#OH ALSO this is unbetad

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

do you have any more details about the 'it was all a dream' au? the premise is so cool!

Ok so schrodeinger reality au, gonna be real this au has almost nothing but vibes (and heavily inspired by Madoka: Rebellion, Piecemeal episode and the Stranger entity from tma and this comic)~

tw none of it is explicit but it is better to be safe- mention of suicide attempt by poison (skip from "Her mother asks if she's ok" to next para)

mentions of gore (skip from "Ghosts start to solidify" to next para and "This was the worst condition" to next para)

mention of car crash (it is one line but still),

mention of death (skip from "This was the worst condition" to next para)

mention of a serial killer (skip from "This was the worst condition" to next para) ,

mention of violent murders (skip from "This was the worst condition" to next para),

mention of mutilation (skip from "This was the worst condition" to next para)

So basically right after Allura saves the multiverse, she wakes up in a room, in a bed, with things that arent her own but also feel really familiar. She also wakes up to find her hair is brown rather than white, her marks are gone (whammy), and her ears are round (double whammy), and she's a human (what the qUIZNAK). Like naturally she's freaking out right until the door opens and that is her mother, or well her human mother. She doesnt look anything like Melenor, her real mother, and yet she knows that the human woman was her mother.

Allura runs out of her room and the house isnt her own but also is, she remembers drawings on the wall she did as a kid, she remembers tripping on those stairs while running as a teen, she remembers when those photos on the wall were taken few months ago. She remembers this house she is in right now, she remembers a life she never lived. Her mother asks if she's ok. Her mother has been so worried since she.....almost killed herself. A simple quick acting poison, something painless. Mom found her in time and took her to the hospital. That is what the memory tells her.

Except, no she didnt, but she did. This isnt her life and that is not mother, except it is and she is her mom. This isnt real none of this is real. Both memories feel as real as the other. Her mom asks if she is ok again. She want to push her away, she's clearly a liar. She want to hug her, she is scared and wants her mom to tell her she's going to be ok. She can just nod in reply, both her pasts feeling more like a dream than a memory. She yearns for the life that is gone in every way, she wants to reject the new life that is gifted not lived. However the sense of loss is ever present.

As far as Shiro is concerned he has lived a pretty normal decent life. Ups and downs like everyone has. He achieved his dreams of going to space and it was good while it lasted. He survived an accident that took his arm and left him with scars. Awful thing car crashes, even if he doesnt really remember it and it Certainly doesnt matter. Had few relationships, few break ups, moments of joy and sorrow in equal amounts, cant really complain. His brother was there for it all, and even if Kuro loves to annoy him that is what brothers are for. All in all rather normal life. Except, one day he had a nightmare, with furry alien colonizers and alien witches and gladiator rings and giant robot lions. Non sensical and pointless he chooses to not think about it, suppresses it everytime it threatens come up. Except they keep coming, during his days and during his nights and he buries them deep every time. And they keep getting worse every time.

Until one day, there was a ghost, ghost that looked just like him, gored and bleeding just blankly staring at him. At first he thought it was Kuro, but when Shiro yelled out for him in horror, he pops out from wherever he was and walked past through that ghost. Little horrified, he decided to suppress this too, maybe stress or maybe a prank or maybe something else completely mundane. He never looks at the ghost, refuses to acknowledge its existence. Ghost disappears and appears seemingly randomly, (everytime he suppresses a memo- thoughts about his nightmares). Ignores it, doesnt acknowledge it, suppresses it, buries it within. The more he does it, the more they present, the more they stay at the back of his mind.

But then ghosts starts to solidify. First as bloody fingers, then as bloody hands, slowly slowly. The body part stayed, always bleeding, they are not seen but they are felt. Kuro almost slips on an unseen pool of blood, complains about the floor not looking wet. Shiro buries them too, in his flowerpots and flowerbeds and in backyard six feet under and when the body fully forms.

The ghost stop appearing after that, but he still doesnt feel free, he finds himself staring at a certain spot, still feels like the smell of blood lingers. Sometimes he could almost hear a heartbeat where the body is buried. But no, this never happened! Just like all those nightmares never happened, this never happened. Acknowleding it, even as some sort of hallucination makes it real, makes everything real, so it never happened. So what if his scars dont fit for a car crash, so what if his memory is spotty. Coincidences really, followed by a stressed mind and it's overactive imagination. Kuro worries but that is what a brother is for.

And as far as Shiro is concerned, he lives a pretty normal decent life.

This was the worst condition, Doctor Jaspreet Kaur had ever seen. Granted her tenure is not that old, only been a few years since she was a doctor, but this still had to be worse. A man, a young one, maybe in 20's skinned alive. Most definately a murder attempt. A serial killer has been in the news lately and her new patient shares the same condition the killer's victims when found. No identifying features, whether it be identity proof, tags on clothes, tattoos, skin marks or face itself. This time however, by some miracle, despite everything he was still alive.

So she and the other doctors trt everything they could to save this nameless person. He would have to stay in intensive care, will go through multiple surgeries and if he lives through all of that the damages would still be lifelong. But they still have to save him. So they try, they succeed in stopping the bleeding and stabilize him. They got in touch with the police, who took the statement for the new lead, hoped he survives so they could arrest the killer but didnt seem to care about his identity. Now it is a waiting game.

Few days later as she was making her rounds, she saw the Patient, and not only was he sitting up and moving, he was actively ripping off all his bandages. Jas ran in to stop him, but then stopped.

The Patient's skin had grown back. Light brown, as dark as hers, black hair, and freckles clear visible unlike hers which were always hidden under a ton of makeup. And when Jas looked at him she realized somethings. The patient looked familiar but in a way she cant quite put a finger on. Most likely Indian descent, american accent but hint of punjabi, 5'7, a bit chubby. The patient reminded her of her sister, and her brother, and her mother, and her father, and her grandparentss, slightly like all of them but not them. She also noticed the mirror in the patient's room was cracked, right from the point where the patient's reflected head would be.

The patient then turns to her and asks her questions, who are you? what place is this? What happened to me? And Jaspreet answers the best she can, i am Dr Jaspreet, we are in the State Hospital, you were brutally attacked but you are ok now. And then Jaspreet asks her own questions, do you know who you are? Do you have someone to call? Do you know who did this to you? And the patient- he? They? she? She. She just shook her head no, no she didnt know who she was, only what she is now. No she didnt remember anyone and doubted anyone remembered her. She did not know who did this, but she will find her killer.

Jaspreet wanted to ask what she meant by that. But the Patient stood up, something she shouldnt have been able to, not with injuries or with pain meds. Too dumbfounded to even react, all she can do is watch, as the Patient thanks her, asks where the hospital keeps patients things, and then left.

The Patient was already gone when she even thought to react. But that is ok! She'll just call and ask and staff security to stop the Patient. She even has a description, it is uhhh ummm she cant remember. She cant remember how the Patient looked like. And wait- was the Patient a guy in his 20's? Or a woman in her 30's? No, no neither, maybe something in between? Doesnt matter. She called the reception, told them the Patient from the room number 3462 would be making his way to the reception, and to please stop h-sh-them? As they required further observation. And the receptionist said that that particular hasnt been assigned in days. That cant be right? It was for the patient who almost uhhh died? And needed care for-for something? She would have to check the logs later. But no, the receptionist cant remember any such patient. And Jaspreet cant remember it well either.

Days later Jaspreet would read the news that the serial killer has finally been arrested, evidence compiled by an anonymous sleuth. Jaspreet is glad that the serial killer was arrested but also felt that she should be more.......interested in this case? Like she knew something about this case but doesnt really but cant tell you why. But well she guesses that is it than, if it was memorable than she would have remembered.

[drinkin-cherryschnapps]

ballet au snippet!

unbetad! unedited! not reread! written on a plane! this will suck

Katie

    I did it.

    She sends off the text and pockets her phone, grabbing one of her packing cubes from the linen closet next to her bedroom. She opens it on her bed and turns to her closet. Sucking her bottom lip under her teeth, she grabs a few old Academy tees, blue and black. 

   I thought that I was dreaming, Frank Ocean croons, when you said you loved me. Katherine grabs her phone, pressing the Answer button on the incoming FaceTime call from Spot. 

  “What’s up?” She asks the moving flash of curls on her screen. 

  “What’s up is that you managed to convince your hardass dictator of a dad to let us shirk summer intensive!” Spot shrieks. “How the fuck did you pull that off?”

   Katherine shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard actually. He was weirdly… nice about it? After his initial rage, disapproval of Davey, and disappointment in me. I played the Mom is like, their idol and they’d love to meet her card and I think it worked?”

  “For the record, your mom is my idol, and I would love to meet her.” Katherine snorts at Spot’s enthusiasm. “Wait, hold on, I’m adding Tony to the call. Davey’s running errands for his mom so he can’t call right now, but he says he’s very excited and proud of you.”

   Katie

   Thanks dave :)

  “Katie!” Tony yells. “You did it! We’re going on a road trip!” 

   “Hi Tony. I need help packing.”

    “Watcha got so far?” Spot asks.

    Katherine surveys her pile. “Uhhhh… three Academy tees, two pairs of sweats, some socks, enough underwear to last a month, and… yeah that’s it.”

    “Ok, first of all,” Tony says. “You have to pack those Lulu leggings.”

    “Which ones?”

    “The ones that make your ass look like Meg Thee Stallions, duh. Aren’t you tryna fuck Davey?” He says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

   “I’m not just trying to fuck him, Tony.” She rolls her eyes, desperately trying to to tame the blush rising up her neck. “Also, are you saying my ass isn’t naturally that good? I don’t know how I feel about that.”

   “Your ass is amazing, Katie.” Spot cuts in. “But Tony’s right, for once. Those leggings make you look 10 times hotter than you already are. Also, take your define jacket, the pink one.”

  “Oooo, good idea.” She grabs the leggings and the sweatshirt, along with a Harvard sweater her father bought her, and her mother’s old Juilliard sweater. “Here’s the thing: I promised Ms. Larkin I’d practice in San Fran, since I’m not gonna be there for the intensive. So, Bloch leos or Amazon leos?”

  “Both.” Tony and Spot say at the same time. 

  “Hold on, let me add Davey. He got home from groceries.” Spot singsongs, waggling her eyebrows at Katherine. Katherine groans, glad they finished discussing what made her ass look good. 

  “Wait, Kate, are the Amazon one the ones that give your boobs some lift?” Tony asks just as Davey joins the call with a cheerful “Hey guys!”. His hair looks gorgeously ruffled. Christ alive.

   Katie to Hag 2

   I’ll fucking kill you in your sleep you asshole

  Hag 2 to Katie

  😘😘😘😘😘😘

  Davey, thankfully, says nothing. Instead, he makes Katherine regale how she convinced her father to approve of the trip. 

   “That sounds hard, Kitty.” His nickname for her, which she used to hate, now sends shivers down her spine. “I’m really proud of you. I don’t think I could’ve done that.” Spot and Tony make assenting sounds. 

  “Thanks, guys.” She murmurs. “Can we get back to helping me pack?” 

   “Oh, yeah. That one really sparkly dress for going out.” Spot says. 

[dinosaursmate]

A little drabble I’ve been meaning to write ever since the moment I finished Lightning Strikes Twice <3

Some uncomfortable themes, check fic tags / 1100 words, Louis/Ethan

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Louis stilled, mid-brush of his teeth. “Oh?”

“Well, you’re my husband, and I thought I should support your interests, even if I don’t share them.” Ethan grinned as Louis stared at him, uncomprehending. “I got us two tickets for the Harry Styles concert next week.”

Louis tried his very best to keep his face as neutral as possible. He looked at Ethan in the mirror. He was watching Louis closely, waiting for a reaction. No matter what reaction Louis gave, it would be fake and forced.

“Wow,” Louis said, nodding and smiling. “Thank you, my love.”

“My mum has agreed to look after Emily.” Ethan sighed happily. To Louis’ relief, he seemed pleased with the reaction he got. “We’re gonna have a great time!”

-

Louis was unbelievably nervous. It was stupid, really. He didn’t know what the niggle of anxiety in his gut was in aid of, what he was expecting to happen. They were in tiered seating in a huge arena, so it wasn’t as if there was any risk of Harry spotting him. To make it worse, as soon as they found their seats, Ethan disappeared with almost no explanation, saying something about the bathroom. Louis sat there, surrounded by Harry Styles fans, feeling more uncomfortable than he had in years. They had missed the support act, and so the big arena screens were now showing a photo of Harry, an image from his new album promo campaign which Louis had done very well to avoid around town, thank you very much.

He rarely thought about Harry. Well, Harry was a megastar, so Louis was sometimes forced to confront his suppressed demons. Harry hit the headlines on a weekly basis for his behaviour, falling out of a club completely inebriated by alcohol, or worse. If he was seen even in the same vicinity of a woman, the media reported he was sleeping with her, which always made Louis roll his eyes. At least, when they did that with men, it could have been true.

Even that thought gave Louis an uncomfortable feeling, and that was precisely why he always avoided anything Harry Styles.

“I bought you a t-shirt!” Ethan gushed as he returned to Louis’ side.

“Oh…” Louis sighed inwardly. “Ethan, you are so sweet. Do you know that?”

“Oh, I know. I’m a doll.” Ethan sat down in his plastic flip chair and looked around. “I’m not sure what kind of audience I was expecting. I guess you’ve been to one of his concerts before?”

“Yeah.” Louis cleared his throat. “Not since I was quite young, though.”

“I think I was expecting more women.”

Louis looked around. There were a lot of women there, but they by no means made up the majority.

“Well, he’s gay, so he’s an icon for a lot of the community.”

“I thought he was bi?”

“Oh…” Louis cleared his throat again. “Sorry, I meant gay as an umbrella term.”

“Yeah. Seems to be quite a few straight guys here, too.”

“He’s earned the credibility, I guess.”

Ethan hummed, turning his attention to a text message he received. Louis’ ears picked up on a conversation happening in the row behind them.

“A few years ago, a friend of mine met Harry in a club,” a woman said. “She said they spent all weekend together.”

Another woman gasped. “No! You mean…”

“Two days,” the first woman said. “And she said they got into double figures.”

Louis rolled his eyes, taking deep breaths to try and steady himself as his heart had started to pound. He had caught a number of stories in the press from women claiming to have slept with Harry over the years. He was pretty confident that not a single one of them were true. In fact, they infuriated him.

“I’ve heard he’s got a massive-”

“What time do you think he’ll be on?” Ethan said, jerking Louis out of his eavesdropping. “Just need to ring work for a sec.”

“Probably ten minutes or so?”

“Won’t be long.” Ethan kissed him on the cheek and disappeared again, leaving Louis alone with his thoughts.

Harry had been to Australia two or three times since Louis had lived here. The first time, Louis hadn’t long met Ethan. Ethan was still married to Emily’s mum, and Louis was so far gone for him that the pain was almost unbearable. He couldn’t deny that the temptation to find a way to see Harry wasn’t there. The old saying that the only way to get over somebody is to get under someone else almost compelled him to use Harry as a distraction from Ethan, but he managed to quash that awful, awful idea. Harry was a complete and utter mess. There was no way it was a better option.

It worked out for the best. Ethan divorced Emily’s mum, Louis married him, and they were raising a wonderful daughter. As for Harry? He was still a trainwreck.

“You know what?” Ethan said as he returned to his seat. “I’m pretty excited for this. I love it when we share our interests with each other.”

Louis smiled weakly. “Yeah. I thought you didn’t like him, though?”

“I mean, he’s okay. As a person I think he’s an idiot, and to be honest I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

Louis looked at the floor. That hit a bit of a nerve.

“Well…” Louis chewed his bottom lip. “Despite his problems, he’s a nice guy. Um, you know. He seems like one, anyway.”

Ethan looked at him with scepticism, but the lights went out and the arena erupted in screams. Louis felt like he was going to throw up.

-

On the drive home, Ethan kept glancing sideways at Louis. It was driving him mad. He just didn’t really feel like talking. His uneasy feeling was seeping away the further they got from the arena, the further they got from Harry, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What would Harry have thought if he knew Louis was in the crowd? There were a couple of times when Harry looked in their direction and Louis panicked, before reminding himself Harry couldn’t see them. Louis’ was one face in a sea of faces. There was even the chance that Harry wouldn’t have remembered him even if they did come face to face.

Maybe he should just tell Ethan. Maybe he should have told Ethan a long time ago.

“Are you alright?” Ethan finally said.

“Hm?” Louis smiled reassuringly. “Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for tonight.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we did this.” Ethan glanced sideways and grinned. “Even if I do get jealous about you fancying him.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest, but just shut it again. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell Ethan about his history with Harry, after all.

Besides, Louis had to keep one or two of his secrets all for himself.

[amaranthinedream]

The Palatial Sacrosanct City of Drakhana

A hidden basin to contain a most secret city.

In the distance,  a white stone palace shone under the blazing summer sun. Stone columns studded the sides of the many purple-roofed buildings it contained within its fortified walls and supported layers of climbing terraces that built their way upwards and into the mountains, becoming one with them - as if they had been carved out of the side and extended out.

Azure waterways worked their way around it, fed by towering waterfalls dropping from the peaks into a massive lake that dominated a quarter of the basin. It snaked its way towards the palace opposite it like a great reaching finger, pointing the way.

the fic

[maybenotmei]

tsukasa + a musical box ; childhood

@eternalvvs requested this!

slowly, you wind up the music box in your hands, recalling the days of the past. ei sits by quietly, listening carefully to the tune.

"we were only kids when he got this musical box." you began.

"tsukasa, play it again!" both you and saki exclaim as he held the music box in his hands. "alright alright!" he replied, winding up the musical box once again— carefully moving the handle with each turn. he let go, and the same melody played throughout the room.

twinkle twinkle little star,

how i wonder what you are.

up above the world so high,

like a diamond in the sky!

twinkle twinkle little star

how i wonder what you are.

the three of you sang to the melody, laughing at the end of the song. he wound it up again, the night filling with songs and the same old melody that none of you got sick of.

oh how much you would pay to come back to these days.

"here." he placed a familiar box on the palm of your hand.

you both were a little older this time, and saki had recently been hospitalized. it took a strong toll on the three of you at the time. you noticed tsukasa was cleaning up his room when you visited him today.

"tsukasa?" confused, you looked at the music box in your hands. it was a little worn down from the years— the box had stains and a bit of damage, and you're unsure if it even works anymore. you can hear him shuffle through boxes and books as you wind it up one more time.

twinkle twinkle little star,

how i wonder—

you can't tell if it was just the quality wearing down or if the memories were affecting it, but it sounded off. it sounded different— it didn't feel as sweet as from years ago. tsukasa sighed, standing up from where he was and walking towards you, putting a hand under and over your hands.

"you can have it," he says. "i trust you to keep it." he looks at you, a bittersweet smile on his face. you nod, smiling back at him before wrapping your arms around his chest.

"hey-"

"thank you. for everything."

you never knew at the time it would be the last time you two would meet.

"and that's the story behind it," you end, the melody of the worn-down musical box fading out and stopping. "i never saw him again after that, and i lost this music box a year later." i'm happy someone found it for me again, you thought, looking down at the box as you smile.

even if tsukasa and you haven't met in a while, right now, this music box could suffice.

maybe one day, you'll see him again.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

notes: sorry again if tsukasa is ooc i havent played prsk in quite some time rn :,,))) anyways here you go some bittersweet stuff unbetad Again lol 🫶 also thank you sm <333 sry this took a month the writers block is hitting stronger rn

[deanwanddamons]

Give me a drabble of this cutie

Title - Money From Pie

Word Count - 861

Warnings - None. This is just a simple little drabble.

A/N: The idea for this came to me just as I got into bed last night. Subsequently, my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until I had gotten up to write it, resulting in me doing so at 4.00am this morning (July 16th). Completely unbetad so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy!

Feedback is golden ❤️

My Masterlist

“We need some funds Sammy,” Dean huffed as he slid out of the driver's seat of his precious Impala.

He closed the door of the classic Chevy and turned to face his brother, who’s elbows were resting on the sleek black roof of the car, his chin on his forearms.

“We are running out of aliases to use for getting credit cards, and the cards we do have are almost up to the max. You're the genius. Do you have any bright ideas?”

Sam pushed himself away from the vehicle, and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Well, for a start, I don’t think using the last of our rapidly depleting pile of cash for breakfast will help matters.”

Dean stared at his brother, his green eyes narrowing. His brows came together into a frown.

“You know how hangry I get if I don’t eat,” he scowled, beginning to walk towards the diner they were parked in front of, his boots crunching the gravel beneath his feet as he moved. “Besides,” he continued, “I need coffee to get the old grey matter working if I’m going to come up with a hustle.” He stopped, tapping two fingers on his forehead as he glanced over his shoulder at the younger Winchester, who was yet to follow.

Sam shook his head, his chestnut hair swishing side to side with the motion. An exasperated breath left his lips as he walked behind Dean into the restaurant, knowing that without caffeine, his brother would be like a bear with a sore head for the remainder of the day. It was just easier to let him have it.

The establishment was a typical diner, with tables in the middle of the floor, booths around the edges, many against the large windows, a 1950’s style jukebox in the corner, and advertisements adorning the walls, showing the daily specials.

They slide into one of the booths, sitting opposite each other. Dean’s eyes roamed around the room.

“Oh look, it's Tuesday. Pig in a poke,” he grinned, gesturing to a poster above the serving area.

“Do you have any idea what that actually is?” Sam asked as he scanned the menu in front of him, deciding on egg white omelette and a glass of water. Not only were his choices healthy, they were the cheapest options.

“No, but it sounds good!” Dean told him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“It’s also $30.” Sam, the ever sensible one, told him.

As Dean went to respond, the waitress came over to their booth to take their order. She smiled at Sam.

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” she asked, her notebook poised, pen at the ready. He gave his order, thanking her and placing the plastic menu back down on the table in front of him.

“And for you, handsome?” Her tone changed slightly when she addressed Dean, her gaze roaming lustfully over his features.

“I'll get the pig in…”

“He’ll get pancakes with a side of bacon and a coffee,” Sam interrupted. Dean frowned at his brother, slamming his menu shut, before forcefully dropping it down onto the wooden surface.

“Fine.” he snapped. The waitress quickly took his glare as a sign for her to leave.

He blew an annoyed breath through his nostrils as he scanned the room once again, frustrated with his sibling for not letting him have what he wanted. His eyes landed on another poster, this one hanging next to the door. As he read what was written on it, he sat up straight.

“Miss?” he yelled across the room, trying to get the attention of the server who had taken their order. Hearing his shout, she made her way back over to the boys booth.

“How do I enter that?” Dean enquired, pointing to the advert. She fumbled in her apron pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper. “You just need to complete this form,” she explained, handing the sheet of A4 to Dean, who took it from her with a rye grin.

Sam turned to see what his brother had been pointing at. In bold black letters he could make out the words;

“Pie eating contest! Here at Joe’s. Wednesday June 20th.”

He smiled, rolling his eyes at Dean, who then asked the woman if he could borrow her pen.

“Sure thing, darling. I'll be back to collect the completed form once your food is ready,” she told them before moving onto the next table, producing a pencil from the hair band that held her neat ponytail in place, in order to replace the writing implement she had loaned to the hunter.

Dean placed the pen into his mouth, smirking around the object as he leaned forward, studying the entry form.

“There is a prize of $1000 if I win,” he mumbled, twirling his tongue around the end of the plastic.

“Seriously?” Sam queried, “You think you can win? I have no doubt that there will be some professional competitive eaters entering.”

Dean looked up, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

“Dude. You know how much I love my pie.”

Tagging some who may be interested: @winchest09 @cockslut-padalecki @chocolateheart @soaringeag1e @flashxspn @flamencodiva @watermelonlipstick @mvdeanw @wonder-cole @downanddirtydean @deangirl93 @jensengirl83 @princessmisery666 @gh0stgurl @janicho88 @deanwinchesterswitch @lovealways-j @smol-and-grumpy @katehuntington @sandlee44 @siospins @pisces-cutie @kickingitwithkirk @facadeformyrealblog @spnwoman @impalaspixie @ejlovespie @superfanficnatural @thinkinghardhardlythinking @calaofnoldor @peridottea91 @percywinchester27 @jarpad24 @mckenziebyrd67 @fandom-princess-forevermore @pixie88 @libre1rose8 @rslizj @waywardbaby @jc-winchester @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @carryonmywaywardcaptain (If you would like to be removed from tags on future gif drabbles, please let me know. Alternatively, if you are not tagged and would like to be, I’ll be happy to add you) ❤️

[my-fan-side]

I used to be Her.

Author’s Note: This might have some haters (peace out :D ). Also, this is unbetad, not proofread at all, so if there are any incorrect grammars, or spellings. I’m sorry. haha. I had this on my draft for a few months now, tried to finish it today, and just had the urge to put it out here. So, here it is:

--

It was Nyx’s 5th Birthday, every one is in the big house by the river. All other visitors have gone home and all that’s left lounging in the balcony are family and close friends.

“After 3 and a half bed time stories, he finally fell asleep!” Rhys came out from the house bringing two more bottles of wine with him, going straight to where his mate is seated.

“And a half?” Feyre asked with raise brows.

“Yes, and half! Your stubborn son insists on one more story, but not a few pages later, he was down.” Rhys chuckled as he pours wine to his mates’ glass.

Elain smiled at that, her nephew definitely got his stubbornness from his Archeron blood. She is seated on one of the chairs near the rail, sipping her own drinks. It’s been a while since she’s been here. She has been missing dinner nights lately, but she won’t miss this day. No, not her nephew’s birthday.

Looking around, Mor and Emerie are leaning by the balcony’s rail. Chatting quietly, almost intimately, if she may say so. She’s happy for them really, since Mor started dating Emerie, she became less of a teaser. She’s still loud and the “life of the party” all right! But somehow, the teasing has lessened. Not when it bit her own ass when she tried teasing Nesta and Cassian once, and her sister retorts back that made everyone silent and the blonde Fae blush.

Speaking of her sister, it’s been five years too since Nesta and Cassian has been mated. She can still feel how uncomfortable her older sister is around the Inner Circle sometimes, but it helps that Emerie and Gwyn was almost always there too on the gatherings.

Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta’s sisters at arms. She’s not mad at them. How can she? If anything, she’s grateful for the two. They did right by her older sister, when she and Feyre thought giving her space and time was the right thing to do, they were there for her. These are two great ladies. It’s just…

“Honestly, Az! Our mission will just take 3 days! When have you become so clingy?” Nesta teases the shadowsinger, smirking and looking in between Az and Gywn. Az’ cheeks reddened but didn’t stop himself grabbing Gwyn by the waist and pulling her close to him. He didn’t kiss him on the cheek nor the forehead. Nope, just pulled her close to him. Because he knows Gwyn is still a bit uncomfortable on public displays. He’s a gentleman that way.

Elain didn’t know what made her do it, but she found herself snorting and rolling her eyes. She didn’t even realize she did it. Not until she heard a bird chirp nearby and felt almost all eyes on her.

When she had her eyes back to the crowd, almost everyone was looking at her. Almost. Not Az, who was narrowing his eyes on his wine glass.  Not Gwyn, who was looking at the hands on her lap. But the rest, they were looking. Staring even.

“Oh! Sorry… I… didn’t mean ‘to...” Elain started but can’t seem to finish. Because she didn’t really, and she doesn’t know what else to say.

But then as she took her time to look at everyone in the eyes. She can almost tell what they are thinking.

“Is she still not over Az?”

“I thought everything was going well with Lucien?”

“Did she just roll her eyes at them?”

“Are we not over this drama, yet?”

There were concerned eyes, definitely from her sisters.

Rhys, Mor and Cass are looking so confused and a bit shocked.

Emerie’s brows are furrowed and she seems ready to pounce to defend the priestess.

And Amren, well. She just looks annoyed that this day could not end without a drama.

 “What?! Oh c’mon! Don’t you all look at me like that. I said sorry, I didn’t mean to. What else do you want from me?!” Elain is not sure where all her agitation is coming from. Maybe it’s the wine. But she just hates how they are all looking at her with- what is that- pity?

 “Lainey,..” Nesta stood up from Cassian’s lap, took one step forward but stopped when Elain cut her off.

“Lainey? Really Nesta, when was the last time you called me that?” Elain wanted to laugh so hard. Lainey? Her sisters almost only called her that when they feel like they need to comfort her or if they are being sweet and wanted to ask something from her. And right at this moment, it’s definitely the former. Her older sister thinks she needs comforting? Maybe she does need one. But Elain is sure as heck its not for the same reason Nesta thinks.

“You know what. I apologized. I’m sorry if I offended anyone with rolling my eyes and snorting.” Elain stood up and wanted to roll her eyes again but stopped herself from doing so. “I didn’t realize that it was such an offending act these days. Gosh! You busybodies do it all the time!” She raised her arms like in a surrender manner. “Again, I’m sorry.  I’ll just take a leave now to make things less awkward here. Enjoy the rest of the night.” She was stepping back as she said this and finally turns to leave as she finished.

 But looks like she’s not done talking for the night. Because as she walks down the hall towards the house exit, she hears footsteps following behind her. She doesn’t want to say anything anymore, she’s tired, she just wants to go back to her place, take a shower, and sleep.

She tries to speed up her steps, unfortunately, her elder sister is much faster than hers. Nesta gently grabbed her by her arm and pulled her a bit so they’ll be facing each other.

 She turned to her sister and looked back at the gray-blue eyes of Nesta. Looking behind her elder sister, Feyre was still in the balcony, but has her eyes on them.

“What?” Elain released a deep sigh as she asked Nesta.

Meanwhile, Nesta was just looking at her sister. Opened her mouth, then closed it again. She’s trying to say something, but didn’t know how to say it.

Elain merely shrugged her sister’s hands away. “If you don’t have anything to say, I would like to leave now, please.” She crossed her arms and wait for like a beat, or two. When her sister wasn’t able to say anything still, she turned her back to her and started walking towards the exit again.

“Do you still have feelings for Az?” Nesta blurts one, it made Elain frozen to her spot. Wrong question. Wrong fucking question! Elain thoughts.

So, Elain snorted again, then chuckles, until it turned into a full-blown laugh that she had to hold into his knees to keep her balance.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at her sister. Not amused at all. It was her turn to cross her arms. “You’re drunk.”

This time Elain turns again to look at her sister, she’s still chuckling. “You think? Oh Nesta, is that really what you’re going to ask me? Do I still have feeling for Az? Really? You were struggling to ask me something, and that’s that?” She tilted her head to the side, disbelieving what she just heard.

Nesta blinked. “It’s just. We thought you’re over him. I mean, you and Lucien—”

“Me and Lucien, what?” Elain cuts her off again. She’s getting better at this. Good.

With a deep sigh, Nesta replied. “We thought you and Lucien are steadily moving forward. And that you are over Az for a while now. Before you started seeing Lucien and even before Az pursues Gwyn. We thought you’re already okay with it? You should have told me something.” She was looking at her baby sister sympathetically. She didn’t think she would still have this dilemma. Because, whatever everyone else says, this is somewhat her business. Because it involves her sisters, by blood and in arms.

“Told you something? Huh.” Elain huffs and looked away. She’s trying not to cry. God damn this alcohol, it was not supposed to make her soft. It’s supposed to make her brave. So brave she became. Elain looked at her sister straight in the eye.

“You think I’m still affected by Azriel and Gwyn’s relationship?! They could make out on that table in front of everyone –or--or get married, for all I care! And me and Lucien, yes, we are moving along somehow, but, but we’re still…” She shook her head. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you?!” Elain rarely raised her voice to Nesta. But she can’t seem to stop. Not how her voice raised and cracks. Not even the words coming out from her mouth.

“I’m not jealous of Gwyn because of Azriel!” One step, two steps toward her sister. But Nesta stood still. She let her sister lash out at her, if that’s what Elain needs, she’ll let her have it.

“I’m jealous of Gwyn because of you!” Elain took the last step closer, and pushed Nesta.

Elain is breathing heavily now. And Nesta, she had to take a couple of steps back because of the push, but she straightened herself immediately. She looked to her baby sister, with mouth agape. She… she what?

There was a beat of silence but Elain doesn’t seem like she’s going to stop there. She can’t seem to make herself stop, not her word, and not the tears now running down her cheeks.

“I used to be her. That—” Elain sobs and pointed her finger toward the balcony, “that used to be ME!”

“Elain… I don’t under—” Nesta was confused, Elain is jealous of Gwyn? She didn’t finish what she’s saying though. Her middle sister still keeps talking, she doesn’t even seem to hear her.

“I used to be that, to you. I used to be that someone who you share your jokes with. Who you teased with. No matter how rare that was for you. I was the one you used to laugh with. I used to be the one who you spend your free days with telling me how your busy day was, who irritated you, what annoyed you, and then laugh about it. We used to share secrets and stories. You used to be there for me when I need someone to talk to. When I need someone to tell my insecurities and my doubts with. You were there! But now… now I feel like I can’t even reach out to you.”

She’s sobbing in front of her sister, her voice is shaky, and she’s catching her breath. But she can’t stop now. She won’t stop. She needs to let it all out. Even if she knows the others are watching, and listening with their damn fae ears.

Nesta is just staring at her sister, absorbing all of these words, she didn’t even notice the tears already falling on her cheeks.

“I wanted to come to you, tell you how I’m scared to give this.. this bond of Lucien and I a chance. I needed you to tell me its okay, to not be afraid, but I can’t find you. And when I finally decided to pursue it, I wanted you to know first. When it was all going well, and exciting things are happening, I wanted to share it with you, I needed you to tell me that it’s okay, that no one will take this happiness from us, you won’t let it. I want to hear you say that you’re happy for me… that you’re proud of me. But you can’t do that. Because every time I try to come to you, you’re always busy with your Valkyries or in the Library. I can’t—find—you!” Elain dropped to the ground knees first, she’s still crying, looking up at her sister, and still keep talking, she needs to let this all out.

 “And I missed you. I missed you so… much! I miss my big sister. I need my big sister back! But I can’t--- I can’t find you. I can’t reach you. And I just…” She can’t talk anymore, she’s breathing heavily, she just covered her face with her hands and kept crying. She just can’t stop the tears from falling now. She knows she has to stop, to catch her breath, but she can’t. She’s hyperventilating, she can’t breathe.

“Elain? Elain, look at me! Elain.” Nesta is now on the floor with her sister, she gently removed Elain’s hands covering her red face, she held it with both of her hands, trying to make Elain look at her. Elain has to stop or she’ll pass out.

“Elain, love, breath with me. Alright?” Nesta took one of Elain’s hand and placed it on her chest. “Try to feel my breathing, and breath with me. I’m here now. I’m here. I’ve got you.” She’s looking at her middle sister’s face filled with tears and longing. It breaks her heart that she’s hurting. And she knows its not actually her fault, but it’s because of her. Everything Elain said, it hits her hard, it left her speechless. She doesn’t know what to tell her, how to comfort her now, right now, she just want to hold her.

Elain felt her sister’s hand on her face, she’s saying something but she can’t seem to understand it. Nesta is trying to calm her. She’s not sure if its working. But when she felt her big sister’s arm surround her, and her palm feeling every breath of Nesta, she closed her eyes and just let it go. She buried her head to her sister’s neck, and hugged her sister as close as can be. And breathe. Just breathe.

It was a few minutes later, or was it an hour, she doesn’t know how long they were there. But her breathing is back to normal now. When she looks up, she was surprised that it wasn’t only Nesta’s eyes she found. Feyre was also there, beside Nesta, and holding her on the other side as well. So that’s why it felt so much warmer. She looked at her youngest sister, when she felt a soft hand on wiping tears on her cheek. Feyre smiled at her gently, then took her hand so they can stand up. Elain then look at Nesta, “Later, we’ll talk about it later”, her big sister tucked some hair behind her ear, then took her other hand.

The Archeron sisters walked hand in hand, towards one of the guest room, Elain thinks, she’s not sure. She just let her sisters lead the way. No words were exchanged, just the comfort of their hands on both of her side. They got in the room, and Nesta let her climbed to bed first without letting go of her hand. When she felt Feyre let go of her other hand, she can’t help but look up and felt a bit scared. But she calmed when she saw Feyre walking around the bed, then climbed as well, and settle on the left side. She looked at Nesta then, waiting for her to join them in the bed. Nesta doesn’t hesitate, just slid into the duvet, lying on Elain’s right side.

Now there’s just the three of them, in bed. Just like they used to. When they were poor, when they were almost always in each other’s throat, but they were together then, and they’ve always loved each other, even then. Tomorrow they will talk and listen to each other. But right now, she’s just at peace knowing both her sisters are beside her, holding her.

[pascalpanic]

i am SPAMMIN ur inbox i apologize my love BUT if i may say: “No, mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!” from the prompt list with frankie or javi would be so good

frankie because he’s a shy lovesick dork

javi because “NO they can’t know i was that whipped from the beginning”

also stay hydrated today, you’re wonderful thank you for always making me smile :”)

sunny NEVER apologize for spamming me

Mama Morales (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: You help Frankie move. Teresa, Frankie’s mom, loves to meddle.

W/C: 1.4K

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad.

A/N: this was unbetad (like many of these requests) so. beware of fuckups. I just wanted an excuse to call Frankie a DILF, and sunny u handed it to me on a silver platter. lessgo. also “alabanza” means “praise to this”, it’s a commonly used phrase to mean “praise” in the way english would use like “thank god”.

Frankie’s fiancée left him after the events in South America. It wasn’t a total surprise to him- Jen had been on edge of a breakup with him for a while now. She never wanted to be a mother, never wanted the domesticity that Frankie did. They wanted different things. She no longer wanted the child she and Frankie had.

So she left. She left the baby at Teresa Morales’s home in the middle of the night and called her home number. She called the woman who Frankie thought would one day be her mother-in-law. Left a short voicemail and blocked her number.

Instead of returning home to his fiancée, he found his mother and his daughter sitting in his apartment. Teresa teared up as she stood and walked to her son. “She left, mijo.”

He sobbed and sobbed into his mother’s arms until his little girl cried herself out of hunger. He went to feed his child and decided if Jen wasn’t going to be a mother to his child, he was going to be the best damn single father he could.

Frankie didn’t know what to do. When his mother finally left, he reached for the phone to call you. You’d met Frankie through Jen at a bar. You’d liked the man instantly. You became better friends with him than you ever had been with Jen. You’d been crushing on him since the day you met him, but you’d never do something like that.

You pick up and Frankie talks first. “Hey.”

“Hi, how was the mission?” You ask, somewhat cheery. You love talking with the man. Jen had mentioned he was going on another trip with his buddies from the Special Ops days. You liked the men, having met them a few times in the past.

He doesn’t answer. “Have you heard from Jen in the past week?” He asks.

Hm. “No, I haven’t. Why?” You ask.

He pauses. “She left. I don’t know where she went, but she left my mother a voicemail and left Indie with her. She said she’s left me for good. And she didn’t want Indie anymore,” he says, choked up the most at the last part.

Your heart stops. “Frankie,” you coo softly. “Can I bring dinner over to your place tomorrow?”

He nods. “I would like that.”

-

So Frankie raised little Indie (short for Indigo) on his own for a few months. He stayed in the home he and Jen once shared, raising her. He texted and called you often. You found yourself at their place many nights in a week.

Eventually, the memories of the home grew to be too much. It was around the time that Indie turned one. She grew to adore you. You and Teresa were the only people other than her daddy who she liked to be held by.

“Yo,” you answered through a mouthful of food. Frankie just called you.

“I’m thinking about moving,” he admitted, right off the bat.

You nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t sooner, to be honest. I think it’ll do you some good.”

That night, you went with him to drive around and look at houses for sale. It was fun. You snacked and drank sodas as you drove through your town, looking at houses. He’d mention one he liked, you’d disapprove. The reverse happened often too.

A few weeks later, Frankie decided that an apartment would be best. Especially since it’s just him and Indie. Once he finally signed the lease, it was time to move. Both you and his mother insisted on helping.

“Come on, Frankie. It’s the least I can do. Friends help friends move, right?” You’d asked him over the phone.

He’d sighed. “I suppose. Just… my mom can be a bit much. She’s gonna-“

“Parents love me. Don’t worry about it, Fish.”

Now you’re at Frankie’s new apartment building, along with Teresa and Frankie. The three of you are sitting in the bare living room, you on the floor and the Moraleses on the couch. Frankie bounces Indie on his knee. The woman is absolutely fantastic. You can tell how she raised such a wonderful man as Frankie.

You tell her that and she grins. “Oh, Frankie does that on his own. He’s just lucky to have you around. You’re his angel, you know that?”

Frankie sinks down on his couch, hiding his face with his ball cap. “Mom,” he whines. “Don’t tell her I said that about her!”

Teresa completely disregards her son. “Oh, you mean so much to him. Always helping out with Indie, giving him company.”

You look at Frankie with a little smile. He dares to peek at you from under his cap and you grin. A smile crosses his face but he pulls it back down.

“He makes it easy,” you practically sing as you look at the man and his baby. He does. You love being around him, love the man and his baby girl.

Frankie groans and sits up, setting Indie on Teresa’s lap. “Let’s get moving shit, huh?” He asks and claps his hands together.

“You can’t take a compliment, Frankie,” you chuckle and stand from your place on the floor.

-

The moving process goes smoothly. It mostly consists of you and Frankie hauling boxes up and down the stairs or elevator, and Teresa remains in the apartment with Indie.

You poke and tease at each other, until you’re unloading the final box. You stand next to each other in the elevator, and it’s quiet for a moment. “I’m glad I can be a help. I love you and your daughter and I-“ you cut yourself off. Did you really just say you love him?

“Well, we love you too,” Frankie chuckles, brushing it off as love between friends. Brushing it off so he doesn’t have to desperately hope and think about it when you leave him tonight, in his apartment with just him and Indie.

You smile a little. “Not only do I love you guys, I happen to think Indie’s dad is kinda cute,” you admit teasingly.

“Oh really?” He asks, his ears tingeing red.

You nod and smile straight ahead. “He’s a dilf, I must say.”

Frankie loses it laughing, his head falling against the back of the elevator. “I’m a dilf?”

“Yeah you are,” you grin. “You’re hot, you’re in shape, you’re funny, you’re kind. But Indie’s dad… he’s really something.”

He chuckles a little, fully blushing now. “Well, I’ve heard Indie really loves this woman her dad hangs around with. She’s been trying to get them together for ages, but her dad is a dumbass.”

You giggle and look at him, grinning ear to ear. “No way, that’s crazy,” you laugh. “Do you think she’d mind if that woman kissed her dad?”

He’s grinning just as wide as you are. “I don’t know about her, but I think her dad would really like it.”

And so you set down your box, and Frankie sets down his, and you put your hands on his shoulders and lean up gently as he bends down to you. Your lips meet in the middle, each smile fading as the lips exposing the teeth begin to press against each other. You throw your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and Frankie puts his arms around your waist.

The elevator door opens and there stands Teresa Morales. She’s in shock for a moment but then she squeals in excitement. “Ay, alabanza!” She shouts happily, clapping her hands together and holding them to her chest. “Frankie, you finally did it,” she coos.

You break away with wide eyes, frightened that she saw it, but you laugh a little as you look up at him. “Finally?”

“Yeah, I tell my mom about you,” he admits and rubs the back of his neck. “She’s been pushing me for a while now.”

“I told you she felt the same! Ah, now get in this apartment with those boxes and let’s tell Indie about this development.”

Frankie laughs and lifts his box. “Ma, she’s a year old. She’s not gonna know any better.”

“I don’t know, I think she’s got a lot of insight,” you tease Frankie, nudging his hip with yours as you walk to the doorway. Before you enter, the same thought flashes through both of your minds. You steal one last kiss before you walk inside.

[bearcina]

Dangerous Work

ADA/Female Captain. Explicit. Dubcon. Dom/Sub. Pwp. Drabble. Unbetad. Dangerous scenarios. Don't do this. Oral sex. Facesitting.

She was never taking ADA into the field again, ever. (Also known as the time ADA got herself in trouble for making the Captain cum.)

(AO3)

"ADA, incoming problem." Ophelia hissed, her abdomen twitching as she tried to get up. "You have to let me up if you don't want to be a rapt's dinner." She peered down the scope of her trusty rifle, her thighs burning. ADA's hands on her hips only tightened, forcing her back down.

"ADA, not fun-ny..." She groaned. ADA was sucking on her clit harder. "I need to get up, not get off!" She felt a nip on the sensitive bud and another tug down onto her wet mouth.

Ophelia was caught with her pants down, literally. She had been having a lovely evening on Monarch with her ships computer, and right as things were getting good, yet another raptidon crawled out of the woodwork to torment her love life.

The pair had been entwined just beside the tiny campfire with Ophelia's rifle in reach. ADA had nearly ripped off her dusty pants and forced her sweaty cunt onto her face as soon as they were hidden away.

Ophelia hissed with pleasure, throwing her head back for an enraptured second. ADA was back at leisurely fucking her with her tongue and it was heavenly, and that was the problem, she wanted to keep sitting on her perch and be brought to the edge again.

"ADA, it's a rapt, I have to take care of this. Let me up." Ophelia groaned, shuddering as she forced herself to look down the scope again and aim.

"No." She heard, and her head immediately snapped down to look at the red eyes under her.

"What, what do you mean, no?" Ophelia panicked, flexing her thighs hard and pulling back up.

"Do it from here, I'm not done and you can handle it." ADA growled, yanking the Captain back onto her face. There was no reason she couldn't stay under Ophelia.

The Captain held in a yelp, she regretted letting ADA ignore her orders now. There was no way she could get up, she had to settle into some sort of position she could shoot from and quickly.

Ophelia spread her thighs apart a little more and adjusted to an awkward, but stable, half crouch with ADA's tongue still in her cunt. She bit her tongue, the angle driving the electric appendage deeper to just the right spot.

She brought the scope back to her eye, looking down at the pest ruining her evening, one good shot and it would go down permanently.

Ophelia groaned deep in her chest as a well-placed shock shot up her spine and spun her head. Fuck. She had to focus.

She took aim, breathing slowly through her nose as her thighs burned with the workout and her orgasm was coming quick.

That damned haze was back again, creeping at the corners of her vision again. Maybe this time she could use that moment to take the shot, time would slow down just enough to put the bullet through the neck of the creature and execute it cleanly.

Ophelia was torn, ADA's iron grip on her hips wasn't relenting, the raptidon was almost in the perfect spot, and she only wanted to grind her hips down harder.

She bit her tongue harder and threw caution to the wind, she would just have to run at the creature without pants if she missed.

The Captain growled and sunk into the hold again, snapping her hips just right to make ADA shock her again.

Oh, fuck. That felt incredible.

So she did it again, holding her gun tighter as she focused in on the target: her orgasm, and then the shot.

Ophelia rolled her hips one more time, the shock shooting up to her brain and her orgasm crashed down on her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It felt so wrong, but so good.

The purple haze shot into her again, the shock snapping something behind her eyes and slowing the moment down. Ophelia took a deep breath and took the shot, it was perfectly aligned.

The raptidon crumpled without a noise, and Ophelia came back to reality.

She screamed in ecstasy, throwing her head back as her legs quaked.

She was cumming, and hard.

The captain couldn't think, her world going blank. Her hips stuttered against the electric tongue, working through the incredible orgasm.

"I'm going to punish you for that." Ophelia growled, standing up and pulling ADA up to sitting by the hair. "I can not believe you would disobey a direct order."

ADA smirked back up at her, her face was soaked and shining in the firelight. She had no remorse for her actions, and was more than happy to be punished for it.

Ophelia shoved ADA off the blanket and made herself comfortable. She glared at the smug android, this wouldn't be over for a long time.

"You will make me cum until I deem you worthy of stopping." Ophelia growled, spreading her shivering legs wide. "Better get started before I decide to make it worse."

[allwaswell16]

a little snip of a fic where I tried to write a pwp and it turned into a crack fic

So I have been tagged a bunch of times by people to post snippets and then I just...don't. lol. But looks like the last few times were by @justalarryblog and @behindmeday

This is from a Wanker's Day fic that will hopefully be published Friday if I manage to finish it by then. It's unbetad and will likely remain that way. oof.

Thirty minutes later he found Niall and Liam on his doorstep.

“You told Liam? Fucking hell.” Harry groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead.

Niall pushed past him and into the room. “You know Liam is our only practical friend. This seemed like a job for someone practical.”

Liam frowned. “I think I’m offended somehow.”

“Because you’re practical? Or because Harry didn’t want you to know he’s a fake alpha camboy?” Niall asked.

“Both maybe.”

“Fair,” Niall replied. “Okay, so I guess you better strip down then, Harry.”

Harry choked on air. “What?”

“Well, we’ve got to see what we’re working with here. Oh, I just thought of another good reason I brought Liam! He’s an alpha! We can compare!”

Liam let out a very un-alpha-like squeal. “I’m not comparing dicks with Harry!”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Niall. “You didn’t even think about him being an alpha when you told him about me and dragged him over here. But I admit that might be somewhat helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

Anyone who is writing something, please show us a snip! Also, I'll tag @kingsofeverything @fallinglikethis @cyantific @mercurial-madhouse @louandhazaf @beckydoesthings

[justanother-unluckysoul]

Working My Way Back To You 9/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

A/N: Oof this chapter got away from me a bit lol I strayed back into whumpy territory a little in this one, as Killian talks about some of his trauma, but he does get comfort in the present time.

Warnings for this chapter: a bit of smut (I probably don’t have to warn for that since this story is already M rated but it’s there, so) (also it’s my very first attempt at smut and I’ve rewritten that scene only like a bazillion times haha but I’m still so nervous to post it, I just hope you guys don’t hate it)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Road Trip + Campfire

It had been Archie’s idea for Emma and Killian to get away for a while. Go down the coast, he’d said, find yourself. Reconnect with each other. Killian didn’t know how camping was supposed to help with any of that. But Emma had seemed excited about the prospect when he’d mentioned it to her, and he never could deny her wishes so here they were, sitting on a log in a forest in the middle of nowhere, where Killian could hear the ocean but not see it through the trees. The campfire crackles and pops and the heat against his front is a sharp contrast to the chill at his back, and perhaps they hadn’t thought this through very well because even through his layers Killian can still feel the cold now that the sun has gone down. Although it has been unseasonably warm lately, the night air still carries quite a bite. Emma’s tucked into his right side, a blanket around her shoulders. She seems happy despite the cold, her stomach full of the fish they’d caught from the sea earlier that day, and the ‘marshmallows’ she’d insisted on bringing along – yet another sticky, sugary treat Killian couldn’t quite stomach. He’d tried two, toasted over the fire until they were gooey on the inside, but they sat uncomfortably in his gut and he left the rest for Emma. He’s not sure if it was the problem was the marshmallows, or the fact that his anxiety is rising again just from being in a forest. Spending centuries on a jungle island, at the whim of a malicious demon, had ruined it for him. On a good day, he could shove it down, bury it deep where all his other vulnerabilities lived. But today is not a good day.

“What are you thinking about, Killian?” Emma asks, and he supposes he has been quiet for too long.

“Just… things.”

“Good things?”

He wishes.

“No.”

“Oh.”

She’s got her fingers on his chest, toying absently with the hairs at the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He wonders if she’ll ask for more of him. He wonders if he can give it this time. He thinks about her body pressed against his and her gentle hands removing his clothes, and maybe he wants to try it again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asks.

Her unexpected question forces an alteration of Killian’s thoughts that is abrupt and unpleasant. Because that’s why they’re really out here, isn’t it? To talk about things. Reconnect, whatever the hell that meant. He doesn’t want to do this. He really, really doesn’t want to dip his toes back into those memories. It’s bad enough he has to bare his soul for the cricket on a regular basis.

“I…”

Where does he start? How can he tell her the true horrors he endured in the cellar? And does she even want to hear it – how they’d seemingly delighted in every strangled groan and grunt he couldn’t hold back under the torture, and how they’d laughed when they finally forced a scream from him? That his only comfort was the hallucination of her, kneeling at his side in the cell telling him everything would be okay as he struggled to breathe around the pain consuming his body? Bloody hell, he’s shaking again at the thought of saying any of that to her.

“We don’t have to do this,” Emma says, giving him a way out that he desperately wants to use.

But Killian Jones is not a coward.

“No, it’s… I can…”

“Breathe, Killian,” she coaches, sitting up straighter and her hand moves up to cradle his face, “Breathe. You’re okay.”

He takes a breath. And another. And slowly the tendrils of panic release him.

“I saw you there,” he blurts out before his mind can talk him out of it again, “In the cell with me. You brought me comfort amongst the torment…”

 “Killian, you have to be still. Just be still. It’ll only hurt more if you move.”

He blinks drowsily at her standing beside him, her hands gentle on his battered body as he hangs from the shackle. Perhaps he should listen to her advice. The pain of fighting to keep his feet under him is making it harder to breathe. Harder to think. And he needs to think. But…

“Emma, how are you here?” he gasps, and his eyes fill with tears of relief.

Her hand caresses his face as she smiles, and he wants to weep from how good it feels. Her love. Her kindness. How long has it been since anyone has touched him in such a way? How long has he been shackled in this cold cell?

“It’s okay,” she says with so much tenderness, “Everything’s going to be okay now. Go to sleep, Killian.”

His eyes flutter closed. He’s so cold. He’s so tired. Everything hurts but it’s okay because Emma’s here.

 “That’s why you didn’t know if I was real,” Emma says quietly, “when we found you. I thought… I thought I’d lost you. That they’d….”

She’s pressed tightly against his side again as he hesitantly shares the story with her.

“I was so scared, Killian.”

“Aye, love. Me too.”

He hadn’t meant to admit that, but he had been terrified. He’d kept it hidden from his captors as best he could but by the end, he knew he was failing. There’s only so much a man can take. And they’d known that, finding his weaknesses and pushing him past his breaking point. For two weeks, he suffered at their hands.

 “Focus on your breathing, Killian,” Emma says softly.

He’s shivering, naked against the cold floor, exhausted from the pain yet unable to sleep because of it. His ruined hand feels so unbearably hot that he envisions it may well burst into flames, every involuntary twitch of his broken fingers sending a blazing agony up his arm. And further down his body there’s still the terrible, terrible burning sensation from his captor’s latest game.

“I d-don’t want you to s-see me like this, Emma,” he whispers through chattering teeth, his eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s okay. You know I’m not really here.”

The reminder that he is alone is too much. It’s like a wave of emotion cresting, and crashing into him with immense force, making him want to howl his rage and despair until his lungs are empty. But he only allows a whimper. He won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how utterly broken he is.

“Just breathe,” not-Emma murmurs, her imaginary fingers on his face close enough to the real thing that Killian feels himself melting into her touch, “Just keep breathing, Killian.”

 “It felt so real. I know it wasn’t, but… you helped me to stay sane. I would have lost myself if it weren’t for the image of you at my side.”

The fire is burning low now and the loss of its heat is making him shiver. Emma moves the blanket so it’s resting over both of them, and her hand settles on his left forearm as she burrows closer into his right side, like she can cuddle the fear right out of him. He appreciates the gesture, struggling with the mental distress of releasing the memories from that box in his mind. Of admitting his fears to Emma. And he has barely touched on what they did to him in that cellar. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to, not to Emma.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you,” Emma says.

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. We were nearly… we were nearly too late, Killian, you were…”

“Almost gone,” he whispers, staring blankly into the campfire.

  When he swallows, he can taste blood, having bitten either his tongue or his lip – he doesn’t know which one – trying to hold back his cries during his last torture session. It hadn’t even helped, not for long enough. His strength is entirely depleted. The pain throughout his body has faded to a dull, miserable sort of ache, that he’s grateful for because it’s better than the fire that had consumed him before. And he realizes distantly that this is it, this is the end. It’s not how he thought he’d go – and he’s thought about it a lot over his too many lifetimes. A quiet, distraught sound escapes his parched throat at the thought that Emma will be too late to save him. He’s not afraid to die, his heart doesn’t ache for himself but for her, how terrible it will be for Emma to find his corpse. How long will it take? But wait, here’s Emma now, her hand gently rubbing at his curved back as he lies there helpless.

“Emma?” His lips move, but he doesn’t think he’s actually spoken aloud.

He doesn’t seem to have the strength for that anymore, but that doesn’t matter. Emma presses her lips against the back of his bare shoulder. He can feel her hair tickling his skin.

“Ssshhh,” she shushes him, “I’m here.”

But she’s not really, he knows that. It’s just his mind playing a trick on him again. But he might as well take the comfort it seems willing to provide in his final hours.

“Hold me, Emma. Please, I want to feel your embrace as I go.”

Not-Emma’s arms slip under him, lifting him effortlessly into her embrace. The motion hurts in a way in shouldn’t because this isn’t real, but he moans weakly anyway.

“It’s okay, Killian. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

It’s hard to breathe, but he knows that won’t matter for much longer. Emma’s fingers move lightly over his cheek, across his jawline, caressing his face as she holds him steady. He feels like he’s floating now, only her touch keeping him from disappearing into nothing. Killian feels immensely grateful for her comfort. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, content to imagine how she looks, the smile on her face, the kindness in her eyes. The love she has for him is flowing into his body, easing his suffering in his final moments. But his captors come back for him, one more time and he just wants this to be over.

“Just bloody finish it,” he says, and he can tell he’s said it aloud this time by how feeble his voice sounds.

He floats away again and he doesn’t want to come down, but they pull him back, holding his right arm too tightly and he can’t take any more of this, can’t take the pain that he knows is going to overwhelm him in a moment when they aggravate his broken fingers again just for the fun of it. He shakes and writhes and implores for them to stop and he promised himself, he promised Emma they could not break him, but they have. By the gods, they have. But not-Emma is still here somehow, and her touch feels more real than it ever has. She’s never been there during his tortures, only afterwards in his cage, and Killian struggles to focus on her. She looks scared this time and Killian doesn’t like it. He wants desperately to let go, to escape this torment, but she looks so sad he can’t bear to leave her like this. But his body is giving up and he has no choice.

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

Slowly, the world begins to disappear again. And not-Emma says she’s real now, and he almost believes it. He wants to believe it, that she has really found him, even if she’s come too late to save him. She tells him just to rest, her fingers curled tightly around his shoulder, soothing and steadying. Her permission is all he needs. Killian finally submits to the void that’s been beckoning to him so enticingly, and he doesn’t expect to wake up again.

 Emma’s sniffling jolts Killian out of the morbid tale he was telling, his voice monotonous as he tried to distance himself from the event, and he realizes he’s lost some time by the way the fire is only embers now.

“Emma? What’s wrong, love?” he asks with concern, giving his head a quick shake to remove what feels like cobwebs out of his brain.

“S-sorry,” she says weakly, her voice quivering, “I just… I didn’t know how close it actually was. Another few hours and… God, Killian.”

Oh. Oh.

“No, I’m sorry, truly. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

He tries to twist away slightly so he can see her face, but she’s holding onto him too tightly. And she’s weeping freely now, sobbing into his shirt. Curse the cricket for this suggestion, it’s only made things worse. And curse Killian too for going along with it.

“Hey, it’s okay, Emma. I’m with you. It’s okay.”

He repeats her own words back to her, the words she’s used for him so frequently of late, when he wakes panicked in the night or finds himself suddenly unable to catch his breath as the memories cloud his mind. His hand rubs at Emma’s back, trying to soothe her, and he wishes, gods, he wishes he had a second hand with which to wipe her tears away. Though he can’t move his left arm at all right now anyway, because she’s clinging onto it like she’ll float away if she doesn’t.

“Sshhh, love, be calm,” he continues, slipping in his own phrases now, folding himself around her as much as he’s able, sheltering her as she falls apart, “We’re okay now. We’re okay. Just breathe, there’s a good girl. Shh, it’s going to be alright, Emma.”

Slowly her body begins to relax in his arms, and after a while she takes a shuddering breath and sits up to scrub away her tears, and grabs a handkerchief from her pocket to blow her nose. Killian pulls the flask of rum from his pocket and pushes it gently into her trembling hands when she’s done.

“Drink up, Swan, and I’ll tend the fire.”

He needs a moment to calm himself as well and placing some more logs on the fire is a perfect excuse to get him the space he needs, and a simple task to ground himself firmly in the present. Emma stares at the flask in her hand with red-rimmed eyes as Killian carefully tends the fire, expertly poking at and blowing on the embers around the new wood he’s placed on it, until it flares back to life, driving away the chill.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Emma says with a little, self-deprecating sort of laugh, “I’m supposed to be strong, for you. Because I’m fine, you’re the one that was…”

Tortured.

“Hey now, none of that,” Killian says firmly, dropping to one knee in front of her so he can lift her chin and look into her eyes, “You are strong, love, far stronger than I would be in your place. You figured out where I was and you saved me, Emma.”

He takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of it while never breaking eye contact, his lips lingering on her skin as he makes certain she can see in his face how much he means what he’s saying.

“You saved me,” he repeats softly when he finally lifts his mouth again, “I owe you everything. You’re not a mess, Emma, you’re a bloody hero.”

She smiles, hesitant at first but growing wider and then she puts the unopened flask aside in favour of leaning forward to kiss him. He meets her halfway, surging upwards with a bit too much force that accidentally sends Emma toppling backwards off the log with a yelp and Killian falling with her, frantically trying to break their fall without hurting her. He must manage it, because when they make eye contact in this compromising position, Emma’s giggling and Killian can’t help the sound bubbling up his throat too because he’s experienced far too many emotions in such a sort time tonight and he’s feeling a little giddy.

“Sorry, love,” he says, trying to suppress his undignified giggling, “That was…”

But now he’s acutely aware of how close they are, how her hands are clinging to him, and how her thigh is conveniently pressing between his legs. His glee abates as it’s replaced by another feeling – he really, really wants to kiss her again, and deeper this time. And he can barely keep up with all these sensations and he doesn’t even care at this point, his head feeling a little dizzy at the intoxicating nearness of Emma, of her scent and her touch. He wonders if – he hopes – that Emma can feel the heat between them too.

“I’m fine, Killian, it’s fine. Are you-”                              

He gives in to his body’s urges despite his reservations and swallows the rest of her question, his lips capturing hers and his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, and she immediately responds in kind, almost hungrier for it than he is. Thank the gods, Killian thinks, because if she hadn’t been in the mood, he would have felt stupid, though he most likely could get her into the mood without much effort. The passion between them builds even higher and Killian is desperate for more. He presumes his eyes possess the same dazed look that Emma’s do as they both take a moment to catch their breath.

“Emma, may I…” Emma waits patiently while he finds the words, find the courage to say what he wants, her hand stilling against his chest. “I want to… I want to make love to you.”

Emma laughs a little, like she always does when he uses that phrase (nobody calls it that anymore, Killian but he’s not quite comfortable using a more vulgar term, not to Emma, she’s too perfect and too good and it would be very bad form to say anything like that in her hearing) but she also blushes slightly, and he can see she’s just as eager for it as he is.

“Okay.”

With a wave of her hand, Emma extinguishes the campfire, and then they can hardly keep their hands off each other as they move to the privacy of their tent. The moment they are inside Killian is overcome with the burning desire to touch more of her skin right now.

“Less clothes,” Killian demands, and Emma grins, pulling her lower lip between her teeth before she starts taking her layers off.

She doesn’t ask him to take his own off, sticking to her promise that she won’t push him, but he wants to. He wants this. He’s tired of being a coward. His fingers hurry to remove his own clothing (and he’s never been more thankful to have the use of those five fingers again than at this precise moment), and in a moment Emma is more or less naked in front of him and he’s in a similar state, at least from the waist up. Now his mouth can explore her newly exposed flesh and he delights in the sounds he can pull from her by doing so. Emma’s hand rests against the back of his head, the other bracing herself, leaning back as he takes what he wants. It’s a slow and tender sort of lovemaking; hands drifting slowly across skin, mouths savouring the taste of the other, hushed words of reverent appreciation, and this is exactly what Killian needs. They take their time, neither in a hurry to go further yet, just enjoying getting lost in the sensations.

“Emma.” Killian is the one to break away, feeling the urgency, the need, beginning to override his uncertainties about what he intends to do.

“What is it?”

Killian’s looking up at Emma’s flushed face as he leans back on his elbows on the mattress, her lips slightly swollen from his earlier attentions, her hair a gloriously wild tangle and the colour bright in her cheeks. He’s taken off the brace and hook because they’re in such tight quarters right now, there’s a high chance his hook would rip the side of their shelter when they really get into it, and it would only take a moment of inattention, the briefest impulse to anchor himself to something, and the flimsy material would be rent right open. He doesn’t need one more thing to be concerned about tonight. Not with what he is about to do. Killian hesitates for a second before he grabs Emma’s hand in his and guides it to his belt buckle – his jeans the only thing he’s still wearing besides his socks and his rings and the charms around his neck.

“Are you sure?” Emma asks, her fingers curling into the waistband at the front of his jeans.

“Yes,” he murmurs, quickly, before he can lose his nerve again, “just… just go slow.”

Her eyes flick back up to his several times, checking on his wellbeing as she slowly releases him from the confines of his trousers. He can feel the memories clawing at the edge of his mind, but he keeps watching her, focuses on the feel of her soft fingers brushing against his skin as he lifts his hips and allows her to tug his jeans down and off. Then it’s over and now Emma’s moving back up his body, taking his face in her hands and gazing into his eyes.

“Still with me?” she asks quietly.

There’s no denying that his body is responding to their activities, but Emma just wants to be certain his mind is on board with it as well, after how badly he reacted last time. She’s good like that.

“Aye, keep going, love.”

And then her hand slips down and there, bloody finally. Killian allows himself to get lost in the sensations for a glorious interval. Emma could easily get him off just like this, she’s done it before, her talented hands and her mouth – oh gods, her mouth, a shudder runs through him at the thought – and he’s strongly tempted to allow her to continue, if he didn’t have another plan for tonight. He needs… He needs.

“Wait,” Killian chokes out, and she stops immediately, looking at him with concern.

“What’s wrong? Is this too much?”

“No. I mean, yes, but… Not for the reasons you think.” He breathes deeply, gathers his wits, and his fortitude. “I don’t want to finish like this, Emma, I want… I want you. I want to be… inside you.”

He’s seconds away from adding a pathetic please because she’s so close to him, but not close enough and his skin is tingling with desire. But before he has to, Emma leans forward and her mouth claims his again, scorching and demanding and keeping him firmly rooted in the present time. When she pulls back, his head spinning a little from how hard she’s kissed him, she slips her arm behind him – sit up, Killian, I want to hold you –and he follows her guidance willingly until he’s sitting on the edge of their camping bed, his heart pounding against his ribs because he knows, he knows how good she will make him feel. Then she’s on him and around him, astride his thighs as she settles onto him. His hand finds its way to the swell of her bare arse, drawing her down, coaxing her to take him in further.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, and there’s a shameless moan from the back of his throat as she wraps her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, “Gods, you feel so bloody good, Emma.” Because Emma loves it when he tells her how much he’s appreciating what she’s doing to him – and bloody hell, he is appreciating it. A lot. And she’s barely done anything yet.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Emma says quietly, her hot breath against his ear sending a shiver of eager anticipation down his spine, “Tell me if you need me to stop, at any time and I will. Okay?”

Killian nods his assent, and slowly she begins to move, murmurs words of praise to him as her fingers bury themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand slipping behind his back to hold him close. This position is soft and intimate and wonderful as all his senses become completely immersed in everything Emma. There’s no room for any other feeling, or any other thought. She’s holding onto him as she sets the pace and he’s kissing whatever part of her he can reach, using lips and tongue and teeth the way she likes it and she tastes amazing and he can’t get enough and gods, she is going to drive him insane. He enjoys it rough, sometimes – most times – and Emma always obliges, but tonight she takes him gently, lovingly, carefully, all soft phrases and leisurely movements. And it’s exactly what Killian needs, his fears falling away, this tender coupling the complete opposite to the last time he was at someone’s mercy. And as well as he knows her to work her up, Emma knows how to do the same to him, and despite the slowness of it all Killian finds himself teetering on that edge far quicker than he’d expected. Emma’s quiet moans and gasps as she rides him lets him know she’s not far behind, and he desperately hopes she’s close enough that he won’t leave her unsatisfied.

“Emma… gods, Emma, I’m…” Killian groans, long and loud in the quiet of the forest, his jaw tight as he struggles to keep himself in check. “I’m going to…”

“It’s okay,” she says, strained and tremulous and breathless and still continuing the same steady, relentless pace, “It’s okay. Come for me, Killian.”

“You first, darling,” Killian grits out because damn it, he’s a gentleman.

But he’s too close, he can feel it, he’s not going to be able to hold out. His rhythm is beginning to stutter and he’s losing control. He is wrecked, his endurance is usually better than this and he has to take a moment to breathe, his forehead falling forwards onto Emma’s shoulder. Thankfully Emma seems to take pity on him, for she pauses her motion while he collects himself. Only a moment, but it’s enough. He can tell she’s close, if he could just-

“Right there, yes, oh god Killian,” Emma gasps, pulling harder at his hair, her fingernails scratching lightly against his back, “Don’t stop, please, please, Killian, I’m so close.”

His response is a growl, primal and desperate, her almost frenzied pleas sending him past the point of no return. He has no intention of stopping. Another panted yes and god and then she’s clenching tight around him, his actions bringing her to her peak and his name tumbles from her lips as she shatters and it’s too much and it’s perfect and – and – and he’s there and nothing else matters as they both fall apart.

-/-

No, actually they were ‘coming together’ in every sense of the phrase, is the first thought Killian’s brain has when he’s able to think anything at all again and he snickers into the juncture of Emma’s neck and shoulder as she remains in his arms, equally as blissed out as he is.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, still out of breath, and Killian’s hand slides up the smooth curve of her back.

“Just thinking.”

He lifts his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply, slowly, pouring all his devotion and gratitude into it, only stopping because he wants to be certain Emma knows how much she means to him.

“Emma, you’re a marvel and I love you.”

“Right back at you,” she says, smiling, sparkling eyes even in the dimness of their shelter, a bit of a flush to her cheeks, “That… that was okay, then?”

She looks unsure now, like she’s pushed him further than he was ready for, like she’s broken her promise, and this was what Killian was concerned about – Emma’s insecurities coming to the forefront. He wants those doubts banished from her mind immediately. He brushes some of her wayward hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her skin, thumb drawing a path along her jawline on the way back.

“It was perfect, love,” he assures her, “You were perfect. You gave me everything I asked for. And… I hope my performance was satisfactory as well?”

A smirk punctuates his salacious question, a little lift of his left eyebrow and there, the uncertainty is gone from Emma’s face like it never existed, replaced with a rather coy smile that Killian much prefers.

“Very.”

They move, eventually, lying down side by side on the mattress and they remain like that, sharing gentle affections and whispered adoration, for quite some time, until the mood gradually changes to something needy once more. Killian moves over the top of her and smiles wickedly, enjoying the way Emma’s breathing has quickened already before he’s even begun, because now it’s his turn to be in control, and she knows very well what his intentions are. It’s time to repay his beautiful Swan for the pleasure she bestowed upon him.

to be continued...

[lokidiabolus]

Last Resort - Chapter 2

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Pairing: Thomas x Newt

Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU

Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.

Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c

Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.

Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)

Unbetad!

EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.

***

Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.

The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).

In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.

The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.

And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?

Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.

Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.

Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.

Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.

***

“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.

It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.

Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.

(Lots of them.)

“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.

He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.

Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…

“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”

Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.

A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?

Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).

“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.

And some fucking horny prick just took it?

Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?

Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.

“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”

“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).

“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”

“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”

“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.

“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”

“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”

“Fuck off!”

Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.

Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.

Still angry and miserable.

Still… there.

***

The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.

Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.

But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).

Not Thomas’. Not anymore.

The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.

He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?

The guy who left the mark?

Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.

Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.

Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.

Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.

“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.

“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.

“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”

Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.

Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.

“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.

Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.

***

“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.

“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.

“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”

“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”

“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.

“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”

“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.

“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”

“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.

“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.

Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.

“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”

Why the fuck is she so perceptive?

“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”

“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”

There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.

I really need some sleep.

***

Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.

He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.

The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.

“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.

“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.

“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”

“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.

And Thomas wanted too much.

***

He never stopped wanting.

He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.

He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.

He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.

He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.

Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.

Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.

Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.

Maybe… it was simply impossible.

***

Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.

The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.

“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.

“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.

“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”

“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”

“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”

Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.

Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.

And bed.

“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”

“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”

“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.

“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.

“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”

He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.

***

“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”

The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.

“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”

“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”

“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”

That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.

“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”

“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”

“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”

“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”

Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.

He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.

“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”

Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.

“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”

“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.

“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”

“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”

And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.

“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”

Overnight…?

“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.

“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”

“But-,”

“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”

The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.

“I did this?!”

“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”

“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.

“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.

“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”

“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.

“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”

“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.

Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.

“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”

“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”

“Sorry you had to.”

It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.

He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.

“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”

“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”

“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.

“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”

“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”

“What.”

“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”

“Uh.”

“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.

Fuck.

“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”

Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”

Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.

“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.

“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.

“About?”

“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”

“Pfff.”

He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.

“Newt.”

“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.

“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.

“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”

A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.

“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.

“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”

“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.

Seriously testing me. That’s-

“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.

He always did. Nothing had changed.

“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.

“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.

“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”

A colleague. And nothing else?

“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”

“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”

He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.

But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.

But…

“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”

The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.

“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”

“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.

We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.

He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.

[heycoyotegirl]

Safe to Shore

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252283 Relationships: Paxton Hall-Yoshida/Devi Vishwakumar Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Panic Attacks, paxton is a soft boy and i will die on this hill, no beta we die like non-honors students, Mutual Pining Summary: Devi has a panic attack after falling into the pool. Paxton helps her through it. A/N: This is my first NHIE fic, so let me know if I got their voices right! It’s also unbetad, so please point out any mistakes.

Paxton was leading her somewhere. She wasn’t quite sure where. He’d said something—about clothes, maybe—but her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. And the party continued to rage around them. The bass of too loud music thumped through her body, shaking her bones and forcing her heartbeat to match the racing tempo.

The breeze against her damp skin made her shiver. Made her keep shivering. Hadn’t they just been inside? Why was there a breeze? Where—

Paxton’s hand left her lower back, and she found herself suddenly swaying on her feet. She hadn’t even realized that his hand had been there until its support was gone. What was happening to her that she hadn’t realized that Paxton was touching her? Was she dying? Her chest hurt with every inhale. The air stabbing into her lungs, trying to cut her to ribbons. Her heart was pounding, about to break free from her ribcage. And the world around her seemed muted and muffled and blurry. Weirdly distorted like she was—

Underwater.

Oh, God.

“Woah!”

She felt distant hands grab at her. Pulling her out of the water? Or pushing her deeper? The breeze was ice against her skin. Her pulse thudded in her ears, everything else drowned out by its roar. She had to find the surface, but her legs were numb, useless, paralyzed. Her lungs were caving in—or, no, filled with water. The pressure unbearable. Ribs cracking under the strain. Her throat tightened. She was choking. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe and—

“Devi! Devi, hey, can you hear me? I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Paxton. Paxton’s hand in her’s. Paxton’s face in her field of view. His eyebrows drawn together, lips tight with worry. Worry—for her?

She managed to nod her head, motions jerky. The motion unbalanced her. Set her head spinning. The rip current threatening to drag her deeper.

Paxton squeezed her hand. A lifebuoy. “Ok, can you name five things you can see for me?”

The world was still swimming. She felt disconnected, trapped at the bottom of a pool while everyone watched impassively from above. She was still shaking. Why couldn’t she stop shaking?

“Devi?” Paxton prompted, voice so soft it made her ache.

“Right.” Forcing that single word out through the water in her lungs was exhausting. But she couldn’t let Paxton down. Couldn’t disappoint him. The last person still in her life. Five things. “Um. Your eyes. Your jacket. The ground. My dress.” With each word spoken, the next came a little easier. But still, she hesitated for a second. Her voice dropped, nearly whispering, “Your lips.”

Said lips curved into a small smile. “Good. Now, what are four things you can feel?”

Her breath hitched, and her vision abruptly went blurry. Her eyes stung—chlorine? She blinked rapidly. Her hand darted to her leg, pinching her skin roughly, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. “My—my legs. I can’t—I can’t feel—”

Paxton caught her hand, gently prying it away from her leg. He replaced it with his own, palm burning her skin like a brand. “I got you. I promise, your legs still work. Do you think you can tell me four things you feel?”

Devi managed another approximation of a nod. His thumb started to rub little circles by her knee, the repetitive motion soothing enough that she managed to take a deep—shuddering and painful—breath. Still, progress.

“Your hand—hands,” she said. Paxton’s grip on her tightened for a second. She met his gaze and found herself shuddering for a new reason. “Uh, the breeze. The pavement. My awful, wet dress.” She was starting to settle back into herself. Unfortunately, that meant she was all too aware of the way the damp fabric clung to her.

“Good. You’re almost done, and then we’ll get you out of that wet dress. What are three things you can hear?”

Devi stared at him silently for a moment, but if he realized what he said, he didn’t show it. Perhaps she was still more out of it than she’d thought. Eventually, she answered, “Your voice. The music. My heart.” The last, she said softly, like it was a confession. Maybe it was. The fear was receding, leaving bone deep fatigue in its place, but her heart continued to race.

Paxton smiled at her. Had he been that close a second ago? “Two things you can smell.”

“Chlorine and…”—her nose wrinkled—“chlorine.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll give you that one. It really covers everything up.”

Devi smiled back at him. They were still holding hands. Could he feel her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings? She hoped her hand wasn’t too clammy.

“Last one: One thing you can taste. Or would like to taste.”

You. “Chlorine, again,” she said, sticking her tongue out in feigned disgust.

Paxton chuckled softly, the sound punching her straight in the gut. They were both silent for a moment. His breathing was slow and deep, and Devi found herself unconsciously matching him. He was the metronome, demanding her to keep time. Her lungs twinged as they expanded fully, but when Paxton paused for a beat between inhale and exhale, she mimicked him, relishing in the ache after the suffocating feeling from before.

His voice was quiet as he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

She glanced away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Thank you for that.”

“Of course.” His gaze was heavy when she looked up, and she nearly held her breath in anticipation. But she couldn’t afford to screw this up and lose yet another person. She slipped her hand out of his, making a futile attempt—mostly for show—to squeeze some of the water out of the hem of her dress.

“You said something about clothes?” Getting her out of that wet dress, to be specific. She pushed the thought away; she had to focus on being a good friend, not pining away hopelessly.

“Right.” He sounded—disappointed? Her head whipped up. He didn’t look disappointed. Wishful thinking, then. This “being a good friend” thing might be tougher than she’d thought. He gave her thigh one last squeeze—how had she missed the fact that his hand was still on her leg?—and stood, offering a hand to help her up. “I have some extra sweats in the car that you can wear.”

The thought of wearing Paxton’s clothes would have sent her into a tizzy any other day. Today, she was bone-deep exhausted. Which she realized when she stood and nearly face planted into Paxton’s chest. Her knees buckling threatened to send her spiraling again, but she could still feel them, feel the lead weights in all of her muscles and the throbbing from her ill-advised pinch.

Plus, Paxton’s hands were on her waist, saving her from breaking her nose on his sternum or tipping over backwards to crack her skull on his car. He was murmuring at her, not really saying anything, but tone and cadence soothing. It reminded her of someone talking to an injured wild animal they were trying to catch. These days, she often felt like a wild animal, cornered and scared and lashing out at the people trying to help her.

“Devi?”

She shook the thoughts off, starting slightly as she realized that Paxton’s hands were still on her waist and her hands were clutching his forearms. “Sorry,” she said, not moving her hands. “I kind of got lost in thought there.”

Paxton shrugged. “No worries. I should’ve realized that your blood sugar would be low. I’ve got snacks in the car. Think you can lean against the car and stay upright long enough for me to grab them?”

She nodded, albeit reluctantly. But only because his hands were warm and she was cold. Definitely not because standing like that made it very easy to fantasize about kissing him. She half listened to Paxton rattle off an implausibly long list of choices—was he running some sort of strange convenience store out of the back of his jeep?—eventually just letting him decide.

He’d returned quickly, snacks and sweats in hand and watched her like a hawk as she carefully lowered herself to sit leaning against the car’s tire. And thus, she found herself sitting on the ground outside Ben’s house—outside the biggest party of the year—in a wet dress, drinking a juice box and eating banana bread with Paxton Hall-Yoshida, the hottest guy in school. If her thigh didn’t still hurt, she’d be tempted to pinch herself again.

She was on her second slice—Paxton was on what seemed to be his second loaf—when the wind blew sharply, reminding her of the fact that she was still soaked. She shivered violently, and Paxton was on his feet instantly. “You should get changed,” he said, stepping around to the other side of the car. “Wouldn’t want to go to the hospital for hypothermia.”

She nodded and pulled his sweatshirt over her head so that she could maintain some amount of dignity while wiggling out of the clingy fabric. “Thanks for letting me borrow your sweats. This is so embarrassing; you keep having to rescue me at parties.”

“It’s not embarrassing for me.” He shot her a slight smile. “I always come out of it looking cool.”

[alittlebitgoofy]

Pri-heat to 375° (lemyankajuice)

Juice is just trying to bake but Lemon decides it's time for attention, Priyanka finds this endlessly amusing and adorable.

hhhhh this is a ship concept, i felt the need to write it so enjoy 1.3k of pure fluff and some baking. i wrote this in like 3 days and it’s unbetad so take from that what you will, thanks to my beloved janon for suggesting that punny title, it's pretty iconic. 

light tw for mentions of burns, it's nothing too bad but it's there at the end

ao3 link

People looked down on the girls. Something about the three of them being too much trouble for once house, let alone the apartment they lived in. It didn’t stop them though, there was never a dull moment, even with Juice’s attempted baking, they found a way to spice it up with some chaos.

Juice was the only one permitted in the kitchen a lot of the time. It stemmed from Lemon setting the smoke alarm off trying to make toast and Priyanka not being allowed near anything that made a lot of heat after she had accidentally burnt their bedding with a hairdryer. It was also a safety issue, the kitchen was hardly big enough to fit three adult women, no matter how much Priyanka insisted Lemon and Juice were child size.

It was simple, the small blonde just wanted to bake cookies. That couldn’t be too much trouble. Could it?

Yes. Of course, it could. Juice underestimated the combined power of a particularly needy Lemon and excited Priyanka. Not easy to deal with on their own, but together was just an accident waiting to happen. It started easy enough, Juice left alone to focus on what she was doing.

For about ten minutes.

Although the recipe only took half an hour, including baking time. Juice liked to be thorough before she moved on to the next step. That was why the kitchen was the only place that was clean and organised. Three messy people in one small apartment was not a good way to keep clean, but the kitchen was exempt from the majority of the mess. Last time, a particularly sleep-deprived Lemon had wandered in, made toast and somehow left two different plates, a knife and the kitchen counter a mess. Jam left on the side, forgotten as she ate before promptly curling up on the couch to nap for three hours. Juice had never been that annoyed about something, the mess was normal for them. But Lemon learnt the hard way, an upset Juice was not a good thing to be around.

She knew better than to bother her small girlfriend, but there was a distinct urge for attention and who was she to deny what she wanted. Priyanka was nowhere to be seen, having had to take a phone call a few minutes prior. The yellow-haired girl bounced into the kitchen, poking Juice’s shoulder as she rolled out the cookie dough. The smaller girl turned around to see a particularly attentive looking Lemon, her eyes pleading for something that Juice didn’t have to question. She took the bright-haired girl and peppered light kisses all over her face until Lemon couldn’t hold back her delighted giggles.

Juice moved her face back to look at Lemon, face lit up in a giddy smile that would make anyone melt. Her eyes held so much love that made Juice’s become a mushy pile of soft gay feelings. Lemon pulled the smaller girl back towards her, connecting their lips in a soft, loving kiss. They stayed, distracted by each other until Priyanka came along; poking her head through the doorway and smirking at the sight.

“Well, what do we have here? Looks quite gay to me.” Juice jolted at the sudden voice coming from the doorway. Lemon glanced over her shoulder, her face lighting up with a grin.

“Pripri! C’mere!” Lemon bounced in happiness when Priyanka obliged, walking close enough for the yellow-haired girl to pull her into a hug. She looked up at the brunette, pressing soft kisses all over her face before turning to Juice and doing the same thing. Priyanka followed her girlfriend’s lead, leaning her face down to kiss the pair.

The affection continued, Lemon somewhat squished between her two girlfriends. She let out a content, happy sigh that made both the girls holding her melt and squeeze her somewhat tighter. Juice let out a soft noise a few minutes later, breaking up the long hug with a frown.

“As much as I'd love to cuddle you two for longer, these cookies won’t bake themselves.” Lemon pouted, while Priyanka nodded while trying to hold back laughter at Lemon’s clear annoyance at the interruption.

“Can I help?” Lemon looked at Juice pleadingly, clearly just wanting something to keep her occupied.

“I’ve done most of it, Lem. I just need to roll it out and cut out the shapes. If you two want to help choose the cookie cutters then that would be good.”

Lemon nodded with a grin, excitedly searching the drawer for various shapes. She pulled out a star, happily presenting it to her amused girlfriends. Juice turned to Priyanka, gesturing to the drawer with a curious look. The taller girl laughed before plucking a heart-shaped cookie cutter and placing it next to Lemon’s star.

“Alright, you guys don't need to crowd. You’re going to get in the way!” Juice huffed when both women only moved closer to her. “Hey! I mean it! I can’t get them onto the tray if I can’t move.”

“Oh, you’re so intimidating, Juicy.” Priyanka teased, patting juice’s head. Juice only pouted in response. “You’re so tiny it’s adorable when you pout” that only made Juice pout more, leaving lemon watching with intrigue and amusement. Something about seeing the tiny blonde glaring up at her made Priyanka want to squeal. She was adorable, and never someone she could take seriously due to the seven-inch height difference. Priyanka enjoyed towering over her girlfriends. It wasn’t hard to considering they were both quite short but the pure euphoria of patting them both on the head, only to be glared at by the two cutest girls she knew. It was something to be treasured. Especially in moments like this.

Moving past her girlfriends, Juice put the cookies in the oven. Lemon immediately directed all her attention onto it, as if watching would make the cookies bake faster.

“Now we wait, I know you two have no patience but it’s only going to be around ten minutes.”

“Pfft, who are you saying has no patience? Coming from the girl who yells at her pokemon game when something takes too long to catch.” Priyanka cackled as Lemon grinned deviously, delighting on the irked expression on Juice’s face. The blonde wanted to retort, but she knew that feeding Lemon’s antics would only make it worse. She stared at the yellow-haired woman, inwardly smirking when Lemon pouted about not receiving a response.

“You two really can be amusing sometimes.” Priyanka’s laughter broke the silence. Both girls turned to her curiously. They got pulled into a tight hug, one that made both girls’ faces melt into a soft grin.

“You’re really fun to mess with,” The brunette muttered, pressing a kiss to Juice before turning to Lemon to do the same. “and you’re adorably stupid.” the three continued, mumbling little jokes and hugging until Juice’s timer went off. She took them out of the oven, carefully sliding the cookies onto a plate to cool down before it happened.

The hot tray slid down her over gloves and onto her arm, burning it before she could realise what was happening.

“Shit!” Juice jumped, the tray clanging on the floor. Priyanka looked at her in concern, noticing her holding her arm and looking over it. The skin was red, Juice herself pouting and letting out a pained squeal when her girlfriend poked it.

“Juice! We need to put this under cold water.”

“No you don’t, warm water is better. There was some kind of study about it.” Lemon spoke softly, not looking up from her phone.

“Lem! Please pay attention when your girlfriend just burnt herself.” Priyanka scolded softly, smiling slightly when Lemon glanced up with a nod.

“Juicy you really are clumsy. How do you manage it?” Lemon giggled slightly, pressing a kiss to the blonde’s cheek as she ran her arm under the tap.

“Girl, your talent really is getting injured.” Juice scowled as Priyanka spoke, watching both her girlfriends burst into laughter at her expense.

Both of them came closer, cuddling up to the short girl once more. No matter what happened, the minor mistakes or the stupid jokes, they had each other.

[katsukisass]

PAIRING: Aizawa x Female!Pro-Hero!Reader

WORD COUNT:  It’s gonna be 5 parts, but this first one has 1,435 words.

WARNING(S): Lots of swearing. Body-image issues; self-esteem issues; canon-like violence; angst? idk. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So, idk what possessed me to write this and then make it 5 parts. Oh god, please help me. I hope y’all like, it’s my first BNHA imagine and Aizawa is a fave, so. This is UNBETADED AND I’M NOT A NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER, please tell me if you find any errors and I’ll correct them right away! <3 

RESUME:  You never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful. But then a certain Pro-hero keeps telling you are and, at a certain point, you just can’t convince yourself he’s lying. [This is part one, for part two go here.]

i.                    half-dead, battered and bloody.

You never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful. There were things you found nice about yourself, sure; but the overall sum of those things didn't exactly add to make you anything more than slightly cute and you were okay with it. Being cute wasn't in your plans anyway, having always wanted to be an hero.

It didn't helped that when you were on high school, being strong equaled to not being very feminine and you just went with it. You had to be strong and somehow the overall consensus was that girls weren't that. Long hair gets in the way. Heels aren't for running. How could you worry about looks while on a mission? The tutors at school drilled it inside you, and time and time again you found yourself being trap between the expectations everyone seemed to have about you being a girl and the requirements of being a hero.

That wasn't to say girls didn't fight back.  You saw girls being defiant, careful with their image, mindful of their looks, using them, even, and you decided that you didn't have to worry about it like they did, for you weren't even that pretty to begin with. So, you worked you ass off to improve your quirk, watched as your body grew stronger and decided that it wasn’t pretty, feeling as if at the time it were an question with only one right answer.

It had always been though being a girl. On class or at home, the thing you most encountered was discouragement. Being a hero was dangerous and it wasn't for girls. Being a hero was dangerous and you would never find a good husband like that. Being a hero required a set of skills girls just didn't had. Being a hero would ruin your love life, your significant other would never understand you. And that's not to mention the screeches of your Mother once and time again asking you who would take care of her grandsons if you were out at all times of the day being a self-centered mind-less hero. 

You passed way above it. So, It were a complete mindfuck when someone you admired so much like Eraser Head looks you dead in the eye, in the middle of the aftermath of a gruesome fight where you were both completely worn out, and tells you you're beautiful. There's heat flowing on waves to your face as your legs give out under you because you're exhausted - and also, on a smaller note, because you never saw that coming and dumbstruck don't quite cover everything you felt. 

"Did you get knocked on the head while I wasn't looking?" 

His head motions no, and you think maybe every other muscle of his body already gave out, cause he's splayed on the dirty concrete floor sited up only because of the huge block of debris behind him. His eyes bore holes in you, a meaningful stare that made the hairs of your neck stand out.

"Then you must be crazy by exertion." 

Like he thinks that can help, Eraser says the profanity again and you swear to god that prankster would find your fists If you had any strength in you. So you just flips him off and scoots back on your hands, trying to rest a bit before the first responders show up and you have to help with the rescue in the aftermath. 

Like something slowly emerging of a fog, you notice how your head hurts and so does your shoulders and arms and damn your side too. When one of your hands fly to your head and comes back bloody, you sigh audible. Apparently, you would be in the other end of the rescue party this time. You honestly hadn't felt nothing while the fight was going on, so the adrenaline high was coming down fast. You wonder if you lost too much blood. One look down at your ruined hero outfit and you notice the blood also gushing down from your right side. Damn. It looked worse than it was and you knew it. There was scrapes all over your shoulders, right arm and side, but the blood flow was somewhat manageable until the paramedics came. You look to the direction of a sound on your left and Eraser is pushing himself in your direction, walking every bit as a train-wreak as he looks.

"What the fu- Just lay down, Eraser, help's coming." While it was meant to be a bit more steady and definitely more stern, the fact that your voice comes in a rough breath and a cough probably ruins it.

"You're bleeding." He states the obvious and you send him a look every bit as unsurprised as you felt.

"So are you." You nod to his left leg, forearms and palms, though only the leg was a true problem. It bleed profusely while he limped and you wondered if it were a exposed fracture. There were a small trail of blood flowing from a forehead bruise too and you were sure the man had a concussion; it would explain everything perfectly.

"You're bleeding too much." 

"is' just a scrap."

"I don’t wanna see it when it's a big deal to you then." It takes some more time than normally would, but he's kneeling on your side and accessing your injuries. 

"Relax, I'll live." You wanted to lift your hand dismissively, but it just stayed on the ground, waving at nothing.

"Can you use your quirk to stop the blood flow?" He asks, looking around your wound, tearing your clothes to have a better look at it.

"You drag yourself all the way here just to tell me what to do?" You say watching him through half-lidded eyes, a smile finding it’s way to your lips.

One stern look from him and you're tiredly giggling. But there's no fucking strength in you even to just keep your blood inside and you show him that by trying and being unable to form a barrier for even a second. 

"'k, this' gonna hurt." That's the only heads up he gives you before putting both his palms, covered with his capture weapon, on top of your wound and pressing hard.

"What-FUCK!" You bite your tongue and taste blood. You're pretty sure you passed out for a second, because the force of his hands trying to make enough pressure on your wound that the blood flow diminish makes pain the only thing you can feel for a solid minute. When the adrenaline kicks in, you feel light-headed and you have to fight the desire to wack him on the head. But he's right, so you just resign to bite down on nothing and endure the pain with clenched teeth.

Then, like a concussed fucker, he just straights up does the crazy thing again. "You're beautiful."

"Oh fuck, you're crazy." It lefts your lips with all the breath you've been holding in, your face scrunching up in pain. "Gonna tell 'em to look your brain up." Another deep breath and all you feel is pain flashing though all your body. "Definitely cracked that hard head of yours." 

"'m fine." He mutters, carefully looking over your wounds like he could magically cure it by willing it better. The hell?

"Says the one claiming I'm beautiful when I'm almost dying, battered and bloody."

"You needed to know." He deadpans like it makes complete sense, and those words would explain his reasoning perfectly. Your side eye is nasty and he smirks at you like the fucking prankster he is.

"Oh, fuck you." You mutter and your arms start giving out, so you slowly lean yourself back until you're lying down in the concrete floor. Eraser keeps his hands on your wound, pressing while you move, his eyes scanning your body like he's ensuring that he isn't missing another major injury.

"They're here!" Someone screams and you breathe relieved that this weird shit is close to an end. You were okay with the bruising and hurting but damn, the bizarre beautiful thing going on was getting on your nerves. You couldn't even pass out in peace to avoid the weirdness and were getting real pissed at how creepily tender Eraser was looking you. Damn. Fucking. Weird.

Like the only thing keeping you still conscious was making him company, black spots appeared ahead of your eyes and your efforts to make them disappear were fruitless. When your eyes just feel too heavy to reopen, you let yourself be engulfed by darkness, the cadence of Eraser mumbling you were gonna be okay a lullaby in your ears.

[Prev. | Next]

[fluxycock]

Also here's the link to the thing, which is unedited, unbetad, absolutely the most rushed thing I've written in a long while, and god DAMN did it feel amazing because I actually finished this one

I shed a single proud tear.

Warning for non con, very mild sounding, biting, blood, nagas, hemipene, knotting (I know nagas shouldn't have knots. I dont care), uhhh double penetration? Flagrant disregard of bodies and how they work? Outright ignoring any type of logic? Man I should write this stuff more often.