#I am really glad she warned us that our mouth would be sore because holy shit she was not kidding

[thethingything]

also though this dentist is genuinely the best dentist we've ever had.

she was really understanding about us having issues with toothpaste and we asked if she had any recommendations for alternatives we could try to see if those help and she gave us some options to look into so that's cool.

she also took our medical trauma into account and kept checking if we were okay throughout the appointment and asking if we needed to take breaks and we've never had a dentist do that before.

she warned us about what each tool would feel like too and actually warned us if something was going to be painful which like, I would in fact rather be warned that "this is going to be uncomfortable in this way" and "yeah this is gonna feel really bad for a few days but that's normal" than have someone try to reassure us that it won't be that bad only for it to get really painful.

our next appointment is to have a tooth removed and she explained the procedure to us and how that normally goes, and then we asked if we can take the tooth home afterwards and I can only assume from the look on her face that she's never been asked that before, but she was like "yeah I don't see why not, it is yours after all" so that's cool

[hecohansen31]

(KINKTOBER: 31 “Shameless”)

Dance Instructor! Michael Langdon+Prima Ballerina! Reader:

(A/N). Hello, lovelies!

I am not going to lie, I am honestly glad that kinktober is over, and I hope that you enjoyed it.

This fic was written a long time ago, and re-reading I honestly have to say that I low key don’t like it anymore, but since I feel like it fit perfectly the mood, I wanted to share it with you as a way to end this experience and celebrate Halloween.

It is very loosely based upon “Suspiria”, because I love the aesthetic of that movie, and alongside that, I low key wrote it listening to “Shameless” by Camila Cabello (can we just say that her new album is extremely AMAZING?).

I hope you’ll enjoy it, and as always… any kind of feedback is very welcome!

Much Love and have a very spooky Halloween!

SUMMARY: Your dance instructor has always been an enigma to you, till a lone night in the dance-room, where dance and secrets ends up tangled together (exactly as you and Michael).

WORDS:7 K

WARNINGS: Unprotected (WRAP IT UP KIDS) Sex, Dom-Sub dynamics (with change of powers), Fingering, Guided Masturbation, slightly Dub-Con, Vulgarities, Mention of Satanism and Supernatural Themes, Slight Angst, Slut-Shaming and Religious Fanatism.

“She has been here for only a month and she is already the prima ballerina of our company… that is true magic!”.

“… or maybe she had just slept with the right people…”.

“Haven’t you seen the way Mr Langdon looks at her?”.

“What a devious creature one that is only capable of sleeping with people in position of power to get her role…”.

“Truly despicable”.

“You mean… absolutely shameless”

She woke up in a hurry, cool sweat attaching itself to the side of her head, staining her hair, meanwhile she pushed them back from her face, in order to breath freely, from her mouth since she felt in some kind of primordial panic.

The rumors had choked her voice, but had she been able to, she would have gladly shouted.

She suddenly found herself alone in her dormitory room, but as she came down, she finally found herself recognizing what she had around and realized that her roommate had told her she would be going out with the others, meanwhile she chose to stay back in order to be ready for tomorrow’s rehearsals.

“Oh c’mon, (Y/N), you could come at rehearsals, looking like a ghost and Mr Langdon would still applaud you greatly” had teased her roommate.

Although her words didn’t withhold the malice they usually did in the mouth of others, she couldn’t stop the grimace that appeared on her face at that memory.

That is also probably what had inspired her nightmares, the way the rumors hunted her down and reduced her to silence.

She felt confusion in her pulsating head, immediately reaching out for the switch of the light, illuminating the sober room, which spoke of elegance and antiquity, and sometimes, when nobody was there other than her, it really scared her.

She found herself, although calmed and wide awake, restless and unable to fall back asleep, regretting having said no to her roommate’s offer, but she knew that she just didn’t belong with the other girls.

From the first moment they had seen her, they had rejected her and when she had quickly raised to the role of prima ballerina, in their little dancing company they had liked even less, spreading indeed rumors about her true talent being sleeping with older men to get what she wanted.

Oh, how awfully were they wrong…

Not only she was extremely unexperienced when it came to men (most of her encounter with them had ended badly), because of her rigid catholic upbringing, her own mother sheltering her from anything that wasn’t holy and pure, but she wouldn’t have been able to attract Mr Langdon’s attention in the slightest.

The man was an enigma also for her, and although she respected him as a teacher and understood his need for privacy she couldn’t fathom his behavior towards her: one minute he would be touching her like lovers did, in their more private time, and a few minutes later his hands would have been at his side, meanwhile he looked at her coldly.

But what was worse, was the electric energy that shot through her, whenever they would were close enough, something clawing in her, wanting to escape the prison of her body, hurting her enough to steal her breath, and one time she had almost fainted during one of the lessons, right when she had been raised up in the air, by Timothy, who had felt her melt in his arms.

Just because Mr Langdon was watching her with the most intense stare he owned.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but feel crazy because of everything she had felt during her staying at the ballet company, asking herself whether magic existed, but worst of all…

… whether demons did, because Mr Langdon was surely one of those, and he would be tormenting he roughest of ways, during the limpid nights, in her dreams.

His mouth would be on hers, but nothing farther than that, as if the Mr Langdon of her dreams was ashamed of such an impure act.

She honestly thought it was what her subconscious thought about sex, how impure and earthly it had been considered at her mother’s house.

How impure and dirty thoughts had to be polished with pain and abstinence.

She was honestly glad of having run away from her mother’s controlling obsession.

She hadn’t wanted to be another Carrie White.

She sometimes doubted if she had truly left anything worth behind, so she pushed all herself into ballet, trying and trying.

She found in dance a way to clean her mind and to enhance her body, and even that night, not wanting to feel the solitude of her dorm room, she decided to do some try-outs in the rehearsal room.

She had the keys always because of Mr Langdon: he had once seen her practice in the corridor, insomnia having taken her, and he had just handed her the following day a copy of the keys to the enormous room, with big mirrors on three sides of it.

He had never explained her what he was doing out of his comfortable room at two in the morning, but she hadn’t spoken about it, as he had never spoken about her dance try-outs at that hour.

She couldn’t try with music, mostly because the room wasn’t soundproof but she tried to reply the music in her mind, humming lightly to it, meanwhile she raised her hair in a quick bun, pushing up her long shirt, and showing the “sinful” panties, her mother would have roughly chastised (not only they were silky, the material of the Devil, but they also left much to the imagination due to their lace front).

She watched her reflection, and smirked at it, before starting her dance routine, at first hearing the music softly in her ears counting the rhythm to set up the tone, but then it ended up flowing through the memory of her body, quickly the music raising volume in her own ears, till she and the music ended up being one.

She twirled uncontrollably, losing control of her body and falling down in the ecstasy of dance.

Normally she would have absolutely stopped there to practice, making her errors stop her, but this time a different kind of energy fueled her, and she found herself to be more adrenalinic the more she moved her toes against the polished parquet of the floor, raising herself again and creating again friction on the wooden pavement with her feet.

She pushed herself through her limits, feeling her body pulsing of pain and strength, meanwhile she caught elegant flashes of her against the mirror, seeing herself completely transfigured one of the Villis from the “Giselle”, a true witch hiding under her body.

And she pushed her mouth into smirking grimaces, as if she was seeing it for the first time, trying out her new “face”, completely transfigured and fixed on it.

When her muscles screamed in pain and she realized it was past four in the morning, and although she wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, she considered that a shower to ease her screaming muscles would be helpful.

But she wasn’t able to turn around, because, meanwhile she undid her ballerina shoes, warming up her sore calves, she heard a thick clapping, and in the mirrors, she found Mr Langdon reflected in them.

He was wearing what could have been a run-away look, but he made it seem so effortlessly natural, that it made her feel ashamed of her state of undressing, not because she was in simple panties and a shirt, because unlike his elegant open silken button up, and soft boxers of a synthetic but comfortable material (rigorously dark, but with red details), she had a tattered band shirt, and synthetic silk panties, a bit discolored for the use and many wrong washings.

He looked like he could have run a Paris catwalk, and you were just a homeless girl, which had managed to sneak in the beautiful rehearsal room.

The clapping continued and her blush became redder, able only to meet his gaze into the mirrors, meanwhile she felt him inching closer, his presence, being more evident in the room, and that energy shifting again through her.

Her hands reached down the ground and clawed there to keep herself stable.

“You were absolutely amazing!” his voice was darkly laced with excitement, almost childish, but she knew better than to find anything out of place in his pretty gaze, an hypnotic on which she found rejecting in a futile attempt to keep herself anchored to the ground “… I do think that I’ll take a frequency to visiting your nightly try-outs”.

She wanted to growl, let out the moan of pleasure that came from that praise, because, although at first she had been just happy to survive in the dance world, since she had met Mr Langdon she couldn’t help but want more.

His approval more specifically.

She tried to shield herself from his gaze, but he simply smirked, his hand coming at hers, and stopping her from untying the knot on the shirt, which kept her shirt raised, showing a bit of her stomach and her panties.

“As dancers, we work a lot with our bodied” he explained to her, as an adult with a petulant child “… you are wrong if you think that I am ashamed of a bit of skin”.

In this case it was her who was ashamed, but she immediately pushed away her hands from her shirt, keeping her gaze to the mirror, meanwhile Mr Langdon moved his hand from hers to her shoulders, gently gripping on them and digging into her muscles with expertise, making her release a wild pleasured moan, for which he smirked in the mirror.

“Wouldn’t you like to show me also the duet part?” he asked her, as if it was some kind of prayer from his sinfully plump mouth.

She couldn’t deny him, although she asked who would be covering the role of Timothy, since it was just her and him, and although she could have practiced the duet as a solo part, she felt like it wouldn’t have had the same effect.

“Who else, do you see, other than me and you?” and he stared intensely at their reflection, and she couldn’t help but feel even nearer the warmth of his body, suddenly entwinned with hers, felling the softness silk against her skin, and the suppleness of his milky skin “I’ll take Timothy’s role, for tonight”.

He worded it as a sinful promise, as if he was asking her to betray for a night her beloved partner.

Whereas her and Timothy were no such thing.

Timothy barely touched her aside, from their dancing rehearsals.

Their chemistry was mostly missing due to Timothy not being interested in her, instead having a sweet crush towards Emily, her back-up dancer, and many times she had pleaded with Mr Langdon to take Emily for her role, but the man didn’t budge.

“You are perfect for this role” he had mumbled, gently cornering her face with his hands, before laying a soft kiss on her forehead “It was written for you, lovely”.

And she hadn’t talked about it too much with him, trying to do her best with Timothy, and although their technique was extremely perfect, she couldn’t help but believe that they lacked sensuality in their extremely firey performance, which should have ended with a kiss and their bodies entwinned.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?” he asked softly, bringing her back to the mirrors room, his hand softly grabbing her throat to make her assume a straighter position, since she had slowly slouched in a more relaxed one.

She simply nodded, meanwhile she turned around and felt tired and dizzy, faced with, not his reflection anymore, but the true entity of the dance teacher, who gently and softly let an hand caress her face, meanwhile she found herself even more hypnotized by those pretty azure eyes.

He looked much more lively than his reflection, which might seem obvious but it was as if true energy run through him, making him shine extremely bright in her eyes, as a monster, also crawling under his skin.

It was almost a shock, as an ecstasy given by a wonderful painting, except this painting breathed and smirked as a true devil.

“On my three” he let her settle into his arms, meanwhile she set her footing precisely and then he softly counted down in her ear, letting a thrill run down her spine, but when she heard the music, suddenly appearing in her mind, in every note, she switched back in her ballerina mode.

And it was evident from the start of the dance, that she wasn’t dancing with shy Timothy.

It felt as if for her entire life she had wanted a challenge, something that would have awakew her from the mundane life she had always lived.

It made her feel like she had met her appropriate match… obviously in the ballroom, but also… somehow outside of it.

Mr Langdon wasn’t afraid of touching her, and he pushed past her own limit, making her forget all about technique and focus more on the emotion she was feeling, which were no short of intensity..

The subtlety of Mr Langdon didn’t stop him from grabbing her with rough passion, dipping her with so much control and force that she couldn’t help but feel like a little doll, but he wasn’t the one controlling the entirety of the dance.

It was a mutual exchange and she had her own dose of power over him, teasing him through the dance, refusing to fall to his charms, exiting each grip he tried on her, pushing him away with the high raising of her legs, kicking and resisting, but also slowly nearing herself to the climax of the song, suddenly so alive that she almost thought that Mr Langdon might have turned off the stereo.

She lost any thought when she found herself pushed into his grip, this time unable to exit it, and she knew exactly what would have happened next, her body remembered each of the step, but suddenly all she was able to do was mirror Mr Langdon’s movement staring into the embers that burned darkly in his eyes, completely fascinated.

She didn’t own a body anymore: it was the master puppeteer Mr Langdon who controlled it, and she didn’t mind the loss of control, till the final act was shown: the kiss.

Never having rehearsed it with Timmy she found herself to retract a bit, but Mr Langdon pushed her nearer to him, his arms circling her waist, gently dipping her a bit, his hands going to her exposed thighs and she couldn’t help but release a delicious thrill on all her body, and she was sure by the smirk appearing on her teacher’s face, he had felt it.

And then he kissed her.

And she felt like every cell in her was reacting to it, as if after his push came a pull on her side, and soon her hands went naturally in his hair, tangling with it, and pulling… with force.

She made him moan in her mouth and she took advantage of this to lead the “dance”, caressing at first his lips, before she bit onto the lower ones, pushing it between his teeth, sure to draw blood.

He moaned of pain, but didn’t break the kiss, although they were forced to move away, due to the lack of air, and as if the aggressive force that had possessed her had left her, she found her legs giving out under her and she hit painfully the floor.

Mr Langdon looked at her, suddenly confused and she couldn’t help but focus on the bloody lip he sported.

It was because of her, and some part in her roared of pride, but she couldn’t help but divert her eyes, mumbling a simple “I think I got a bit too into the dance”.

“You were divine, little minx of mine” he cradled her face, and pushed her closer to him, and she tried to avoid the thought that she was so near to that part of him she had wished on the lonely night when even dance didn’t help her calm her mind.

Thankfully he soon fell onto his knee, exactly like her, his face gently shadowed by the elegant curtain of hair that covered his face and she felt again the impulse to push him back into a kiss, by the hair.

He immediately accepted it, his hand reaching the small of her back, gently caressing the lace of the panties, triplicating the sensation of it by thousands and she couldn’t help but melt slowly and decadently in the kiss, instead being the one who opened her mouth, and let him in.

He was less violent than her, but he didn’t seem to accept anything more than submission, all her fights and protests were useless, but as soon as his hand reached down her front, something in her screamed, and she pushed him away, with a force she didn’t know she owned.

A crazy look appeared on her reflection in the mirror, and she didn’t know if it was true or if she was having vision.

She didn’t know what came over her to act so freely with one of her teachers.

And worst of all the one that she was accused of having screwed for her role in the play.

“If the rumors are so insistent, why shouldn’t you make them real” teased a dark voice in her mind, and she shook her head to shut it up, feeling like she was losing control from her body.

“… you push me away, little birdie” Mr Langdon’s voice was as grave as a deaf bell, immediately pushing itself between her thighs and making her feel so dirty and magnificent, that she couldn���t help but push her back a bit in the air, in the attempt to release some of the friction between her legs “… but then you pull me back to you: it’s time to do a decision”.

She couldn’t help but blush further, meanwhile he sniffed at the thick air, and although she didn’t know if it was physiologically possible, she felt like he had smelt her arousal, and knew it all about it.

And it took just a look in his eyes to confirm it, as he smirked at her, his hand pushing itself in the front of his pants, where a bulge was appearing.

She immediately diverted her eyes, although she licked her lips, both for the knowledge of having such an effect on a man “like Mr Langdon” (distinguished and so disinterested into carnal pleasures) and both because it was a damn amazing length.

She had been pretty unlucky with the few men she had met, never having felt them inside her, but at the same time, they meant nothing against Mr Langdon.

He was a god amongst them.

“I don’t think I understand…” she mumbled shyly, ducking her head, almost in a curtsy in front of such a powerful magnificent.

Although disheveled because of her previous rough ministrations, he was still beautiful, with the long golden hair covering his shoulder and cornering perfectly his elegant and strong face, something which spoke of strength and decision, with a plump and decidedly sinful mouth, slightly open in an expecting question towards her.

His body was as elegant as she might have expected from a dancer with his experience, but it still held some level of softness, and she couldn’t help but find it endearing, even much more interesting.

And she was just a disheveled student, in a tattered band t-shirt and rosy panties, worn out and with a body which didn’t come even close to his.

So, what might Mr Langdon want from her?

Gods associated only with other gods.

“And you are one” her mind spoke to her loudly, an evil laugh echoing in its walls.

She didn’t know what he meant.

“I think you do, my angel” he spoke softly, crawling closer to her, and this time her body trembled under a simple touch of his hand on her extended leg, relaxing under those elegant digits “… you speak better when you are dancing, that’s when the truth always comes out”.

And he gripped tight her leg, pushing it out of her, and she found yourself laid out on the cold parquet, her hair forming a halo under her face, meanwhile Michael covered the chandelier in the room, obscuring her view.

“Why don’t you dance more, my sweetie?” and his hand slowly moved from the grip towards caressing her legs, climbing from her calves to her thighs, soliciting little moans from her, till it reached its point of no returns and there it stopped.

She moaned, protesting against the loss of his hand, but he just simply shushed her.

“I think that before I think that you are a proper partner for this kind of dance, I want a solo demonstration” and he softly grabbed her face, making her look at him in his eyes.

It might have seemed like a devious and disgusting proposal from her dance teacher, hadn’t he looked at her as if she was his equal.

And hadn’t she been already so aroused.

She still found herself unable to act onto her desires, not knowing how to properly act onto his order.

She wasn’t inexperienced in the “solo department”, but she had her own way, which weren’t in the slightest considerable a dance.

“I have never…” she uttered shyly, meanwhile she hide her face behind your hair, meanwhile Mr Langdon, brushed his thumb against her clothed core, letting her taste a bit of the forbidden fruit.

Which was pleasure.

“… there is no need to lie to me, lovely” he mumbled, caressing again his thumb against her sacred and drenched place, meanwhile another hand, freed her from her cage of hair, revealing her face to him “… I know that carnal pleasures are within human nature”.

The caress of his thumb disappeared as he uttered the last word of his discourse, and she couldn’t help but complain softly, soothed by the promise of his lips, since the gap between them was almost non-existent.

“I know, and I am not denying that” she rumbled a bit annoyed by the teasing, mostly because they were so close but he wasn’t touching her and she couldn’t help but hate each moment where his hands weren’t in her body “But I have never… been… I have never touched myself, internally”.

She was unable to speak both due to her embarrassment, unused to talk so openly about a side of her life which had been hidden for so long, and also because, due to her lacking of speaking openly about it, she didn’t have the proper words to explain her situation.

But Mr Langdon understood.

He understood anything about her: her fears about the rumors, her insecurities and also, apparently, her sexual life.

He chucked darkly, and kissed softly her forehead, which got her to beam in his arms, but soon he was again off her, and he was staring at her, expectantly.

“Don’t worry, lovely, I’ll teach you each step” and he pushed back his hair, as if to stare at her better “Let’s start with your precious neck, pass your hands from there, down to your chest. Do it slowly”.

She had never believed that those words might have seemed to sexy, alongside the little thrill that went through her body as she slowly, as he had instructed, passed her fingers from the start of her neck, where it met with her head, down to her chest, right in the valley of her breasts.

Fire ignited beneath her, as she traced slow and tiny patterns on her skin, finding new soft spots and wondering what it would have felt to feel his tongue tracing them.

She boldly met his eyes, meanwhile she did it, and opened her mouth in a hoarse moan, before daring more, gently squeezing her breasts, softly squealing, under the watchful eyes of Mr Langdon.

“Aren’t you bold, little minx?” he giggled softly, but didn’t dare stopping her “Be gentle there, tease yourself over the fabric, big circles at first and then smaller, as you come near your little… peak”.

And she followed his order, gently cupping her breast, softly, feeling their weight, adding just a bit of pressure with the hell of her hand, then she moved from her entire hand to gently drawing circle patterns around it, with her pointer finger.

She neared slowly her nipples, the circles became much smaller and she found herself slowly closing her eyes, in a pleasured haze, her legs begging for friction and she found her legs inching closer to her core, just to be slowly pushed away from Mr Langon.

“Don’t even think about rutting like a bitch, in your hand, you are better than that, my goddess”.

She nodded almost caught in a trance, staring in his eyes, meanwhile her hands came again at her chest, continuing the gentle teasing over the fabric, it working at a delicious space, alongside the friction of it adding a rough feeling to it.

“I want to see you” his voice sounded as a growl, and he seemed almost entranced and feral in his standing, but she wasn’t scared of the beast he might have become, because she knew she would control him, no matter what “… strip”.

And she raised her shirt, putting it over her head and throwing it away in the room, not caring where it landed, only caring over Michael’s full-blown pupils.

She finally pushed her fingers against the hot skin, gently teasing the soft skin, pinching it gently and then soothing the ache with a gentle caress.

“Move your hands lower… slowly, and don’t touch yourself” she almost whined at the order, but moved her hand lower, at first teasing her hips, the most ticklish parts and then her thighs, raising her legs slowly, so that she could caress their smooth expanse.

Then she came back and teased with abstract patterns the front of her panties, not touching herself, following his order, but teasing him, with a few kittenish moans.

When she opened her eyes, she found him barely restrained, and she couldn’t help it, pulling on the waistband of your panties, which snapped softly against her hip.

“You teasing whore…” he growled and you opened lightly your legs, covering her breasts, pushing herself away “… the more you tease, the more difficult it’ll be for you to come, later”.

A threat, which got her to tease him even further: it wouldn’t be a dance without it.

She slipped her fingers into her panties.

He growled as if to ask her to stop her ministration, but did she care?

No, she didn’t…

Not when suddenly that energy had come coursing through her body and made her feel in control, for once, not caring about what the others would say.

What he, himself would say.

With the heel of her hand she found her soaked center, she started rutting against, not as pathetically as she had done before, but as if she was on her throne, meanwhile ecstasy coursed through her, wrecking her so deeply and recharging her with that energy that coursed through her veins.

But it didn’t last much longer, two strong hands pushed her to the ground and pinned there, and when she opened her eyes, she found Mr Langdon’s hovering over her, his smile turned into a deep frown.

It would have scared her, the thought of having disappointed him, but she seemed to know better, her body knowing that his was searching for hers.

“… I said not to tease me” he spelled out each words, and she just pushed herself straighter to look at him in the eyes, whatever was possessing her in that moment roaring through her veins in a deep laugh, meanwhile she replied, simply.

“You asked me to dance for you”.

“Well… I am tired of you dancing around the matter” he impaled her roughly against the ground, grounding his length against her thigh, making her effectively moan of appreciation “I want to take what is mine”.

And his mouth latched onto one of her pebbles, raised at attention, meanwhile he continued pushing his hips into her, as if they still hadn’t clothes on and they were doing the real thing.

Which seemed extremely appealing.

Mr Langdon knew exactly what to do, making her bite her lower lip to release pressure and hold back a particular loud moan, as she threw back her head, her back arching itself and pushing her front closer to him.

He bit down harshly on one of her nipples, and she was sure that a mark would be staining it.

This got him satisfied enough to move away from her chest, and put his hand on her hips, caressing them comfortingly, whereas his eyes didn’t promise anything good coming on her way.

And although she was terrified of it, of not being able to stand it, a dark part of her, the one who had come in control of her body in that moment simply hissed jokingly Michael, who pushed swiftly his fingers from her hips to her wet center.

He teased her over the panties, as she had done before, but his fingers were definitely different from hers, more experienced and the felling of them, silky and long, made her nervous and anxious about what would be coming later.

And he teased her merciless, almost pushing that dark side of her to its limit.

She just tried to enjoy the fleeting pleasure, because whenever Michael would be touching her in that certain spot, she would lose her mind, but it never lasted.

No matter her broken begging.

He just smiled, devilishly.

And then finally he had enough, his manhood throbbing gloriously against her and helped her discard aside, the drenched fabric of her panties, meanwhile he was still perfectly and impeccably clothed, although a bit disheveled, due to the collision they had had.

But he still looked marvelous.

And she couldn’t help but lose a bit of the confidence she had had, not used to being naked, no matter the scandalously revealing costume she had worn on the rehearsal, to try and get used to it.

She felt even more exposed to Mr Langdon, because it was as if he could see her body and soul.

And she found herself to breath slowly, her eyes meeting his and he asked for her permission, waiting for her breath to slow down, from the agitation that had set in her lungs, before he gently leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll be gentle” his voice held a true promise and she breathed slowly, nodding softly, before she opened her legs lightly “I can’t wait to be your first”

His fingers found her womanhood, and they didn’t press inside, they instead caressed her little pearl, the one she had known herself to bring pleasure, as if to coax her to relax under him, pushing himself into the search of pleasurable spot for her, never stopping from looking her in the eyes, which were solely focused on him.

He mapped out her womanhood with his fingers, and then when he felt her trembling, completely lost in pleasure, he inserted the first finger.

She was suddenly reminded of him and her surrounding, finding the intrusion, although uncomfortable at first, strangely pleasurable later.

Everything in her head spoke of volume and about how sinful and dirty it was to let a man know her carnally just for her pleasure, and not procreation, but she didn’t care in the slightest, gently trying to move against the intrusion in her most secret place.

But Mr Langdon had pinned her down, forcing her to accept the teasing pace he had set down: he wasn’t certainly joking, when he talked about teasing her.

But he was indeed gentle.

Some parts in her, still, didn’t want him to be.

She wanted the desperate passion and the rough pain of sex which became much wilder and more savage.

But it brought to nothing, because it was now Mr Langdon who held the power.

She begged and begged and begged even some more and only when she was on the brink of madness, he gave her more, but didn’t let her tumble over and off the edge, keeping her in that middle state between aroused and completely satiated.

“You are the devil” she mumbled, as he crooked his fingers in her, hitting her deep, in that spot that seemed so different and “oh so sensitive”.

“Quite close to the truth my dear” he whispered in her ear, before gently kissing it.

The words held no meaning to her, in that moment, only searching the peak of pleasure, but they would have been, without a doubt, etched in her memory.

And there he finally had enough of his own teasing, his hands exited her body and before she knew it, he was shirtless on her, again pushing himself through his boxers onto her body, making her feel its weight and its roughness, making her wonder again what it would have felt in her.

Her hands went at its boxers and he let her take them down his legs, dragging them in a feverish quickness, desperate to have him inside of her, aching and wetting the ground under her.

Would there be a stain, the following day?

The ashamed part of her, hoped that there would be nothing to prove their aggressive coupling.

But she knew perfectly that her body had been marked for that purpose only, feeling the bruises as a badge of memory and honor.

She wanted to leave some of her own on him.

He raised them up so she sat on his laps, her back facing the mirror, meanwhile he stared into it, a few minutes before diverting his complete and utter attention towards her.

His manhood was so near to her, that she felt the tip brushing against her opening, meanwhile his hand continued to tease with his palm her pearl, making her grip onto him, her nails sinking in his neck.

She could feel him again, and the fact that there were no barriers other than his teasing smirk, made her crazy with pleasure and unsatisfaction.

“Shall we dance, my goddess?” he asked, smirking and pushing himself to align his member with her opening, just waiting for your subtle nod, before he entered her.

And she let him inside him.

The pain caught her first, meanwhile the fullness felt so so familiar that the invasion of him in her womanhood went unnoticed, although the pain was a constant reminder of it, pushing herself to harness even more onto him, her nails digging deeper, and for a moment she couldn’t help but feel like her fingers were suddenly claws.

She closed her eyes, to focus on the different sensations she was feeling and there Mr Langdon started moving, pushing himself in her, slowly and gently, trying to ease pain with friction.

And it somehow worked, mostly because she met his thrust, or tried to, because as soon as he realized how eager she was for him, he buckled into her roughly, having let her accommodate to his length (which wasn’t an easy job), meanwhile she ground her lips, trying to gain as much friction as she could.

But she was also trying to take control, pushing himself to “follow” her rhythm.

She pushed her head into the crook of his neck, biting down there, and hearing him moan loudly, meanwhile he sheathed himself into her deeply, and losing a beat, which was enough for her to gain control, bouncing herself up on him with enough strength that she couldn’t help but feel wild and feral.

Fire was burning both in her core and outside of it, meanwhile the temperature raised painfully in the room, and when she opened her eyes, she saw fire all around her.

It was as if her and Michael were surrounded by fire, and she, the following day would have thought it was just a hallucination, given by pleasure, but right now, that was her domain and that was her magic.

And then she turned to the mirror, to look at the sheer erotic vision that their entwined bodies would have been in it.

Her eyes found the mirror, and what she saw there shocked her to her own core, even more than the fire which surrounded them: Mr Langdon’s face was different from the one she donned daily, white and broken, covered in scars and with dark shiny eyes staring at the mirror, darker for the pleasure going through him.

She was honestly scared: it wasn’t human, but nothing in that room was.

But worst of all, neither she was.

Because not only Mr Langdon’s face was different, but hers, as she faced the mirror was marked by blood, glowing brightly meanwhile her eyes were suddenly red, almost as the deepest of flames in the fire that was around them, and for a moment she thought that it was the fire, making them shine that way.

But as she moved them, they kept on shining red, and her face bore golden tattoos of moons and lines.

She should have been scared of this, not knowing what the hell was happening, but she just kept her hips moving, turning her head towards Mr Langdon, or whatever demon was possessing him, and catching him smirking at her, as if he knew what she had seen.

As if he knew her own different appearance, appreciated it and found an equal in it.

“You look beautiful, don’t you” he spoke, his voice laced with roughness “…your true nature, finally out, my goddess”.

And she laughed.

Madness clearly taking over her.

But pleasure brought her away from those concerns, and she ended up soon losing each thought to the damnation of that dance.

She woke up, slightly confused about her surroundings, feeling the softness of her bed in the dorm, but her body couldn’t shake the feeling of cold parquet and skin on her own.

It was low key traumatic, and she was a bit comforted by the fellow presence of her beloved roommate, Mallory, who appeared on her side, clearly the one who had tried to wake her up.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty” joked her roommate, just hearing a tired gruntle from her, who turned on her stomach, and immediately felt her muscles flare in pain, and she let out a soft moan, which didn’t go unnoticed by Mallory “… did you pull a muscle, from too much sleeping?”.

She appreciated her roommate’s teasing, but couldn’t help but be feel like her head was going to murder her, much to the confusion in it, not only because of the physical strain she felt in all her body, but most importantly because she saw flashes of her memory from the previous night.

Mr Langdon on top of her, and inside of her, the horrific face and her own being transfigured roughly, into the one of a savage moon goddess.

“You do realize that you got me quite worried” continued mumbling Mallory, meanwhile she just hoped to be left alone, with her aching muscles and aching head “… what can I think of my roommate who is always up at 6 a.m., whereas today she slept till 12 a.m.”.

And this got quite a reaction out of her, who basically almost threw herself out of the bed and set her eyes onto the elegant clock on the wall, discovering that not only it was indeed 12 a.m., but more precisely it was 12:30 a.m.

She had missed the morning lessons.

She almost fell off the bed, as she tried to move outside of it, trying her best to get up quickly just to be pushed back in by her roommate, who explained to her, that they had the day off.

“… apparently, the dancing room, has caught fire, last night” quite a shocked expression appeared on her face “Mr Langdon was extremely annoyed by this, but they had no choice but to settle up in the dance room next to it, waiting for firefighters to give them the permission for the gas and smoke”.

And, meanwhile she was having a mental breakdown, because apparently the fire of last night was true, and if the fire was true, so were the faces, and…

…she was something more than human, almost demonic, from what she had seen.

“… but hey at least we have a day off” commented cheerily Mallory, but before she could do anything, her roommate was rushing out of her room.

She was a woman on a mission: finding Mr Langdon and asking him what it all meant.

Meanwhile Mr Langdon, or Michael, his true name, was looking at the hearth and waiting for the flame to give him some clue on the ritual having worked.

The one of the previous night had worked even too well, revealing her true nature with a great fire, which he would have gladly survived without, but it definitely proved to him that her powers were strong.

But untrained.

And how he had had fun teaching you his dance, the previous night.

“…my son” the hearth called him, and he came closer, almost brushing his finger against the fire.

“She is awake” he mumbled, almost in a trance, hearing a satisfied laugh from the hearth, roaring as the flames almost exited their rightful place “… I have found her”.

“Well, then I think that your job is done there” the voice told him, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of having accomplished the hardest of his tasks: finding a legend.

“…I’ll bring her on our side” and he looked as the fire died out “… we’ll be invincible”.

---

@emmyrosee @blakewaterxx @lovelylangdonx @1-800-bitchcraft @rocketgirl2410 @ladynuwanda @rosegoldrichie @lathraios @frenchbread4ever  @bvbfob @kaetastic

[concussed-to-pieces]

Comfort

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Ambrose/Omega!Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: How about a Thirst Party Saturday...Wednesday pick-me-up? I was thinking an Office!AU, with that sweet, sweet Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic we all know and love. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, the campaigner for all things LaBraun, @hardcorewwetrash!

Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains threats of rape, musings on consent and general manhandling. Stay safe everyone!]

You knew that you probably should have stayed home today.

Suppressants were expensive and you had the sneaking suspicion that your script had been cut to begin with. You hadn’t felt right for months. But your doctor always dismissed your concerns as Omega paranoia and you didn’t want to make your visits any more difficult, so you just put your head down and accepted the reports without complaint.

You were very lucky after all, you had to remind yourself. Getting hired into an office setting while being an Omega was no easy task, but you’d managed to pick up some runner work that would get your foot in the door over at King’s Game Enterprises. It was only small things for the moment and you’d had to sign a waiver before you started stating that you would keep up with your dosages or face immediate termination, so you couldn’t exactly afford to have your prescription cut with sugar pills. But you had this unshakable feeling of restlessness while making your morning commute. You were tense and tight, as though you were about to jump out of your skin at any given second.

In a burst of desperation, you decided to be honest with your boss about your situation. There was an off chance that maybe, he might understand and send you home early. His wife was an Omega and he treated her like an equal.

Maybe it’ll be okay.

You gathered up their coffee orders and a few files from Alicia, then squared your shoulders and headed for Hunter’s office. Please don’t fire me, you begged mentally. Please please please.

You heard the office door click open before you were halfway down the hall and Stephanie poked her head out. “Alright, move it.” She said, not unkindly. “Smelled you a mile away.” Your heart sank. They know. She at least waited until she’d closed the office door behind you before she started in on you. “Did you not understand the paperwork you signed? Because I can find someone to explain it to you. In perfect detail.”

You bowed your head meekly and pressed her coffee into her hands. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t exactly the equivalent of coming in with a sore throat, but I don’t have any sick days saved up yet. I didn’t know what else to do, ma’am, I need this job so much.” You kept your eyes on the floor, blinking back tears. “I wanted to ask if…if maybe Mr. Hunter could send me home. Or even you, if you have that authority. I know it’s dangerous for me to be out and about like this, I swear I didn’t skip a dose. I-I take my meds, always, but I don’t feel right today and I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“I’ll get Hunter in here. You sit down.” Stephanie clicked her tongue. “Your script get swapped? Did they put you on the generic?”

“My doctor doesn’t give me my scripts, he calls them in himself. He says it’s too dangerous to have an Omega walking around with an unfilled script.” A tear slipped out and you quickly wiped it away, irritated with yourself. Stupid suppressants!

There was a loud knock on the office door and then it was shoved open, the person on the other side not even waiting for acknowledgment. “Heya’ boss one, is boss two he…” The person, a man with a mop of unruly sandy-blond hair, ground to a halt. His nose twitched.

“Perfect timing Ambrose, as ever. Hunter already call you?”

“Y…yeah.” Ambrose said slowly. He shook himself all over. “Whew, sorry. I’m back.”

“Wonderful, I’m so glad Seth is teaching you to be prompt.” Stephanie turned back to you, gesturing at Ambrose. “Dean is one of our Omega therapy Alphas. It’s a new program that some of the higher-ups initiated for the safety and comfort of people like you and me.”

“Basically we’re here to keep you okay.” Dean explained simply. He radiated calm Alpha scent, the new fragrance washing away your terror at being fired.

“We?” You asked in confusion.

Another knock sounded on the door and Ambrose moved to open it, revealing two more men. The Alpha smell, which was heady enough in the room from Dean alone, instantly thickened. Your stomach filled with warmth and you gasped for breath, dimly aware that Stephanie was saying something. Seth. Roman.

Mr. Hunter’s hand was suddenly tilting your chin up. “You still in there, kid?” Hunter Helmsley was the epitome of mated Alpha, broad-shouldered and confident in his own skin. You could see why Stephanie adored him.

You barely had the mental capacity to shake your head. “I don’t feel well, sir.” Your voice was a trembling whisper.

“It’s alright. That’s why our boys are here. Can you make it to lunch time? Two hours.” Hunter glanced at the clock. “Then, it’s only half a shift missed instead of a full one.”

Two hours. Two hours. You nodded dumbly. You could do whatever this Alpha asked. You were a good Omega.

Hunter chuckled. “Alright. The boys are going to escort you to our Omega office, okay? Scent-dampening walls like mine. We need to keep you under wraps until this calms down. You may want to talk with your physician as well, figure out what he gave you.”

“Not the right amount. He won’t listen to me.” You breathed.

“He’ll listen to Dean.” That was one of the other Alphas, but was it Roman or Seth? Seth or Roman?

“Our Alpha partner program can also accompany you to appointments, if necessary.” Hunter added gently. “They’re here to make things easier.”

The idea of having a strong, secure Alpha with you in the doctor’s office made your chest ache with longing. You whined without meaning to, blushing and covering your mouth. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize, Omega. We understand.” Seth (or was it Roman?) took your hand, sending tingles through to your fingertips. “C’mon, before everyone in the building is banging on Hunter’s door.”

Roman (or was it Seth?) opened the door for you, making you flush even hotter than before. Normally only mates were offered the courtesy of having a door held for them. Dean came up on the other side of you, the two Alphas flanking you in the hallway while the third brought up the rear.

You finally got up the courage to whisper, “Are you Seth or Roman?” to the dark-haired man at your side.

“He’s Seth, I’m Roman.” The young man behind you answered, making you glance over your shoulder to look at him. He gave you a small smile, as though he was doing his best to soften his hard features. “Roman Reigns, Alpha at your service.”

“Um, no offense to any of you but…why were you guys picked for this?” You asked awkwardly.

“Even temperament, mostly.” Roman replied, shrugging.

“I don’t get nuts around Omegas. Hormone imbalances.” Dean said shortly.

“And I’m too smart to lose my cool.” Seth added smugly. “We aren’t like those other Alphas, butting heads over a piece of ass.”

“Rollins.” Roman’s tone held a sharp note of warning.

“Sorry, sorry. Not to imply that you’re a piece of ass or anything.” Seth apologized hastily. “You’re an Omega, and an Omega that doesn’t want to sit at home and do nothing! Pretty rare.”

“Sitting around is only good until the bills need to be paid.” You commented dryly. “Wait, how am I supposed to do my job if I have to-”

“Ambrose is going to be with you when you’re running errands, okay?” Seth murmured, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not ideal, I know, the space in here is kinda’ tight. But if something happens while you’re in our care, Hunter will eat us alive.”

Dean opened the door to the Omega office and stepped in, gesturing for you to follow. “C’mon, let’s sit you down for a minute. How you feeling? Doing okay?” He asked kindly, touching your forehead with the back of his hand. “You don’t feel fevery.”

“I’m just nervous, mostly. Restless. Like it’s hard to breathe. I mean, it’s not actually hard to breathe, but like how you feel when it is?” You fumbled to explain. “Chest is kind of tight.”

Roman had pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket, the well-built Alpha turning to a fresh page before clicking his pen. “Can I get the name of your primary care physician, and a rough estimate of how long he’s been cutting your medication? Mr. Helmsley will need it for your file.”

“Oh, b-but I have no proof-”

“Your body is out of sync. Unless Hunter--er, I mean, Mr. Helmsley, has put you under a significant amount of stress, there’s no logical reason for you to be feeling like your lungs are too small.” Seth raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you have anything going on outside of work that could contribute to the level of discomfort you’re dealing with. Shortness of breath is a pretty common complaint in Omegas once their meds are switched.”

“According to my primary, every complaint is a common complaint for someone like me.” The statement came out more bitter than you intended and you grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, this is good information to have. With your consent, Dean will accompany you on your next appointment.” Roman continued to write for a moment, before clearing his throat. “Ah, when is your next appointment?”

“I had made an emergency one for tomorrow, a cancellation happened and I picked up the slot. Waste of a day off, but I was really hoping to talk some sense into the doctor.” You said weakly. “Or at least try. It’s...hard. He has me strip down and put on the examination gown before he’ll speak to me and I just…I mean it’s a vulnerable situation for someone like me and I don’t really have anyone to come with me.” You were so relieved that someone might be taking you seriously, the words just came pouring out. “I know he doesn’t like Omegas so I just try to make everything simple but now I’m sick or confused and I’m scared, what if there’s something really wrong with me?”

“Easy, easy. Look, I’m gonna’ go grab you a soda from the break room stash. We’ll get some sugar into you, perk you back up. Like Mr. Helmsley said, if you can duke it out for two hours you’re in better shape.” Dean reminded you, heading for the door. “Everything’s gonna’ be just fine. I can come with you tomorrow, I don’t have any prior assignments.”

Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth the door flew open and half the contents of the IT department poured into the office. Drew, Tony and Perkins led by one Brian Kendrick who shouted, “There! I told you I smelled heat in the hallway!” pointing an accusing finger at you. You were frozen with fear. The small room was packed with Alphas and Betas now, crowding in on you from all sides.  The air was thick with different smells and the snap of hungry teeth and this is why you can’t have a job this is why you need to stay at home-

“Ambrose!” Seth yelled over the hubbub. It must have been something they had rehearsed, because you were suddenly pulled tight to Dean's chest.

“Face into my collarbone, breathe in. Breathe out. Don't look at them, focus on me.” Ambrose said calmly. There was the sound of a solid impact behind you and Kendrick abruptly stopped hollering.

“You're all really gonna' let this yappy son of a bitch rile you up into acting like a bunch of animals?” Roman asked, his voice low and irritated. “Get out. All of you! Out!”

You whimpered and Dean cupped the back of your head, humming comfortingly. “It's alright. He's a friend. You're safe with me.” He soothed. “We're on your side. Nothin' is gonna' happen to you while I’m here.”

“I'm going to talk to Kalisto and Mustafa. This is some bullshit.” Rollins grunted angrily. “Jesus Christ, that was a fucking nerd mob.”

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, sounding concerned. A large hand covered Ambrose’s on the back of your neck and you relaxed a little into Dean. “Go talk with the smart ones, Seth. We’ll stay put with them until you get back.”

“My legs are going to give out in a second.” You warned thickly.

“Grab the chair, Reigns.” Dean ordered. You closed your eyes, the sound of your swallow loud in your ears. “I’ve got you. Focus on my voice, calm that breathing down so you’re getting enough air.” Ambrose coached, settling you into the chair.

Roman’s hands rested on your shoulders, keeping you upright in the seat. Ambrose shifted in between your thighs, the comfort you felt at his presence a little startling. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you while one of us is here.” Roman said firmly.

“Promise?” You whispered, opening your eyes.

Dean stared back at you until you glanced away, unnerved by the intensity of his look. “Promise.” He replied softly.

…

“Clothes stay on. No, fuck you, their clothes stay on. You’re not bullying them anymore, got it asshole?” Dean rasped, looking like he was inches from pinning your doctor to the wall. “I’m here with them. Now do your damn job and explain what’s happening.”

You hadn’t taken two steps into the examination room before your primary care physician had gestured at the gown on the table and barked at you like he always did. But Ambrose didn’t take kindly to that, the light-haired man glaring holes through the old Alpha doctor. “You can’t threaten me in my own practice!” The older man sputtered.

“They have the right to be treated with fucking dignity, not like they’re an inconvenience. Shit, they’re sick and scared and you’re over here playing high and mighty!” Dean snapped. “What’s the story, huh doc? What’s your issue?”

“Omegas are breeding machines with hysterical, hypochondriac tendencies. My issue is that I’m having my time wasted.” The doctor answered primly.

“This is an Omega who’s got shortness of breath and their heats are getting worse even though they’re taking their suppressants. You’re the one writing their scripts; you’re the one who switched them to a generic without asking them first and then, you cut their doses in half!” Ambrose was fairly roaring at this point. “Feeding them some bullshit story about how they couldn’t take their own script to a fucking pharmacy! ‘Course they can, most Omegas do!”

“I’m not going to stand here and be accused of-”

“Accusing you? Buddy I haven’t even shown you my evidence. I’m flat-out condemning your ass. I have invoices. Faxes. Pages and pages of scripts with your name all over them. I suggest you fucking play ball with my Omega, or King’s Game is gonna’ raze your little pop-up clinic and turn it into a fuckin’ penny candy store.” Dean bared his teeth. “You feel me yet, doc?”

“I…” Your doctor paused, looking like he’d had the rug yanked out from beneath him. “Listen, this is standard procedure for Omega-exclusive practices, I can’t just-”

“You’re diggin’ a pretty deep hole for yourself, doc. You tryin’ to tell me that there’s more guys like you out there, purposely fucking up people’s lives?” Dean snarled.

“It’s the way things are.” Your doctor replied with a weary air. “We need to perpetuate our species one way or another. I don’t expect you to understand, you don’t smell quite right yourself.”

“You’d better watch that nose around me, doc. I’ll bite it off.”

“Aside from your own issues,” Your doctor continued, looking much more pale, “I can’t just up their dosage on a whim, this-”

“Hey, you’re not talking to me. Talk to them. This is their health at stake.” Dean growled.

“Fine.” Your doctor turned toward you with a huff, still not meeting your eyes. “It will take weeks for the suppressants to regain their previous effectiveness. A gradual increase is the only way to straighten you out. If, of course, this is all true.” The doctor didn’t seem to be able to help tacking on the snide remark at the end.

Dean was all over him like a bad suit, fists digging into the older man’s white jacket. “You keep this attitude up and I’ll bite your nose off for free.” He threatened. “This is your last warning to cut the shit. Write them the correct script or so help me God, my people will call your people.”

You just sat there wide-eyed, barely believing what you were watching. Dean was going to bat for you like you were his, radiating scents of fury and Alpha. Your body lit up with excitement and you barely kept yourself from begging Ambrose to mate you until you couldn’t remember your own name. Your face flushed. Where had that desire come from?! You had never been that forward before!

Ambrose kept up the rumbling threat of a snarl in his chest while your doctor printed off some new paperwork, the younger Alpha quickly yanking it out of the older man’s hands and then passing it to you. “Let’s get you taken care of, okay?” Dean murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steer you out of the examination room. “I know a guy, Doc Swagger. I’ll give you his number for when this script runs out.”

“Wow.” You breathed.

“Too much? I wanted him to take you seriously. I wasn’t sure whether ‘upset mate’ would work, so I went with ‘upset bad cop’.” Dean sounded worried. “Did I overstep?”

“Oh no, gosh. I’m just…a little hot is all.” You admitted, flushing.

“A little h…oh. Oh.” Ambrose paused, then gave you a grin. “Yeah? You think maybe you like when I get tough?”

“No! I do not!” You protested frantically, watching his grin widen. “I’ve never had anyone defend me like that is all and I don’t…I mean I’m not…look, I don’t want to offend you.”

“Offend…?” Ambrose raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “I think you’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Well because I’m an Omega. And…and I can’t control myself as well as I should.” Your flush was from shame now. “It’s not fair to you that you have to deal with me all…messy like this and probably smelling like a...I-I don’t mean to be this way. It’ll be so much easier once my medication is evened back out.” This was so embarrassing. You had never felt smaller in your whole life. “I really don’t mean to be this way, I know what you must think of me.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with how you smell.” Dean finally murmured after a minute of silence, his back ramrod straight and that teasing smile gone from his face.

…

Hunter assigned Dean to you permanently when he saw how well the two of you were getting on. He mostly just seemed pleased that the program was a success and that you could get your work done with minimal interruptions.

There were no more outbursts from the IT department, and if anyone so much as twitched their nose at you it seemed like Ambrose was at your elbow, brandishing a stapler with deadly intent. His methods were a bit more…hands on than you would expect from someone in an office setting, but you were grateful all the same.

“I ain’t hurt anyone for real in years.” He confided in you one day while you were making copies, his lean frame towering over you. He tended to station himself to the side of you if he could help it, stating that he didn’t want to loom. “Used to pretty often though. This little program is good for me, I think.”

A huge pair of hands abruptly clamped down on your hips before you could respond, and you were rudely hoisted into the air and dropped to the side to free up the copier. “Out of my way.” Brock from Financial grunted.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, his expression gone fierce. “You don’t fucking touch them, Hunter’s orders!”

“What makes you think I give a flying fuck about Hunter’s orders?” Brock snorted derisively, “The little go-fer with slick-reek was taking too long. I have important work to do.”

You blushed hotly with shame, hoping that you didn’t actually smell like slick. How incredibly embarrassing!

“You can ask them to fucking move.” Ambrose’s fists clenched. “Or you can wait.”

“Copies really worth getting your panties in a wad over, Ambrose?” Brock’s grin was infuriating, arrogance shining through in his slouched posture.

“Certainly seemed like it was to you, Lesnar.” Dean scooped up the copy that Brock had made before the other Alpha could reach it, quickly ripping the page in half.

“Your maturity knows no bounds.” Brock sighed.

“Were you all set with the machine?” Dean asked you, studiously ignoring the massive Alpha blocking the door. You nodded quickly, not wanting to cause more trouble. You could always come back on your way out, after all. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Lesnar.”

“You do realize that they’ll fuck anyone, Ambrose. Regardless of how that person treats them.” Brock chuckled, his nasty smile back full-force. “Isn’t that right, little Omega? I bet you’d love it if I shoved up your skirt and just-”

“Stop!” You said while shaking your head violently, unsure at first if you were trying to shut him up or trying to keep your thoughts from circling on the visuals his words were eliciting. Normally you would have been thrilled at the idea of an Alpha offering you any sort of attention, especially attention that might ease the hot shivers in your stomach. But all you could focus on was the brief flash of a wounded look that crossed Ambrose’s face and the nausea that was building in your throat.

“Man, why the hell would you say something like that? Were you raised by wolves? Jesus.” Dean seemed more offended than anything else, moving until he was between you and Brock. “I mean shit, what’s your problem? Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Tiny penis? All three? Get the fuck away from them.” He gave Brock a hard shove, clearing the doorway. “Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.” Dean urged you, making you scramble for the hall.

You slid down the wall once you were in the hallway, tucking your knees up into your chest. Brock had done nothing but make everything worse, your face still hot from the notion that you might smell like slick and be unable to do anything about it. You got unsteadily to your feet and fled to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and resting your forehead against the door. Too late you realized you had forgotten your copies in the hallway, and tears choked your throat. Why was this so hard? Why did you have to be so stubborn about this job? Plenty of Omegas stayed at home, raising babies and keeping house. Why couldn���t you?

Maybe the suppressants failing was a blessing in disguise. Maybe…maybe you should be one of those Omegas. You had been so sure of yourself, and look where it had gotten you! Huddled up in a bathroom stall, your stomach rolling and tears dripping down your face. And now your nose was running. You thumped your head against the stall door and then flinched back when the bathroom door opened with a loud bang!

“Omega?” It was Dean, whispering as loud as he could. “You in here?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, unlocking the stall and opening the door. You kept your eyes fixed on the floor. “Sorry I ran. I know you have the worst job in this place and I’m not exactly making it easier by taking off on you.”

“Hey, I get it. You were scared, maybe a little embarrassed. Don’t listen to anything that asshole says, okay? He’s just pulling the same shit every other Alpha and Beta does, trying to guilt or threaten you into boning them.” Dean said bluntly. “Like I need to tell you that, like you don’t already know.” He laughed weakly. “And what the heck do you mean by ‘worst job’?”

You just shook your head, finally raising your eyes to look at him. He had a new graze on his cheek, the small cut oozing blood down the side of his jaw. “Oh, what happened?” You asked unhappily, reaching out and wiping the blood off with your thumb.

“Caught the side of the copier funny. It made that low toner warning t-turn off though, so I think I fixed it.” Dean’s voice hitched slightly and you hastily pulled your hand back.

“Sorry, I…reflex.” You apologized, tired to death of blushing. But you shouldn’t have touched him! He wasn’t yours, after all, and it was a little frowned upon when an unmated Omega went around touching unmated Alphas unnecessarily. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright.” Was all Dean said in reply, jamming his hands into his pockets. When you caught sight of his hands later on in the day, you noticed his knuckles were scraped open in a few places.

I ain’t hurt anyone for real in years.

What did he consider ‘for real’?

…

Your heat cycle ended and life returned to normal for the most part. Dean no longer needed to accompany you everywhere and he said as much, pressing the phone number for his doctor friend into your palm. “I’ll see you around, Omega.”

You scolded yourself for your daydreaming, sentimental tendencies on the way to your appointment with Doctor Swagger. You felt guilty for the trouble you must have put Dean through during your cycle and you were hoping this new doctor would be able to help you manage yourself better.

Doctor Jack Swagger was the largest Omega you had ever met, the blond man standing head and shoulders over you when he shook your hand warmly. “The usual? I doubt you want to spend your whole day off in my tidy little exam room.” His easy demeanor was a complete change from your prior physician and you found yourself relaxing. “Ambrothe recommended me, huh? I’m flattered.” Swagger grinned. “He’s normally all teeth when I have to poke and prod him, poor bastard.” He patted the examination table. “Alright, quick checkup and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

True to his word it wasn’t long before you were on your way, the fresh script for name brand suppressants tucked safely into your pocket. Swagger said he had already called the order in, but that “it might be a good idea for you to have the script in hand, so they can cross-reference it.” Which you were sure was his way of letting you know that he wouldn’t be offended if you wanted to be certain you were getting the right product.

You were grateful that he seemed to understand your plight. But then again, who knew what kind of trials he had been through? Nobody could have believed he was an Omega, as huge as he was. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. Of course, not every Omega was going to be small-boned and delicate, the world just didn’t work that way. People like you did lean towards the diminutive, but an Omega’s size wasn’t nearly as much of an issue as it would be for, say, a shorter Alpha.

There were plenty of other things people could find wrong with Omegas. Size was an outlier.

You shook your head at yourself. Those thoughts weren’t going to do you any good. Everything would be okay now! You would be back to your usual self in a few months and hopefully you could still see Dean every now and then--

No! Stop it! That’s not how this works! Just because he had treated you decently, just because he was required to keep you safe when you were more likely to have a lapse in judgment? You were a job, that was all. Something to keep Mr. Helmsley signing checks for him. Nothing was going to change that. I don’t get any say in the matter, you thought sadly. He’s not mine and he’s never going to be. Might as well get used to it, no Alpha is going to so much as look at me unless I’m in heat.

…

The next time your cycle came around, you were caught off guard. It was almost two weeks early! You did your best to remain calm on the drive to work, calling ahead to let Stephanie know you would be a little late. Dean met you at the door, his expression carefully neutral. “Again?” You nodded, biting your lip. He grunted, taking off his heavy leather jacket and dropping it over your shoulders. “That ought to mask it, at least for now. How do you feel?”

“Queasy.” You admitted, snuggling down into the coat and tucking your nose into the collar where Ambrose’s scent was cloyingly thick. It was pitiful and you knew it, saying as much when Dean gently took your arm to lead you in. “M’sorry, your jacket is going to smell all gross.” You mumbled.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t mind your smell? Damn.” Dean huffed.

“What if people think you’re my mate because my scent is all over your stuff?” You continued over him worriedly. “What if Brock comes after you?”

“That’s kinda’ the point.” Dean said matter-of-factly, making you pause. “Look, I’m here to help you avoid conflict. No one said I had to fight fair.” His smile was crooked. “I just hope you can deal with the group of people who will pity you.”

“Pity…?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly a prime cut of Alpha steak.” He shrugged. “Not really much interest. Hell, I’m scrawny when you look at Reigns or Rollins.”

“I don’t think you’re scrawny!” You protested, touching his hand on your arm. “You’re trim.”

“Is that a thing? Sure, okay. I’m ‘trim’.” Dean chuckled. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Not every Alpha needs to be huge, y’know.”

Dean fell silent at your words and you wondered if you had annoyed him. His hold tightened momentarily on your arm. “Come…come in here for a second.” He muttered finally, ushering you into an empty conference room.

You were instantly on guard, your death grip on the jacket around your shoulders the biggest oxymoron you could think of. Ambrose left the door to the hallway slightly ajar, and he leaned against the wall beside it.

“Look, I don’t want you thinkin’ you owe me for this uh…well, whatever it is that I’m doing. Escorting, I guess. I was trained to do this, okay? It’s not like I moonlight in HR or somethin’, this is what I clock in to do. So you ain’t gotta’ be delicate with me, alright? I’m a big kid.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I don’t understand.” You said slowly, feeling like that was the best course of action.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair. “You…what you said. Not that I don’t appreciate hearin’ stuff like that, mind you. I don’t want to think that I’m…fuckin’, inadequate. And I usually don’t think that way anyhow. But you don’t have to say stuff just to make me feel better. Like I said, I’m a big kid.” He tried for another smile and it was even less convincing than his previous attempt. “Now, let’s get you to your office.”

“But-” You began to protest, bewildered.

“Please. Drop it.” Dean said softly, his hand tucked back into the crook of your elbow. “Seriously.”

You nodded, not really wanting to but understanding that he was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. And wasn’t that odd, an Omega trying to make an Alpha feel at ease! “Hey, if you ever need to talk to someone…”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Oh, you had definitely upset him. His words were clipped and short, bitten out. “What’s up with me is my own business, Omega.”

“Yeah, but if you have to babysit on top of that-”

“I’m not babysitting you.”

“You literally put your coat on me and now you’re leading me along this hallway like I’ve never been here before. Face it, you’re a babysitter.” Your stomach twisted suddenly, robbing you of your breath and making you stop in your tracks. “Oh.”

“Omega? Shit.” Dean swore, glancing both ways before propping you up against the wall. “It's okay, you’re alright. You’re alright, it’ll pass.” He said softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You tried to focus on his voice, tried to focus on his hands on your shoulders. “Dean-” You whispered.

“Shh, you’re alright. Breathe.” Dean urged and you nodded, trying to be obedient for this Alpha. “Just keep breathing, you’ll be okay. Nothing bad is gonna’ happen while I’m here, I promise.” His eyes lowered. “Is it your stomach?”

“Y-Yeah.” You choked out. “Hard to breathe-”

Dean grimaced and spread his palm flat on the lower portion of your stomach, applying firm, even pressure as he worked his hand in small circles. The heat of his fingers bled through your blouse and you whimpered, quickly biting down on your knuckles to stifle the noise. “Easy now, just relax into me.” He rasped, his voice rougher than usual. “I’ve got you.”

The pain in your stomach dissipated almost as quickly as it had arrived, and you held onto Dean’s arm while you tried to regain your balance. “What…God, I feel like I just ran a marathon.” You said finally, making Dean snicker.

“You probably blew through your caloric intake for the week. Let’s get you to the office and then I’ll find you a snack.” Ambrose’s hand stayed on your stomach, supporting you during the rest of the trek to the Omega office. You wanted to wonder at that, but you quickly crushed the notion. He was doing his job. Nothing more, but definitely nothing less.

He kept closer than he usually did, touching you with some part of his body for the majority of the work day. Fingertips, his jeans brushing your slacks or his arm bumping your own in the narrow hallways. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but after his curt behavior earlier it was entertaining to a degree. And confusing.

“I just don’t think I could do it.” He muttered out of the blue.

You glanced up from the pile of mail you were trying to sort, seeing that he was fiddling with his phone. “What?” You asked, making him jump.

“Oh, sorry. That was supposed to be in my head. My bad.” Dean apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinkin’ about…well, it doesn’t really matter.” You raised an eyebrow and he swallowed hard, the sound seeming over-loud in the quiet room. “Uh. Jesus, if I hadn’t seen you earlier I’d swear you were an Alpha. You’ve got the stern look down pat.”

“Oh?” You wrinkled your nose, unsure if you were being complimented.

Ambrose practically lunged across the desk to pick up one of the bottles of water he had grabbed earlier, clumsily popping the cap on it and downing half the contents. “Okay, alright, you win, you can’t do that shit with your nose.” He gasped once he was done. “Look, it wouldn’t work between us. I ain’t never even thought about dating an Omega before!” Dean sounded outright panicky and you got the feeling his mouth was miles ahead of his brain as he rambled, “I mean, I have thought about it, yeah, but it scares the shit out of me. I just--if-if they have some kind of wave and I ain’t around, what happens? What fucking happens? People talk a lot of shit but there isn’t any hard proof, do Omegas want to bang whatever whenever? And if they do, why would--”

“Listen, I’d love to answer but I can’t. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Official orders from Omega higher-ups.” You interrupted Dean pompously, barely holding back your giggles when he gave you a wide-eyed look. “What, you don’t know about the network? We have influential Omegas stationed at key points across the globe, Dean. There’s nothing Alphas or Betas can do without us knowing.”

Understanding dawned on Dean’s face and he shoved your shoulder, giving an embarrassed laugh. “Shut up, I was bein’ serious y’know.”

“I don’t really know the answers.” You admitted. “I’ve been on suppressants since my first heat, and up until relatively recently they worked fine. So I couldn’t tell you. I doubt Omegas actually want to bang whatever whenever, but hormones are a funny thing. Especially if they’re combined with a fertile Alpha or Beta. Your scent makes me weak in the knees, sure, but I’m not about to jump you. With the half-strength suppressants the hardest part was dealing with the mental images.”

“Oh. Like when Brock was-”

“Ew, Jesus, don’t remind me.” You cut him off, covering your ears. “It was bad enough in the moment, God. I wanted to die.”

“Why do people do that shit to you guys?” Dean asked, “Just to get you wound up? Give you some kind of picture that’ll make your body feel even worse until you get some relief?”

“So that they can conveniently offer to be the relief.” You shook your head. “Guilting and manipulating an Omega into mating while they’re in heat ought to be a punishable offense. Nine times out of ten we aren’t in our right minds, how are you supposed to get consent out of someone who can’t even remember words anymore?”

“And that’s the ticket right there, isn’t it.” Ambrose growled. “Fuckin’ pieces of crap get an Omega riled to the point of incoherence and have their fun.” He gave you a sidelong look. “That uh, that something that’s happened to you?”

“No, not me personally. I’ve been very lucky.” You replied softly.

“Well you ain’t gotta’ rely on luck anymore, okay? I’m here. I’m not particularly lucky myself, but what little I’ve got I’ll happily spread thin for ya’.” Dean cracked his knuckles, looking very serious. “That’s why I signed on to this program anyway, figured if my Alpha hormones are fucked I might as well do some good.”

“How are they messed up?”

“Ah, I get weird dry spells. Months, sometimes. I’ve got some meds to regulate it for when the spigot turns back on, mostly because if I didn’t I could probably tear a stack of phonebooks for kicks. It’s like testosterone overload, I can’t get a straight thought through my head even with the meds. I’ll be like ‘I need food’, then two seconds later I’m out climbing my fire escape, stealing tomatoes off the balcony of the guy who lives above me.” Dean shrugged. “Probably naked too, if I know myself.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, I’m uh, not too bright when I get that way.”

…

Friday had come at last. It had been a long week and you were definitely looking forward to some time off. Ambrose was more fidgety than normal, to the point where it was actually getting on your nerves. Usually you barely noticed it, but today Dean seemed like he was trying to tap and shimmy his way out of his own skin.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked, much sharper than you had intended.

Dean flinched, not meeting your eyes when he looked up and instead focusing on a point by your shoulder. “Yep.” He said shortly.

You quirked an eyebrow at his behavior, getting to your feet and smoothing the wrinkles out of your skirt. “Hey, if something is wrong you can tell me, you know. I’m not in anyone’s pocket just yet.”

“I just have to get through this shift. I’d appreciate it if you would drop it.” Was his stiff reply.

“Is it something that I did?” You asked worriedly, thanking God that you were at the end of your heat and your flush wasn’t quite so neon. “Did I say something? Did…did Brock do something?”

“This ain’t got anythin’ to do with you!” Dean said, his voice rasping badly when he raised it. He deflated almost immediately. “Sorry, I’m…sorry. I promise it’s not anything that you did. I just gotta’ get through today. I’m trying real hard to keep my cool here, Omega.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked, lowering your own voice and crouching so you were at eye level with him. Dean still wouldn’t look you in the eye, awkwardly shifting in his chair. “Hey, I’m serious. You take such good care of me all the time. Do you need a water? Something to snack on?”

“It feels like someone cranked the knob up to eleven and then snapped it off.” Ambrose mumbled, not answering your question. Then, “If something happens…”

“Nothing is going to happen. I’m running down the hall to the lounge, getting you a water and some chips, then coming right back. Three minutes tops.” You promised, giving him a reassuring smile. “Let me take care of you.”

Ambrose groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples. “Alright, okay, fine. Just be careful. Three minutes. I’m coming to get you if you’re not back.” He threatened half-heartedly, making you snicker while you stood.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” You eased into the hallway, making sure it was empty before you closed the door behind you. As you made the short walk to the break room, you wondered whether this was the beginning of Dean’s own proverbial hell week. Your heart went out to him if it was, you of all people understood that having your body go to war with itself was not a fun experience.

The vending machine was devoid of chips, but there were a few packets of crackers available. You fed it your change and then huffed in annoyance when the crackers got stuck in the dispenser. Pounding your fist on the side of the machine did no good, and you resorted to shoulder-checking it until it rocked enough to drop the crackers. “Ha!” You said triumphantly, retrieving your prize and turning around.

Brock was so close you all but walked into his chest and your heart sank to your shoes. “Well well well, if it isn’t the office pet. Where’s your cuntlicker?” Brock leered down at you.

You swallowed hard. Cuntlicker? “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Omega bitch. Where’s Ambrose?” Brock’s tiny eyes narrowed even further. “I owe him for the other day, after all. Maybe I ought to have you suck me off as an apology.”

“What makes you think I would agree to something like that?” You snapped, ignoring the faded response of your body that clamored to be claimed by an Alpha.

“I don’t need you to agree-”

“If you don’t want me to bite your cock off, I feel like my agreement is incredibly important.” You snarled, surprising yourself with your own aggression. “Also? Not even if I was out of my mind with heat, Lesnar.”

“Is that fucking so?” Brock’s hands crushed your shoulders, the large Alpha hefting you up and pinning you to the wall without so much as a noise of exertion. “Try again, Omega bitch.”

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” You struggled in his grip, kicking your legs and wriggling wildly. “You don’t own me, no one owns me, no one has any right to treat me like this so fuck you!” You proclaimed furiously. “I’m nobody’s sweet little Omega and I will tear your dick off if you touch me again!” You were screaming at this point, so incredibly outraged that you were seeing red.

“What are you gonna’ do to me? You can’t even fight back.” Brock sneered. “Until I decide to let you go, you’re stuck. So do me a favor and stop wasting my time, little bitch.” His fingers dug in harshly but instead of crying out in pain you spat at him, refusing to be cowed. “I know you’re gonna’ change your tune the second you see my cock, you Omegas are all the same. Once I wreck you, Ambrose won’t come within thirty yards of your sorry ass.”

You jerked your head to the side and sank your teeth into his hand. Brock responded by slamming your back against the wall so hard you saw stars for a second.

“Don’t push your luck-”

The door to the room opened and Ambrose half-fell through the doorway, barely catching himself in time. “What are you fuckin’ doing?” He asked Lesnar bluntly, his teeth clicking loudly at the end of the sentence. Dean looked feverish, his hair messy and eyes wild.

I’ve got some meds to regulate it for when the spigot turns back on, mostly because if I didn’t I could probably tear a stack of phonebooks for kicks.

You gulped. “Ambrose why are you so fucking obnoxious?” Brock grunted. Dean didn’t bother to respond, he simply latched onto Lesnar’s fingers and peeled one of his hands off your shoulders. You dropped to the floor and then with an ugly twist of his wrist, Ambrose snapped every finger on Brock’s hand.

“Keep it up, Lesnar. Give me an excuse t’ send ya’ ass t’ the fuckin’ ER.” Ambrose snarled. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time? I figured you’d appreciate the black eye, but I guess you’re more hands-on than that.”

“You broke my fucking fingers!”

“You had the Omega trapped, not much choice.” Ambrose shrugged. “My job description is ‘any means necessary’.” His footing was unsteady, the slender man almost falling over when he managed to pull you upright. “Are you alright, Omega? Anythin’ hurt?” He asked, straightening out your blouse clumsily.

You threw your arms around him, hugging him as fiercely as you could. Dean stiffened for a second before he returned your embrace, holding you tight to his chest and cradling the back of your head like he had the first day you had met.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, quieter this time. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no, I’m okay. I had it under control.” You selfishly buried your face in his shirt, inhaling his scent deeply.

“I noticed.” Dean whispered.

“You're gonna' fucking pay for this, Ambrose!” The larger Alpha swore, easily ripping Dean away from you and delivering a blow to the smaller man's jaw that snapped his head to the side. “After I'm done with you, you'll eat through a straw for the rest of your life!” Brock raged, his broken hand cupped to his chest.

Dean shook his head and then bared his teeth, blue eyes wide and pupils blown in a fixated stare. “And I was gonna' let you live, too.” He rasped, giving a harsh bark of mirthless laughter. He caught your arm and pushed you towards the door, his fingers lingering on your skin longer than he needed to. “Get Hunter, Omega. Be good for me, okay?” His scent was saturated with Alpha smell, strong enough to take your breath away.

“But-!”

Ambrose didn't have another second of attention to spare, throwing himself bodily at Lesnar and flooring him. The last thing you saw before fleeing to go find Mr. Helmsley was Dean straddling Brock, the slim Alpha ranting swears while the two of them swung wildly at each other.

…

What was left of Brock Lesnar was blackballed from King's Game and all its subsidiaries. Which may have stretched further than you had anticipated. Dean was released into the care of Rollins and Reigns. According to Mr. Helmsley he was a little too far gone to be trusted with driving himself home. “He’ll be fine in a few days.” The older Alpha assured you, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He bounces back pretty quick. Tough kid, Ambrose.”

You spent the weekend quietly. You were shaken by the fact that while Ambrose clearly displayed  dominant tendencies, he hadn’t ever tried to assert that dominance over you. He also hadn’t thought for a second about taking a piece out of Brock, recklessly lunging at the larger man.

Was it because Brock had gone after you? Or was simply because he had hit Dean? Ambrose had seemed to be in his right mind until he had been punched, then he had obviously lost the battle with his surging hormones. Now that you thought on it, if what Dean had said was true, Brock was probably lucky to be alive.

Dean wasn’t at work on Monday or Tuesday. When Wednesday came, you marched straight to the Alpha Program office and banged on the door.

Seth opened the door, staring down at you momentarily. “Uh. Yes?” He asked after an awkward pause.

“I need Dean’s address.” You said firmly.

“Ha! Pay up, Rollins.” Reigns called from his desk across the room, chuckling while Seth swore under his breath and dug into his pocket for his wallet.

“Why do you want Ambrose’s info?” Rollins questioned you warily. “He’s not in the greatest shape right now, and I dunno’ if he’s fit comp-”

“He lit into Lesnar and I want to know why.”

“Brock put his hands on you. Dean takes his job very seriously.” Seth explained like you were a child, making you bristle.

“But why pummel the guy? Not that I’m ungrateful, mind you. It just seemed like overkill is all.” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to talk to him. Make sure he’s alright. I haven’t felt okay since that day and I…” You trailed off, feeling that familiar blush creep up your neck.

“Ah. Talk.” Roman cleared his throat. “I don’t know if he’ll be in the proper headspace for speech. But hey, maybe having you there will help him come back around.”

“Is he really that far gone?”

“The spat with Lesnar pushed him further than it should have. He’s been mostly non-verbal whenever Rollins or I check on him.” Roman shrugged. “He’s not hurting himself. He’s all bundled up in a blanket den like usual, it’s just that he’s not talking. Dean gets into his own head sometimes and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it except let him know that we’re there for him if he needs us.”

“Will he hurt me if I show up?”

“Ambrose ain’t like that.” Seth answered sharply. “He’s a couple sandwiches short, yeah, but he’s never violent without a reason. He thinks the world of you.” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “Uh, not in like…a creepy way or anything. Just, y’know, you’re important to him, I guess.” He floundered.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. “So give me his address.”

…

Ambrose lived in a rougher neighborhood and you were immensely thankful that your heat had passed. You weren’t sure you would have been as confident if it still had your body in its grip. Even in your right mind, you spent a solid five minutes talking yourself up in the car. “C’mon, Rollins said he wouldn’t hurt you. You don’t even think he would hurt you, you big baby.” You shut the car door behind you firmly, straightened out your skirt and headed for the apartment complex stairwell.

Reigns had given you Dean’s door code, stating that he was unsure if Ambrose would be able to answer the door in his current state. The lock clicked open under your fingers and you let yourself into Dean’s apartment, knocking your knuckles against the wood of the door to announce your presence. “Ambrose?” The first thing that hit you was the smell, Alpha scent so strong it made your head spin and knees weak. You braced yourself on the chair beside the door, trying to clear your head.

The second thing you noticed was that the whole apartment was dark. Daylight filtered in weakly through the curtains, but other than that the place was in shadow.

You put the small bag of groceries that you had picked up before coming over onto the counter, noting with worry that there were no dirty dishes in the sink. “Dean?” You called a little louder, thoroughly concerned now. “Hey, where are you? Roman and Seth said that you’d be here.”

Behind you there was the sound of a door creaking open. You whirled just in time to see Dean unfolding his lanky form from a pantry that was definitely not meant to be a living space. He spilled out onto the floor and laid there for a minute, before he turned his head to the side and groaned pitifully.

“Dean!” You dropped to your knees, forgoing your usual Omega propriety in favor of touching his shoulder. “Dean, oh my God. Are you alright?” After another long minute he raised his head slightly, dazed blue eyes trying hard to focus on your face. “Dean, it’s me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You said quietly.

Dean’s reply was a hum that turned into a low moan, his forehead hitting the floor again with a dull thud. “Om’ga.” He slurred. “Thought y’ were th’ guys. Y’kay? Lesn’r come back? I’ll geddup, ‘ll kick his ass again…” Ambrose struggled to do just that, shoving himself into a sitting position. He then inhaled deeply and you watched his pupils dilate. “Y’ didn’t need to come over here. M’ fine. Just been in my den.”

“Is that what you call the pantry?”

“Small, dark. Quiet. I need that when I’m like this.” His voice sounded shot.

“Can I get you something to drink?” You offered. Dean flailed an arm out until he caught hold of a drawer pull, hauling himself partially upright. You grabbed his free hand and managed to help him the rest of the way.

“Fuck’s sake.” He rasped, holding tight to your arm. The knuckles on his hands were still cracked and yellow-green bruised, presumably from his fight with Lesnar. “Feel like hot garbage. Why y’ here?” He asked wearily, his head lolling back momentarily.

“I’ve been worried about you.” You said, a little plainer than you had intended.

Ambrose jerked his head up to look at you, obviously startled. “You…what?” You propped him up against the counter and filled him a glass of water from the sink, which he quickly drank. “Om’ga m’ serious, wh…what did y’ say?”

“I was worried about you.” You whispered, twiddling your fingers nervously.

“Why?” Ambrose asked bluntly.

“I don’t know, because you got into a fight with an Alpha who’s at least twice your size? If I had just-”

Ambrose placed a finger on your lips, stopping the flow of words. “Y’ not gettin’ raped while I’m on th’ fuckin’ clock, un’nerstan’? Don’t care how sick I am.”

“But if I had let him-” You tried to continue your previous train of thought.

“No. There’s no gray area here, Om’ga. Not allowed. No is no, always has been. Y’ did th’ right thing by fightin’ back.” Dean closed his eyes, tilting his head back to bump the cupboards. “I saw him fuckin’ pinnin’ you there an’…thought I was too late. Got so scared.” He confessed. “Needed you t’ leave. Wouldn’t hurt you, but…but I didn’t want y’ afraid of me if I fucked him up.”

“Is he at least fun to punch?” You asked dryly.

Dean’s drawn-out groan of a response sounded downright filthy. “So much fun.” He dragged a hand through his hair, finally seeming to notice the shopping bag you had brought in. “Whuss’at?”

“Dinner. I didn’t know how sick you were, so I um. I brought dinner.” You fought down the feelings of self-consciousness when Dean’s face became guarded. “It’s pretty basic stuff, but I know when I’m knee-deep in heat there’s nothing better than not having to make your own food.”

“Omega, m' okay. You don't need to--y'know.” Dean fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “I already tol' y' that I'm a big kid. Don't have to take care of me or say shit I wanna' hear. Which one of th' guys put y' up to this? Bet it was Rollins.”

“Nobody put me up to anything, why is that so hard to believe?” You asked, thoroughly irritated.

“It wouldn' be th' firs' time, is all. Don't mean t' be all weird abou'it.”

“I'm here because I was worried sick about you, and I wanted to know why you went after Lesnar so hard even after you got him to let me go.”

“Make sure he never did it again. He shouldn't have put his hands on you.” Ambrose snarled. “He talked so much shit when you weren't around, tryin'a rile me up n' get under m' skin. Fuckin' rattlin' on about how I mus' be fuckin' you, there's no other reason I'd take on the job 'cept to get first crack at an Omega, righ'?” He said bitterly. “It's Alphas like him that made me apply in the first place, an' look at me. Stooped to his fuckin' level th' firs' chance I could get away with it.”

“But you were on the opposite side of it!” You protested.

“It don't fuckin' matter. I went full rut-brain and hauled off on someone. Coulda' killed him.” Dean muttered grimly. “Been thinkin' about it this whole time. If Hunter hadn't gotten there when he did...Christ, was so fuckin' mad.” You wrapped your arms around him impulsively, hugging him tight. Dean actually moaned at the display of affection, his cheek dropping to rest on the top of your head. “Omega, y' can't...”

“I can.” You said softly.

“I won't prove him right, Omega.” Ambrose whispered, his hands trembling when he rested them on your hips. “I won't accept a reward for bein' someone like him, some domineerin' Alpha fuckstick.”

“I'm not a reward, I'm a human being. A lot of time and effort goes into me, Ambrose. I expect you to appreciate that.” You said huffily into his chest. “I'm hell on wheels during my heat if I'm not on suppressants and I don't fully understand how bad you get during your own spells, but I'm willing to try if you are.”

“Y' willin'?” Dean tipped your chin up, searching your eyes with his own. “Are y' serious?” You kissed him on the mouth instead of answering and he startled you with a gravelly whimper, his body going slack against yours while he cupped your face and kissed you back. “God, Omega, I've been goin' out of my mind, I wanted t' ask, wanted t' do it right.” He breathed. “I know I'm not much of an Alpha, m' skinny an' not nearly as dominant as I oughta' be, but...but God I want you. Wanted you t' want me, t’ take me as your mate.” He crooned helplessly in his throat. “Knew it from the first second I saw you, but you were so pretty. I don’t get pretty things.” He buried his face in your hair, rocking you back and forth. “I thought I fucked everythin' up when I went after Lesnar. Thought I scared you.”

“I was scared for you. I knew you weren't feeling well and I didn't want you to get hurt.” You assured him, boldly resting your hands on his hips.

Dean chuckled. “Ain't gotta' worry about me, Omega. Been in way worse shit than that.”

“Don't say that. I don't even want to think about you getting hurt.”

The Alpha groaned louder than you expected at your words. “I don't think anyone's ever not wanted me to get pummeled. You sure I ain't dreamin'?” You kissed him again, softer this time. “God, if I'm dreamin' don't wake me up.”

“Will you let me fix dinner?” You asked cautiously. “You can shower while I do that, might make you feel a little more human.”

Dean kissed your forehead, then teasingly rubbed his overgrown stubble across your cheek. “Not a fan of the mountain man look, Om’ga?”

“I didn’t say you had to shave!” You protested quickly, making him snort with laughter. “Just get washed up. Nothing better than a nice hot shower when you’re in heat, take my word for it. Yes, I know you’re not in heat, but I feel like a few of the rules are universal.” You ticked them off on your fingers as you spoke. “One, any food you don’t have to cook yourself is good food. Two, a hot bath is next to godliness. A hot shower will suffice, but it has to be hot. Three, if you need to cry because something hurts, that’s okay. And four, the most important one, be careful.”

“I ain’t gotten murdered in the shower yet, have I?” Dean looked troubled for a second. “Does…does it hurt when you have your heat? Where does it hurt? We learned that stomach soothe thing in our trainin’, but that can’t be all.”

“Ah, I personally get pains in the small of my back, my neck and shoulders. The stomach throbbing I think is universal, something to do with the reproductive areas going into overdrive with prep work.” You shrugged. “It’s so strange to me that there’s no concrete answer to essentially any Omega problem. It’s always a ‘possibility’ or some crap like that.”

“Tryin’ to keep you guys under everyone’s thumb.” Dean grunted, moving to scoop his blanket nest up out of the pantry. “More research means more informed folks like Doc Swagger, right? Can’t have that shit fixin’ their system.” He reasoned. His face reddened when he caught the incredulous look you were giving him. “My uh, my ma was an Omega.” He fumbled to explain, clinging tighter to the blankets as if they were a shield. “Never knew my dad.”

“Oh, so you’ve had a vested interest in that kind of thing.” You realized. Dean nodded wordlessly, ducking his face into the blankets. “Hey, don’t hide from me you goof, that’s a good thing.”

“Seth thinks it’s weird.” Dean muttered.

“Seth’s not an Omega, now is he? Of course he thinks it’s weird.” You chided. “I think it’s awesome that you pay attention to stuff like that.” You tugged the blankets down and kissed him again, smiling. “Now go get washed up.”

“God, just havin’ you around makes me feel more human.” He said dazedly. “Yeah, okay, shower. Goin’.”

You squealed quietly to yourself once you were sure he was in the shower, doing a giddy little shimmy before you started making dinner. He likes me! He’s liked me since the beginning! Your whole body still felt like it was buzzing happily from all the kisses and touches; you had never been touched tenderly by an Alpha before Dean. It had always been so clinical, as though being an Omega was contagious and no one else wanted to get infected.

Dean obviously didn’t give a damn, never shying away from the limited contact you had been bold enough to make. He seemed to welcome your hugs and kisses as well, so you made a mental note to do that as often as you thought you could get away with.

A still-stubbled chin rested on your shoulder and a set of strong arms wrapped around your midsection. “Miss me, Omega?” Dean asked, grunting when you wiggled back against him contentedly. “Think I’m about eighty-five percent human again. Makin’ mac n’ cheese?”

“Mm. Ultimate comfort food.” You nodded, continuing to stir the pasta. “Want to set your table, or should I?”

“I can manage it.” Dean pulled away, pecking the top of your head. “Thanks for takin’ care of me, Omega. Y’know you don’t have to, right?”

“I’m doing this because I want to, Alpha Ambrose.” You teased, making him rumble in his chest.

“Could get used to that.” He said finally, his tongue poking out from between his teeth when he smirked at you. The smirk vanished after you commented positively on his dimples, his face taking on a more bashful look while he set two bowls out on the counter. “Always thought they were out of place on the mug of a guy like me, y’know? Weird fuckin’ cherub smile.”

“You must have gotten away with so much when you were little.” You sighed. He grinned at you, silently indicating that he absolutely did. “Who am I kidding, you probably still raise hell.”

“Nah, Lesnar was my first fight in ages. There’s this thing called getting arrested, happened once or twice. Kinda’ not a fan of it so I’ve kept my nose clean.”

“Arrested? Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, it’s when ‘The Man’ decides he’s had enough of your semi-vigilante bullshit.”  Dean snuck a taste of mac n' cheese out of the pot as you reached over to turn off the heat and he laughed when you swatted him on the shoulder. “Alright, alright, I'll be good! You gotta' hurry up though, m' starvin'.”

Dean, it turned out, didn't exactly have a kitchen table. His living room sort of...flowed into the kitchen and he apparently ate on his couch most of the time. He ended up hauling the worn coffee table in close enough to bump his knees when he sat down, then patted the space on the couch beside him.

“C'mere, Omega.” He urged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders when you obliged him. To your surprise, he scooped up a spoonful of cheesy pasta from his bowl and proceeded to feed it to you. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you chewed and swallowed, and Dean cocked his head to the side. “What is it?” He asked.

“You just said you were hungry.” You pointed out, tentatively accepting another mouthful of mac n' cheese.

“I am. But if you're my mate, if...if we're dating, you come first.” Dean said firmly. “So you eat, and then I'll eat.”

“How about we compromise?” You suggested, emptying your bowl out on top of his and then offering him a spoonful of your own pasta. “We'll eat from the same bowl. I'll feed you, and you can feed me.”

“Yeah?” Ambrose looked suspiciously misty-eyed for a second, before he cleared his throat and eagerly ate the comfort food. “M' old-fashioned, sorry.” He mumbled around his mouthful. “Never had anyone to share stuff with like this. I always thought I'd have t' bring a fresh-killed deer to someone's parents or somethin'. But I guess sittin' in my apartment eatin' cheesy mac ain't so bad.”

“Think you can live with the disappointment?” You grinned.

“Oh, I'll manage somehow.”

His quiet murmurs of contentment slowly turned into outright purring as the evening went on, and you found yourself petting his hair while the two of you watched television. “Hey, can you look at me for a second?” You requested softly, making Dean tilt his head up. “Hi.” You kissed him and he moaned into your mouth, seeming caught off-guard.

“Omega, fuck.” He breathed. “Hi. Huh.” He shuddered all over. “One more of those and I'll wreck my pants. Go easy on me.”

“Why? Do you get like it when I kiss you?” You asked, giggling when Dean nodded wildly. “What else could I possibly do to you, if that's all it takes?”

“Everything.” Dean growled, twining his fingers with your own. “Everything and anything is great. Kiss me, bite me.” He was all but begging, baring his neck and burying his face in your shoulder. “Bite me, bite me please.”

You blushed bright red, licking your lips at his invitation. “Are...Are you sure? What if I hurt you?”

“I dare you.” You mouthed over his neck and he sobbed out a breath against your shoulder, his body twitching. “God, please, please Omega, just-” Your teeth dug in, canines crushing down. Dean froze for a second, almost long enough for you to get worried. “Fuck.” He snarled, “Yeah, you're perfect.”

“More?” You asked, squeaking when he yanked his shirt off and pulled you into his lap. His eyes met your own and the two of you just stared at each other for a moment. “More.” You announced.

“You're my mate.” Dean replied, cradling the back of your neck when you nosed across his shoulder. “Whatever you want, just keep biting me.” You sank your teeth in harder this time, giving a growl of your own when Ambrose rolled his hips. Your skirt rode up on your thighs. “You want to go further, Omega? We can if you want to.”

“You say while I have a mouthful of your neck.”

“Hey, don't talk with your mouth full.” Dean scolded, carding his fingers through your hair. You giggled and he started laughing as well after a second, his smile warm when he looked down at you. “What do you want from me, Omega?”

“A lot of things.” You answered truthfully, pulling your skirt up out of the way. Dean's eyes widened gratifyingly when you ground yourself against the swell of his cock in his jeans. “A specific thing right now, if you're interested.”

“Jesus Christ, if.” Dean unbuttoned his jeans, biting his lip when you pushed his hand away and unzipped his zipper. “You're dangerous, know that?” He rasped. “Checkin' up on me, feedin' me.”

“I have to take care of my Alpha.” You said simply.

“Yours, Omega. All yours. As long as you'll have me.” Dean spoke just as plainly as you, cupping your cheek. “Until you leave.”

“I'm not going to.”

“I sure as hell hope not.” He watched hungrily while you shed your panties, rumbling when he saw the slick that shone in the dim light. “Fuck, you can't still be...”

“No, m' just wet.” You rose up onto your knees and Dean shivered in anticipation, his thighs tight beneath you. “It's much worse when I'm in heat, trust me. Half the time I don't even bother with underwear.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” He sighed, gripping the base of his cock and giving himself a lazy stroke. “If that ain't a turn-on, I dunno' what is.”

“Good to know.” Dean's knuckles brushed the soft skin on your thigh and then he pulled away, letting you slowly lower yourself onto his cock. You weren't able to hold back a moan and he echoed your noise, sounding desperate. His fingers dug into the couch on either side of his body when you were fully seated, and you panted out a few shallow breaths as you tried to get used to the size of him. “God, Dean.” You gasped.

“Oh Jesus, fuck.” Dean grunted, whimpering when you snapped your teeth back down into his neck. “Yes, good Omega, good Omega, bite me, mark me.” He urged, his eyes rolling back in his skull as you tugged at his hair and began riding him. “Best Omega, don't be shy little Omega, fuck me, fuck me-”

You leaned back, using your hold on his hair to make him watch his dick slide in and out of you. “You like it? You like the way I take your Alpha cock?” You crooned, his passive behavior driving you to quicken your pace. He still had his hands clenched into fists on the cushions, like he was afraid to touch you. “Fuck up into me like you mean it, Alpha. Claim me.” You demanded. His hips bucked once, shallowly, and you ground down onto him.

“Don't want to hurt you.” He groaned, his hands seeming to move of their own accord despite his words. Dean palmed your thighs, only tightening his grip after you nodded encouragingly. “Won't hurt you. Your Alpha's gonna' make you come.”

“Yes please!” You begged, leaning into his touch.

“Look at you, taking every inch of me. What a good Omega you are.” Dean praised, “You needed this, didn't you? Needed your Alpha inside you to fill you up. Alpha's here.” He thrust his cock up, snarling, “Alpha's right here to give you what you need, tell him what you need. You need it harder? You need it faster?” You could have cried with relief when he crushed you down to sit in his lap again, his dominant tendencies shining through. “Grind on your Alpha's cock.” He ordered and you obeyed, making him grit out a swear. “Hah, fuck, Omega, you're so tight around me, fuck--”

“I'm a good Omega, right?” You panted, and Dean pressed his forehead to yours. “M' a good Omega, make you feel good?”

“God fucking dammit Omega, this is the fucking best I've ever felt in my life.” He growled, “Come for me, c'mon, get my knot fuckin' slick for you, do it, do it-” The bulge at the base of his cock throbbed against you, prodding thickly at your pussy with delicious intent. Just the thought that something so big would be inside you in a matter of moments was enough to make you arch your back and grind down even faster, your pubic mound bucking against his stomach in a frantic bid for completion.

Your orgasm surged through you, sending jolts up and down your spine where Dean gripped you fiercely. In the midst of it all, his knot slipped into you and you buried your face in his shoulder, crying out loudly and circling your hips. “Oh sweetheart, oh God, God are you alright? Are you alright?” Dean gasped, trembling fingers combing through your hair soothingly. “Jesus, I'll stop if you're not alright Omega, need to tell me y' okay.”

You managed to give him a thumbs up, making him moan in what seemed to be relief. His knot throbbed inside of you and then he grunted, coming hard. You sucked in a breath at the sensation of being mated, claimed and proven worthy by your Alpha's knot like you were an Omega out of the history books.

“Fuck.” Dean breathed. “Fuck. I've never knotted anyone before.” He mumbled finally. “Never had it engage. Holy fuck, you're my mate.”

“I'm your mate?” You echoed, unable to hide your smile.

Dean appeared to be in the same boat, his eyes going wide with the realization. “I'm your mate.”

“You're my mate.” You kissed his forehead. “My Alpha.”

“My Omega. I...God, wow. That sounds...that sounds really great.” He smiled up at you, his curls a frazzled mess and blue eyes bright with affection. “My Omega-mate.” You relaxed into Dean's arms and he began humming softly, continuing to stroke your hair and plant the occasional kiss on the top of your head. “Take a breather, Omega. We've got time.” He murmured. “Sleep good.”

Sleep good.

[vizhi0n]

Sundown - Part 5 (End)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

OOOH okay so I hope you guys don’t hate me, but after going through like 50 revisions and ideas I figured out how I wanted this all to end. This is a long chapter, but I didn’t want the fic dragging on. Thank you guys so much fo reading this random post-premier fic that i thought up XD

Homies: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @i-am-negan-trash @genevievedarcygranger @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @lucifers-trash-stash @crzcorgi @kellyn1604 @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @manawhaat @rapsity @superprincesspea @haleyea  @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @alyisdead @my-achilles--heel @jasoncrouse @strangersangel9 @fxcking-negan @tolieboy @fairytale07 @kijilinn

Warnings: Gore, Negan’s potty mouth, and le’ good ole smut.

Our bodies were slick with sweat — we’d discard our clothes in a pile in the corner. Negan had been right — he had fucked me more than once. Twice, actually. I was surprised he wasn’t sated yet as he pinned my arms above my head, mouth descending so he could swirl his tongue around my breasts. 

I wasn’t complaining. His fingers were careful not to jostle any of my injuries. Nevertheless, I was even more sore afterwords as my recovering body endured more stress than it needed. He’d slowly worked any sexual awkwardness out of my body, ensuring that it didn’t hurt when he entered me. 

“You ever been fucked in the ass before?”

“No? What the fuck makes you think that I have, or that I’d want that?” Negan chuckled at my response as I rolled my hips against his, already used to him filling me up. I was marked — I’d never be able to get his scent off me. Cheap cologne, sweat, blood, a musky sweetness that only he possessed. I wasn’t sure if it as the smell or the flick of his thumb against my clit that had me finally whining for him. 

“There you fucking go,” Negan praised. He chuckled, burying his nose in my hair. “Holy shit, you’re so nice and fucking warm for me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Negan pressed two quick kisses against my lips, mumbling, “We really need to work on your sex talk.”

“I’m just…making an observation,” I grunted as he bucked his hips. His thumb continued to assault my clit with even more vigor than before, inching me towards my release. He was holding out well, grunting with each thrust of his cock. 

I came first, clenching around him and releasing a series of rather pornographic moans that even I was ashamed of. My nails dug into his shoulders as I held on, pressing my mouth against his bare shoulder to stifle my next few cries. I stayed there even as he pulled out and released onto my taut stomach, muttering curses. He rolled over and I nestled against him, burying my face in his neck. He held me, trying to catch his breath.

“You are going to be the fucking death of me,” Negan groaned. I smiled and ran my fingers through the nest of matted dark hair on his chest. He grasped my hand, stopping me. After a quick squeeze he whispered, “Stay here with me. Please.” 

“Negan—”

“Nothing will ever hurt you again. I fucking swear it,” he said, “Because you’ll be by my fucking side.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking? What the hell else am I supposed to say to you?” Negan’s lips curled into a grimace. “When I say shit, I fucking mean it. What reason would I have to lie, after everything that’s fucking happened?”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know me. Not all of me — fuck,” Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, jerking his chin towards his faithful barbed baseball bat, which rested against the wall, stained with blood. “Lucille? She’s…Lucille was my fucking wife. She was the one who always liked bringing me chocolate covered strawberries and shit like that. She was the greatest fucking thing that ever happened to be. Even if the world hadn’t gone to shit, she still would have fucking died. I still would have lost her.”

“How’d she die?”

“Cancer. And my pathetic ass couldn’t even put her down. I had to get some fucking kid to do it for me,” Negan gazed up at the ceiling. “I fucking admire you, okay? I respect you. You’re fucking ballsy, you have an attitude, and you’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for. Kind of like her.”

“We would have been homies, then. I like smart women. I like women in general. Hey, we have that in common,” I patted Negan’s chest, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. “Now get up. We’re actually in a bit of predicament here.”

“I thought I was on vacation?” Negan chuckled. “Toss me my fucking pants and then I’m ready to fucking go.”

“We only have one shot at this. It’s now or never.”

“I trust you,” Negan said. “You’ve done this shit before?”

I nodded, peeking out the window. The walkers were just milling about, and the horde didn’t look as dense as before. We had a chance. A slim chance, but a chance. 

Now or never.

“Shit,” I cursed, squeezing my eyes shut before opening them. I shut the blinds, gesturing for Negan to stay while I slowly opened the door. Several walkers turned at the noise, shuffling towards the stairs. 

I gripped my crowbar and swung twice. One walkers toppled, head caved in like a fallen pie crust. I quickly and carefully grabbed the corpse’s arm and began pulling, feeling Negan assist from behind. We dragged the bleeding, unmoving walker into the trailer, shutting the door behind us. 

I dropped the body, panting. Negan looked over at me once more, and then down at the walker corpse. Sighing, he began gathering supplies while I knelt over, feeling a tight pain in my ribs and in the back of my head. I tugged the huge flannel that I’d salvaged closer against my body, feeling a bit dizzy. 

“You sure you’re up for this? You’re concussed, Rachel,” Negan asked. “Drink this before you do anything else.”

He tossed me the bottle of water. I tried to catch it but my depth perception was off and it landed on the carpet. Wincing, I reached down and picked it up, wasting no time before I began taking massive gulps. 

“There’s only one left,” Negan said. “Shit.”

“Another reason why we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Negan huffed, tugging an oversized, old sweater over his head. He reached down to grab Lucille before limping back over, standing by my side as we observed the corpse. 

“You wanna go first?” I grimaced.

“Fuck no. This was your idea, not mine.”

I rolled my eyes. I shakily got to my knees, gesturing for Negan to hand me his long bowie knife. He did, sliding it from his pocket and handing it to me hilt first. Without hesitation, and trying to remember what I’d seen Rick and Michonne do back in Alexandria, I sliced the walker open from neck to hip. 

The stench was unbearable. The cramped trailer smelled like rotting flesh, bloody, a sickly-sweet odor that, even after being around the undead for years, I’d never gotten used to. Negan held his nose with one gloved hand, waving for me to hurry. 

I did. Ignoring the horrible texture of flesh, intestines, and sinew, I began dousing myself in walker entrails. It was in my hair and on my face, turning my dark skin a brilliant red. 

Negan went next. I helped him, coating his head and working away at his sweater until it turned from cream to black with blood. He slipped his knife back into its sheath while I grabbed my crowbar and then, finally, the assault rifle. I slung it over my shoulder — I was halfway to the door when I stopped. 

Negan was watching me. He had Lucille clutched tightly between his fingers. 

“I never did thank you for not killing me,” I said softly. “You trusted me.”

“I didn't really have a fucking choice. But I’m glad that I did."

“Yeah,” I glanced at the ground, watching his boots as they came into view. When I looked up he was staring down at me, skin matte with dried walker blood. Without even thinking I reached out and grasped his free hand, murmuring, “If I choose to stay with you, I…I don't want to fight. I can’t fight. I can’t hurt anyone. What I want to do is negotiate — talk with Rick, Ezekiel, Maggie…no more bloodshed and no more death. Nobody has to die. Not anymore.”

“If they try and kill you, I’m sure as hell going to fight back.”

“I know. Shit, Negan. I think I might actually have a thing for you.”

“A thing?”

“A thing, thing. Like…I feel it in my stomach. I feel warm when you touch me or when you talk to me. I want more. I deserve more after the shithole of a life I’ve had. You make me feel good.”

He brushed his thumb across my lower lip, smiling. His kiss was chaste, gentler than I’d ever felt from him. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

I grinned. 

“You’re pretty good looking yourself,” I replied. “Let’s go. Now or never, remember?”

We waited until we had a pretty good, clear space before we walked down the stairs of the trailer. I stuck close to Negan, our fingers intertwined. I had the gun and the crowbar while he held Lucille, her barbed ends pressed against his bloodied sweater. We walked slow — we had to. Negan’s injuries prevented us from outright running, and my concussed head, sore ribs and aching arm had made it very clear that breaking into a sprint was not an option. Our slow speed made us seem authentic, and I prayed that no Saviors would mistake us for walkers and snipe us from above. 

We made no sound. The groans of the undead made it impossible to whisper to one another. We weaved our way through, and the entire time, I felt dread within me. Those teeth, those unflinching eyes, were too close. Each time a sinewy, dead hand would brush against me I’d flinch—

Don’t be scared. Fear gets you killed.

I stayed as close to Negan as possible. I had no clue where he was leading me — I, of course, had no in-depth knowledge regarding the layout of the Sanctuary. But I knew the longer we stayed disgusted amongst the dead, the more chances there were for things to go horribly wrong.

Like right now, for instance. 

I heard shouts from the balcony, though they weren’t directed at us — I looked up and saw one of the Saviors — Gavin — pointing and instructing several armed Saviors to begin firing. 

Firing at what? 

“Shit,” Negan hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The herd began shifting towards the noise, inevitable tugging us along with them. The minute we tried to divert towards a different route was the moment the facade crumbled. 

“There’s a safe place just around that corner,” Negan shouted through the roar of gunfire. Gavin hadn’t seen us, and his men were busy firing at whatever walkers moved. I heard the noise the moment Negan and I began swinging our weapons. 

Shattering glass. Flames. Alcohol. 

Those dumbasses were throwing molotov’s!

They weren’t dumbasses. They were smart — molotov’s were smart. But of all the times they chose, now could have been the worst possible opportunity for them to grow a pair and start doing something. I felt Negan shove me forward from behind, dragging his leg behind him as he did his best to run. 

“Go, go, go!” he swung Lucille in a wide arc, catching two walkers in the head at once. I shoulder past a walker before bashing one with my crowbar. There was no time to grab my gun and begin firing. 

“Negan!”

“Go,” Negan roared. He began limping, teeth clenched as he struggled and pushed his way through the undead. 

I didn’t go. I reached for him, bloody hands grasping his sweater and tugging him forward. I slung his long arm around my shoulder, doing my best to support his limping form. 

Grimy hands grasped for out clothes. I saw it first — a wide fire escape just a few feet off the ground. Negan gasped, “Fucking there! Go there!”

I released him. He turned, startled, as I engaged the first walker I saw, smashing my crowbar down twice against its head. Blood splattered across my face and I bellowed, swinging again and again and again —

“Rachel — shit, get over here!”

I thrust the crowbar forward. To my dismay I felt it sink through the decaying neck of a walker, coming out the other side. This slight mishap gave the creature enough time to grasp my shoulders. 

No, no, no —

I released the crowbar and shoved. Not even bothering to grab it, I clambered up the fire escape, still toting the assault rifle. 

The sound of gunfire had ceased, but I could smell burning wood and flesh. Negan let out a breath, still limping as he used Lucille to bash open a glass window. 

We were safe.

Negan gestured for me to go first, sliding down against the wall, clutching his thigh in agony. Even in my concussed state, I could see that he needed medical attention. 

Shit.

I climbed through the window, discarded onto the floor. The room was empty, so I dropped my guard, peeling off the sticky, blood soaked flannel and tossing it to the side. I knelt down, poking my head through the shattered window.

Negan was sweating, voice hoarse as he spoke.

“Holy shit. Holy shit this feels like a fucking dream,” he groaned, shifting so he could face me fully. “Don’t ever say that I doubted you.”

“You doubted me like fifty times, dude, don’t lie. But I would have doubted me to so I’m not, like, mad or anything. And it helps that you’re so damn charming.”

“Well, I apologize for my fucking transgressions.”

“Apology accepted,” I smirked, extending my hand. “C’mon. Do you need help getting through—”

“Hey!”

A hard female voice pierced through the air. I turned away from the window, standing. One of the women from before — Regina — stood with a gun clutched in her hand. I went to speak, raising my hand in a placating and calming gesture to let her know that I wasn’t an enemy—

She shot once. Then again. The first bullet hit right below my left breast while the other struck my hipbone. I heard a bellowing male voice — Negan — and the sound of shattering glass, and a woman’s scream. Footsteps as more saviors approached. 

And then I hit the floor, hard, my legs unable to support my weight. My entire body felt twitchy and out of control. I went to feel the wound and felt nothing but blood. 

I had a clear view of Negan as he pounced on Regina, gripping the screaming woman and, in a shriek of pure, unadulterated rage, hurled her through the window and over the fire escape. Her body fell several feet before impacting the concrete with a sickening thud before being consumed by those below. I heard Simon yell at the Saviors not to shoot. 

All the while I lay as crimson stained my clothes and the floor beneath me. There was so, so much of it, like a river. I tried verbalizing it but found my lungs filled with the sickening liquid. When I tried to speak I convulsed, mouth flooded with blood. 

“Get Carson! Fucking get him, now!” Negan bellowed, eyes bloodshot. A few Saviors obeyed while the others watched. 

Take a picture, boys, it’ll last longer.

I desperately wanted to make the joke, but I could barely talk. Negan propped me up, hastily removing his glove so he could press a clean hand against the wound beneath my breast as it sucked the life out of me. 

You’re dying.

There was no pulling away or coming back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the pain or the blood, or Negan’s pleas. I could only relish in the feeling of him holding me, cradling me in his arms and lifting my head so I could try and breathe.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Shit,” Negan squeezed his fist together. “I’m so fucking sorry. Listen, Carson is coming. Harlan Carson. He’ll fucking fix you. Look at me, okay? Fucking don’t move. Look at me! You’ll be okay.”

No, I won’t.

Fucking say something!

I fought through the mouthful of blood, managing to push out a few garbled words. 

“No. This is what happens to humble foot soldiers, remember — I get it now,” I smiled, holding it as long as I could. I didn’t want his last memory of me to be of some expressionless corpse. “Thank you.”

Negan’s begging and cries dissipated. They were nothing. I was nothing. I couldn’t see or smell or hear. I was gone, sinking beneath the horizon like the setting sun. But I wouldn’t come back. 

Hush.

It’s sundown.

[venusparker]

identity ↬ p.p

prompt: jaebumps said: i see your request for a prompt and I raise you “who the f*** do you think you are?” With Peter Parker.

warnings: foul language  

notes: thank you for sending me a request, i really appreciate it! although this was kinda sorta really vague and i didn’t have much to go on so i kinda made it my own thing BUT it does still include this kind so i hope that’s good enough for you. also @ everyone; if you have a request or an idea for an imagine, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send me via my ask box. hope you enjoy.

The floorboards creaked slightly and the constant dialing of numbers filled the unusual emptiness of Peter Parker’s room—all from your own doing. 

You paced back and forth, staring at your phone and placing it against your ear as you sent texts—again, and again, and again, then repeat—and the incessant sound of a dial tone and Peter’s “Hey, it’s Peter…Parker…Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, leave a message!” voicemail greeting was making your teeth grit with annoyance as you wondered where he was. 

This had got to be the tenth time he bailed on you (but hey! who’s counting?) during something that was incredibly important to and for you, and by now you were sick of it and worried about him. Your fingers could’ve grown sore due to how many times you clacked them against your phone’s digital keyboard and you were wondering, simply wondering, where on Earth a fifteen year old boy could be at nine o'clock in the evening for Pete’s sake! (No, you sighed, no pun intended.)

The vein in your head could’ve popped by now, considering how immensely stressed you were, biting your nails as you glanced out the door to make sure Aunt May couldn’t see you. She thought Peter was home, and you—being the wonderful best friend you were—knew that, with all she’s been through and with all the criminal uproar in the city lately, she’d go crazy if something happened to Peter, and she’d beat herself up if it was on her watch. Why you were saving his ass when you were, frankly, pissed off at him? You didn’t know.

Maybe it was because, no matter what this boy did, you’d have his back. Because you loved him. Even if he was a little shit that made you want to tug out your hair sometimes. 

With his answering machine repeating itself for the umpteenth time, you’d decided you’ve had enough. You went to close the door and your hands were shaking—you were that angry. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe you were just upset that he wasn’t being a good friend lately, but God, have you had enough. You sucked in a sharp, deep breath, crossing one of your arms across your chest as you waited for the irritating and irking beep! and you blew. 

“Peter…Benjamin…Parker, you are dead meat, you little son of a bitc—ugh! I’ve been waiting here for half an hour, pretending to talk to you because May would be livid if she found out you had snuck out. 

Speaking of you not being here—did you forget anything, Peter? Huh? Like, you’re fucking best friend, who you were supposed to finish an  essay with—your part of the essay. The essay that's—I don’t know, due tonight? That’s twenty percent of our grade. I can’t believe you’re doing this again.

 Do you even know how hard it was to convince my mom to go over to a boy’s house at this time? Incredibly hard, just so you know. Listen, Peter, I love you—but who the fuck do you think you are—”

Your voice is cut off by the robotic tone accompanied with his message box. “Sorry, voicemail box is full. Please try again later.”

Your lips are parted, your breathing is slightly shaky because of how angry and petty you want to be (and are), and your chest is moving up and down rapidly, your eyebrows knitted together as you calmed down. You steady your breathing and close your eyes for a moment, trying to recollect yourself. You open them again and end the call, regretting your actions and being glad that the voicemail hadn’t sent. 

You shoved your phone back in your pocket and sighed heavily, like a burden was being lifted from your shoulders but was slowly being replaced with guilt and shame. You couldn’t deny though—that kinda felt good. You let out a breath of relief: and Peter would never have to know. You turned around slowly, thanking the universe, only to be met with a half naked Peter.

“Oh my God,” you let out, both of you widening your eyes in shock and you quickly turned back around again, hoping you were just imagining him and that when you’d turn around again, him and his weirdly chiseled abs (seriously, when did he get those?) would be gone and you could be saved from the embarrassment. You turned around slowly with your eyes closed, opening one eye at a time. “Fuck, you’re still here.”

He hastily reached for a shirt that’s thrown on his bed and pulls it on, kicking aside something red and blue, his face contorted with shock. “Y/N, of course I’m here! This is my room! Why—” 

“Wait, how long have you’ve been standing there?” You ask him, heart pounding in your chest. Man, did you screw things up. “What did you hear?”

He gulps for a second, then frowns. “I’ve been here since you said my full name.” You massage your temples and mutter out an apology, but he stops you. “Wait—what did you see? Did you see me in my…”

He trails off and you immediately glance around the room and he notices, diving for his pile of laundry, both of you ending up in a heap of clothes as you wrestle him for whatever he’s trying to hide. So far he’s winning, but you’re not giving up that easily—especially since it’s a distraction from your horrible voicemail and you’re hoping he’ll forget it. 

“What are you hiding, Peter? Are you a drug dealer? You’re fifteen, you can’t go to jail—woah!” 

You tug harshly and nearly rip whatever you two are fighting over when suddenly you’re thrown back, one of your hands stuck against the bedpost of his bunk bed. You stop breathing for a second. Web. He just shot a web at you. You’re staring, taken aback with what just happened, and your eyes lock with his panicked ones. 

“I’m so sorry, but you have to let be me explain—”

“Holy shit, holy shit, you're—you, you’re Spider-Man. Oh my God. Peter, I think I’m going to cry and throw up. At the same time,” A tear slips out of your eye and you’re laughing, “I’m going nuts, I really am.” 

“Y/N, this is why I’ve been such a bad friend lately,” Peter confesses and he scoots closer to you and you’re in awe. "It’s not an excuse, I know, but I have these abilities and I’ve been using—”

“You’ve been using them to fucking save New York!” You shout and he clamps his hand over your mouth, but you continue mumbling anyway because dude your best friend is Spider-Man.

“Well, I wouldn’t say New York, mainly I’ve just been sticking to Queens, but whatever, that’s not the point. You cannot tell anyone about this okay? Too many people are finding out and that’s not good for a superhero. Like that’s seriously terrible for a superhero,” he says and he takes his hand off of your mouth.

“Of course, I won’t tell, I’m not an idiot, I’ve watched movies before!” You pause and try and pull yourself together. “Peter, I’m so sorry about that voicemail,” you immediately apologize, feeling stupid for feeling so angry at him. Sure, he was a bailing dipshit, but you’re sure that he cared more about saving lives than homework. “I should’ve just talked to you about how I felt.”

“No, you’re right. I’ve been unfair to you. I should’ve trusted you. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but it’s hard, okay? Mr. Stark has faith in me and I didn’t want to mess things up with him, you know,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I want to prove that I’m not just a kid.” 

“Peter, you’re fifteen, even superheroes deserve a break,” you say and you lean against his bed’s railing seeing as you there’s not much else you can do. You look up at him and smile reassuringly. 

“You’re right, but being Spider-Man is pretty fun,” he tells you and takes a seat next to you, giving you a teasing grin as he leans into you. 

“I hate you,” you claim as you shake your head at him. “You’re a piece of work, Peter Parker.”

“I know, but I’m your piece of work,” he slips out casually, glancing at you unsurely. “…Right?”

You shake your head and you’re chuckling because damn, you hate how right he is right now. “I don’t know. Are you sure Ned doesn’t already have that spot filled in?”

Peter shrugs, “Yeah, but I don’t know, I don’t want to kiss Ned—wait, crap. I didn’t mean to say that, well I mean I really don’t want to kiss Ned, he’s not my type when it comes to guys, but I do wanna kiss you. Kinda. Unless you don’t want to then I understand.”

Your heart stops in your chest and you looking at him—no, you’re gawking at him, and you don’t know what to say. “I’m not allowed to—you know that my parents would kill me if I went behind their backs and—they think I’m too young, Peter.”

You try and ignore the discouraged expression on his face, because you want to kiss him. You really, really want to. But he understands and he accepts it because he’s a good person, and this sucks because that only makes you want to kiss him even more. Both of you are silent for a moment and you roll your eyes at yourself and reach for his face. 

“I’m going to get murdered for this.”

At that, you connect your lips with him, your heartbeat thumping in your eardrums and the feeling of Peter’s lips on yours replace any thought that could possibly be thought in your brain right now. It’s slightly longer than you expected, but when you pull apart, you’re out of breath and you—you can’t believe you just did that. 

God, you were going to get grounded until you were thirty if your parents ever found out about this. 

“Peter,” you say with realization, and you refrain from kissing him again because  you’re honestly not trying to push your luck. 

“Yeah,” he utters, still dazed and in disbelief of the fact that you kissed him and he feels like he’s capable of anything right now, his heart pumping so much blood and adrenaline it’s like he’s on fire. 

“How do I get out of these webs? I’m, uh, I’m still webbed to your bedpost,” you laugh, and you don’t know what’s more is shocking: the fact that you kissed your best friend or that he was Spider-Man. Both were in the running for first place right now.

“Oh, right. Don’t hate me, but they dissolve in two hours.”

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“When this dissolves, I’m kicking your ass.”

[so-langelo]

“Hi.”

Hope you guys like this Ari xxx *mortal au* Note: WIll is a year older than Nico

Summary: Will and Nico’s friendship over the years (i suck at summaries but i swear its good)

Word Count: 1666

*disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot* *warning: underage drinking*

“Hi.” Six-year-old Will Solace held his hand out to a small boy he noticed sitting alone in the playground. 

The boy was sitting at the edge of the concrete playground with playing cards spread around him. He had dark hair that hung past his ears and eyes that were pools of deep brown. He looked at Will and seemed surprised that someone was actually talking to him. 

“I’m Wil. What’s your name?” Will sat next to the boy, careful not to mess up the cards on the ground. 

“Nico. Nico di Angelo.”, the boy’s voice was soft and hardly above a whisper, but Will heard. 

“So, you play Mythomagic?”, and immediately after Will said it, Nico perked up.

“You know how to play Mythomagic?”, Nico said excitedly, “My sister always says that Mythomagic is lame, so I don’t have anyone to play with usually.”

“I’m not good, but I know how. My brothers taught me, but they always beat me.”, Will said, “I like Apollo. He’s so cool.”

As Nico dealed Will’s his cards, he looked up at Will with a small grin. “You can have him if you want.”

“Really?! Thanks, Nico. You’re the best.I’ll keep it forever. Promise.”, Will smiled at Nico with a blinding brightness. 

After an hour of playing and Will loosing, a man from the othr side of the playground called for Nico. Nico put down his cards and said, “I have to leave now. Can we play again, Will? I’ll see you again, right Will?”

Will was sad that Nico was leaving; he enjoyed the other boy’s little quirks and the way he talked about Mythomagic like it was the best thing ever. Will put on a smile, “Yea, of course, we’re best friends now.” 

As Nico waved goodbye, Will looked down to to the card that was given by his new friend, and on the back in messy handwriting, it said: 

If found please return to Nico

“Nico.”, Will whispered and smiled to himself.

“Hi.” Will said as he opened the door to Nico’s room. The room that he has been in so many times over the last seven years changed so drastically in just a couple weeks. It was so dark even though it was 2 in the afternoon. 

“Who let you in?”, Nico’s voice was raspy and harsh; just like his room, Nico changed from a happy-go-lucky kid to someone distanced and cold. But Will wasn’t going to be going away, no matter how much Nico pushed him away. He wasn’t going to leave his best friend. 

Nico’s sister, Bianca, died. It was a horrible accident, and it left Nico and their father devasted. Nico wouldn’t come out of his room, he barely ate, and, worst of all, he pushed everyone that cared for him away. 

“Your dad. He’s worried about you, you know.” Will sat at the edge of nico’s bed, where nico was hidden under piles of blankets. 

“No he doesn’t. He’s glad Biance died.”, Nico’s voiced choked at the words, “One less kid to worry about.” 

“Don’t say that. He loves you, Nico. Don’t push him away, please.” Will pleaded. He hated seeing Nico like this. It hurt him and he knew he couldn’t do anything about him. 

“Will. Why are you even here? You’re just like the rest of them, pretending you care.”, Nico spat at him, accusingly. He sat up form his covers and stared with a deadly fire in his eyes. 

That’s when Will’s keep-your-cool persona died. “Don’t you ever say that! I do care, Nico. Everyone cares about you. You’re just too busy wallowing here to notice. Everyone is trying to help you! Everyone misses her too Nico! Bianca wouldn’t have wanted this! She wouldn’t want you like this, rotting away in your shadows.”

Nico’s eyes looked almost black in this room. They were quickly filling up with tears that threatened to overflow after Will’s rant. 

“Will. It’s just so hard. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for saying such horrible things to you. I’m sorry for being a jerk. I’m sorry. I miss her so much, Will.” Nico broke down in front of Will, and Will cradled him in his arms. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” Will repeated those words like a mantra, and the two stayed there until the sunset and the tears that spilled from Nico’s eyes dried.

“Hi.” Will’s voice was muffled from under the pillow that hid his face. 

It was no surprise Will’s mom let him up. Since Will and Nico became best friends ten years ago, Nico practically lived here.

“Hey, Solace. How are you holding up?”, Nico nudged his leg that hung off the bed. 

“I’m fine. You know, fine as in I found out my boyfriend cheated on me and dumped me because I found out.” Will took the pillow off of his face and got up.  His hair was a blond bird’s nest and his eyes were probably swollen from all the crying. 

“He was a jerk. I tried telling you that in the beginnng. To make you forget that dick wad, I brought you Ben & Jerry’s cookies and cream cheesecake. Your favorite.”, Nico held up a quart of the said ice cream and two spoons. 

“Oh my gosh. You’re the best. The only three men that I need in my life. Ben, Jerry, and you.”, Will greedily grabbed the ice cream and his spoon. 

Nico laughed. “You’re welcome.”

Will looked up at his friend and saw Nico staring at him with an expression that could almost be affection. 

No. It’s just your imagination, Solace. Your hallucinating from your post-breakup depression. 

Will decided to brush it off and just enjoy the company of his best friend and his ice cream. 

The two talked and talked. About Will’s ex and other stupid things. They talked like they haven’t seen each other in years. 

When it was around 3 am, the two were on their backs with an empty ice cream container forgotten at their feet. Nico turned to face Will.

“I have to tell you something.” 

The moonlight from Will’s window shadowed Nico’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“I actaully hate cookies and cream cheesecake.”

“Hi!” Will screamed over the loud music at his best friend. 

His best friend that he may or may not have fallen in love with over the last year. 

“Nice party!”, Nico cupped his mouth to be heard. 

“Thanks. It was Lou Ellen’s idea.” Will looked around for the girl that planned his ‘18th birthday extravaganza.’ 

Nico motioned outside, a place where they can talk without getting sore throats. 

Will struggled to follow Nico, being stopped a couple times because of people wishing him a happy birthday. 

“Hey.”, Will said, when they were both finally outside, away from the blasting music and the people slowly getting drunk. 

Lou Ellen swore that she didn’t know who spiked the drinks,  Will didn’t quite believe her, so he steered clear away from any liquid offered to him.

“Hey Will. I wanted to give you your birthday gift.”, Nico stook a sip from his cup. 

Will’s eyes widened. “Nico the drinks are-”

“Don’t interupt me, Solace. I know about the drinks, and I just thought the the only way for me to get the courage to tell you that I’m fuckin’ in love with you is when I’m a bit buzzed, okay. Now what I wanted- Fuck. I told you. Dammit, Solace! I had a whole damn speech! I’m didn’t even drink that much. Do you see what you do to me. I broke the law for yo-”

Once again, Will interupted Nico. 

But this time he interupted him with a kiss. 

The two broke apart; their foreheads touched. 

“Sorry for interrupting you. I just wanted you to shut up, because I love you too.” Will’s breath tickled Nico’s lips. 

“Nice to know. Now can we kiss again?”Nico smirked at him. 

“Whatever you want.” 

The two connected lips once more. 

“OH MY HOLY GOODNESS! CECIL! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE! YOU OWE ME 30 BUCKS!”

“Hi.” Will said, as familiar arms wrapped around his waist.

Lips started to travel his neck. 

“Stop, Nico.”, Will chuckled, “We can’t be late to our own wedding reception.” 

“Will, they can wait 15 minutes.”, NIco smiled at him. Will thought he looked absolutely beautiful. 

“Save it for the honeymoon, sunshine You don’t even have socks on. Just get your socks from my drawer. We’re already 4 minutes late.”, Will said, while trying to fix his tie.

“Okay, okay.”, Nico whined.

When Will finally got his tie to look decent, he heard Nico gasp. Will rushed to his side. 

“What happened?”, Will said worriedly. Nico had his hand over his mouth and his eyes looked teary. 

In his other hand, Nico held an old tattered playing card, a Mythomagic card, of the sun god, Apollo. On the back, in faded writing was:

If found please return to Nico

“You kept it? After 20 years, you kept it?”, Nico tackled Will in a hug that almost knocked them to the floor.

“Yeah, I kept it. You gave it to me, and I promised I would keep forever. You don’t break those kids of promises.”, Will ran his fingers through Nico’s hair, careful not to mess it up. 

“You’re such a nerd.”, Nico said, wiping a few stray tears.

“You are so emotional. Such a bridezilla.” Will joked, kissing Nico’s forehead lovingly.

“Shut up, Solace. Come on. You made us late to our own reception.”, the two exited the room to their wedding reception and the rest of their lives together.

OH MY GOSH THIS IS SOOOO LONG SAPPY IK LOVE U GUYS!! Ari xx

[jacquelineshyde]

kill me with 34

OMG! What the fuck is wrong with you, man? D: Now in revenge, i’ll write other kind of dying.

34. In a pool of your own blood

ff.net // AO3

Hyde’s day had been a nightmare.

Not only Kelso and Brooke thought it was a good day to have a big fight and leave their eldest daughter with him so they could resolve their crap alone, but the latest album shipment to Grooves was completely wrong. The distributor had screwed up his order, and he was the one who had to fix it.

He hated this part of being The Boss. He tried his damn best, but on days like this he wished he could still be the lazy kid in the basement. But nope.

Nowdays he was the owner of a growing chain of music stores that also supported small bands, giving them a chance to get heard. He was also a very stressed-out-at-the-moment husband and a very worried-for-the-past-week father.

“Uncle Hyde?” Betsy said. She was almost twelve-years-old and got bored easily. “Are we going to your house soon? I want to see Ally!”

“Almost,” he said and taped his complaint to the distribution company.

“You said that, like, a hundred hours ago!”

“Quit complaining, or I’ll take you to your grandma’s.”

“Ugh!” She lowered her head to his desk with a thump! When she looked up again, she had a red mark on her forehead, and he smiled. No way he was telling her about it. “What if I take the bus to your house?” she said.

“Nope.”

“Argh!”

He shared her frustration. He wanted to be home, too. Jackie was there, hopefully relaxing and enjoying her last maternity leave. Their eight-year-old son and five-year-old daughter were helping her take care of their youngest, seven-month-old Alison.

But in his office at Grooves, he couldn’t relax. Jackie’s calendar was an open sore stinging his brain. It wouldn’t close until she wrote a giant P under one of the days of the week. Any day of the week, as long as it was soon. “Uncle Hyde?” Betsy said as the office phone rang.

“Mmm?”

“Are you almost done?”

“Almost.”

“You said that three years ago!”

“I really am gonna take you to your grandma’s!”

“ARGH!”

He looked at his goddaughter for a moment, a smirk on his face, before answering the phone. Grooves had two numbers, one for the store itself and one for his office, which meant this call could only be from family or important contacts. Eleven o'clock told him the caller was his son, Dave.

“Hey, buddy,” Hyde said.

“Dad, mommy says you have to come home, or she won’t leave the bathroom ever again.”

“What?” He must’ve sounded strange because Betsy stared at him and blinked a few times.

“Mommy’s having a crisis in the bathroom,” Dave said.

“What?” Hyde repeated and shifted in his desk chair. Dave was always calm while talking, even when he was in trouble or reporting that one of his sisters was sick. He didn’t need to practice Zen; he was born Zen. “Dave,” Hyde said, “what’s going on?”

“Not much. Mommy doesn’t want to get out the bathroom because she’s going to traumatize me forever.” He sighed. “She wants you to come home.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know, but get here fast. Alison wakes up in, like, two hours or something. There’s no boob to give her.”

Hyde shook his head. “Dave, please, never say that in front of your mother.”

“There’s no titty to give her.”

“David.”

“Father.”

Just for a second, Hyde wondered how this kid got such personality. Then his giggle, loud and annoying, childish but full of mischief, reminded him who his mother was.

And who his father was.

“You sure she didn’t tell you what the fuss is about?” Hyde said.

“Nope.”

Why was his son such a little prick? “Good. Then … do you know what the fuss is about?”

“Well, not really,” Dave said. “But the chair’s got blood all over it.”

“WHAT!?”

**

Silence greeted Hyde when he opened the front door to his house—until his eldest daughter, Layla, spotted Betsy beside him.

“Beeeetsssyyyyyyyy!” Layla ran into her cousin’s arms, and Betsy hugged her when Hyde stepped inside and closed the door.

He sighed, looking at them, then smiled. The house seemed just as he left it this morning: peaceful. But neither Jackie nor Dave were anywhere to be seen. He checked the dining room first. One of the chairs was missing, and Dave’s statement about blood being “all over it” became apparent. Red droplets stained the rug where the chair used to be.

The door to the backyard scraped open. He glanced toward it. Betsy and Layla were dashing to the dog, who waited for them outside with his tail wagging.

They’d be safe in the backyard, especially with the dog. Page would bark if the kids needed Hyde’s attention, and he rushed up the stairs to the second floor.

Maybe Jackie was safe, too. If Dave was able to keep his cool, how much danger could she be in … unless she’d kept the truth from him. That sounded a lot like her. She was capable of acting fine as she broke down inside, just to ensure their kid’s happiness remained intact.

“Dave?” he called in the hallway.

“In your room!” Dave shouted back, and Hyde followed his voice.

The master bedroom’s door was opened and by the bathroom’s door, his kid was sitting, slumped in Hyde’s armchair and wearing a frown too deep for his age. He cared as deeply for his mother, as much as Hyde did.

“She’s been there for almost an hour,” Dave said and gestured at the bathroom.

“Just a second, man.” Hyde walked to Allison’s cradle, making sure the baby was okay.

The girl was deep asleep, no clue about the small drama around her. He smiled, caressing her small head and walking to the bathroom’s door. Sighing, he looked at his son first, who only shrugged, then knocked at the door.

“Steven?” Jackie said through the door. Hyde tried to open it, jostling the nob, but he stopped when she shouted, “NO!”

“Jackie, whatever it is, I can’t help if you don’t let me in.”

“Get David out of the room; then you can open the door.”

“What?” Hyde looked at their son, who shrugged. “Jackie? Are you okay?”

“NO!” she shouted again, and Dave looked at him with urgency. “TAKE DAVID AWAY AND GET IN HERE!”

Hyde smiled apologetically. “Sorry, buddy. Your mom seems to be a little stressed.”

“Dad, she sounds like Aunt Donna.”

“I HEARD YOU, DAVID!”

“Okay, never say that in front of your aunt,” Hyde said, but Dave only nodded. “Make sure Layla’s okay, would ya? Betsy’s downstairs with her.”

“All right.”  Dave went to the bedroom door but didn’t leave. “Dad? Make sure mommy’s okay.”“Will do, pal.”

“I love you too, David!” Jackie shouted, and Dave’s cheeks went pink. He bolted from the room, and Hyde looked at the bathroom door again. “Steven?” Jackie said.

“Doll, what is going on?”

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Okay…”

“C-come in.”

He opened the door. Jackie was sitting inside the bathtub, wearing only her underwear. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked at him like she was a scared puppy. He suppressed a grin at the sight. His impulse was to pull her into his arms, but the room’s smell warned him to stay put, unless he wanted Jackie to kill him.

“So,” she said and hugged her legs to her chest, “I’m not pregnant.”

“Holy shit!” He laughed, unable to hold back his relief. “Look at this! It’s a crime scene!”

“Shut up! Just get the damn pads!”

He cupped his mouth but continued to laugh. It was the first time in over a week he’d had any laughter to piss her off with. When she’d first told him her period was late, they looked at each other for three panicked seconds. Then Alison started to cry, and the real world kept them moving, even while they waited for their luck to turn.

Jackie had always wanted three kids, no less and no more. She’d sounded so practiced when she first explained why:  “If one of our children  is a genius, the second one will feel bad if she isn’t. So we need to have a third one, who’ll  also be of average intelligence. That way we can have one happy genius and two happy dummies!’

But now she didn’t seem prepared at all but ashamed, and he was having the worst time of his life, helpless to stop laughing at the scene in front of him—and about everything that had happened since they thought a fourth kid was on the way.

“Y-you don’t have pads?” he managed to say. “ So—so that’s why you made our son call me at the office–”

Water hit him in the face and cut off his laughter. Jackie had grabbed the tub’s hose and sprayed him.

“What the fuuuck?” He blinked water from his eyes, shook it from his hair.

“I have never, ever given you any problems with my period until today!” she said. “Now be a good husband and go get my pads!”

Another wave of laughter hit him. The situation was too damn hilarious. The tub wasn’t even stained with that much blood, but she pointed the hose at him again, and he put up his hands. “I’m going, I’m going!”

The bathroom fell into silence, and an excited murmur from downstairs reached them. The dog was clearly in the house again. He should’ve told Layla and Betsy to keep Page outside. Jackie didn’t like the dog being around the baby.

He sighed and walked toward the bathtub. His shirt and face were wet, and when he sat down on the bathroom tile, his ass became wet, too.

“And you’re in the tub because…?” he said.

Jackie didn’t answer. She was trying to cover the little blood on the tub’s floor. For what Dave had told him, she’d been in here for at least an hour. He reached over the lip of the tub when she finally looked up. His fingers caressed her blushing cheek, and she leaned into his touch with closed eyes.

“I never gave you problems with my period before,” she said. “No stains, no pad-problem—I always warned you when it was coming—and no pregnancy scares.” She sighed, opening her eyes and looking at him, obviously ashamed. “I’m a grown woman, and I just had a pregnancy scare after three wanted pregnancies! What is wrong with me?”

“Well…” His fingers tunneled into the softness of her dark hair. She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I wasn’t going to live forever thinking you don’t get your period,” he said. “Knew it would happen, eventually. Glad it was now when I can laugh about it and not when I’ll be all cranky–” She glared at him. “Crankier at everything,” he corrected. “We’re fine.”

“Maybe we are,” she said, “but I traumatized our kid for life! He saw the blood on the dining room chair and my clothes!”

He chuckled, but she showed him the hose, and he pressed his lips together to calm himself down. Then he sighed. “Dave is going to be fine. He was just worried about you. Once we explain this is normal and natural, he’ll be cool.”

“He’s eight, Steven.”

“Have you heard him talk?” Hyde stood up half-way, using the bathtub lip for support, and kissed her forehead. “I don’t think he’s eight,” he said and straightened up fully. “Maybe eighteen.”

“He’s my baby and will only stop being that when he leaves the house. GET MY PADS!”

“Yes, dear.” He sighed. “Just take a shower and relax, all right? I gotta change outta these clothes you hosed down.”

He left the bathroom, but before he could reach his dresser, he spotted the dog darting toward Layla’s room. The kids weren’t far behind, and he closed his bedroom door.

“Steven?” Jackie said from the bathroom. She was naked and had started the shower. “If the kids got the dog inside, please don’t tell me.”

“No problem.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He closed the bathroom door for her. Then he removed his wet clothes, put on dry ones, and went to Alison’s cradle. The baby girl was still asleep, hadn’t even move a bit. He kissed his finger and touched it to the top of her head. She could sleep through the most disruptive of noises, ability he both admired and envied.

His laughter returned as he went to the drug store for Jackie’s pads. This was what his life had become: driving home at full-speed, like Dale Earnhardt in the Winston Cup Championship, worried shit something bad had happened to his wife, and ending up having to buy menstrual pads for the first time.

He wouldn’t want it any other way.

***

**

*

[nurseynurse]

breathing fire

and here is chapter one of the Inkheart AU!! (ty @gingeremoji for the literal coolest au idea and @shit-to-remember for a buncha good ideas on how to explore character dynamics!) 

 read on ao3 here 

Derek Nurse was twelve when he stopped reading aloud. He had tried so, so many times to stop earlier, but his teachers caught on relatively quickly to his fake coughs and croaky mutters of "sore throat". His moms had warned him against it, warned him that awful things might happen, to him or his classmates, if he kept reading aloud; in second grade, he read a story about a dog to the kids in his reading group. A few minutes later, where the bin of art supplies once sat, a small terrier puppy was panting quietly, flopping down and staring at the children with wide black eyes. Derek didn't think it was too awful. A few months later, he read aloud a story about a man who lost his hat. By the end of the story, Derek knew where the hat was, but when he looked up, his teacher was gone. He wore the hat home. When, a few days later, the principal came into the classroom to introduce their new teacher, Derek wondered if it was his fault, if his mothers were right, and vowed to never read out loud again. By the time he was in third grade, his previous teachers had warned, essentially, every teacher in the whole school about Derek's ornery behavior. He didn't think he was that bad of a kid, really, but when they were doing popcorn reading in fifth grade and the kid across the room called on him to read the paragraph in their science textbook about giant blue whales, he couldn't help but shut down. The teachers called it a behavioral problem. He called it self-defense. He wonders, often, how awful he must have been in a past life to deserve something like this, to be a gifted writer too terrified to read aloud. He wonders, often, whether it was because he couldn't read aloud that sparked his obsession with words. He wonders, often, if there's some pill, some drug, some cleanse that might make it all go away. 

He wonders where the fuck his laptop is.

“Dude, did I leave my laptop at your place?” He asks into his phone, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying to decide whether the amount of coffee he had drunk today was proportionate with the amount of sleep he had the night before. He hears shuffling on the other line.

“Uh, yeah, I think so?” Chowder responds, his voice a little muffled. “Unless I got a Mac recently and didn't realize I was forking over a stupid amount of money just so I can ‘maintain my aesthetic’.” Nursey scoffs.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again. I will die before a get a shitty PC.”

“Just because you don't know how to use a computer doesn't mean you have to take it out on PCs, Nursey.” Chowder laughs across the line and even though he’s wound up and exhausted, he can't help but laugh back. If there was one thing he learned in college, it was that he would never meet someone with a laugh as infectious as Christopher Chow’s. “Do you want me to bring it over?” Nursey opens his mouth to argue, that he’ll come pick it up because, really, Chowder is too nice. He’s so tired, though, and he needs to get these chapters emailed to his editor in the next half hour or he thinks she might combust. If he doesn't sleep in the next half hour, he thinks he might combust. His chapters are shit, though, for some reason he can't comprehend, can't seem to work past, and they’re already past deadline.

“That would be so fuckin’ ‘swawesome, man.” He says, instead, and sinks into his couch. “Want me to order a pizza or something? We can get wine drunk and watch It’s Always Sunny.” Chowder laughs again and Nursey can almost feel his grin.

“‘Course. I'll be over in twenty.”

***

He would never admit it, but Derek Nurse is a lightweight. Of course, he didn’t have to admit anything: anyone who spent time with him for more than five minutes in any situation involving alcohol would know that. It fucked up his aesthetic, honestly, and ruined any possibility at becoming the kind of classic author whose diet consisted of scotch and cheap cigarettes. Scotch affected him almost as intensely as tequila did, and he’d always been a rowdy drunk, not some kind of nonsensical philosopher. Nursey always had trouble denying himself of physical pleasures, never knowing when to stop, exactly; so, he was a lightweight and he drank until he blacked out or until someone tried to take his cup away.

Chowder wasn't much different. Nursey and Chowder, alone, with two bottles of some of the dryest pinot noir Nursey had had in ages was...a dangerous combination.  

“This feels classy as fuck.” Nursey says and cheese drips off his pizza and lands on his face. Chowder giggles loudly before shoving the entirety of his slice into his mouth. Three-fourths of the first bottle of wine is gone and Nursey can't seem to remember what was making him so upset before.

“You sent those...those, uh,” Chowder waves his left hand around, trying to will the words out, and takes a swig out of his class. “Those chapters! To your editor, right? You were supposed to do that.” He giggles again.

“Yeah,” Nursey says, trying, in an impressive display of oral acrobatics, to lick the cheese off his cheek. “As soon as you got here.” He laughs and Chowder tops off Nursey’s wine glass; he’s so glad he brought out the stemless plastic ones. The couch shifts, then, and Chowder sits up, abrupt and ramrod straight. His eyes wide and, in his excitement, a bit of wine splashed onto his nose.

“Omigod, you know what you should do?” Nursey’s answer is delayed as he rips his eyes away from the tv.

“Huh?” He asks and Chowder is grinning.

“Read your chapters to me.” Nursey blinks, sips his wine. “Please? Your last book was so good! And I've been wanting to read the new chapters, but you refuse to send them to me.” He's pouting now and Nursey is trying to remember why acquiescing to his request is a bad idea.

“Man, the chapters are so bad…I’m...I’m, like, having trouble writing right now, everything’s convoluted as fuck and my characters are giving me a metric fuck ton of grief.”

“Hm…” Chowder seems to consider it. “Maybe...maybe if you read it out loud, we can work through the problem? Omigod! I can help you, maybe?” He sounds so eager. Nursey wants to say no. He can't remember why and he dips his pizza crust in his wine before stuffing it into his mouth.

“Sure.”

***

Nursey has had his fair share of hangovers. He went to a liberal arts college, for fucks sake. He was a student athlete. He was a writer, he is a writer. He’s been to a lot of fucking parties.

Still, nothing prepares him for the splitting headache he wakes up with: his head feels like it’s been stuffed to bursting with cotton balls, hearing and vision more than a little fuzzy, and his stomach doesn't seem to be in the right part of his body. When he checks his phone, it’s almost 7, which, really, was unfortunate; he didn't have anywhere to be today, he could have slept in, but he only has time to lament the missed opportunity for a moment before he hears a loud crash from his patio.

It's not the first time someone has broken into his house, stranger or otherwise, and he immediately heads to the closet in his foyer, reaching past the curtain of jackets to grab his hockey stick; he played a lot more in college, but, with the disproportionate number of friends playing in or having some kind of ties to the NHL, he still finds himself on the ice relatively frequently. He swings the stick over his shoulder before heading to the patio; the sliding glass doors are wide open and the handle looks like it had been ripped off, crumpled on the ground next to the door’s track. Maybe, he should have woken Chowder up, too. His hands tighten around the stick.

There’s a man on the patio, and the first thing Nursey notices is how red his hair is. He’s tall, too, covered in freckles and vaguely familiar, and is trespassing on his patio, pressed into the corner against the wall of potted flowers Nursey kept. He looks feral, his strange amber eyes darting around nervously, and all Nursey can think is red red red.

“Um.” Is all that comes out of his mouth, hands going slack around the hockey stick. The man looks less dangerous than he does absolutely terrified and Nursey is suddenly unsure as to whether or not he’s being robbed, if he’s even really in danger. He doesn't think he is. “Who...who are you?” The man blinks, eyebrows furrowed so tight Nursey thinks his face might collapse in on itself, and Nursey lowers his stick a bit. “Why are you on my patio?” He enunciates, slowly. The man opens his mouth, closes it, and presses further back against the wall.

“I need to get back…” his eyes screw shut as he shakes his head. “Whiskey...Whiskey needs me,” he rubs his temples. Nursey finds himself following the motion there, still unsure as to why the guy looks so fuckin’ familiar. His eyes shoot open, and all Nursey can think is gold gold gold. “The ship. Holy fuck, the ship is about to blow, I need to get back! Where are my tools, fuck.” He looks around, presses himself back again. “Where am I? Who the fuck are you?” Nursey takes a step back, opens his mouth minutely.

“I…uh. My name’s Derek Nurse. Who are you?” He asks, trying to stand his ground and sound firm, rather than astonished. The man straightens up a little and curls his left hand into a fist, resting it above his navel. It looks like a salute, almost.

“William J. Poindexter of Southern Mercury, Hyperion sector. Head mechanic of the Hydro-Affluent U-Ship.” He deflates a bit then, before looking Nursey directly in the eye, speaking quietly and urgently. “I don't know who are, I don't know where I am, but I need to get back to my ship. The pipes just burst and...if I don't fix it, the whole ship will flood and our entire water supply will be out and...I don't know when we’ll get to another planet with potable water.” Nursey staggers back, almost tripping over the hockey stick. His skin feels warm, so so warm, and he thinks about pinching himself to see if he’s dreaming because this...this is impossible.

“How…who the fuck are you? How do you know that?” He feels his legs buckle, barely, and braces his hands on his knees. “I barely introduced Dex in the last book...not even my editor knows where he’s from…” When he looks back up, the man’s eyes are wide: they’re all red hot fire, flickering dangerously, but fearfully, as if Nursey was water about to snuff him out. Nursey has a sinking feeling, then, that he broke the promise he made to himself when he was so young. He doesn't want to believe it, doesn't want to believe that this man is a character that he created. He remembers, then, the detriments of pulling someone out of writing and-- “Chowder.” He breathes. “Holy fuck, Chowder!” He’s back in the living room before he can catch his breath, hoping with every fiber of his being that Chowder was still in his apartment and not in Nursey’s fuckin’ book.

“Huh?” and Nursey lets out his breath, lungs too tight. Chowder blinks sleepily and scrubs a hand across his face. “What are you screaming about?” He mumbles, winces. “Dude, I have a killer headache right now, so if you could shut up, that would be fuckin’ ‘swawesome.”

“Um.” Nursey flops down onto the couch, eyeing the sliding glass door. He can see the man’s--Dex’s--shadow moving on the patio floor. “Um, so. I read those chapters to you last night?”

“Yes,” Chowder responds, eyes shut tight, and grabs at one of the throw pillows so he can shove it over his face. Nursey kind of wants to do the same.

“And, uh, right. What did you think about Dex?”

“He was fine,” Chowder says, exasperated. “Considering he was the token white side character.” Nursey can't help but laugh, despite the situation, but it sends a spark of pain up to his temples and he remembers that he, too, is severely hungover.

“I don't want to fuckin’ deal with this right now.” He groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees white.

“We have to pay for the mistakes me made last night” Chowder groans. Nursey knows he's talking about the hangover, but his words hit a little too hard when he heard loud thump somewhere to his left. When he opens his eyes, Dex is standing there, staring at Nursey and Chowder with that same flickering, fearful, burning look. Nursey rips the pillow off of Chowder’s face without breaking sight with Dex. “Oh! Holy fuck!” He presses himself to the couch. “Who the fuck are you!” Dex’s gaze flicks to Chowder, then Nursey, then back to Chowder. Nursey shuts his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing.

“Remember when I told you I can't read out loud?”

“Uh, yeah? Look, I don't see what this has--”

“Let me explain,” Nursey pleas. “I...I don't know why, it’s, like, a family thing, I don't know, but if I read out loud--from any book--something will come out of it. People, animals, plants, it doesn't matter, just…anything alive will come out.” Chowder’s mouth has fallen open into a tiny ‘o’. “If something comes out, something goes in, though. And...you’re fine...so…?” Nursey’s eyes shoot open again. “Hamlet.” He leans towards the coffee table, digging under the empty pizza box to find a bag of cat treats. He shakes it a few times, calling his cat’s name, before getting up and walking the perimeter of the house to do the same.

“Hamlet?” Comes a voice behind him. He turns, and Chowder is reaching a hand out to grip his elbow. Dex is standing a little ways off, looking so out of place.

“My cat! My fuckin’ cat is gone and now we have to deal with a bitchy mechanic from the future! Holy fuck, oh my god.” Nursey wonders if he’s having a panic attack, chest tight and heart racing; he slides down, barely registering as his ass hits the ground.

“Bitchy mechanic? You’re the one freaking the fuck out! I don't even know where I am! I don't even know who you are and you’re calling me bitchy?” Dex explodes from the living room. Nursey looks up, vision tunneling. “And what the fuck are you talking about books? I'm most certainly not from a fuckin’ book! I need to get home, I need to get back to the ship! Do you understand how dire this is?” Nursey can't look away as Dex lowers himself, jerkily, onto the couch. “We need to find water...do you understand how important that is? There’s no water left in our solar system...if our ship goes down...the H.A.U.S. is our last hope…” His eyes slide shut. Nursey wants to do something, anything, but his limbs feel like liquid and he can barely comprehend his situation. It’s one thing pulling a dog out of some unimportant children’s book, it’s another pulling out your own character--a notoriously mercurial, difficult character--from your own book. “If the ship goes down...we used the last of our materials for this ship...everyone’s going to die. My family, my friends, everyone I've ever cared about.” There's a soft gasp behind him and Nursey looks up at Chowder’s glossy eyes.

“Chow.” Nursey says, reaching for his attention. “You know how the series ends. It's going to be fine.”

“Oh.” He says, blinking, looking between Nursey and Dex. “Is he allowed to know that?” He whispers. Nursey shrugs.

“Probably not.” He sighs. He needs to call his moms; he’s never pulled someone out like this, he’s not exactly sure what kind of consequences will come out of Dex knowing anything about...well, the future Nursey has planned out for him. Nursey was planning on killing him off by the end of the next book, but he’s not sure if Dex should know that.

“Okay, okay. Look, just stay here...I'll try to talk to him.” Chowder says, reaching down to pat Nursey’s shoulder before realizing Nursey wasn't really in a place to handle that at the moment. He takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering.

“Right. Right. Thank you.” Nursey can hear snippets of their conversation--hushed on Chowder’s end, volatile and desperate on Dex’s. Nursey doesn't know if anything would get through to Dex; he doesn't know if he would believe someone if they told him that the world he had been born in raised in was actually fiction and the one he just poofed into was real, that the man who pulled him into this new world had been the one to create that fictional world.

“No!” Dex yells and Nursey flinches. Chowder has a hand on each of Dex’s shoulders, trying to keep him from flailing, as he attempts to calm Dex down. A few minutes pass: Dex struggles less, seems to listen to Chowder, and Nursey’s heart rate slows to normal. He wiggles his toes, the feeling coming back to his limbs, before slowly pulling himself back up. Dex’s eyes shoot to Nursey as he takes a tentative step towards them.

“Hey,” he says softly and Dex’s jaw tightens. “Listen to me, okay? I did this to you,” and Nursey’s not sure if he means the situation--pulling him into the real world--or everything: his life, his struggles, the absolutely devastating narrative Nursey has written Dex into. “And for that, I’m...I’m so sorry, so so sorry. But I don't know, exactly, how to get you back in. You can stay here until we figure it out and I'll, I’ll take care of you, alright? I won't let anything bad happen to you, while you're here.” He tacks that last bit on because, really, he can't promise anything once Dex is back in the book. Dex still looks on edge; Nursey can't blame him. “Can I get you something? Food? Water?” He nods, slowly, bottom lip falling slightly. “Okay. Okay, great.”

“The kitchen is over here.” Chowder says, helping Dex stand, and they follow Nursey to the kitchen. Nursey can feel Dex’s gaze on the back of his neck.

“You like grilled cheese?” He asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a loaf of bread and the Brita filter. Dex’s eyes are wide as he pours the water into the glass and hands it to him.

“This is for me?” He asks and Nursey wants to smack himself. In the world he created, water was scarce and, even on the ship his story took place on, water was rationed to an almost unsustainable extent. Nursey pushes the cup towards him again and Dex blinks rapidly before wrapping his fingers, long and thin and agile, around it. He looks into the cup, inspects it, sniffs it, before flicking his eyes back up to Nursey and sipping at it slowly. His eyes roll close. Something in Nursey’s chest snaps, heart tightening as he watches Dex’s throat work. Chowder catches his eyes, brow raised, and Nursey can't do anything but breathe deep and shrug. Dex lowers the cup and it’s empty. Nursey clears his throat.

“Um. So. Grilled cheese?”

***

Dex is lactose intolerant.

The fact that this is news to him, that there are things about his characters that he doesn't know, has never thought of, makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. It makes him wonder if he’s a bad writer. How much is there about his characters that he doesn't know? How much is there about Dex that he doesn't know, doesn't understand? Nursey really, really wants to take a nap.

“What about, like, pasta?” Nursey has written about his characters having eaten pasta before, he knows that at least. “Do you like red sauce? It’s tomatoes and shit.” He says and Dex wrinkles his nose.

“I've never had it.” Nursey sighs.

“Would you be willing to try it?” He asks patiently. Dex shrugs and Nursey wishes, more than anything, that he pulled out a character a little less surly. “It’s good, I swear.” He says, and he’s already pouring the marinara into a saucepan. Dex looks dubious and Chowder looks amused, from where he's sitting at the kitchen table. Nursey can't get over how weird the whole situation is: Dex is sitting at the island ripping a napkin into long strip, staring out the window blankly and Nursey feels like he should know this guy, feel some sort of intrinsic connection or understanding, but the more he looks at Dex, the more of a stranger he becomes. Nursey stirs the pasta and stares.

“Can you stop that?” Dex snaps, balling up his collection of napkin strips. Nursey jerks; he hadn't expected Dex to call him out, really.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and Dex is huffing, pulling himself bodily off the stool.

“Do you have a bathroom?” Chowder directs him down the hall before turning to Nursey, face an absolute mess of emotions.

“I can't figure out how to feel about this.” He says and Nursey snorts because, really.

“How do you think I feel?” The water is boiling hard, now, and he pours the pasta in before falling against the counter and letting out a strangled groan. “I feel like I should know him, you know? I fuckin’ wrote him, and maybe it’s the stress of the fuckin’ situation, but he’s nothing like how I imagined.” He sighs, and his whole body heaves with it. “I need him to get back in the fucking book. I'm stressed and busy and already behind deadline and I can't exactly churn out the next chapters if one of the major characters isn't in it.” He pauses. “And...he’s so different, Chow. I've barely talked to him, really, but. His mannerisms, his reactions...I feel like a bad author, or something, I didn't imagine him like this at all.” There's a cough, then, and when Nursey looks up, Dex is standing there, expression a little less pinched: the lines between his eyebrows have smoothed away.

“Sorry,” he says, like it's the only truth in the world. William J. Poindexter is sorry for the situation Nursey put him in and, maybe, his eyes look a little too hard for it to be sincere, but when Nursey thinks about his character, Dex, he thinks about a person who would never apologize, whose emotions were maybe a little stunted, who didn't care about how other people really felt. Nursey blinks.

“It’s not...it’s my fault. All of this is my fault. You should hate me.” Something complicated flashes over his face, as if he’s realizing the implications of his life being a written narrative.

“I do.” He says simply, and sits back down at the island.