehouse, I was kept in a private office-thingy. And this whole time I swore I had recognized the guy’s eyes before. I mean they were practically glowing green there is no way I would miss them!” She can feel her voice shake as she recalls the way those eyes pushed down on her when she believed she was gonna die.

Shaggy squeezes her hand again.

She takes in a breath and then says, “Well I was thinking about it for a moment and I remember that I saw one of the interns that worked for Mr. Griesling’s department had these gorgeous eyes and I was this close to complimenting him on them!”

Velma and Fred’s eyes widen and Shaggy gasps before saying, “Oh my God that fucking gigantic college sophomore! We’re idiots!”

Velms plants her face in her hands and Fred sighs, “Good thing we had Daphne and her attention to seemingly unimportant details.”

Daph smirks and shrugs, “Just make sure to keep me far away from him.”

“Like we will Daphne.” Shaggy says gently and the tone is enough to soothe all of the dread latched onto her.

[ginwhitlock]

Lens of Lust II 

“Bella tries to reflect on her encounter with Jasper in English, recounting the start of her affliction. Why has her affection switched?”

warnings: basically smut! mature audiences only PART 1

The halls had never seemed so suffocating. A turning sea of high school bodies running into my barely lucid frame. 

My stumbling exit from Mr. Mason’s classroom went unnoticed by everyone except for my own heart. Its rhythm becoming mind-numbing. My ears felt as though cotton had been shoved in them, soft palms held over my temples. My windpipe screamed of desperation-- reminding my brain of the scorching Arizona summer. But I knew no gallon of spring water could heal it. 

The soles of my converse led me through the cramped space. My eyes, downcast, at the scuffed tile work. The books in my backpack were weighing down my spine, creating creases in my soft skin-- from my haste to put them all in their place-- before I drowned in the incoming students. The pain barely registering past the unyielding confusion playing behind my eyelids. 

Why had he said anything? Why had I even been thinking of Edward’s eldest brother in the first place?

The former had just left for a hunting trip with the others, speaking of ‘just incase’ and ‘my safety’. As if I didn’t know about their need to sustain themselves around the fleshy human girl. 

The bronze-haired boy hardly made a dent into my subconscious as of late. His face had blurred in my dreams, instead recreating as a boy-- a man-- with taller stature, wider shoulders, with hair the color of the desert when the soaked winds blew through.

 My chest began to constrict as I thought of the first time I had dreamt of Jasper-- almost two weeks ago now. 

My brain was caught in my throat. Purpling bruises in the shape of a farm boy’s fingers appearing on the knots of my hips. Like blooming hollies. A desert garden trailing up my thighs. 

His canines scraping across my ribcage, leaving small pools of venom, enough to sting-- but not maim. I could feel the burn of his cheeks from my toes to the pit of my stomach. The clench of my abdomen sent another wave of the fire through my spine, curling my chest into his marble facade. The soft of my breasts shuddering under his touch. 

My hands ran through his shaggy curls in an attempt to pull him closer to me. The vampire refused to budge, instead latching his lips under my bare cleavage with a growl. His eyes flashed up to my face with a perfect kind of stillness to them. His irises a glittering midnight. Constellations twinkling in the abyss, calling out to me in a siren’s song. My chest contracted without air. My mind breaking through the haze in a soft melody of, ‘He’s yours. He’s always been yours. First and forever’. 

His hand left my hip in a split second. His ravaged fingertips, hardened from work even the change couldn’t take from him, traced my cheekbone in small circles. As if he heard my thoughts, he drowned my soul in enough yearning for a thousand minds. The lust galloping alongside, an accomplice to my now dripping heat. 

His frame lifted up, pulling my uncovered curves between his denim-clad legs. His body was still holding onto a sense of mystery, being covered up so much compared to mine. My hands, which were fisted into the soft sheets below me, grasped hold of his v-neck in an iron clasp and went to pull off the barrier. His free hand clamped around my thin wrists. His angel face broke out in a wiley grin-- something akin to a jagged crack in his native southern ground. His knuckles covered mine entirely, far larger than Edward’s. 

A snicker slipped out between his perfect teeth. His coal-colored eyes dropped to my bare hips. The only inch that wasn’t exposed to the warm air swirling around the soft linens were pressed into them. His fingers left my cheek and dropped to his belt buckle. His diamond skin shown equally with the polished silver underneath his hand. 

Faster than I could comprehend, the belt flew out of my line of sight-- along with his wranglers. His henley torn off in quick succession. 

Bite marks marred his body in every crevice. The wide expanse of his chest was littered in hundred, thousands of half moons, smiling back at me with glittering teeth. Jasper’s neck held more pain than I had ever witnessed. Breaks in his immortal skin which had been ripped before they could fully heal, railway lines criss-crossing at his now stagnant jugular. I could only imagine whose nails caused them-- who was allowed close enough to do so. 

My eyes trailed down his torso, following the thick bands of muscle lining his pelvis....

 Jesus.  

 I couldn’t have imagined something so… fitting. 

The blond belted out a laugh larger than the air it held. Wisps of curls making a halo at the crown of his head. His perfect ivory teeth on full display as he bent down, level with my heated face. His cool breath enveloped me in an invisible embrace. 

With one hand grasping his hardened dick, swirling eyes locked onto mine, he slowly rose my hips to meet his--

A cream hand shot out in front of my dazed eyes and pulled me into a backlit hallway. Coming into focus, I could only make out that the hall was empty of various students-- even those who were always truant. The lights flickered above me and I went to struggle against the freezing hold at my back. 

“Alright darling, I thought I gave you a warning.” came a familiar voice from behind me.

[softballum]

So here’s something no one ever asked for. I’ve never written fic in my life, but heres 2k words of my ramblings.

I thought about this all day yesterday and had an idea for a ‘fix it’ for after Monday 1st’s episode. I really thought Ben might actually confide in Callum but I guess not. 

Anyway, hope you enjoy if you do read it!!

I’ve Got You

He’s been squeezing his eyes shut for what feels like hours now. The rooms pitch black and for once its completely silent in and out of the flat. Callum can only hear his own anxious breathing and the faint mumblings of the buildings plumbing. The t-shirt he wears to bed offers him no comfort like normal. Its scratching the back of his neck, the stitches feel like they’re burning into his skin. He’d managed a few pints with the lads earlier and was content with how the night had gone. The alcohol would normally make him drowsy, make him yawn till his bones ached and he carried himself off to bed. Right now though, it's like he can feel it buzzing in his veins, angsty to get up from the horizontal position he’s in.

He can’t sleep if he knows Ben is supposed to be next to him. Sometimes he’ll briefly wake up in the small hours of the morning and brush his hand across the mattress. Just to feel Ben’s warm skin beneath his fingertips. Some days he still can’t believe that what he has with Ben is real, that he wants to spend the most vulnerable hours of his day, lying next Callum. He knows he’s overreacting. Ben had let Callum know he’d promised to put Lexi to bed tonight and spend some much needed, quality cuddling time with her. He’ll have let her stay up a little longer so he can read an extra few pages of Lexis favourite fantasy. Unique character voices and all. Or he’s sat having a cuppa with his Mum. Kathy fretting over him with extra cake she’d made for the cafe that morning, knows its Ben’s favourite. It’ll be as simple as that. Nothing for Callum to worry about. 

But he knew he got a weird vibe from Ben this morning, shooing him off like that. Ben didn’t want to be a hindrance to Callum making new mates and now he’s avoiding him. He goes to pick up his phone from the bedside table almost knocking it off completely. He squints when he unlocks the screen, the brightness edging on his irritation. He opens up his text conversation with Ben, the glasses wearing emoji in his contact grinning at him. He sees that Ben still hasn’t replied to his earlier message about when he’d be home. He contemplates sending another, starts tapping on the back space with a loud sigh.

“He doesn’t need you checking up on him, you idiot. You ain't his mother” he mutters to himself, scowling at the wall in front of him. But Callum just cares, cares with his whole chest and he hates the thought of Ben avoiding him. After Ben’s confessions and brash words in the middle of the square the other night, things have been a bit…off kilter between them, but it won’t stop Callum from caring about him. He knows Ben still has this hard exterior up and its only being built higher the more he believes he’s not worth Callum’s affections.

Callum jumps when he hears the flat door slam a moment later, startling him from his thoughts. He waits for the increasing volume of Bens feet up the stairs, but they don’t come. Callum lies on his back holding his breath. His eyes darting about the dark ceiling like it will give him the answers he’s looking for. After a few unnerving seconds, the heavy thumps of Ben’s boots make their way on to the landing. Callum open’s the bedroom door with a gentle touch not wanting Ben to think he’s been clock watching his arrival back to the flat.

“Ben…?” He says it so quietly, he struggles to hear it himself. “Ben.”

Ben sees the change in light of Callum walking closer to him out the corner of his eye. Whipping his head up to meet the creased expression on Callum’s face.

“Hi, you alright?” He signs as he speaks. “Lexi enjoy her story yeah?”.

It takes Ben a moment to put it together. He clears his throat, teetering on the edge of nervousness.

“Yeah, she’s great..yeah” he answers, still glancing at Callum’s hands in mid air.

“I text you earlier. Didn’t want to leave you on your lonesome too long if I was out. Didn’t think you’d still be at your Mum’s.” He makes sure Ben can see his mouth move with each word, but even he can feel himself rambling.

Ben’s staring, mouth just slightly agape in concentration but he’s not caught a word. He blinks harshly against the little light coming from the living room lamp. His head is bursting. The ringing in his ears is still ever present and it feels like it’s pushing down on him from above. The pressure is too much. His hands feel cold but his palms are clammy. They’re balled up into fists, shoved deeply into the pockets of his leather jacket. He can’t even feel the pain of his nails digging into the calloused flesh. Hands that not all that long ago were holding a gun, punching some thugs and driving the get away car for him and Phil. He can feel his breathing picking up, leather jacket sticking to the back of his neck, like a bad dream following you around. He knows he needs to put on a show now, best lying performance of his life. Show Callum that everything is as it should be. Take his hand and lead him to the bed they share and at least try and get some rest. He can do that. He can. He’s lied to Callum about dodgy jobs and his family life so many times already, hidden his darkest secrets from him time and time again, it should feel easy. Easier than this. He needs to get away, run to the bathroom or grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Anything to get out from under the careful gaze of Callum. If he’s not looking straight at him, maybe, just maybe he could get away with the facade. But he’s stuck to the floor, his boots suddenly weighing an absolute tonne. He feels nauseous now and the room is spinning, seconds away from being sick. Doesn’t know whether its because of his ears or if the need to lie to Callum for the umpteenth time that week, is finally catching up on him. It was different when it was about Keanu. He could just push and push and it worked, for a time. It’s different now though. He needs Callum, needs him so much even he doesn’t realise. He can’t just push him away anymore, he agreed to be better, but right now he can’t do better.

“Phone Ben? Did you get my text?” Callum’s thumb hovers over his other four fingers, motioning to him.

Ben blinks again. Swallows hard, his throat dry and scratching. Concentrate, he thinks.

“Uhh no sorry. Not picked it up for hours.” Another lie, good. He drags it out his jean pocket ready to chuck it on the kitchen counter, forget about it and got to sleep with his boyfriend and pretend this night never happened. His thumb knocks the lock button though, the screen lighting up the picture of Lexi as his background. There’s a text from his Dad.

“Remember. Not a word to Callum.”

He feels himself choke, throat constricting. His eyes sting and he’s breathing harshly through his nose. He’s squeezing his phone so tightly, the bone of his knuckles could simply tear through the skin on the back of his hand. He’s getting hotter and hotter now, the rage bubbling up underneath the surface. His muscles all cramping up at his frustration. The remaining adrenaline from earlier only adding to his impending outburst.

Callum swears everything is stuck in slow motion. He sees Ben’s eyes focus on his phone, reading the same line over and over again, quicker each time he scans over the screen. Then his expression changes. He’s never seen Ben like this. Vulnerable, upset, cocky, confrontational but not this, he’s never seen him like this. He hesitates to react, doesn’t know what Ben will do or say next. No idea what could have been on his phone to make him like this. Panic starts to set in.

A sharp moment later. Ben lets out an aggressive scream, all his emotions finally coming up to the surface for air. His throat feels like its bleeding but its no match for how his head feels. His phone suddenly rips out of his hand and makes a heavy thud against the fuchsia-coloured wall of the flat, narrowly missing a photo frame. It rattles to the floor, the screen smashed and blacked out. It’s how Ben feels, bashed about and empty underneath it all.

Callums shocked into action then and runs to him, socked feet padding over the length of the living room. Ben’s pacing now. All shadows and amber street light, seeping in from the curtains. His hands grab his ears like he’s trying to pull them off. Huffing through gritted teeth, droplets of spit gathering on his lips. Eyes red raw as he scrunches them as tight as possible, defiant not to let his tears spill over and down his cheeks. Callum grabs his elbows and Ben starts to sob, noises only a broken, young man could make when he can’t carry on anymore. His cries wrack his chest, desperate to get a breath in but his emotions pull him deeper. Callum’s eyes are darting all over Ben’s figure trying to work out what could possible have happened to him and why he’s crumbling in his hands.

“Ben. Its okay, I’m here. What is it? Whats wrong?” His subconscious is using his police and army training to keep his voice as level and calm as possible,  feeling anything but.

Ben continues to cry hysterically, his shallow breaths echoing in the small space of the flat.

“Ben, please? Please let me help you. Tell me. Whatever it is”

There’s silence for a split second and Callum thinks he’s imaging all this, but Ben’s body is still trembling under his hold.

“I can’t do this” Its barely a whisper and Callum wonders if Ben even realises he’s spoken out loud.

“You what?”

“I can’t do this Callum. I can’t. I can’t do it.” And shallowly, for a moment, Callum thinks he’s talking about them. But that’s not Ben, he wouldn’t be upset like this, he’d act the hard man and pretend he’s only being that way for the protection of Callum. No, this is different.

“You can’t do what Ben? Whats happened.” He trails his hands up to the back of Ben’s, still gripping on to his ears. He tries to gently prise them away from the sides of his head. If he can’t hear or look at Callum, he can’t communicate and Callum needs Ben to know he’s there for him.

Ben slowly glances up, still huffing in short pants. His face is blotchy red and wet from his cries.

His hair is all over place, in tufts from where he’s been grabbing at it in frustration. Callum thinks he hears his own heart shatter when he finally sees his face, Ben has never looked this broken before. Callum thinks if he lets go of the sides of his head now, he might just fall apart like fine china. This is not a Ben he’s ever seen.

“I can’t Callum” he repeats.

“Cant what Ben!?” Ben can see it from Callum’s expression what he’s asking him but that’s the only way he can tell.

“I can’t hear Callum.”

“What? I know you can’t hear Ben! What are you on about?” Ben concentrates on Callum’s lips through his blurred vision.

“No Callum.” He hiccups out a broken sob. The words are right on his tongue, but its like a bad taste in his mouth. He just wants to swallow and get rid of it, but what else can he say. He takes another second, the air between the two of them fully charged. Callum just stares at him in anticipation.

“I’m deaf. I can’t hear you. At all.”

The floodgates open then and Ben is back to harsh, violent cries. His lips curling in and his eyelashes soaked with thick tears. Callum holds on to him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Ben crashes into him, head straight into Callum’s chest, balling up the cotton of his t-shirt in his hands, holding on for dear life.

Callum just holds him. Wraps one arm around Ben’s back, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing through the short hair there in an attempt to soothe his boyfriend. He stumbles a little with the sheer amount of weight Ben is pushing on him. Can feel his chest tighten too, his vision becoming blurred as a stray tear rolls its way down his flushed cheek. He’s scared, scared for Ben and what this means for him. But Ben’s strong, they’re strong and Callum will do anything to see him through his.

He dips his head so his mouth meets the crown of Ben’s hair. He presses a small kiss there, silent and soft.

“Shhhh.” He hushes. “I’ve got you Ben. I’ve got you.”

[gamergirl929]

You're Perfect To Me (Becky Lynch x Reader)

Anonymous Requests: Hi, could you make imagine about Becky x female reader, where y/n and Becky are in the relationship for like 3 months and then it comes to situation when they’re about to have sex but reader seems so shy because she has problems with accepting her body because of the anorexia she had when she was young and Becky shows her how beautiful she is (smut/angst w happy ending)

As the anon asked, this is a pretty smutty one, I hope you guys like it.

The kisses are heated as Becky Lynch shoves you into the hotel room, kicking the door shut behind her as she leads you back towards the bed.  

Your heart races at the prospect of what’s about to happen, but not only from the excitement your feeling.  

You’d been with Becky Lynch for 3 months, the two of you were in love and it was obvious to anyone with eyes.  

The Irishwoman had stolen your heart and no intentions of letting it go.  

The only issues between the two of you, was intimacy, and it wasn’t from Becky’s side.  

You’d always been self-conscious of your body, anytime Becky’s hand would find its way up your shirt, or beneath your pants, you’d always stiffen, your head telling you that she can feel each and every flaw that’s hidden beneath your clothes.

It had been no secret between you and Becky that you’d suffered from anorexia when you were growing up and that had made a lasting impression on your self-image.  

Still, even today, you’d only see the flaws when you’d looked into the mirror.  

The back of your knees hit the bed and you fall back, Becky climbing on top of you moments after.  

You sit up, your arms wrapping around Becky as the two of you sloppily kiss, moaning into one another’s mouths.

Becky palms your breasts through your shirt, careful as to not trigger a negative response from you.  

Though when over the clothes isn’t enough, Becky pulls back her brown orbs locking with you Y/E/C ones.  

“Y/N, do ya want ta do this?” She asks and you swallow hard, heart slamming in your chest.  

“I want to… It’s just…” You glance away, frowning sadly.  

Becky gently takes your chin between her thumb and index finger before turning your head until your eyes lock.  

“Talk ta me Y/N.” She whispers and you close your eyes.  

“All I see are flaws when I look at myself.” You breathe out, your throat constricting. “I just, I’m afraid if you see them…” You start, but are cut off when Becky places an index finger against your lips.  

“We’ve all got flaws Y/N.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “But dats what makes us special…”  

You swallow hard, your eyes closing, tears gathering behind them.  

“I know, but…” You start, but Becky again cuts you off though this time with her lips.  

“I’m here ta listen Y/N.” She whispers as she moves you of your lap in favor of taking a seat beside you.  

You turn to your girlfriend, a tear leaking from one of your eyes and running down your face.  

Becky immediately swipes it away with the pad of her thumb.  

“I just…” You start, sniffing as more tears stream down your cheeks, tears Becky is sure to either swipe away with her thumb, or kiss away.  

“Every time I look in the mirror, I see someone I don’t like… I see a body I don’t like. Bits of my body that are obviously too big, stretch marks on my sides, cellulite in my thighs… I see everything wrong with myself, and I’m scared for you to see that side of me.” You say in one breath, your bottom lip trembling.  

Becky slips off the bed and gets on her knees, pushing herself between your legs. She cups your cheek and you close your eyes as you sniff.  

Becky gives you a gentle smile. “Y/N, every part of ya is beautiful, da things ya think are flaws are things dat I know I’m gonna love bout ya. We all see our flaws, and only our flaws, but when I look at ya, I see someone who’s perfect.” She whispers and you let out a sob at the woman’s kind words.  

You turn, kissing her palm before turning around to kiss the other.  

A surge of courage courses through you and Becky stares wide eyed as you grab the hem of your shirt and tug it over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra.  

Becky’s eyes widen as her brown orbs drink you in, taking in some of the flaw you’d just revealed to the woman you struggle with.  

Becky cups your cheeks, lips splitting into the megawatt smile that you know and love.  

“Like I said, perfect.” She whispers as she leans forwards, pressing a kiss to your lips.  

The kisses are playful one moment, but heated the next tongues licking at one another as Becky’s hands roam the bare flesh of your torso.  

Becky pulls back after giving you a tender kiss, ducking her head to press soft kisses to your neck. She pays special attention to your pulse point, nipping and sucking at the flesh until a purple mark is left.  

You grab her face and pull her lips back to you, your lips locking.  

Becky pulls back, her fingers gently tugging on your bra strap.  

“Can I?” She asks warily, doing her best to make sure that you’re comfortable.  

You press a kiss to her forehead, giving her a confident nod.  

The bra covering your chest slips down your chest as it’s unhooked, Becky then pulling it from your arms and tossing it behind her.  

“Damn Y/N.” She whispers as her hand hovers over your breast. Her eyes widen when you take her hand and push it against your chest, your eyes closing when she rubs her palm against your sensitive nipple.  

Becky bites her bottom lip, hard as your brow furrows, eyes shut tight.  

The red-haired woman bites her lip harder to stave off a groan when you inhale sharply at the feel of her giving your other breast equal attention.  

“Y/N?” Becky asks, your eyes flashing open.  

Becky’s eyes dart around your chest, her tongue swiping at her dry lips.  

“Can I?” She asks again and you grin, leaning forward to press your lips sweetly against her own.  

You pull back, nodding and Becky smiles as she leans towards your breast, pressing soft kisses on the mounds of flesh before nipping at your stiff nipple.  

You moan, leaning your head back as Becky licks and sucks at the sensitive nub, the wetness in your panties growing as Becky moans against your chest, reveling not only in the pleasure she’s giving you, but the way she feels as she’s doing it to you. She gives your breast the same attention, until eventually you move to your feet.  

Becky stands worriedly, but grins when you shove her jacket off and literally rip her clothes off, throwing her bra and shirt across the room before you duck your head to suck at her nipples.  

“Ah!” She cries out as you push her back against the dresser behind her, your tongue and teeth sending a pleasing jolt through her body to the apex of her thighs.  

Boldly, you slip your hand down her body, sure to not touch her until you reach the crotch of her jeans.  

Becky groans, throwing her head back as you rub her through her jeans, pushing the seam of her tight pants against her clit.  

“Ugh.” Becky moans, wrapping her arms around you as you stroke her clit through her clothes.  

“Fuck Y/N.” She whispers as she tightens her hold on you.  

Your shove your palm flat against her jeans and rub, grinning at the sound that leaves her open mouth.  

Becky’s breathing picks up speed, her hips rolling, and with no other warning, she cums, her body shuddering and shaking as you help her down from her high, the obvious feel of wetness on your palm.  

Becky’s body continues to shudder and shake as you pull your hand away, your eyes locking with hers as you lick her wetness from your palm.  

The Irishwoman lets out a growl, shoving you backwards onto the bed before climbing on top of you. Seconds later, her tongue is in your mouth your toes curling as the woman kisses you with everything she has.  

You let out a surprised cry when Becky presses her thigh in between your legs, pulling back to look at you with a cocky grin.  

Her eyes are still locked with yours when she rolls her hips, her thigh dragging against your covered sex.  

“Beck…” You breathe out as she picks up her speed, your brows furrowing at the pleasure you’re feeling.  

Becky smirks as she leans down to give your breasts attention as she rolls her hips wildly. She lets out a gasp when you flip her over, rubbing yourself on her flexed thigh.  

“Goddamn.” Becky sighs out as you pick up the pace, your breasts bouncing as you chase your release.  

You cum with a cry, throwing your head back as you continue to rub yourself on Becky’s thigh.  

Meanwhile, the woman below you is in awe, smiling dreamily as she commits to memory the look on your face as you came the first time.  

You breathing slows, your chest heaving as you look down at the woman beneath you, before you can even speak, you’re again on your back.  

Becky grabs your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, her fingers going to your zipper.  

She stops, her brown orbs locking with your notably darker Y/E/C orbs.  

You look down at your bottom half, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.  

“We can stop Y/N.” Becky says reassuringly and you shake your head.  

Becky watches with wide lust filled eyes as you pull your own zipper down and pick your hips up off the bed.  

“Are ya sure Y/N?” She asks just to be sure and you nod, smiling as Becky, slowly pulls your jeans off.  

Your body, except for you most intimate part is now exposed to the woman who again drinks you in, smiling at every imperfection before she drops to her knees in front of you.  

You sit up, eyeing her curiously before your eyes fill with tears as she starts kissing your legs, kissing your legs unknowingly kissing your flaws.  

Becky cups your cheek, beaming up at you as she swipes your tears away.  

“I love ya, and every part of ya Y/N. You’re beautiful.” She whispers and your eyes widen as you grab her face and pull her into a fierce kiss.  

“I love you too.” You whisper, Becky’s lips splitting into a massive grin.  

Becky then pushes you back onto the bed and runs her finger along your pantie line.  

Wordlessly, you nod and seconds later your panties are joining the rest of your clothes on the floor.  

Becky drops to her knees in front of you, now staring right at your wet core.  

You blush under her scrutiny, shivering when you feel her pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs.  

“Do ya want me ta stop?” Becky asks and you push yourself up on your elbows, shaking your head.  

“Don’t you dare.” You growl and Becky grins mischievously before diving between your legs, kissing and sucking at your lips.  

“Fuck!” You cry out, Becky laughing against your core. Your entire body shivers at the feeling.  

Your fingers tangle in Becky’s red locks, pushing her against your core as you throw yourself back on the bed.  

Meanwhile, Becky acts as if she’s at home between your legs, finding and kissing, licking, sucking or biting each and every sensitive part of you.  

Suddenly, a finger pushes inside you, the digit exploring as it curls, digging into your front wall, the feeling causing you to shudder and whine.  

Another finger slips inside you and you feel your thighs shaking as Becky curls her fingers, hitting the spot inside you that makes you cry out of pleasure.  

Becky grins, slowly leaning towards your clit.  

You literally scream as her tongue starts licking at your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud over and over again, until you’re so close to release one more touch will send you over the edge.  

Becky’s fingers still inside you and you groan, body aching you’re so close to your release.  

Before you realize what’s happening, Becky is using her other hand to pull the hood covering your clit back and begins her assault on the newly exposed sensitive nub.  

“FUCK!” You scream as you give Becky a rough tug that only heightens her pleasure as you pull her closer, her tongue mercilessly assaulting the bit of your clit that’s always hidden.  

You arch your back, sweat covering your body as you throw your head back, letting out a guttural howl that you know those in the rooms around you can hear.  

“Ohhhh my goddd.” You cry out, body shaking violently as you cum.  

Becky beams as she continues gently licking your clit and slipping her fingers in and out of you until you still.  

The sound you make as Becky’s fingers leave you is something between a grunt, a sigh and a whine.  

Becky climbs up your body with a cocky grin as your eyelids flutter.  

“That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life.” You say, laughing and Becky laughs as she turns your head, pressing loving kisses to your lips.  

“Ya alright love?” Becky whispers and you grumble as you give her a nudge, only earning a laugh from the Raw Women’s Champion.  

Your breathing slows, your heart rate slowly as you turn to Becky, smiling lovingly at the champion before you cup her cheeks and pull her into a passionate.  

The two of you eventually part, both breathing heavily as your eyes lock.  

“Thank you.” You whisper, earning an arched brow from the woman.  

“For showing me that even with flaws, I can still be loved.” You whisper and Becky smiles, eyes glassy as she presses a kiss to your lips.  

“I love you Y/N.” She whispers as she bumps her nose against yours and you beam.  

“I love you too…” You press another kiss to your lips with a loving smile, a smile that splits into a mischievous grin.  

You roll over on top of Becky, straddling her hips as she stares up at you, eyes wide.  

“Now it’s time for me to return the favor.” You whisper, slipping your arm behind you and pressing your hand against her still cloth covered clit.  

Becky lets out a groan as she throws your head back and you grin, yes the woman had made you feel nothing but loved, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to drag out her orgasm until she was a shivering, shaking and quaking mess.  

The Raw Women’s Champion was in for a longgggggg night.  

[zerefserigala]

We Hold it in The Most When We’re Wearing Thin

Relationship: Rogue Cheney/Freed Justine

Characters: Rogue Cheney, Freed Justine

Other: TW: Misgendering, TW: Aftermath of Misgendering

Link to AO3: Here

For: @ft-wwtdp​

Rogue hadn’t been able to breathe since they stepped into the guild hall.

It wasn’t just the stench of the sickly-sweet pastries, or the sound of the mages who were all just a bit too loud, though. Everything was loud and too warm and the room smelt like a sickly form of cheese. They knew that Freed could see their struggle, but he was the only reason they hadn’t immediately turned around and walked back out.

That excitement in their partner’s face was endearing and so sweet and Rogue didn’t want to ruin that. So they sucked it up, and up, and up… until they couldn’t feel their trembling fingers anymore. They could only smile and wave, trying to speak around the ball of anxiety lodged in their throat that only ever grew, never shrank.

‘He’ was floating all around them, fuelling the anxiety and making the trembling that much more prominent.

“I’m not a boy.”

They tried to say feebly, but their voice was lost to the music, and the other kept going on and on and on.

It stung. The ache only grew and Rogue couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only watch as the anxiety took hold.

And still, none of it hurt half as bad as when Freed reappeared at their side and led them out of the hall.

They had failed.

The streets all blurred into one and the journey home was only punctuated by the grounding feeling of Freed’s arm around their back and the streetlights that were too bright and too warm.

Their apartment was dark and Rogue sighed, letting their element surround them. They were home, and as they relaxed, fatigue began to set in. Still, they couldn’t bring themself to let it go before-

“I’m sorry.” Rogue muttered, letting Freed settle them down on the sofa and press a glass of water into their hands.

“No… I’m sorry.” Freed sighed, deflating. Rogue couldn’t help the grimace that swam through their body, and their lips instinctively moved around the words ‘it’s not your fault, it’s mine’, but Freed didn’t let him get there. “Can I touch you?” It was a request, gentle and accepting.

His answer came when Rogue slumped against him, their face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, yearning for Freed to take away the pain and replace it with love.

“I’m so sorry, Rogue, I shouldn’t have dragged you along… I knew you weren’t feeling well, but-”

“You were so happy.” Rogue muttered, swallowing back the tears as they pictured the glittering eyes, the excited smile, the way his hands clenched so adorably at the chance to see his old team again. Freed was so perfect, Rogue wished with all their being, that they could match that encompassing warmth and beauty, but their head ached with the effort to just make it through an evening.

“But-”

“I know you miss Fairy Tail, I would never keep you from seeing them.” They pressed on, reaching out behind Freed to put the glass of water on the table, they captured their lover in their embrace, with a kiss to the side of his neck.

“I do… but you mean just as much to me, as them, and your mental health is more important than a party.” Freed sighed, melting a little.

Rogue silently cursed themself, not sure that they’d ever be able to believe that. His mental health over Freed’s family? No… that didn’t sound right.

Their panic came and went, never leaving completely, until half an hour later, they were halfheartedly watching an episode of some show Rogue didn’t particularly care for.

“Are you okay?”

It took a moment for Rogue to realise that Freed had said something. They looked over, opened their mouth and closed it again. Were they okay?

“I don’t know…” They admitted, their eyes flicked away from Freed’s gaze, locking on the ornamental tea set that Levy had bought as a house-warming gift, to the cork-board filled with messages from Freed’s old team, to the tearing curtains that Rogue had been meaning to fix for months now. They looked anywhere but at Freed.

“That’s okay, do you want to talk about it?” Freed asked, reaching over, he nudged his fingers between Rogue’s.

“It’s just-...” Rogue cut themselves off, wincing as they realised that their anxiety had never actually settled. “... It’s just a lot.”

A piece of hair was tucked behind Rogue’s ear, brushing over their cheek, and it was all they could do to keep themselves from crying.

“Maybe… maybe it isn’t worth it…” They muttered finally, tension radiated throughout their body, leaving them frozen, unable to pull away or press in closer, whilst the aches and pains began to crash down.

“What are you-” Freed began.

“I mean the pronouns.” Rogue whispered. It hurt, it always hurt to watch that flicker of annoyance pass over people’s faces when they corrected them again, and again. Every sneer, roll of the eyes, every pause at Rogue’s request drove daggers into their heart that they didn’t know how to remove yet.

“Ro-”

“It’s not really a big deal, it’s not worth-”

“Sweetheart…” Flinching back, Rogue hid their face in their arms. They were losing grip on their emotions and Freed knew it and there was nothing they could do to stop this crash. “You’re always worth it.”

“They kept saying he, they wouldn’t- I-... I’m not a boy!” Any other time, Rogue would shudder at the raw desperation in their voice, but not tonight. Somewhere beyond the mist, they knew that Freed was here, he always was, and the week had just been so long, that they didn’t have the energy to hold it in anymore.

“You’re right, you’re not, they all should’ve respected that,” Freed whispered, and when his arms wrapped around Rogue, there was nothing they could do except collapse against his chest. Everything was just so loud, but Freed was safe.

“I’m not a boy, I’m not a ‘he’, I’m…”

“Don’t say broken.” He sounded so sad, and it cut through Rogue, deep enough to almost reach the tight ball of sadness. Almost. “You’re not broken.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re Rogue, you’re the person I love most in the world.” Freed said it so simply, like it was so obvious, and Rogue expected it to make the ball inside constrict. Then it loosens instead and they finally pulled in the deep breath they’ve been searching for all night.

“But they-”

“They were wrong.” He keeps going. “Who you are inside is the one that matters, and no one can take away how brave and kind and thoughtful you are. You’re a gift, Darling. And who you are is so important. You don’t have to be simple or binary for others, all you need to be is yourself, and I love the person you are.”

There were so many words trapped behind their lips, apologies and thank you’s and I love you’s, but none of them made it out before the tears began to fall and rip sobs out.

“Everything about you is worth loving and protecting and understanding, and there are so many people who would go to the end of the world for you, and none of us think you’re a boy or a he or anything other than Rogue Cheney, the Shadow Dragon Slayer who loves cats and marshmallows.”

The puff of laughter felt ugly in contrast with the tears, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care.

“You bring so much joy to every day of my life, Rogue, and whilst I can’t promise everyone will be what you deserve, I can promise that I will always give you all of me.”

They just lay there and let Freed tug their darkness into the light and love it all the same.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

The wrong girl (E.D.)

Summary: A year ago, Ethan made the wrong choice and he’s trying to rectify it.

Warnings: ANGST, swearing

The Wrong Girl - Masterlist

Ethan knew he has made a mistake. It had become abundantly clear that all he chased after was nothing short but a mistake when all the good he could have had was right before him all along.

Except, he took too long to realize the mistake he's made and he gambled away the one woman he should have cherished.

In desperate need to clear his head, he left town and traveled to New Jersey, seeking advice from the only two women he could trust in his life at the moment, leaving Grayson behind to hold down the fort.

"What did you do? Exactly?" Cameron asked, her right eye narrowing ever so slightly at her brother, clearly disappointed in him.

"I chose the wrong girl. What more do you need to know?" His voice is deep and gruff, dripping with sarcasm - his only defense mechanism.

It's hard enough to think about it, let alone talk about it and he definitely didn't want to explain how he broke his best friend's heart by choosing a girl who ended up playing his heart to its last beat. It's not even that he's hurt by what happened, because his now ex girlfriend had clearly betrayed his trust and showed him she was as real as Pamela Anderson's boobs, but hurting Y/N, the one who stood by him through everything...that's what made him hurt the most.

"How about if Y/N even likes you? Has she said anything or done anything about the fact you chose the other girl at all?" Cameron said with a 'duh' tone, watching her mother frown at her behind Ethan's back, silently ordering her to behave and be more mindful of her brother's feelings.

Ethan closed his eyes, sighing heavily and deeply, placing a cold hand over his chest as memories flooded him.

"Ethan, stop. Please, wait!" Y/N curled her fingers around Ethan's left wrist, unable to connect her fingertips as her fingers are much smaller than needed.

Ethan turned toward her reluctantly, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, wondering what he could say or do to get out of this mess. He had never once thought he and Y/N were a possibility, let alone that he'd find her teary eyed in his bedroom minutes before he was supposed to travel with Grayson and a few friends to a secluded cabin for 4th of July. Usually Y/N would have been invited, but the place could really only house five people and that included Bryant, Gray and his girl, himself and the girl he decided to make his that night.

"What? I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of this! We couldn't bring you along for reasons we already told you and you said you had somewhere to be anyways." Ethan snapped at her, ripping his hand out her reach and his eyebrows knit together as he realized how harsh he's being. But he can hear the car horn outside and he knows if he gets the girl he wants in a bad mood, he'll never get into her pants and he really couldn't afford that to happen. Not when he had a whole pack of condoms in his bag and all he wanted was to relieve the tension the new girl caused.

"I said that because I didn't know you're planning on fucking her tonight! God, Ethan, did you ever even think about me? About how I'd feel?!" She barely spoke, her throat tight it barely produced enough air for her to let out what's sitting on her chest.

All the time she's known Ethan Dolan, Y/N was always his go-to girl for any problem he's had and she always came running because he needed her. She cared for him as more than a friend and she never lied to herself about it. Not once. She wanted more and after some soul-searching she even wrote him a letter about it.

The very letter that sat unopened on his desk right behind her shaky figure that she just wanted him to read.

"What about you? It's one trip, okay? We'll bring you for the next one." Ethan softens, unable to understand why she's making such a big deal out of this, partially feeling guilty because he knows she should be going with them as she goes above and beyond for him and she’s his best friend right after Grayson, but then he remembers that girl's ass and he just wants to go already.

"It's not about the fucking trip!" Y/N shouted, covering her lips immediately after, struggling to hold herself together and keep some pride.

"Then what is it about?" Speaking gently, Ethan couldn't say he didn't felt his heart drop at the way her lips quivered and her head turned away from him to hide the vulnerability she rarely showed anyone. She never cried in the past two years he's known her, ringing all his senses and blaring all his alarms that something isn't right.

"Whatever. Go. Enjoy. I'm leaving too." She pushed past him, walking so fast he could barely keep up.

However, once she walked out and got into her car, locking the door so he couldn't stop her from leaving, she truly decided to cut ties.

Ethan didn't know though, repeatedly knocking on her window asking her to open the door and talk to him even before ‘his precious girl’ that whined about how hot it is and how they should have left an hour ago.

"Just open the fucking door and talk to me!"

She drove away, still hearing him calling her name, not stopping for him to break her any longer.

"I didn't see her much after that. She pretty much disappeared on me and the letter she sent me. The fucking letter had her confession about how she loved me and I didn't even find it for the next ten months because it fell behind my desk and Grayson ended up finding it when he pranked me when he glued everything to the ceiling." Ethan finished, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"But you stayed with miss fake ass for almost a year." Cameron groaned, shaking her head at him.

"What your sister is trying to say so delicately is that she doesn't understand why you didn't end it." Lisa smiled kindly, putting a comforting hand on her son's shoulder.

"Because she was confident, beautiful, funny and she was from the same industry so she understood me. I didn't realize she was using me this whole time. But I did end things the same night I read the letter. And two times after that because she convinced me to reconcile. And Y/N was already dating someone when I finally found the damn letter." Ethan leaned forth, putting his head down on the table as he continued, his voice now muffled.

"I never thought she'd ever like me like that and then I meet someone new and then I lose her. She avoided me, rarely ever hung out and I should have known something was up and I should have paid more attention, but like I said, I messed up and now that I got my head out of my ass I find her on a date with Jack Gilinsky and he's the one making her laugh now and I just want some clarity on what to do." Lifting his head just enough to look at his mom, eyes filled with tears as his heart constricts painfully.

"What the fuck do I do when the best person for me is the same person I could have had and I missed my chance? Mom, tell me what to do." Crying, Ethan nested his head into his mother's lap, feeling like a little boy lost in life as he is finally aware what he had done.

"Why don't you talk to her? Explain everything and pray she decides to take a chance on you?" Cameron suggests, seemingly unbothered by her brother's tears, slightly pissed at him for his lust clouded thinking.

"And what? She'll dump a great guy for the one who left her crying on 4th of July for the new girl?" Ethan sassed back, wiping his tears furiously as he bit his lower lip.

"Or do nothing. Seems it's your strong suit." Shrugging, Cameron walks away, hoping her brother finally does right by Y/N.

"She's just angry you thought with your other head." Lisa reassures, making Ethan groan in disgust as he sits up with a grimace.

"Lisa, don't!" He uses her name instead of mom, making her chuckle.

"I used to bathe you. I get to tall about your junk!" She states, making him groan even louder as he hides his face in his hands.

"But she's also right. When you go home, call her. Talk to her. Just be honest even if it hurts."

Nodding, Ethan agreed to try.

However, the very next day, Ethan waited for the driver to pick him up and drive him home from the airport and he found talking to Y/N would be rather difficult considering she stood before him.

And she wasn't alone.

"Heeey." He greeted her awkwardly, glancing at her companion with fake enthusiasm.

"Hey, E. Uh, you know Jack, right?" She smiled sweetly, her eyes lightened up as she looked toward Jack just as they used to when she looked at Ethan.

"Yeah. Yeah. What are you guys doing here?" Ethan was way too chipper, Y/N could tell. He was watching them closely, hoping for any signs of trouble in paradise. And he felt like a selfish fuck for thinking that.

"Going to take this beauty back home to meet the fam!" Jack states, placing an arm around Y/N quickly, pulling her into his side as he plants his lips on her temple for an affectionate kiss, overly enthusiastic just as Ethan is.

He saw her smile, but the action seemed forced, almost like she was embarrassed by the sudden public display of affection.

"Oh! That's...that's, uh, great!" Ethan searched for right words to say, coming up short every time he opens his mouth.

The amount of testosterone in the air was almost unbearable.

Thankfully, Jack excused himself, running off to check their flight information, leaving Y/N alone with her past heartbreak.

"He's not right for you." Ethan speaks faster than he thinks, but he couldn't make himself feel guilty about it. He meant what he said, even if he had no right to say it.

"You don't get to say that to me. Not anymore." Y/N's face fell as she contemplated what is happening, feeling her old feelings of rejection resurface.

"I know. But I was...I actually wanted to find you right after I left my suitcase at home. I found your letter a few months back and when I read it I realized I needed to break up with her. Took some time for it to stick, but I knew she wasn’t the right girl for me." Ethan didn't hold back, running a hand through his hair nervously because he had a rare chance to tell her what he needed to say because he didn't think he'd ever be brave enough again.

"That letter was sent over a year ago." Y/N states.

"My situation has changed." She adds, wrapping her arms around herself self consciously, averting her gaze to the side instead of him.

"I'm aware. But I want to say that I...I really fucked up and somewhere deep inside I knew it all along, I just didn't...I didn't know I had a chance with you and the moment I read the letter I ended things with her because you're the only one I want. You're the only girl I ever met that could ever be my endgame and if you need time to heal your heart from the hurt I caused...to find yourself, I will wait. I will wait because I fucking love everything about you and I am the biggest idiot in the world for not seeing it before." Stepping closer toward her, being bolder than he thought he could be, Ethan placed a hand on her right cheek lightly, letting it mold to her skin softly.

"You could be waiting forever, because Jack makes me happy. I actually like him." She warns, looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loved so much, finally seeing his reflection in them again after a year of missing them. Of missing her.

"Maybe. But the fact you're saying you like him and not love him gives me faith I will win your heart again." Ethan smiles despite the pain, watching her place a hand over the one he put on her cheek, letting her slide it down her face and fall by his side as she released it.

"Time to go, honey!" Jack calls, interrupting their moment and Y/N plastered a smile back on her face as she nodded.

"Goodbye Ethan." She managed to say as she passed him by, almost like a whisper in the wind as she left him behind.

He struggled to smile as he watched her wall away, hoping that's not a view he will have get used to. After all, he deserved pain, he just didn't know how much he could bear.

Tags: @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16 @xalayx @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes