#i hate that i feel so angry but i do. and ive been swallowing this anger and pain for so long i feel it eating my insides

[lunarw0rks]

hi! im not sure if you do any requests like this but if you wouldn't mind, with ghost or konig, where the reader is depressed and has suicidal ideations and ghost/konig save them before it's too late? ive gone through somewhat similar things and it would be comforting reading someone be there for them!

A/N: I don't mind requests like this, just read with caution, please! To anon, or anyone reading that has gone through this, you deserve happiness and are loved!! "988" is the nationwide hotline ♡

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° I hope you don't mind, but I chose Ghost since I haven't written for Kӧnig (YET) Italics are Simon's perspective when it's happening at the same time as reader.

Summary: You feel swallowed by depression, but Simon saves you just in time.

Warning(s): depression, talk of suicide, PTSD themes - DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU!!, established relationship, GN!Reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 1.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' | ao3 ver.

In Your Arms // Drabble

The world's weight had been on your shoulders; the constriction on your chest gave you a constant state of crisis, the strain on your heart soon to break it to pieces, and most of all the strain on your mind.

Each waking moment was a gamble of numbness or overdrive. In the instances of numbness, you were withdrawn, coasting your way through meals, laying awake at night with a blank stare. When you were in overdrive, it was like each bad thought physically pilled itself atop you, increasing your irritability and defensiveness.

It was as if the real you were trapped inside somewhere, but you were being overruled by an enclosure of gloom.

Chores, conversations, and the people you loved dearly became a melancholy hassle. You hated every second of it, and most of all hated yourself for behaving like this. At first, you were begging for an out—some savior to snap you out of it.

But now, you felt hopeless—and were making plans to give yourself that out.

You finally had an opportunity, a few hours where you’d have the house to yourself, with Simon out for a few hours. The problem was, gathering the courage. Even though you had the thoughts raining down on you, it was a decision you would never be able to take back.

You were sat in the shared bedroom, on top of the bed you’d just remade. It had been God knows how long by now, and all you could do was stare blankly at the wall ahead, choking back sobs. You looked at his side of the room, seeing the stark contrast between his and yours.

When you thought of him, how he’d be better off this way, it nudged you toward your answer.

Simon noticed your off-balance behavior the day he arrived home. Despite telling you how lovely you looked, he could tell the isolation of his deployment had taken its toll. The bags under your eyes, the dark circles worsening, your sudden change in eating habits—something he greeted like an old friend.

He, of all people, understood the feeling. He just didn’t know how to confront it.

He was never good with his words, or his ability to provide comfort physically; he relied on his crisis training, and most of all, how much he loved you.

When he said he was going out with friends, he was. At first. He found himself sitting in the driveway with a pit in his stomach, his anxieties swallowing him. He was protective, to begin with, but paired with the behavior changes, he was practically trembling at the thought of something horrible happening.

He was white-knuckling the steering wheel, debating on spending his night inside with you. Guilt consumed him for even considering going out anywhere when you’d waited months for him.

His stomach was in knots, twisting and turning, begging him to give in to nausea overtaking him any second. Something was wrong, something was going to happen.

You were fighting yourself again. The thoughts were racing so hard you could swear you heard them buzzing around your head like an angry swarm of wasps, each of them a stinger in your skin.

You reached for the nearest object—the remote—then stood to your feet, sending it plummeting towards the wall in front of you. It shattered the hanging picture frame on impact, sending shards of glass around the bedroom.

It did nothing to silence the thoughts. The sudden rush of fury only fueled them, begging for you to do something more to stop them—the only option you felt you had left.

He had his car door open, gathering his things before he was on his way inside. He’d made his decision, he would rather spend the night with you.

Simon’s trained ear heard the faint shatter of glass, seeing that the upstairs bedroom was the only one lit. There was no hesitation; no second thought to make sure it wasn’t a critter in the garbage can or another household.

He unlocked the door swiftly, a hand hovering over the holster underneath his jacket. The downstairs was clear, nothing askew. He next went up the stairs, leaning in the direction of the bedroom to pick up any sound coming from it.

In his mind, he was fearing the worst, paired with the anxiety he was already having in the car. He’d been here before, with too many people. It couldn’t, no, wouldn’t happen again, not with you.

When the door creaked open, it revealed you, shriveled against the wall with your head in your hands. Beside you, was a broken picture frame, sent flying into pieces around the room. His mind put the pieces together—the irritability, the insomnia, the withdrawn behavior, his gut feeling—all coming together now.

But his worst fears hadn’t come true. You were alive. Alive, and in need of his help. His gut feeling, that painful ache in his stomach when he left, it was right.

His knees dropped to the ground beside you, ignoring the slices forming through his clothes. His entire focus was on you, nothing else.

“Love…” He whispered, grabbing ahold of your knee to make you look his way. When your pooled eyes met him again, he felt like his heart had been ripped in two.

The sight of you, the pain written in your expression. Not physical pain, not heartache, but hopelessness. A specific, known too well by him, expression.

Simon could barely stand it, the person he practically breathed for, fought for, succumbing to their sorry—and he could’ve been too late. The warmth of your flesh under his fingertips, how it shivered, he knew you were still here, still breathing.

He was at a loss for words, even for a man who spoke very little. Angry at himself, not you, for not saying something earlier on. His withdrawal was both a blessing and a curse—a lesson well learned, now that his life with you had flashed before him.

Without a second thought, he scooped you up, setting you gently on the neat bed. He remained standing in front of you, staring down at you with a foggy expression.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered, blinded by the tears.

Simon visibly shook his head, forcing yours into his chest. It wasn’t your fault, and if he could force you to believe that, he would. He didn’t have words to give you, only the comfort of his presence. He just held you; held onto your frame as you wept into his abdomen, soaking through the fabric of his tee.

Tears only teased at his own eyes, but never made it past them. Though internally, he was weeping for you, nearly inconsolable.

It was his job to follow orders, to do his duty. His duty now, was you. He had to be strong for you, always, otherwise he had no purpose left on this Earth.

When the sobs had turned into defeated sniffles, he dropped to his knees to meet your eye level. Him, never one for eye contact, but he couldn’t take his eye off you now.

“I’m here now, I promise.” His deep voice echoed through the room, bouncing off your repines for his comfort.

You were still in shock, how one minute ago you were so close to the edge, but the next he was by your side. The sorrow only subsided for the moment, but with him as a distraction, you knew you had at least one person there for you. One person who understood what you were going through, no doubt about it.

His large hands, the ones stained with the blood of his hands, gently cradling your face until you were lucid enough to give him your full attention. He was there for you, no matter how hard the stubborn thoughts tried to convince you he wasn’t.

They moved from your face, to your neck and arms, then your fingers, searching for any sign of physical injury.

“Let me help you, please…” Simon placed a small kiss on one of the tear droplets streaming down, wiping away the rest with his thumb. His hand went down again, clasping around yours tenderly as he routed you to the shared bathroom.

He grabbed a spare cloth off the rack, wetting it slightly in the sink as he traced it along each tear stain, his other hand on your waist the entire time. He was focused and stiff, but his eyes were gentle.

When he finished, he cupped your face again, touching his lips to yours, then your temple. “You are everything to me, got it?” He whispers against your forehead, eyes still wide, reeling with the shock of nearly losing you.

Your head was in his chest again as one hand remained on your waist, the other holding your head in place. He was savoring this, not taking you for granted for a second.

Deep inside, he was picturing all those months he’d left you alone to feel like this.

How each tear he wiped was a lash of regret. He was going to make up for it from now on. Whether he could help you one on one, or you talk to a professional, he would back you every step of the way.

That was his duty.

[remi-harbinger]

Breaking news: Bingyuan is more toxic than u believe?? (not clickbait) (reaL)

ok so ive been thinking long and hard about their relationship and it doesnt make sense to me its so toxic and idk why theyd be the main pair of svsss that has so much potential for healthy loving ships (re: liuyuan)

Firstly: their relationship as a whole Binghe is notoriously sticky, and because we are sort of reading the novel through shen yuans eyes its an endearing trait. But if you think about it isnt it suffocating? It also shows an innate lack of trust in SY to do his own stuff and come back afterwards because of Binghe’s trust issues (ofc id have trust issues too if someone pushed me off a cliff but still). Binghe needs to work this out because the smothering is so toxic…

Next: love bombing and semi stockholm syndrome? this relationship is so funny to me because its like stockholm but weirder. SY literally lived in fear that LBH would murder him in the future and this causes him to cling to any affection LBH is giving because he’s taking it as reassurance to himself that he’ll live to see another day. Also im going to be honest the way SY treated LBH is sort of love bombing. He acts like a stern shizun at the start of the novel to not be OOC, then suddenly starts treating LBH as the sole star shining in the dark, then throws him off a cliff… It really gives a guy whiplash yk? Especially when you consider that aside from the washer woman, LBH has never been treated with love in his whole life up till this point. Hes been bullied so badly and even his own shizun hates him. He’s a literal child at this point in time, he’ll crave any love given and it is easy to see how this thirst for love could spiral into the more obsessive tendencies.

Now: Binghe and Bingmei I think that as Demons, you could sort of boil both OG!Binghe and Binghe (Bingmei)‘s treatment of SQQ into the base 7 deadly sins. Binghe would be Ira (Wrath/Hatred) and Bingmei would be Greed (Obsession). Their growing years as children under their respective shizuns has shaped their views and their feelings towards said shizuns have been carved deeply into their hearts. You can see how strong these emotions are in both Binghe’s elaborate and drawn out torture of OG!SQQ and Bingmei’s stickiness and overall yandere tendencies towards SY. Judging from the scale of LBH’s hatred towards OG!SQQ and drawing a parallel, current Bingmei’s obsession and greed for SY’s love is off the charts.

So what would happen if SY didnt reciprocate these feelings? If he did something that made Bingmei irrevocably angry? Emotions are wildly changing and never constant, and thus Bingmei’s affections is and will always be a damocles sword above SY’s head. SY may think he loves Bingmei, but he clearly doesn’t trust the constancy of the reciprocated feelings, and he definitely thinks about LBH getting blackened.

LBH and SY’s befuddling relationship dynamics: Now, they started off as master-disciple. This may seem not as important, but in Chinese there’s this saying “teacher for a day, father for a lifetime”. Do you understand what this means now that theyre in a relationship? Its a really weird power dynamic. Not to mention the whole “Demon lord/Person who swallowed said Demon Lord’s blood”. As I mentioned previously, because we are seeing SVSSS out of SY’s perspective, the importance of this is sort of glossed over with a “but its Binghe! Binghe’d never hurt me…”. LBH is able to control the blood to harm on scales unimaginable. He can kill, torture, cause you to be in excruciating pain, etc. LBH forcing his demon blood in SY is equivalent to LBH ripping out SY’s beating heart and holding it in his palm. He can literally crush the heart at any given moment and end SY’s life. Much motivation to convince yourself that you are in love with the one holding your life in his hands, right?

Wrapping this up because idt people will actually even read this: SY and LBH’s relationship may look like love up close, but its really toxic and they clearly lack the trust needed in a relationship. If there isn’t mutual respect and trust, can you even call their relationship love? I personally am of the opinion that it isnt love, especially considering the obsessive tendencies of LBH.

Ofc I have more to say and I hope you guys will discuss with me, but its late now so im keeping this quite short. If you’ve read the entire post marry me and pls still read SVSSS its a gem :)

[gayspock]

whilst i cannot sleep

is anyonegetting angry and upset in their own head is anyone feelign hateful is anyone going nuts knowing it never gets anywhere that it never means anythingi keepgetitng really. really fucking angry. walk around try not to be sick fucking calm down breathe br normaallll!!!! and upset thinking abt how fucking stupid it is that i keep getitng angry andupset. when ive been trying actively not to care about it because caring doesnt mattereither and nothing matters but i cant fucking shake it. gorgeous spiral because it jsut fucking goes round in circles and it never stops and i feel like half this shit its like peopelwont even remember any more but i cant ever fucking get it out of my head and i wishthere was some fucking closurebut i dont fucking ever move i keep trying to fucking push shit forward dbutr im always jsut fucking stuck. everyone just fucking leaves and goesd on like it never happened or mattered. and idontknow whyi everjust sit there and theres this niggling fucking . ache forsoemthing just some fucking acknowledgement . like i dont want apologies i dont fucking care i dont think its even due just fucking realise i existed just for a second pleaseand my head was jsut .slightly fucked up by thsi but i feel selfish and stupid and childish and its just a fucking pipedreamgod help me but no . imstill fucking stuck as i always am and i cant get out andit doesnt fucking matter how hard i try im alwya sjust never doing enough for anything.igenuinely do fucking try to move on try to fucking do somethingelse and i jsut fucking cant fucking get anywhetre and if eel so so fucking . stupid and theresnothing there but the hollow fucking tauntssaying its going to be okay one day! and then the prompt walking away from your fucking corpse haha ! when theres nothing in sight and i its stupid fucking horseshit selectiverly designed todrvie you so, so fucking angry but youre not allowed to fucking say anything without being the cunt yourenot allowed to react you have to fucking swallow it fucking perform for people who do not fucking care or respect you truly like HAHA. YOURE DOING THIS TO YOURSELF! IF YOU SAY YOURE OKAY FOR ME! YOU WILL THEN BE OKAY! NOW SAY IT! some fuckingsong and dance to make them feel betterdespite youre . fucking . insane and even if you didnt exist this would have no fucking bearing on them whatsoever but oh sure fucking fine fuck OFF do you ever fucking think aboit that i wish i could be fucking miserable for fucking once because i cant ufcking do anyhting else i really fucking cant and i wish someonewould just fucking let me be for fucking once i feel so so so fucking alone i jsut . befrore i finsihmyself off i dont know. . i keep triyng and i wish justr something could get some sort of fucking resolution for once or some fucking release or end but i jsut feel like i cant ask for anything i feel fucking crazy man i feel fucking crazy all the fucking time i feel like imgetitng my shit yanked back and forth . something smehying its never fucking worth being alive i keep sitting there and praying for it to matter to fucking have meant something but i cant fidn a fucking point to any of it im so so fucking sick of it im sick of exisitign but i sut. wahh wahh wahh or whatever i wish i couldfeel happy i wish i could feel loved or just feel liek ive done something okay jsut for fucking ocne before i die idont think im ever going to get there i cant i just keep criyng about all the meaningles nothinhs that keep coming in droves but are just more fucking shortcomins and disappointments and FUCKKKK MY LIFESS<333333

[at-least-ill-die-a-lionturtle]

im sorry

im sorry that i made you mad at me, and i hope that you can forgive me. what i did, what i believe that i did that made you angry, was inexcusable and it wont happen again. i just... i hope you can forgive me. because im a real ride or die bitch. youre going to do things that i dont like, that will make me angry at you (although completely honest youve never ever done anything that has made me angry at you, idk if i have the capacity to be angry at you) but youre going to do things that i wont like. that i dont agree with. and im still here anyways. i still love you. platonically. i still love you. youre my best friend. and i hope that you can extend that to me as well. you led me to believe that she was an evil horrible person, that you couldnt understand why she did what she did. and now i understand it, and i dont know how you dont. i dont agree with what she did, and i hate what she did to you, but i understand it. and i want to understand why you did what you did to her. you had me believe that you were 100% the victim and you arent. you hurt her. you did. and i am not angry at you, but i am confused... and... upset that you did that and i dont understand why. i still love you. i just dont understand. i want to understand. i... to me... loyalty means holding the people you love accountable for their actions, *because* you love them and dont want them to be wrong. youre my best friend, and i will *always* love you. *no matter what* but when you do somerthing wrong, when you hurt your friends, i want to know why. i want to understand, so that i can help you do and be better. i want you to be your best self, always and forever. and i know about other cody. and if i had known about him, i wouldntve.. said the things i said. i wouldve just swallowed it all down. because i feel like youre going to break my heart. its going to happen. ive been trying to mentally prepare for it. and it sucks. but... your happiness is important to me. and if after you dont feel trapped anymore, you want to run away with him into the sunset, i will be your biggest supporter. i will hoot n holler and cheer you on. because youre my best friend and i love you and want the best for you. and if you get married to him i hope i'll be lined up there with you and the bridesmaids and groomsmen, and i'll swing on any motherfucker that objects to your bonding. you were my friend first, and then my best friend, and youll probably never be my lover... but i can get over that. i can deal with that, as long as youre always my friend. i will cherish that till the day i die. we may be at odds right now... i dont know what the future has in store for us... but i'll always be at your side. always. i want to be the proof to you that true love and friendship exists, unfaltering and unwavering. and no, this isnt inane drunk rambling. ive been sitting on this for like.. a week at least. and i wish i could be saying this to your face, but that'll probably never happen... idk when i'll ever see you again... but im always here, no matter what.

[just-some-random-blogger]

YOUR MIND. I have a fic with a similar plot in my drafts and by fic with a similar plot in my drafts I mean theres a pic of daemon all yucky and gross and covered in blood on a text post HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH I JUST DIDNT KNOW HOW TO WRITE IT!!! BUT YOUUUU YOUR MINDDDDDDDDDD 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 you robbed all the brain cells from the daemon girlies and 😩 I FUCKING hate it here what about MEEEE )))))))):

I tried my best not to requote everything but alas I didn't try very hard it was too delicious

The heavy wood of the door to their chambers slams loudly against the stone wall, the noise echoing off of the vaulted ceilings, causing her to startle. Her head snaps up, eyes widening as she takes in the sight of her husband.

First of all 🤨☝️ why is he so angry ???? HHAHAH OK LMAO HES A PRINCE WHO HAD TO DEAL WITH 🤢 PEASANTS 🤢 OF COURSE HES ANGRY. I'm sorry I'm a peasant daemon fucking hell it's not my fucking fault the economic is broken 😔😔😔😔 I shower too. I bet I smell better than you 🤧🤮

He stalks through their apartments, his expression a glower, ichor splattered across his face. His hands are bloodied and there is a darkened stain across the breastplate of his armour. His golden cloak seems to be the only thing that has escaped the gore that decorates him.

NO CUZ #1 Ive been thinking about the word glower for so fucking long. Like IVE BEEN TRYING TO GOOGLE IT and I remember it as growler cos my brain is fucked up and we'll NOW I KNOW HAHAHHAH. Ok #2 when daemon

With his baby girl lips i

I know he's not as bloody as he is there in the fic but 😌 a girl can dream next

Rushing to him, she takes his face in her hands, only to be gently pushed away as quickly as she touches him.

Fuck you yn. Stop living my life. Fuck you daemon let her who is me touch you FUCK YOU

“Leave me,” he says sullenly, unclasping Dark Sister from his sword belt and leaning it against the wall.

🧍😒🤔 y'all hear sum'in

“You are hurt,” she protests as her arms drop slowly back to her sides, her brow furrowing in concern.

KITTY MEOWMEOW UR HURT )))): LET ME BABY MY BABY GIRL STOBIT

“I executed justice,” he tells her, drying his face and hands, “but that is not the problem. My brother gave me an army of two thousand men to command, yet his cunt of a Hand feels it is his right to dictate the punishments I see fit to serve.”

)))))): my poow kitty meowmeow did the old man huwt youw feewings )))): I'm so sowwy baby ))))): come hewe gimme kiff

There it is; Otto. Daemon’s rivalry with the Hand of the King had been a bitter one ever since Otto had convinced Viserys to remove Daemon from office when he was Master of Coin, and again when he was appointed as Master of Laws.

To be fair I think he would be a horrible master of- YOU KNOW WHAT IM NOT GONNA CONTINUE YOU THAT I KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO BE UNDERESTIMATED YOU GO DAEMON LIVE YOUR TRUTH IM NOT EVEN SURE IF YOU CAN BALANCE A BANK BOOK AND IM PRETTY SURE YOUD MAKE UXORICIDE LEGAL BUT SLAY

“He had the audacity to compare me to Maegor the Cruel,” he continues, and she can see the anger within him rising once more as his gaze darkens and his nostrils flare.

)))): thats so bad of himmmmmm I'm so sorry you had to go through that )))): come here I'll smooshy shoochy ur cheekies then you can go take a bubble bath with your rubber caraxes (((:

He shakes his head, turning away from her. “You are better off leaving me alone tonight. I have no kindness to offer you.”

His head lifts, half looking over his shoulder at her as his eyebrow raises in curiosity. “And what is it you do seek?”

[SQUEALING INTENSIFIES]

She swallows thickly, her pulse racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. “I want your anger, your frustration, all of it. Take it out on me.”

SHES SO BRAVE FOR THAT. SPEAK YOUR TRUTH GURLIE LIVE THAT FUCK TOY LIFE LOVE THAT FOR YOUR BEST FRIEND

The dagger rattles with a metallic clink against the flagstone floor as Daemon drops it, pulling open the now two-slashed halves of her cotton shift to reveal her nakedness. A low noise of approval rumbles in his throat, the sound shooting straight between her thighs as she feels wetness gather there.

Click click ASMR. YOUR HONOR I THINK I NEED TO BE CAGED. YOUR HONOR THIS MAN NEEDS TO ALSO BE CAGED. YOUR HONOR I KNOW THERE IS A SHORTAGE OF CAGES SO I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU CAN CAGE US TOGETHER

“Wanton little thing,” Daemon rasps, “I bet you’re wet already.”

))))))))): STOP BEING MEAN TO ME 🙅🙅🙅🙅🙅 WHAT IF I AM SO WHAT WHAT ABOUT IT IM NOT MEAN TO YOU WHEN YOU CRY OVER OTTO

His other hand finds its way between her legs, cupping roughly at her mound before his digits spread through the slickness of her folds. Her hips buck, chasing his touch until he swats between her legs, causing her to yelp, the sensation sending waves of warmth throughout her lower belly.

So mean )):

“Fucking take it!” He spits out, wrapping a hand around her throat, while the other grasps her hip, tugging her violently against him to meet each of his hard thrusts.

😜🙂😶😶😬😐☺️😌😪🙃😶‍🌫️🫣🤤🤭😐🤮👿🤮🫨🤧🫨😩👿😹🙉😸🙈😸😽😸😽😸🙈🙀👹👂🤲👂🤝🦾👎👎🫦🫶🫲🦴🦾🦾🫦🫦🦻🦾🙌🧑‍🚀🫅👷💂🦹🧙🧜🏄🦹👷🧛🧑‍🌾🧑‍🦰🕴️🧑‍🤝‍🧑👭🧒👭🧒👱👱🧒 YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME

As Daemon’s hips begins to falter in their movements, the hand grasping her hip snakes between their bodies, his fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to lick at her lower spine. He presses down more firmly, making faster, tighter movements against her bud and she jolts, sudden warmth crashing over her in waves as she cries out, tightening around him.

No cuz he cares (I say after getting railed)

For the first time that evening, his lips find hers and he kisses her, slowly and sensually. She sighs happily into it, enjoying his closeness.

“Thank you”, he murmurs when he eventually pulls away. “Allow me to remove my armour and I will have another bath drawn. This evening we shall bathe together.”

Eyes Black Like an Animal

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, smut, choking, degradation, rough sex. Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: When Daemon returns covered in blood from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, his wife requests that he uses her to ease his anger. Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The steam from the bath she has had the chambermaid prepare curls upwards from the water, dampening the bare skin of her neck as she leans over it to pour in the scented oils, the precise ones she knows Daemon likes.

This is their nightly routine. He will be back from his duties as commander of the City Watch soon and, ever the dutiful wife, she always has a bath awaiting him, so that he can wash away the grime of the city.

The heavy wood of the door to their chambers slams loudly against the stone wall, the noise echoing off of the vaulted ceilings, causing her to startle. Her head snaps up, eyes widening as she takes in the sight of her husband.

He stalks through their apartments, his expression a glower, ichor splattered across his face. His hands are bloodied and there is a darkened stain across the breastplate of his armour. His golden cloak seems to be the only thing that has escaped the gore that decorates him.

Rushing to him, she takes his face in her hands, only to be gently pushed away as quickly as she touches him.

“Leave me,” he says sullenly, unclasping Dark Sister from his sword belt and leaning it against the wall.

“You are hurt,” she protests as her arms drop slowly back to her sides, her brow furrowing in concern.

“It is not my blood,” he snaps, dropping his helmet down onto the settee with a clatter, before striding over to the bathtub and rinsing his hands and face.

She watches the blood float through the water like tendrils of silk, her mind racing with thoughts of the terrible fate someone has likely met at the hands of her husband this evening. When Daemon straightens again his face is clean, but his dark and angry demeanour remains.

“What happened?” She asks gently, eager to reach for him but knowing her touch is the very last thing he wants when he is in this mood.

“I executed justice,” he tells her, drying his face and hands, “but that is not the problem. My brother gave me an army of two thousand men to command, yet his cunt of a Hand feels it is his right to dictate the punishments I see fit to serve.”

There it is; Otto. Daemon’s rivalry with the Hand of the King had been a bitter one ever since Otto had convinced Viserys to remove Daemon from office when he was Master of Coin, and again when he was appointed as Master of Laws.

Daemon has flourished in his new position as commander of the City Watch since being awarded it, yet he is at constant odds with Otto regarding the harsh punishments he exacts on the criminals of King’s Landing.

“He had the audacity to compare me to Maegor the Cruel,” he continues, and she can see the anger within him rising once more as his gaze darkens and his nostrils flare.

She takes a tentative step forward, eager to calm him down, not wanting him to ruin their evening with his foul temper. “My love, you know his words are untrue. Pay him no mind and allow me to help you out of your armour.”

He shakes his head, turning away from her. “You are better off leaving me alone tonight. I have no kindness to offer you.”

Taking another step towards him, she speaks quietly. “What if it is not your kindness that I seek?”

His head lifts, half looking over his shoulder at her as his eyebrow raises in curiosity. “And what is it you do seek?”

She swallows thickly, her pulse racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. “I want your anger, your frustration, all of it. Take it out on me.”

Daemon turns fully, closing the gap between them slowly, a predatory glint in his eye as he looks down at her, leaning in so close that his nose brushes against hers. “Are you fully aware of what it is that you are asking for?” He whispers, his breath fanning hotly against her face.

Her core throbs in anticipation, thoughts of how roughly Daemon manhandles her in the throes of passion swirl in her mind, making her feel lightheaded with lust. “Yes,” is all she is able to utter.

“Very well then.” His hand reaches around the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging gently so that she is forced to meet his eyes. “And what is it you say should you wish to stop?”

“K–kelītīs,” she stammers, arousal making it feel as though there is fire in her veins.

“Good girl.” He gives her hair another gentle tug, before grasping the back of her neck and pushing her towards the bed. “Lay down. On your back.”

She does exactly as she is told, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the accelerated breaths of her excitement.

Daemon grabs hold of her by the ankles dragging her until her backside just barely rests on the edge of the mattress. Still fully clad in his armour and golden cloak, he reaches for the dagger that remains sheathed upon his sword belt. Her breath hitches as he withdraws it, a shiver running through her body, whether it is from fright or anticipation she is unsure. The Valyrian steel shines in the dull light of the bedchamber and when he brings it down upon the neckline of her nightgown it moves through the material like fingers through spiderwebs.

The dagger rattles with a metallic clink against the flagstone floor as Daemon drops it, pulling open the now two-slashed halves of her cotton shift to reveal her nakedness. A low noise of approval rumbles in his throat, the sound shooting straight between her thighs as she feels wetness gather there.

Daemon’s pupils are blown wide with lust, in the low lighting they appear almost black as he stares hungrily down at her. He leans over her, the coldness of his armour against her bare skin making her gasp. Her nipples pebble at the chilly sensation and, as though fully in tune with her body’s response to him, two of Daemon’s calloused fingers tweak harshly at one of them. It is a pleasurable hurt, one that makes her mewl piteously and arch against him.

“Wanton little thing,” Daemon rasps, “I bet you’re wet already.”

His other hand finds its way between her legs, cupping roughly at her mound before his digits spread through the slickness of her folds. Her hips buck, chasing his touch until he swats between her legs, causing her to yelp, the sensation sending waves of warmth throughout her lower belly.

“Don’t be greedy,” he hisses, pulling away to unfasten his trousers and push down his breeches, freeing his erection. He runs his hand up and down the length of it, eyeing her with an animalistic hunger, the slightest of smirks tugging at his lips as she instinctively parts her legs wider for him.

As he guides himself to her entrance she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing forcefully inside, pushing apart her inner walls and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“Fucking take it!” He spits out, wrapping a hand around her throat, while the other grasps her hip, tugging her violently against him to meet each of his hard thrusts.

She is struck by the imbalance of power; she is bare beneath him, utterly vulnerable, while Daemon remains not just fully clothed, but clad in armour, free to do as he pleases to her. She clenches at the idea, causing him to grunt.

“Such a slut,” he pants, the smack of his thighs against hers becoming more insistent as he quickens his pace, his fingers applying more pressure to the sides of her throat.

She feels lightheaded, the only thing that seems as though it is stopping her from floating away entirely are the harsh, sharp thrusts that meet the end of her, causing her to wail, tears forming in her eyes, before trickling down her cheeks.

As Daemon’s hips begins to falter in their movements, the hand grasping her hip snakes between their bodies, his fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to lick at her lower spine. He presses down more firmly, making faster, tighter movements against her bud and she jolts, sudden warmth crashing over her in waves as she cries out, tightening around him.

With a groan, he stills, leaning over her, pulsating as he spills deep inside of her. For a few moments he does not move, simply hovering over her, careful not to crush her with the weight of his armour.

She feels boneless, weightless, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and drift into a peaceful, satisfied sleep. But that is not what Daemon has in mind.

As his breathing slows, he lifts himself to look at her, tenderly gripping her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face towards him so that he can take in the sight of her tear stained cheeks, glassy eyes, and parted lips. The softness is a dissonant juxtaposition from the brutality he displayed just moments ago.

For the first time that evening, his lips find hers and he kisses her, slowly and sensually. She sighs happily into it, enjoying his closeness.

“Thank you”, he murmurs when he eventually pulls away. “Allow me to remove my armour and I will have another bath drawn. This evening we shall bathe together.”

As inviting as sleep seems at this moment, she knows that the offer from her husband is far more appealing.

[pinkadork]

One day words will stop being exchanged and knowing you're more likely to be relieved than devastated or even a bit bummed is sending me

Like okay

Pause for a minute

Lets be real my tumblr page is like my public diary or whatever and like

Idk i look at shit and its sad how much through the entirety of this shit therapy or not ive been trying to see more than my side and be able to see my faults for what they are while also doing something about it but i swear im either villaianized or pacified by you in any given moment and then its like im both a dumb ass for wanting you so badly was and i feel like my feelings get overshadowed bc the bpd and oooh i take meds now, and you still treat me like like an abuser and thats what you tell people. And i just wanna stop feeling like I'll never be able to enjoy anything fr ever again. Even at my best i still have you on my brain when it feels like you're doing everything to erase me and then make me feel like thats the right response. I fucking hate this shit so much its like i sit here and I'm fine and then i keep fucking setting myself off with how upset this makes me. Like nigga i live in my aunt basement, i work in a fucking factory, im a fucking temp worker nigga , and yet and still my stupid ass is worried about who? Trying to figure out how to get right for who? Pathetic as shit.

I know you wouldn't do the same bc you didnt.

I'm so frustrated. it's unbelievable. I keep wrapping my head around how bs this all is, or how i swallowed how angry certain shit has had me.

Again nigga its been months and i know for a fact the same shit is being peddled.

You doing your thing is whatever but doing so and then trying to undermine the fact that itd hurt me (which you later admitted to trying to do anyway) nigga fucked someone then was like "i mean we broke up like 6 months ago so i did good right lol" fucking first of all at 6 months vs 5 years make it make sense, second of all it let me realize that the second time we tried when shit felt "so right" mesnt nothing to this nigga it was a good two months which for me made the breakup reset and st the time this happend made this like 4 months but as you can see by me writing this out who the fuck other than me cares about some weird shit like that. Regardless its like i have to be either high as hell or always working now more thsn ever to not walk into the very accessible highway.

I accepted that i ruined my life but holy fuck did you make it worse

I am forever sorry about how shit ended and every rude outburst ever spouted from my lips, any time i made you feel any negative way, but my brother in christ i didn't and dont deserve this shit and sometimes it really bothers me that i love you the way i do. You act scared of me like im obsessed but i feel like im going mad bc it was like you made me this way. From jump, the constant vc, the way youd make me feel insignificant or like i wasnt enough, and then have the nerve to try and make it a thing about my insecurities that yes i told you about but fuck.

I feel so dumb because i actually would wait until you're ready because i feel deep in my core that i fw you for life type shit. Its always gang shit whatever. I love you and want things to be okay regardless to how i feel .

Fuck im tired

[belog-grada-crna-princeza]

3 am.

saw someone write you can be both cynical and happy and it did something to me. ive been fighting inside my own head between my little girl self who saw the world so full of wonder and romance and this bitter suspicious and guarded adult. (ive officially turned into my dad). and let's not forget the pissed off defiant and rebellious teenager i used to be.

i did an exercise with my therapist last week where i am supposed to integrate all these parts into myself and it was actually crazy. in the exercise you imagine this table where you invite anyone who wants to come in to sit at. four different versions of myself showed up plus the current adult one. there was me at five, at 10, at 15 and at 17. they all felt like strangers to each other. the 17 year old talked first, she was angry, she was untrusting and she was argumentative. but actually she was so fucking sad that i betrayed her and became everything she despises. she saw it as me leaving her, telling she's wrong like everyone else did, in order to be a part of their world. the 10 year old was desperate for my approval, she just wanted me to like her, to tell her she's good enough. she was sort of fascinated by who i was and she felt proud of me even though i know i didn't become so many of the things she wanted. it didn't seem important. she thought i was cool and wanted me to think she is cool too. the third one was the five year old. she was jealous that she was left to be third because she wanted to be first. she wanted me to leave the others because they're annoying and go play with her. then our time was up and i found it interesting how maybe the saddest, most hurt one, the 15 year old me didn't even get to speak. invisible, forgotten, unnoticed, as usual. my therapist commented how all these versions were sort of hostile and demanding towards me. i laughed and said yeah. what i didn't say was how hostile and demanding everyone in their lives had been towards them. i didn't mind handling their hostility and demands because it didn't happen often that they could express those things and be safe in doing so. i could handle the fucked up emotions and resentment. maybe the hardest was the adoration from the 10 year old which i felt i didn't deserve. that girl saw the best in everyone and i just felt i let her down.

but, going back to, can you be both cynical and happy. i'd say yes, because you are never only one thing anyway. we are all too complex. the denial of any part of ourselves just makes that part scream out that much more. you must try and see all of them and let them exist within you without swallowing your whole being. you must both let them free and keep them at bay. when you know your "demons", you know they are not demons at all. they are just the parts of you that need you the most. if you hate them, they rebel. if you accept them, they are the most loyal mf's you'll ever know.

maybe i'll stick it out with this therapist for a while, even though i am sort of annoyed by some things. maybe i am looking for a perfect human being or maybe i am lying to myself because i just don't have the energy to keep looking and be disappointed again. my old therapist was so validating and deep, i felt she could talk with me about things so few people could even comprehend. i have to say often i felt she really got my way of thinking. but then there was no real resolution of anything and i got tired of knowing everything i knew and nothing about what i should do with it all. this new woman isn't great at the talking part and i sometimes feel like i am speaking a different language than she is. but she loves the exercises and shit and it's actually been helpful every time. i feel different and changed on an emotional level when we do them. i wish i could combine my old therapist and the new one into one person lol. but maybe this is just a next step. maybe the final destination will be when i realize i am perfectly whole on my own. i don't even know what the goal of therapy is, if not going back to yourself and getting back all the parts of you that outside events have forced you to cut off. surely it's too megalomaniac to think you will ever be above needing others and i don't think that's what i even want to strive toward. i think we need to lean on others and have them lean on us.

i guess my goal is just that: wholeness. or getting closer to it. growing into my own skin instead of constantly wanting to jump out of it. seems like an alright goal, really.

[baddiewiththesaddies]

HOLIDAZE......

so its been awhile since my last entry and well i guess this is were im coming to bitch and complain.... yes i am naturally agressive... anger and aggression is what ive known all my life. my anger and explosive temper are some of my worst qualities..... i dont enjoy this fucking anger that sits inside me like lava in a volcano waiting to erupt.... being the only famale in a texmex home in the late 90s early 2000s wasnt the coolest lol.... while my parents essentially were strict, along with "spankings" being a VEERY COMMON thing in my home. yk spare the rod and spoil the child.... along with my birth father being abusive to my mom and basically neglected the fact that he had a daughter. all made me have this low bs tolerator, i am blunt yes i come off as harsh.. mostly bc i say the shit no one wants to say bc yk i cant give constructive criticism unless its wrapped in bows surgar coated in easy to swallow bs water.... and i dont have the care to want to wrap a pig in makeup and a bow... its still a pig w/o wig the right??? i mean.... thats what i think feel free to lmk if im wrong .... sooooooo the point of this is that i get tired of shit like "omg girl this song makes me wanna unblock him" after the fact of they broke up due to cheating... and they broke up over 5 months ago.... like ugh im sorry but not soory stop bringing up old shit and if you want to go do it with someone who gives af enough to swallow the bs sandwich youve served by saying shit like that when yall basically got physical... plus a bunch of other toxic shit... like i cant just sit here and tolerate bs when im trying to cut it outta my life... i mean i could be wrong theres no denying sometimes i go too hard on things especially when i care about someone. i hate the ppl i love being hurt or done wrong. ive been in my share of toxic relationships, i hate the fact that ppl have had the audacity to misused my loved ones and i. i just want to keep them hurting the ways i have wondering why me what did i do to deserve to hurt like that.... bc thats a shitty efeffin way to feel.... so im oming from a place of love but idk... how do i rid my life of bs if i allow those around me to serve it to me daily....

welp other then this... going bsck to wwork has helped me channel my energy to no want to fight but i havevbeen trying to talk thngs out but even then im labeled as the angry latina..... one stereotype thatll take 10x as long to lose as it was to gain.....

till next time..... wish me luck on this so called life thing....

btw happy holidays and a happy new year if youve made it this far in my rant of thnking tooooo mf much.....

[sapphicsaus]

regal ties (pt.6) - wanda maximoff

a/n: this is a shot update, but i promise the next chapter will be longer

i ii iii iv v vi

“This is not right!”

You sat in the kings throne room, now silent, despite how you were a few weeks before. Your face was bound in a wrap, and you were sulking before the throne.

Pietro was heated, and King Erik was being dismissive. “I understand your anger, son. But she is now Commander once more, and she does not oppose my motion.” A lie in many ways.

You hated it.

You hated being away from Natasha and Wanda. Although you spent not too much time with the latter as Natasha, she became easier to tolerate as you rested from injury. “What of her injuries from our last deploy? Will you take those into consideration?”

“Pietro.” 

Everyone looked at you in anticipation, considering this is the first time you’ve spoke in these briefings at all. “I’ll be fine. I swear it.” He’d known you long enough to know that when you would caress the hilt of a sword, that you were beyond angry.

“My shoulder has healed, my knee is steady to run. I need no rest, Prince.” In the corner of your eye, you notice the king smirk. “See?” Pietro sighs, shaking his head. 

“What of your face? Will that heal fast enough for him to send you to injure it more?”

“My Prince, I understand your concern.” You look up at the king. “But I can handle myself, you know this.” You could feel Wanda watching you sadly and you clenched your jaw and swallowed your pride. 

———

“So, you’re truly leaving in a few days?” Natasha asks, rubbing your bare stomach. She feels you nod as you hum, kissing her on the forehead.

“I will be back, I always come back.” She shifts to look up at you. “I trust it. But will you come back whole?” You couldn’t answer that. You never could.

“You know I do not have the answer, my love.”

She grabs your face, and connects your lips. “You should’ve had sense and became a maiden like Yelena and I.” 

“If I hadn’t aspire to be knighted, I would be a horse trainer, you know that.” Natasha chuckles, laying back down. “I do.”

You became quiet, think about if your life had been different or if you hadn’t aspired to be a hero. How different would you be? Was this scar worth it?

“If I hadn’t picked up a sword, I’d be less grotesque.” You mutter, and Natasha shoots up in disbelief. “Do not.” She demands. “What?”

“You are still the most handsome knight in all of Sokovia. The scar is hot.” You burst out in laughter, and place your hand over your face. “You flatter me.”

______

You waited on the dock as men began to file onto the boats. Pietro stood beside you as calm as he could be. 

“I’m coming with you.” He says, making your head shoot over to him. “You are not.” 

“I am.” He mutters, not meeting your gaze. “If something happens to you, I will never forgive myself, Pietro.” He looks at you silently. “Nothing will happen to me.” 

You watched him worriedly as he walked to the ship. A hand grasps you shoulder, and you look over at Wanda. “Be safe, I’ll be waiting for you.” She whispers almost in a tender way. “If that is your way of saying you’ll miss me, than I’ll take it.” You smirk. 

“I retract my statement.” She says, making you smile. “I hope your next guard is rigid.”

“No one can replace you.” You wish to believe she is joking, but she looks at you seriously, and your smile falters. “Y/LN!” You hear called out to you, and you focus back on the ship. “Duty calls.” She nods, and walks up to where her family is. 

You walk onto the ship, your gloved hand on the hilt of your shield as the board up the ship. “Are you ready?” You hear Rogers ask. “No. I get seasick.” You chuckle. You look over at the man with a strained expression. “He’s running us into a trap, I just know it.” Steve nods. “I know.” 

“But, it doesn’t matter because I will fight to the depths of hell before I let you all and the prince die.” 

Tags:

@wlwfanfictionss @nothingisrealanyway @sadpiscesheart

[flower-slut004]

Your writing is just. 👌🏽👌🏽 ive seem this concept recently and wanted to do a little spin on it is about isaac lahey and him and y/n have been kinda together since he was human like kinda flirting and she was there to comfort him with his father and it’s like the end of season 2 they r officially together but later is season 3 isaac and Allison have a thing going on so he breaks up with y/n and kinda dates Allison don’t think they actually made it official but whatever and u know when isaac goes to Scott saying that he should hit him and then Scott throws him into the wall and he does the same to y/n asking her to hit him and she’s like kinda offended that he thought she would hit him (cause she had seen him after her been hit by his father ) and even though she is hurt and angry at him for breaking up with her for her best friend she would never actually hit him then it gets kinda emotional and fluffy and it’s like the thing with Allison is like a mild attraction and he’s still inlove with y/n and this is the first moment he like realises that but not fully yet (i hope this makes sense. Because abuse is a sensitive subject if you don’t feel comfortable writing this it’s fine💜)

I Could Never Hurt You

Notes: mentions of abuse, slight Allison slander, {{ Sorry if it’s short/rushed. I wanted to get this out as soon as possible and I didn’t know how to end it}} More Angst than fluff.

Sniffs and whispers filled the room as Isaac quietly laid on his best friend’s lap. Yn softly played with his hair as tears ran down his cheeks.

“I wish you just tell the police so you’ll come live with me” she sighs as she continues. Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head “They’ll never believe me, it’ll get worse YN…please just….can we stay here in silence?” he sniffs.

Yn nods as she brushes the hair off his forehead.

The following morning, Isaac was awoken with light kisses on his face by Yn. "Hey, we need to get up for school baby" she mumbles against his neck.

Isaac groans as he wraps his arms around her "I have to go home first to get my stuff. Fuck Yn, my dad is going to kill me when he sees me" he covers his face.

"You don't have to go now, you left some of your clothes from last time"

Isaac lets out a relieved sigh as he kisses her forehead "Thanks"

_ _ _

Giggles filled the car as Isaac stares at Allison "Did you really key the lockers with your claws?" she asked as she sipped on her soda.

"Yeah, I really did" he chews on his lip as he stares at Allison's. "Hey, Allie? Can I ask you something?"

"Go for it"

"Can I kiss you?" he breathes out. Allison smiles as she stares at his lips "Go for it"

_ _ _

"Yn we need to talk..." Isaac mumbles nervously as he tugged on his sleeves.

Yn hummed in response as she continued to read her book.

"We need to break up" he breathes out quickly. Yn felt her heart drop as she looked up "What?"

"I.. my feelings for you arent" Isaac was interrupted when Yn rose her hand up.

"Stop... save me the details. Just..." Her mouth went dry, unable to get words out.

Isaac took the hint and left not before whispering a sorry.

-----

"Can I ask you a question?" Isaac asks nervously as he stood in front of Scott.

"Uh yeah, sure?"

"Do you hate me?"

"Uh no?

"Do you wanna hit me?"

"No"

"I think you should"

"But I don't want to, you didn't do anything did you?" Scott asked nervously. Isaac opened his mouth but froze. "I uh... I kissed her"

Scott's face quickly turned into a frown as he threw Isaac into the wall.

- - -

Isaac nervously wiped his hands on his pants after he arrived at Yn's house.

He took a deep breath before knocking only to have Yn open the door at the same time.

"Uh...hey?" she asked with eyebrows raised.

"Do you hate me?" Issac blurted out taking her by surprise.

"Issac you broke my heart, I should hate you but I don't. I hate myself for it," she confessed.

"Hit me" he demanded.

"Excuse me?" Yn asked with wide eyes. Isaac swallowed and demanded again "I said hit me"

"Issac Lahey, are you insane? I'm not going to hit you" Yn glared at him.

"Why not?" he raised his arms in the air. "You said it yourself, I broke your heart. Hit. Me"

Yn shook her head "No, I refuse to, Issac I'm not going to hit you, your dad did that and I don't want to harm you in the same ways he did"

Issac stepped back, surprised at her response. "Issac..." she groans "Even though you hurt me, I could never hurt you. I care too much about you to do so. "

Issac sucks in a breath due to his guilt. "I'm sorry..." he whispers not knowing what to say.

Yn nods her head "I'm sorry too".

- - -

Issac was too distracted by Stiles and Yn giggling on the couch together to notice what Allison was saying next to him.

Four months have passed since the incident and Yn has only spoken pack-related situations to him.

Issac realized in the four months, Allison was just a pretty face. He missed the midnight conversations as well as the way Yn would read out loud to him.

Issac realized he threw away what was the best thing for him, and it's going to take a lot more than flowers to fix it.

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

__________________________

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[gayspock]

the spiral 🤨

its like it hits the 3am mark and i start to lose it i think. who said that ive been losing it non-stop. whatever. i dontknow. i feel like screaming a little bit. anyone elsefeel like this. im just sort of tired now and have been for the past few days. i feel insanity spike up again when i think too hardabout how it doesnt matter over andover again. theres never a resolution theres never any relief it just shuts up cuz ur so fried you cant even think straight any more or cuz of whatever. i'llshut up for a few more months it'll happen again i cant ever findanything or help myself no matter how hard i try i keep trying it means nothing its worthless as it always was and as you know it is and continues to be and people say its not worthless youre not trying hard enogh youre not doing it long enough. its all i am at this point its all ive ever been its nothing but that/ its the onlyfucking thing in my head and nobody fuckingbelieves it because you cant be serious you havent done it enough nobody can be that fucking hopeless but youre proving it all to be truewith the fact you wont even swallow it . i dont know. i think about how sometimes you cant even have that. ifeel like im nothing but a joke all thetime. and people think so little of me, iknow they do. i dont thinkanyone hasnt ever thought much of me and i jsut get so angry every time someone tries to make an example out of it bc they do nothing but prove me irght but im not evenallowed to fucking say it orim a bitch. i wish it mattered i wish i could jsut say things to people everyones like be fucking truthful but dont be in the way that you actually mean bc we dont likke it we dont like you i think theres projections that people think they like but . i feel fucking crazy everytime im so fucking . fucking upset but im not doing enough its never enough what i can do and i dont know thats not even the point the point is icantkeep doing it i cant keep myself afloat . i can cry this over and overagain i just want a break or jsut one thing to feel okay or right just for a second. i

i dont know sorry the therapy thing again i thinkthe classic "im more mentally illt han you" vibe i feel so often this patronising fucking. energy from others who somehow manage toperceive me this specific fucking niche i exist in when im upset where im jsut such a fucking laughable joke even when its the rock bottom and eveyrthing im thinking andfeeling is so trivial and i just need to do it better to try it harder that im not fucking doing it well enough that i give up so easy that im forcing myself into it that its anyone of these things theres apart of me that just wants to beg down on my knees like pelase just for fucking once please think im a person and its rather pathetic i think abotuthis to everyone i feel like im going crazy i wishi was a person i feel so unreal i wish i existed fully in apersons life i wish itwasnt stretches of nothing of nothing and nothing and fucking screens all the time and still nothing in thosefor the majortiy of the time too i wish i wasnt so far away i wish i wasnt the afterthought i wish i could feel like i existed and properly did exist but i cant ever seem to latch on as i am i cantdo anything as i am and i try and it doesn twork i try to be me i try to be content keep trying everything it never makes sense im not trying enoughstill i dont know i dont know what its worth and even if its achievable it doenst feel like it means anything ay more i cant keep doing this and for what i keep spending every day i feel like every ounce of my life for he better part of a decade is just trying to keep my fuckig head on my shoulders and its not fucking sustainable but what else is there and im meant to betrying harder to be getting better theres nothing i can do im genuinely fucking alone and people dont like to hear it and im genuinely fucking hopeless and there is no way out and i cant evenf ucking have that thought ifeel nuts i hate myself so much

and i feel myself becoming more rancid every dayi will admit no matter how much i try to stop myself. really sharp fucking pangs of anger and upset at fucking everything that i cant fucking suffocate and its getting harder not to lash out at fucking everyone for every little fucking thing bc it sets me off and i cant just get a fucking grip but i dont know i wish there was something more susbtantial for once than just that and just this but also what does it even matter any more liek it mattered in the firstplace and im not just being delusional. whatever whatever its os stupid its so fucking humiliating how upset ive been getting i jsut keep crying over everything because i cant have anything i cant do anything keep trying to do things i try and i try and i try and its never meant anyhting i just feel so much spite and icant stop it its not fucking fair that people just exist and maybe theydont do it easily but they still manage todo something i feel so fucking alone people keep trlling me everyone feels alone feels isolated . so do they! but its not. that i hate being thatfucking asshole but its not that its not jsut the now its the fucking forever its the fundamental root cause theresosmething wrong with me it feels like i cant ive never not once felt like ive been seen i dontknow if i can even like peopel back at this point . people oh im so alone theysay butidont . i feel so fucking angry because theyve still managed to have had a partner or to have some sort of fucking companionship or family and i jsut sit. alone in the dark and i have done for years and no matter where i go ro what i do i keep trying i remember at uni i did try i did i tried to entrer circles but i just keep. falling to the wayside and i wish it was like i was rotted on the inide or i was trulky repulsive but i jus tthink theres nothing there i think theres nothing inside me to like i think i cant be anything and i think nobody wants nothing which is what i am and have been for such a long time bynow because i cant fucking piece anything together theres notihng . id ont know i keep thinking stupid things theres stupid things i keep crying about i thought about getting a cat or something that wouldnt fucking understand me enough for me to reject me but itd be unfair and unreasonable to try and bring anyhting into it my stupid fucking black hole existenc e how it wouldnt be realistic how nothing is its really embarrassing how fucking minute it is sometimes how such little things keep tipping me off i got angry i getupset everyone else has osmething or some interes tor something they can manage it with i cant find anything i think thats jst

part of it though i keep trying to find these threads out ii keep trying to find littlethings little hopes only to follow them through and just everything comescrashing down huge nos huge fuck yous it never fucking works out it never goes anywehre every time i try to get happy it just feelslike im slapped in the face and theres so many more thingsits nonstop its neverending theres not just one fucking thing to be happy about or to be proud about or to be satisfied with no matter what i do and it just feels so so ufcking insulting sometimes that you have to pretend it and force it up just to satisfy eeveryone else but i just cant do it i keep thinkign about it and i cant do it ive never done anyhting i can just feel like meant anything and its so embarrassing it sounds fucking melodramatic but its true and nobody will jsut . even let me have tha t and no one even fucking sees it happenign i just the onyl time when its not like this is actively trying to fucking disconnect myself form everything and lose mself in shit i still fucking hate but is manageable but thats going nowhere its nowhere its more nothing an d i dont know i feel like i used to thought it would matter if i kept blowing up like something could change but my head hurts so badl and i dont fucking care to pretend i fucking respect it either cuz they dont i just think i dont know im a stupid fucking cunt and i always have been and if ucking wish people would just say it to my face and theres a part of me that just fucking hates fucking everyone because who fucking cares what the fuck else can i even manage i cant if im never going tofucking anything to people why why i jsut need something for once i want to fucking hit someone so they can hit me back or fucking something so at least imreal even for a fucking second bleh bleh bleh beofrei realise even that i dont know i feel like m not serious enough whatever

[justauthoring]

You’re Stuck With Me Now

Prompt: He’d never leave you again.

A/N: is my return to writing (after a short break) oikawa? yes it is. honestly, i just love this boy so much and ive been rewatching haikyu and i can't... my heart.

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWA TOORU <3

Warnings: past implied abuse

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x F!Reader Please don’t plagiarize my work!

“Come on, Y/N-Chan, it’ll be fun.”

With a quirked brow and look of disbelief up at your boyfriend, you roll your eyes. “You know I don’t really like parties, Tooru,” you mumble, taking a bite out of your lunch just as Oikawa lets out a whine of disappointment.

He’d already spent a majority of your lunch break, which the two of you were lucky to have together, begging you to come out tonight with him to Mattsun’s party. He’d spent the entire weeks’ lunches trying to convince you to come with him, to no avail everyday, and now, the day of; he was even more desperate for a yes.

“But it won’t be any fun without you.”

And his pout is almost convincing enough, eyes droopy at the edges with a certain puppy-dog look. The corner of his lips are flipped downwards, but he looks positively adorable (as he usually does - his group of fangirls aren’t for nothing). But, you’ve held restraint all week to this point, and by now, this really isn’t anything new.

“You say that every time, babe,” you counter, pointing your chopsticks at him with a quirked brow. “And every time I come with you, you end up leaving me to mingle off with Hajime.”

His shoulders slump.

“Is Hajime coming tonight?”

“...Yes.”

“Then,” you nod, satisfied, “you won’t be alone.”

“Bu-But!” He all but whines, and before you know it he’s suddenly sidled up behind you, arms curling around your waist firmly to press you flush against his chest. You let out a squeak in response, whining yourself when your delicious lunch is suddenly before you and tauntingly not within arms reach. 

Oikawa is fast to pull your attention on him.

“He won’t be there till later!”

“So I’m just entertainment until he gets there?”

“Of course not!”

Oikawa looks positively betrayed at your assumption, and the look on his face is enough to have you giggling. Shifting in his grasp, you move so you’re facing him, brushing back a few strands of his unruly hair that no matter how hard you try is never ever neat, before meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “Honestly, Tooru,” you whisper gently, “why do you want me to go so bad? You usually don’t care this much.”

“Because,” he shrugs, “I like having you with me.”

And that, unfortunately, is the zinger.

His words all but melt your heart and with a heavy sigh, you realize there’s no possible way that you can say no when he goes ahead saying something so sweet like that.

“I’ll go.”

The way his eyes practically glow is enough to make you smile though.

“Really? Yes!”

However, now that you’re here, cramped in a house of drunk, loud teenagers, you’re suddenly wishing you’d had a bit more self restraint when it came to your boyfriend. As per usual, an hour into the party, Iwaizumi arrived and now even further convinced your boyfriend is more in love with his best friend then you -- you’re completely alone.

“’I’ll be right back’ my ass,” you mutter to yourself, taking a drink from the cup in your hands, instantly regretting it at the bitter taste that goes down your throat.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have any friends, you just weren’t entirely comfortable in social situations. It’s a wonder how you got along with Oikawa so well, but the two of you seemed to just mesh really well together. And of course, he’d been there for you in a time no one else had, and had helped fix you from the person who made you so nervous and skittish around others in the first place. It’s because of him that you’re even able to stand in a room so crowded, even if you’re not really socializing. 

It would’ve been nice to have him to talk with, though. Iwaizumi too.

Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Oikawa, hoping that he’ll see it and at least drag you along for whatever Iwaizumi and him got up to in parties like these. It’s because of this that you don’t notice the shadow that falls next to you, not until a hand swipes your phone right out of your own and a voice you’d hoped you’d never hear again speaks;

“Oikawa Tooru, huh?”

Your heart practically drops.

“Figures you’d find someone in volleyball again, you did always love it.”

“H-Haru...”

He smirks down at you, and your lips part when he pockets your phone without a care in the world, his grip moving to your wrist where he tugs you towards himself. “Never thought I’d be able to find you again, Y/N, after you so abruptly moved schools. In your third year no less.”

You pull back on the grip he has on you, trying, to no avail, to get away. “What are you even doing here?”

“I play volleyball, remember?” He quirks a brow, speaking to you like you’re a child. “I know some of the boys here.”

How unlucky can I get...

Digging the heels of your feet down, you use all your strength to fight back the pull Haru tugs on your wrist. It’s clear he’s trying to get you to go somewhere with him, maybe even leave and that's the absolute last thing you can let happen. Haru still has such a pull over you, as much as you hate to admit it, and if you’re alone with him, there’s no telling what would happen.

And you’re terrified to find out.

“Let me go,” you hiss, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten your place, Y/N,” he growls down at you, grip turning bruising as you let out a cry in response, unable to stop yourself. “I’ll give you credit, it was brave of you to think you could get away from me, and finding you was hard. But now that I have you, I plan to remind you just exactly why you’re with me.”

Eyes widening, it suddenly feels like you can’t breathe.

“I mean, after all,” and his eyes gleam, turning dark, “you can’t live without me, remember?”

Your frozen state allows him to gain the control. Before you know it, you’re being dragged through the familiar halls of Mattsun’s house that feel like a blur and unfamiliar in your panic. You don’t even notice where you are, and barely hear when Haru suddenly announces “this’ll do” and then you’re being shoved into a room and the door is slammed behind you.

You fall to the ground with a loud cry, Haru shoving you.

When you turn to face him, staring up at him, he’s blocking the door, staring down at you expectedly. 

“What are you waiting for?” He huffs, “take off your shirt.”

Hands shaking, you push yourself up into a sitting position with shaky muscles, not trusting yourself to stand in that moment as you stare up at him. Everything had moved so fast, and your heart feels as if it’ll break when you realize despite how much better you thought you’d been getting -- none of it meant a damn thing when faced with Haru himself.

You were scared, terrified, and it felt like back then all again. You had no control. You had no strength.

A harsh kick in the stomach has you doubling over, and clutching your sides, Haru crouches down before. “No one’s coming to save you, Y/N. Not even your boyfriend,” he taunts, smirking at you. “I’m pretty sure I saw the infamous Captain shoving his tongue down another girls throat.”

Eyes widening, you stare at your lap. “No,” you mumble, voice breathless, croaky. “Tooru wouldn’t--”

“It’s true. He’s not here, is he?”

Swallowing thickly, you meet Haru’s gaze.

“So, see, at the end of it all, all you have is me, right?”

And you hate the way his hand against your cheek feels like comfort compared to all the pain.

Shaky fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, just as the door slams open.

It’s Iwaizumi.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, flickering to Haru before focusing back on you. “Oikawa!” He calls, voice booming, tone dark, and it’s then you see how angry he looks. “I found her!”

In the next second, Oikawa is bursting pass Iwaizumi. He stills at the sight of you, tear-stricken, face pale, eyes wide with fear, and then Haru, crouched before you, look positively smug about the entire situation. And there’s a moment of pause where nothing happens, and Haru moves to stand, lips parting; “sorry, but it looks like Y/N--”

But he never gets to finish before Oikawa’s punching him straight across the cheek so hard he falls to the ground with a loud thud. 

In the next second, he’s in front of you.

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” and you don’t miss the way your name lacks ‘chan’, meaning Oikawa’s serious. “I didn’t mean to leave that long. Fuck. Are you okay? Where did he hurt you? Show me, and I’ll--”

But your hand is grabbing his own frantic ones and when Oikawa meets your gaze, he’s shocked at the soft smile on your lips.

“Y/N-Chan?”

“You came,” you whisper, voice soft with astonishment and adoration. “You came for me.”

And, shoulders easing, Oikawa nods. 

“Of course I did.”

Squeezing his hand, to the point Oikawa is blinking in response, lips parting in worry. You stare into his eyes, imploring; “please don’t leave me like that again.”

And guilt settles deep within his chest, hating himself for what happened, blaming himself for it as well. But he knows that’s not what you mean, nor what you think; you just want a guarantee he’s there for you. And if there’s one thing Oikawa can promise, it’s that.

“You’re stuck with me now, yeah?” 

He grins, trying to make you smile, make you laugh and everything ease when he succeeds, that giggle of yours he loves filling the silence of the room.

“I’m good with that.”

[hurting-fictional-people]

Okay guys, so I think I’m getting attached to these characters and might have more ideas for them... so please let me know if you’d be interested in seeing more?

CW: (putting them here because tumblr decided to be weird about my tags tonight) a whole lot of angst and betrayal, stabbed whumpee (recovering from it... kinda), collar and chains, IV mention. Please tell me if I missed something

Continued from here

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer and @swift-perseides

-

“You said you’d set Whumpee free if I gave you the information,” someone hisses somewhere above them.

The timbre of that voice is a familiar caress, soothing the uneasiness that threatened to take over as soon as consciousness approached. Still, there’s a sharp edge to it that propels Whumpee’s eyes to flutter open, even as it calms the fear.

“Can you prove it?” 

That’s the sound that truly awakens them. The sound they hoped never to hear again, that sends chills down their spine and makes them squint their eyes against the dim light and groggily look around.

“Can I p– you know you said it, Whumper. Stop fucking around,” Caretaker growls. “If you don’t want to let me go, then fine. Keep me here. Torture me if you will. But leave them alone.”

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Whumper sighs.

Someone towers over Whumpee, large shoulders they know better than their own stand by their bed, restraining their line of sight to the wall to their right and the one in front of their bed.

“I gave you what you wanted. Now let them go.”

Before they can think about it, before they can even truly remember where they are or why or with whom, their hand reaches out and touches the soft skin of Caretaker’s arm, making them stiffen and turn around with a furrowed brow over softening eyes.

“You’re awake.”

It’s the worry underneath the words that brings it all back. The betrayal months before, all the hurt and bitterness, and then those last hours – minutes? – with a hole in their abdomen silently draining their life away, suffocating in pain.

They pull their hand back.

“What happened?” Whumpee rasps out, only then noticing how dry their throat feels. 

They know what happened. Every second of it is etched on their mind forever, but the question still slips out, the need for reassurance bigger than anything else.

“I got you fixed,” Caretaker gives them a sad smile, “just like I promised I would.” 

“Actually, I got you fixed,” Whumper says, walking around Caretaker to stop in front of Whumpee’s bed. “You’re welcome.”

Whumpee’s eyes dart between the two of them, narrowing at the way Whumper’s gaze shines with something dark while Caretaker holds themself statue still. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” Whumper asks.

“Like I’ve been stabbed,” they grumble, frowning when Whumper chuckles. “Why am I not dead?” 

“Poor thing, you were really out of it, weren’t you?” Whumper smiles as they hold Whumpee’s ankle through the sheets and rub circles that would’ve been calming coming from anyone else. “Caretaker took the deal in the end. Almost too late, but my doctors are pretty good, so you should heal just fine. If given proper time, that is.”

“So, what now?” they ask, half wanting to just close their eyes and pretend to still be asleep. Their throat pleads for water, but they don’t want to ask either of them, so they just swallow saliva and pretend it helps.

“Well, that’s a question for Caretaker to answer,” Whumper says, turning toward the third person in the room, the one keeping disturbingly silent, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Probably regretting saving them in the first place.

But Caretaker doesn’t say anything. All they do is glare at Whumper from their spot beside Whumpee’s bed.

“What do you mean?” Whumpee asks after a few seconds, stifling a yawn, eyelids pleading to close.

“They mean that they have no word,” Caretaker snaps. “Whumper wants to make another bargain even though they never fulfilled the first one.”

“Fine. But why am I here?” Whumpee whispers, forcing their eyes to stay open long enough to hear the answer.

“Because you’re the bargaining chip, lovely,” Whumper smirks, squeezing Whumpee’s ankle until they gasp.

Whumpee’s heart drops to the floor, and then lower. 

Caretaker has saved them once, which was a miracle in itself. Expecting them to do it twice is just too much. 

“Can we discuss this later, since you don’t seem inclined to negotiate right now?” Caretaker nods toward the door. “Whumpee needs to rest.”

“I guess they will be needing their strength very soon if you don’t change your mind,” Whumper sighs, winking at Whumpee as they walk to the door. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone for now.”

The lock clicks behind them, but neither Caretaker nor Whumpee acknowledges it. They’re too busy staring at each other to do much else. 

Deep bags mar the skin under Caretaker’s eyes, just like it always happens when they don’t get enough sleep, and Whumpee hates themself for still remembering that.

“Why did you–“ save me, Whumpee tries to say, but their voice fails when a dry cough makes their chest heave and their wound hurt. 

Caretaker is immediately leaning close, one hand splayed on their back and the other on their tight, each touch raising goosebumps along their skin. “W-water,” they rasp, closing their eyes at the humiliation.

But Caretaker doesn’t seem to notice how defeated Whumpee’s eyes are, how their cheeks burn red for having to ask them for something so simple. They simply grab a plastic water bottle from the bedside table and hand it to Whumpee. They gulp down the entire thing.

“How are you feeling?” Caretaker asks once they sag back on the mattress.

“Like shit.”

It’s true, but the irritated tone is nothing but a defense mechanism, and they fear as much as they hope that Caretaker notices it. 

The pain is a constant weight in Whumpee’s stomach, and the medication slowly dripping into their veins through an IV makes them nauseous and sleepy, but none of it makes Whumpee any less confused or sad whenever they look at Caretaker.

Why did Caretaker save them? A blurry memory tickles their brain, of sobs that didn’t come from their lips, of trembling hands holding theirs, warm lips kissing their forehead when they couldn’t convince their eyes to stay open anymore. It dissolves before they can grasp it, leaving only an empty feeling behind.

“You should sleep,” Caretaker says when the silence grows uncomfortable.

“Are you regretting saving me already?” Whumpee whispers, averting their gaze.

“What? No.” It sounds so real they almost believe it. They want to, so badly, but they’d already made the mistake of trusting Caretaker once before. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a hurt edge to their voice that makes Whumpee’s eyebrows rise as they look Caretaker straight in the eye. “Tell you what?”

“What Whumper did. That you were bleeding out.”

Oh.

“You could’ve died, Whumpee. You almost did. If you had just told me they had stabbed you, it would never have gotten to that point.”

“Why do you sound so angry? You’re the one who taught me not to trust anyone. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you but I’d do it again’, remember? You are the one who said those words. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it would matter.”

Caretaker furrows their brows, opens their mouth, and turns around. Before they do, though, Whumpee catches the flash of pain and sadness crossing their eyes and pretends not to notice the glint of tears there.

The seconds tick by, and as the silence extends, pain and exertion make Whumpee’s eyes take longer and longer to open each time they blink. They are almost asleep when Caretaker’s voice sounds again.

“It’s not true, you know. It would’ve mattered. It’ll always matter when it comes to you.”

But Whumpee is already dreaming once they stop talking.

-

“So, have you made your choice?” Whumper asks from behind a ridiculously large desk. Caretaker folds their arms and doesn’t fight the will to bare their teeth. “We’ve talked through it already, Caretaker. It won’t even be any sort of bother, you just have to go in, pretend I let you free, and come back with the drive I gave you.”

“You and I both know it’s not that simple. You want me to infiltrate my own team, lie to their faces, and hand our biggest enemy a drive filled with classified information,” they bite back, hands curling into fists.

“Well, you can always say no,” Whumper leans back in their chair and grins. “You know I’ll even let you walk out if you do. And then I’ll have a pretty little pet to play with. The only downside is that dear Whumpee won’t last very long as my plaything with that wound of theirs.”

The words might as well be a blade sinking into their heart. And Whumper knows it, relishes the knowledge, laughing when Caretaker holds their breath.

It’s been three days since Whumpee’s woken up. Three days of poorly hiding the desperate need to be by their side, to make sure nothing would ever hurt them again. Three days of knowing that each small noise of pain Whumpee lets out, each hazy look they get whenever Caretaker says something kind or offers help, each distrustful glance, it’s all Caretaker’s fault.

Whumper doesn’t even bother hiding how much pleasure they take from locking Caretaker up until they can’t help but bang on the door and beg to see Whumpee. And when they do, it’s only to be hit by a new wave of pain breaking against their heart, flooding their veins with sorrow every time their eyes meet. 

“Don’t fucking touch them,” Caretaker spits out, taking a step forward before they can stop themself.

“Is that a ‘yes Whumper, I agree with your terms’ I’m hearing, dear?”

“How can I trust you won’t hurt them while I’m gone?”

Whumper’s lips tug upwards, growing into a mocking, open smile. “You can’t. And I won’t even bother promising I won’t. So if I were you, I’d hurry up, because each second you try to stall me makes me even more excited to play with little Whumpee, and I don’t think they’ll appreciate my games as much as I will.”

It’s almost funny how a handful of words is capable of completely shattering someone’s heart, of stealing the ground from under their feet and filling them with dread all at once. 

“Don’t you dare touch them,” Caretaker says, but it’s scared and quivery and both of them notice. “How the fuck do you expect me to leave with you saying you’ll hurt Whumpee?”

“Do they know how much you care about them?” Whumper muses, getting up and sauntering around the table. “Because I remember rather clearly Whumpee telling me you’d sooner offer them ruin than help.”

“What do you care?” they say through clenched teeth.

“It’s just intriguing how desperate you are to keep them safe and how oblivious they are of it. What did you do to make them so distrustful of you?”

Tore their heart apart with my bare hands. The answer comes to their mind unbidden, bringing a sharp twist of pain along with it. They can still see Whumpee’s shocked face, tears streaming down their cheeks, eyes desperately searching theirs for an excuse that wasn’t there for a treason they had no way to deny, no matter how much they wished to. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I did it for the greater good, and I’d do it again, Caretaker had said with all the pride and coldness a soldier could master. 

They had kept their own tears for later, when no one could see them shatter.

“Is your life so miserable you have to feed off of someone else’s or are you just a nosy bastard?”

Whumper laughs, and they wish they could punch that laugh out of that smug face. “I’ll give you the details now and you’ll leave tomorrow. And just because of the insult you won’t get to say goodbye to Whumpee.”

Caretaker glares in response but doesn’t argue. They don’t deserve to be near Whumpee, not after everything, and are pretty sure Whumpee wouldn’t want it either. Besides, the simple thought of seeing the face they love so fiercely fill with suspicion each time Caretaker opens their mouth makes them want to weep. 

Still, as long as they are alive to do so, Caretaker will gladly take the suspicion and anything else Whumpee throws at them. They deserve far worse anyway.

-

Each breath Whumpee takes hurts, and they are about to start crying out of frustration when the door opens. They don’t dare recognize the sharp tug of disappointment in their heart when the face that appears isn’t Caretaker’s.

“Good morning, love, how’s that wound?”, Whumper asks.

“Fine.” There’s an air of amusement around them that makes Whumpee shiver, even if they don’t know exactly why. “Where’s Caretaker?”

It leaves their lips before it hits their brain, and Whumpee has to bite their tongue to avoid slapping their forehead for it. Stupid. Caretaker shouldn’t mean anything to them anymore.

“Oh, dear. You still care about them, don’t you?”

Whumpee doesn’t even open their mouth, not when the answer they can voice would be a blatant lie and they’d both know it.

“It’s really unfortunate to have feelings for someone who doesn’t reciprocate them, isn’t it?” Whumper says, drinking in the slight frown between Whumpee’s brows, the way they look away to hide how much the words hurt them. 

Before the wave of bitterness can crash over Whumpee, Whumper nods to someone outside the room and two guards step inside. 

Their heart starts to pound, thrumming louder at each step the men take toward them.

“What, what’s going on?”

“We’re going somewhere else today, love. I assumed you needed the help to walk.”

They are shaking their head before Whumper even finishes the sentence. With a smile stretching across their face, they raise their brows, as if inviting Whumpee to do it themself.

They know what’s going to happen even before it does, and by the glee on Whumper’s face they do too, but Whumpee still kicks the thin blanket away and gets up on wobbly legs before taking two steps forward. On the third, the pain becomes unbearable. On the fourth, they can’t help but hold their injury and hunch their shoulders. Whumper watches them with mock concern as Whumpee stumbles out of the room. When they finally fall to their knees two steps later, Whumper simply tuts from their spot against the door.

“I guess you did need the help, huh?” they say, and Whumpee catches only a glance of their smile as they wave for the guards. 

Two pairs of hands grab Whumpee’s arms and pull them up, and they can’t hold back a scream when it makes their entire abdomen explode in pain. 

They are hauled over countless hallways, into a room made of concrete walls and nothing more, barely big enough for all of them.

“Please,” they breathe. “What are you doing? What about your deal with Caretaker?”

“Caretaker left, Whumpee.”

It’s the softness in their voice that makes Whumpee’s head turn to them, all wide eyes and parted lips. 

“The bargain we told you about was for them to either betray their team and keep you safe or go away and leave you behind. They made their choice.”

Whumpee can only stare at Whumper’s sympathetic smile. The words take a while to truly sink in, and when they do, all Whumpee does is take a deep breath. 

They’d been expecting this all along, they tell themself. They knew they couldn’t trust Caretaker, knew they’d never come first. They know it, they do. But then why does it hurt so much?

“And you see, Caretaker’s leaving made me kind of mad,” Whumper says as Whumpee is dumped on the cell’s cold floor, falling on all fours. “Betrayals make me bloodthirsty, I’m sure you’ll understand. And since you’re mine now, how can I resist it?”

Whumpee’s mouth dries at that. Terror shoots through their veins at the same time sadness tightens their heart.

The two men who’d carried them there take a step forward at the words and grab chains from a hook behind the door they hadn’t noticed before. As the chains are hung on metal loops attached to the wall, Whumpee realizes how wrong they’d been. The cell walls aren’t completely barren after all.

And when the guards crouch down in front of them, Whumpee can barely find strength through the panic and the pain radiating from their stomach to fight. 

They do, though. Even when it burns and sends waves of dizziness down their body, Whumpee thrashes in hands that don’t budge, jerks against grips that only tighten. 

But none of it matters when metal cuffs lock around both their wrists, nor when the chain is shortened until their arms are pulled straight above their head, back touching the wall. At least they are still sitting. Not that they could get up if they wanted to.

“Whumper, pl–“

But it isn’t over yet, they realize when another shiny gray circle approaches. Whumpee lets out a choked whine, but it’s all they can do before the collar closes around their throat and locks their neck to the wall as well. An uninvited sob escapes their lips, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it either.

“You look beautiful in chains, love,” Whumper says from the door, grinning with sadistic satisfaction at Whumpee’s weakness.

Humiliation tinges their cheeks red when Whumper’s gaze travels up and down their body. Chained, collared, like a dog, unable to do more than wiggle their arms and weakly kick their legs.

“Why are you doing this?” Whumpee asks, voice airy and desperate, searching for an explanation they know isn’t there.

“Because I wanted to. Because it brings me joy to see you struggle. I wouldn’t keep thrashing like that, though, you’ll wear yourself out very quickly with that unfortunate wound of yours, and we don’t want this to end too soon, do we?”

They leave the cell with a giggle and a wave of goodbye, and when the door doesn’t lock behind them, Whumpee almost chokes on a bitter laugh.

The cell is big enough for them to lie down straight if the chains weren’t keeping them tightly tied to the wall. But as time goes by, it seems to get smaller and smaller, closing in on them with each ragged breath Whumpee takes. The chains clink together as they squirm, but there’s no give. Their wound hurts through it all, burning with each movement, but stopping feels like giving up and if they do, then what? 

No one knows where they are but Caretaker and they’ve already made it clear they won’t help. They’ve already given up on Whumpee, left them once again.

No one cares. There is no saving this time. 

Whumpee chokes on rage and grief as tears stream down their cheeks, for a love that should never have been born, for the heart that has been broken in so many pieces they don’t know how it can still find strength enough to keep beating in their chest.

Whumpee stares at the gray walls and feels a scream building, and there’s no one there to stop it from bursting out, containing all of their anger and sadness and betrayal and spilling it over to the world. But even though it’s left their chest, the cry keeps echoing, bouncing around the walls, and none of the feelings are gone. They are all still there, still boiling inside of Whumpee.

So Whumpee sobs and pulls at the chains until their wrists are raw and bleeding, and don’t stop until both their strength and their voice are gone and there’s nothing else to do but sag on the chains. 

-

Caretaker is in the elevator when the phone Whumper’s given them buzzes. Seven floors to go before they have to face their team. A few seconds before they have to betray the people who are nothing less than their family.

Even so, it’s not that thought that sends a shiver down their spine. 

No one but Whumper has that number. The phone was given to them with specific instructions to be used solely to communicate with them. It’s Whumpee’s wide eyes that shine in their mind when Caretaker unlocks the phone, and it’s the memory of their smile that makes Caretaker’s heart race as they stare at the text and the video attached to it.

Got bored. You better hurry up.

Their hand trembles as they click on the video and Whumpee’s thin figure fills the screen, arms chained above their head, legs loose on the ground in front of them. Their eyes are closed, and for an instant, Caretaker’s heart stops in fear. But then Whumpee’s head starts to loll forward before being violently pulled back, and at the same time relief makes Caretaker suck in a sharp breath, the thing shining around Whumpee’s neck makes their heart sink through the floor. 

The collar surrounds the soft skin Caretaker’s tasted more than once, marring the perfect curve of their throat. When it yanks their head back, it hits the wall behind them and their eyes snap open. Whumpee stares at the ceiling for a moment before their mouth opens in a scream Caretaker feels in their soul, even if they can’t hear it. They feel it with their whole heart, and when Whumpee starts pulling against the chains, Caretaker thinks they’ll puke.

The video ends with them panting silently through the soundless video, the glint of tears wetting their cheeks. 

And then the elevator stops, and Caretaker barely has two seconds to wipe away their own tears before the doors open. 

When their teammates run toward them, none of them sees the way their eyes shine for the dread it is. 

As they smile and let lie after lie slip through their teeth, the only thing resounding in their mind is Whumpee’s silent screams. And as they deceive and betray, no one seems to notice the way their hands tremble or how they can’t convince their lips to smile no matter how happy they should’ve been to be back with the team. Not when the ten seconds keep playing over and over again inside their mind.

(next)

[emjiroki]

I-I... averts eyes shamefully emi pls don't hate me but whenever mikey gets dark impulses my mind goes angry sex hardcore sex (oh my god im slowly getting too slutty comfortable here, please forgive me)

BUT

but during these moments, in this dark moment where darkness is almost swallowing everything around him, including him, it's you who helps him. The darkness that embraces him is overpowered by the light you shine, you're his light.

I imagine him just suddenly looking down at your back as he fucks you from behind, marks on your skin from his hasty and rough actions from earlier and then up to your tears stained cheeks, eyes brimming full of tears yet those eyes seem to reflect not a monster but your love for him eyes filled with so much love and understanding and then he come to a stop wondering why his vision started getting blurry and then he feels your warm hand cupping his cheek as you reach back at him wiping the tears away, his hand meeting yours as he held it against his face closing his eyes. The aftermath being him hugging and holding you carefully, whispers of apologies and guilt as if afraid he will hurt you more but you only smile gently at him returning nothing but kisses and assurances that he can never hurt you, hearing you assure him, you can feel your bare shoulder getting wetter and silent sobs escape from his lips, while you brush his hair softly with your fingers. He loves you so much, he knows how much he can hurt you yet he cannot let you go, was that too selfish of him? After everything that has happened can't he, just this once be selfish? Of course, if you tell him that you want to go, he will let you yet here you are, still staying and loving him despite everything he has done and everything he is, you love him so wholeheartedly. Wanting and loving someone like him, how greedy of you but that's one of the reasons he cannot let you go. God forbid anyone taking you away from him, hell will surely break loose on earth.

ack this turned from smutty to fluff to angst real fast- how are you today emi?~ <3

was this too much? sobs im sorry for being a slutty whore for fictional pathetic sad broken men whom i dont want to fix but just want to give all the love i have

-☁

dont ever be sorry about sending me stuff!!! (I dont really have any triggers if Im gonna be honest, ive been exposed to and reading messed up and angsty content since I was young lmao)

Mikey is the perfect angsty character! (Hardcore sex from him? AHHHH) I want bruises on my hips and him to be thrusting so hard it takes my breath away!

I just want to give him hugs and all the love in the world! (this was so good btw like omfg please write lol i would read all of your stuff!) He would feel so guilty taking out any stress or frustration on your body but he just cant help it. when everything gets to be too much he finds solace and comfort in you and your body. I would hold him so close as he cries UGH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!

Im doing okay today! cramping super bad but it is what it is (also DoorDash messed up my order and I cried lmao damn hormones) How are you doing today? I hope good or at least better than me lol

NEVER BE SORRY FOR BEING SLUTTY IN MY INBOX THATS LITERALLY WHAT ITS THERE FOR! You are never too much my lovely cloudy anon and you make me happy everytime I see your asks pop up! youve always got the best takes!

[cherryyharryy]

i have an idea for a request (it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do it) like an angst-> fluff where one of harry’s songs accidentally gets leaked bc of y/n like she has something on a flash drive and the song is on another and they get mixed up and obviously he’s really mad at y/n and they have a fight he’s super snappy with her but something happens to her like she gets into a really big accidental or something and he forgives her bc he cares about her more tha the leaked song

WC: 2.7k

***

Damage control wasn’t even an option. 

Y/n sat there, staring at Harry’s laptop, numb to everything except the blaring desire to go back in time just two minutes. Two minutes is all she would need to undo possibly the biggest screwup of her life.

And the worst part is that this mistake ultimately doesn’t affect her. At least not in comparison to how it will affect Harry. And his band. And his team. Basically everyone involved with his career. 

Her mind is equally begging for her to shut down and come up with a plan—an excuse—something, Is there anyway this wasn’t my fault?  

She checks the time, her heart sinking to her stomach when she realizes Harry and his team will be back any minute. Any minute and she’s done for.

They’ve only been together for five months, officially. She’s still new to most everyone. She’s that girl Harry’s dating.

“I told you he played in that movie.” Jeff’s voice echoes outside the studio. Y/n closes the laptop and prays for strength. 

“I have him confused with someone else.” Harry bustles through the door, a small crowd of people filing in behind him, back to the spots they left an hour ago. “Hey darling,” he greets, “finish your paper?”

Y/n’s frozen, morbidly wishing he had found out about his song leaking on his own so she wouldn’t have to tell him. “Uh, almost.”

He kisses the top of her head and hands her a cup of frozen yogurt. “Your favorite.” 

“Thanks.” She sets it on the table she’s sat at while Harry pulls up a chair beside her. “Aren’t you guys still working?”

He waves in the direction of his band, “Mitch’s gotta fix his guitar.” He snickers, and slides his laptop out from under y/n’s hands. “Had a bit of an accident in the car.” 

Y/n’s head tingles with what must be nerve damage, her place in this world, her place in this room, decreasing in value as Harry opens his computer.

“It’s gonna melt.” He nods to her yogurt.

“I’m not hungry.”

He furrows his brow. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She looks around the room, everyone busy getting back to work, light chatter passing among them. “Uh, actually, I uh, I have to tell you something.” Y/n tries to swallow the lump in her throat with no luck.

“Okay…” He shuts the laptop and gives her his full attention.

“Okay, um—”

“What the fuck!?” The room freezes as everyone turns toward Jeff. “Harry someone’s got a hold of your song!” 

Harry scrambles to his manager, complete shock on his face as they both stare down at Jeff’s phone. “Fuck.” They start to play a video, the sound of a girl screaming, with Harry’s unconsented voice playing in the background, fills the room. “How the hell did this happen?” He’s gritting through his teeth, neck red, veins bulging in his hands as he rips the phone out of Jeff’s hand. “HOW? Someone answer me!”

Y/N considers keeping quiet. Playing innocent. What good will it do to confess anyway? It’s not like it’ll undo what she’s done.

Sarah chimes in from across the room, “It looks like it happened half an hour ago. That’s when this video I’m looking at was posted.”

Y/n’s staring down at her lap, holding her head up with her fingers pressed into her temples when Harry slings himself back into the chair next to her.

“All that work, all that fucking work,” he nearly growls, “for some cunt to spread my unfinished song around for a buck.”

Y/n peers up to the room, a completely different picture compared to five minutes ago. Now there’s talk of lawyers and pressing charges while everyone shuffles around. Jeff slams the door as he steps out with his phone to his ear, and y/n knows she can’t claim denial, it’ll only make things worse.

“Uh, Harry?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look at her, eyes glaring at his phone while another video plays of a group of people reacting to his song. “Glad they fucking like it.”

“Harry?”

“What, y/n?”

She shrinks under his gaze, mouth dry as she forces her confession out. “I uh, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll do anything—I know I can’t fix it—but...”

Harry’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing in on her as a morbid silence forms a little bubble around them. “Go on,” he whispers with grit, “finish what you were gonna say.”

She stutters, desperately trying to figure him out. “I’m just sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How did you even manage to do this?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea what this accident means, y/n?”

She reluctantly shakes her head no.

“How the fuck did you do this?”

“I—I don’t know...I was taking a break from my paper, and, I don’t know Harry.” She’s in tears now, warm and salty as they spill down her cheeks. Her mouth wobbles around another apology, but no sounds make it out.

“Fix it.”

“What?”

He stands up, yanking his laptop off the table, pausing to glare at her one last time. “I said, to fix it.” With that he storms across the room, slinging the door open just as Jeff reenters.

“Harry, your attorney—”

“Forget it.” He turns around and points his phone towards y/n silently sobbing in the corner. “She’s gonna handle it.” He takes one step out into the hall and stops, spinning on his heels to face the studio. “Don’t speak to me until you do.”

Mitch’s guitar that was fixed and propped against the wall, crashes to the floor when Harry slams the door. 

Chatter passes around the room one more time, only now everyone seems to be in agreeance—that girl never should have been allowed in the studio, and maybe, Harry should break up with her.

***

Early morning rain fell outside Harry’s apartment. It was still dark, street lamps burning through the fog in the city below. His home fills with coffee as he pours his fifth cup; the prior four never offering more than a few sips before he had abandoned them somewhere, the counter, mantle, bookshelf, because he can’t talk without his hands.

Y/n sits on his couch. It’s velvet and pink and too big for one person. She hated it the first time he invited her over. If he breaks up with her, she’s going to tell him how ugly it is.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” She’s exhausted. She hadn’t hesitated to drive over when he finally responded to one of her hundreds of texts in the week since the mishap. But now she regrets it. They’ve been going in circles with the same argument for the past four hours. She’s convinced he invited her over just to be mean. She sighs, rubbing her temples. “I said I was sorry. You know that I’m sorry. And you know that I never, ever in a million years, would have done something like this on purpose.”

“I’m allowed to be angry with you. I have every right to be.”

“Do you, though?” She straightens up on his ugly couch and looks at him leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. “Aren’t you a little tired of hating me? God Harry, everyone else in the whole world has moved on except you.”

“It’s not everyone else’s song, is it? It’s not everyone else’s months and months of hard work. It’s not everyone else’s unfinished art? Nobody else is having to deal with a girlfriend that is so careless, so thoughtless, that she actually managed to leak my song!”

“Stop raising your voice at me!”

“You had no business snooping around my computer anyway! I told you you could work on your fucking paper, not to go prying around my personal shit!”

“You know what,” she scoffs, shooting up off the couch, “this argument is so pointless. You didn’t want me here so we could talk. You just wanted to torture me because you’re mad that people don’t love your stupid song.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

She brushes his shoulder as she passes by him, and a drip of his coffee spills onto his hand. He curses, and follows her into the kitchen where he lays his final cup down on the island.

“You’re being a baby because people aren’t fawning over you like they usually do.” She shrugs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not your best song, Harry.”

The veins in his neck strain against his flaming skin. His cheeks are sucked in, and if he bites down on the skin any harder he’ll puncture his face. “Get the fuck out.”

“I was already leaving, dumb ass.” She strides by him once more, practically feeling the heat steaming off his body. When she gets to the front door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Your couch is hideous, by the way. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you have to buy shitty looking stuff.”

When she slams the door behind her, the apartment shakes, and cold coffee spills from each cup.

***

It’s nearing five a.m. when y/n backs out of the complex. Her wipers race across the windshield, but do nothing against the downpour wreaking havoc in the city. She does her best to stay on what she assumes is her side of the road, swerving to the right each time headlights blind her.

“Shit.” Nothing is open, and she can’t even see where it would be safe to pull over to let the rain pass. But her home isn’t that far, and traffic isn’t too bad. 

She comes to a stop at a red light, only to realize she missed a left turn she should’ve made a minute ago. “Damn it. Fucking hell.”

As soon as the light turns green, she spins the wheel to make a U-turn, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, and her own clouded mind, and Harry’s voice echoing in her ears, she might have seen the truck who didn’t even try to avoid her.

***

It’s the headache from hell that wakes her up. And it’s the sterile smell of hospital that jogs her memory. And it’s a nurse not much older than y/n that says something about you’re lucky to be alive. 

She’s poked and prodded and asked a thousand questions before her IV is adjusted and a pill to ease one of the many pains scratching her body is handed to her in a small plastic cup. A police officer repeats half of this process, and somewhere in the mess of her reality, she learns that the other driver was sending a text to his wife when he plowed into her car. He’s at home and she’s here. Lucky to be alive.

She made calls to her mom and friends, and even managed to type out a decent email to her professors for her upcoming absence in class.

When she automatically pulled up Harry’s name on her phone, the last text he sent, the one inviting her over so he could make her more miserable than she already was, sat there in all its taunting glory.

What is she even supposed to say? Hey, I know you hate my existence right now, but I’m lying here in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around my head. It’d be cool if you stopped by.

It’s not long before the sun pops up and reminds y/n of just how early it is. The clouds part, and it’s like it had never even rained, like it had never even been dark for hours, and if she closes her eyes, y/n can pretend that the past week hadn’t even happened.

***

 “How are you feeling today?” The nurse checks y/n’s IV, humming after her question.

“Just sore. Ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve started the paperwork, so shouldn’t be too long. Who’s coming to get you?”

Y/n blinks, feeling stupid she hadn’t thought this far ahead. She doesn’t even have a car anymore. The nurse looks over the computer monitor, waiting for a response.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Awesome. Dr. Kirby has to come check on you one last time before you leave. I’ll go see if he can stop by now, if you want to let your friend know.”

As soon as the nurse is out the door, y/n scrambles to turn her phone back on, and once it is, her lock screen is filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

She’ll respond later; gives her something to do in the car to occupy her in front of Harry. 

She can’t call him. Harry’s not a monster, although the past week doesn’t exactly prove her case, but she knows he wouldn’t refuse to come get her. If anything, he’ll be annoyed she didn’t tell him about the accident sooner. But she’s too emotional to deal with hearing his voice.

She types out a text recounting her last 24 hours, along with the name of the hospital. He immediately reads it, and a moment later he’s trying to call.

To: Harry

I’m too tired to talk rn

She lies. And it works.

From: Harry

I’ll be there as fast as i can

***

“Baby?”

Y/n cracks her eyes open, irritated she never quite fell asleep. Confused as to why Harry’s calling her baby. Angry that she cares. And the next words out of his mouth are ones she’d been predicting.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve dropped everything. You’ve been here all alone, shit. Are you okay? What hurts?”

He’s hovering over her, fidgeting, unsure if he can touch her.

“I’m fine now. Just sore. And tired.”

“Fuck I can’t believe this, I—”

“The doctor already said I can go. I’m not allowed to walk out on my own, so, you need to let the nurse know you’re here. She’ll take me down in a wheelchair.”

“Baby I’m so sorry-”

“No, Harry. You would still be busy hating my guts right now—”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you?”

“Well you did a great job this week making me feel otherwise.”

Harry sighs, gripping the bed frame and dropping his chin to his chest. When he looks back up he has tears brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I know I’ve been an ass this week. I—you were right. I took out my anger from no one lovin’ the song on you.”

“Well it’s not no one. A lot of people did. And it’s unfinished anyway. You wouldn’t enjoy a meal if it was only cooked halfway.”

He nods, but y/n knows he’s only accepting her words because of the situation.

“You mean so much more to me than a leaked song. I’m sorry I treated you like shit. And that I—I made you think I hated you. You have every right to hate me.”

“You annoy the hell out of me, but I don’t hate you.”

His lips twitch, but a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She takes his hand off the rail and smoothes her thumb across his knuckles. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

“I can do that.” He kisses the top of her head and hits the remote to call for the nurse.

“You can really kiss me, y’know. I’m not gonna break.”

He’s hesitant, but slowly lowers his head to press his lips to hers. He’s timid, and his lips are still damp from tears, but it’s more relieving than either of them would ever admit.

The nurse ends their moment when she pops in the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. “Hi, you must be y/n’s friend.”

“Friend?” He peers down at y/n, suggestion lacing the word. “Care to explain?”

“Not really, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.” He clicks his tongue, supporting her arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Once she’s standing and steady, he tucks her hair behind her ear and bends down so his mouth can graze her lobe. “Since we’re just friends, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my ugly couch.”