#the Explosion after everything bubbles up like....the consequence of it

[loverboydotcom]

someones lover boy feels like im banging on a glass wall trying to tell beau he has autism and there are coping mechanisms that can help him but nooooo SOMEONE had to set this in the 80s so he has to figure it all out himself without ever actually knowing the Thing behind it all

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

hi!! I’m very aware that this was requested on the 13th of August, and literally over a month later I’ve finally managed to write it up. I feel unbelievably guilty for not getting it done sooner and I’m sorry it even took this long. I really really hope you enjoy it and I’m ever grateful for the patience 🤍🤍

title: there’s always another mystery

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: avery kylie grambs is spending a little too much time with your boyfriend than you’d like… but when jameson starts lying about it questions are raised and tension rises until it all bubbles over

warnings: mild swearing, violence, assault

a/n: the synopsis sounds really cringy so forgive me, this fic is kind of long and very dialogue heavy and ermmm… I hope you enjoy the ending ;)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

You sit on the bed waiting for Jameson to arrive. You wonder how long he’ll take this time. You’d just seen him and Avery ascending the set of stairs that lead to his dead uncle’s wing. Him and Avery. The pretty new comer with those big hazel eyes and long soft hair, pocketing a billionaire’s fortune overnight. She had it all: the looks, the brains, the humour. She was perfection and that bugged you greatly. She was a mystery.

Literally. When Tobias had finally decided to fall asleep forever, she was the result, the heiress, the consequence. She was big masterful puzzle had popped out of nowhere, from nothing. Not that you hadn’t had you fair share of experience with that. You’d earned yourself a scholarship to one of the most prestigious private schools in Texas and raised from the ashes into a burning flame. Then you’d met Jameson Hawthorne.

He had always been an interesting character, you had just never expected his interest in you. You were the scholarship kid nobody knew or cared enough to know and somehow he was intrigued. He had found you studying the the library one day and the two of you just clicked, it was like you’d known each other for years. He’d walked you home that night and had done so ever since. From that day on you were the closest of friends. It wasn’t long before you met his brothers, mostly absent mother and extremely judgemental grandfather. Hawthorne house became a second home. The two of you sat for hours, mostly on the rooftop, staring up at an endless sky of stars and talking about anything and everything. You actually don’t think there’s a topic you haven’t covered. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly… then he started dating Emily.

From the beginning, you didn’t like her at all, but you bit your tongue from pouring out your true feelings to Jameson when he’d asked for an opinion on her. You didn’t want to make his relationship feel awkward. She was everything you didn’t want him to be with. And she wasn’t you. It shattered you, but you saw how his face lit up when he mentioned her name and you vowed you wouldn’t ruin that for him. To see him that happy was worth it.

You should’ve trusted your gut. Everyday since she broke his heart, you beat yourself up for not saying anything. There were so many chances and you took none of them. She used him, abused him and left him to rot, you supposed she didn’t account for that fact that you’d be there to save him. And then she died. It was one destructive milestone after another. Explosion after explosion. But you helped Jameson through the hardest time of his life, you fixed him when he was too broken to mend.

It wasn’t until then that you realised you loved him. I mean you’d always known you’d loved him, but never in a romantic way, it had always felt so plutonic. But judging by the pure fury that built up inside of you when Emily was mentioned, the passionate way you protected and defended him in situations and the fact that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him until he couldn’t speak, you were pretty sure you were in love. But you never acted on the feeling, too afraid you’d ruin the closeness you had. It wasn’t until one night when you’d been stargazing together that he took your face in his gentle palms and kissed your tender lips. The whole act took you by surprise suddenly, but it didn’t stop you from kissing back. It felt so natural, so normal, like it was supposed to be this way. He was sweeter than you’d imagined but in the best way possible.

“I’ve always loved you,” he’d whispered as you’d pulled away, “always.”

“I’ve always loved you too,” you’d smiled shyly, cheeks flushed with colour, “and to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You can’t remember when it was established that he was your boyfriend but from that kiss onwards, that’s what he was to you. He was still your best friend but in a different way. There was more chemistry and kissing, but the banter remained the same. The two of you were actually planning to go on a backpacking trip around Europe but then Tobias had died and it was another round of pain and healing for Jameson, who turned to alcohol for respite. But then the will happened and Avery Kylie Grambs had appeared out of nowhere and the old man’s final game had unfurled. So the mystery girl had been an adjustment for you to say the least.

Avery wasn’t bad. In fact you liked her a lot, you could see yourself forming a friendship with her, a tight bond but the problem was the sheer amount of time she was spending with your boyfriend. After discovering she was the key to solving his grandfather’s final mystery Jameson became obsessed. He craved the answers, thirsted for knowledge. You didn’t mind at first, you let him play his game, you only ever objected the dangerous parts when he risked himself getting hurt. Other than that you said nothing. Then he let on that this all had something to do with Emily. Emily had destroyed him, from inside out. A broken, bitter shell was formed over the real Jameson. You had worked so hard to get him to see that he wasn’t broken or damaged and you feared this might undo it.

But you knew how important Emily had been, how much of his life she’d ruined, you knew Jameson needed the closure and Avery would help him to get there, but after that you expected their interaction to die down. But they didn’t. Not in the slightest. You weren’t jealous at first, you trusted Jameson and didn’t see Avery as a threat, but after a while the meetings felt too frequent and too elongated. It was a little suspicious. When you’d asked Jameson he insisted it was all part of the game.

But then that game finished and it opened up another. Of course there always had to be more to a mystery. They were Hawthorne’s. But you’d had enough, you were tired of the endless myserties. Was it so selfish to want things to go back to how they were before? When the old man’s games were not as dangerous, a little less time consuming and uninvloving of recent billionaire girls.

You’re reeled in from your deep train of thought as Jameson walks in. You look up from your desk, placing your pen down. You flash him a sweet smile in which he returns.

“So where have you been?” you ask, a hint of a forged giggle in the back of your throat.

“Nowhere,” he shrugs, the blatant lie so easily escaping his lips cuts right through your heart.

“Nowhere with brick dust on your blazer and shoes?” you raise an challenging eyebrow, arms folded across your chest.

“I climbed a wall,” he says. Lie number two, you make a mental note.

“I saw you with Avery and Xander in Toby’s wing,” you say bluntly, your face expressionless so he can’t read it.

“Are you spying on me?” he replies, gaping.

You give a delicate shrug in response and don’t answer the question directly, “what were you whispering about?”

“What do you mean?” he furrows his brow, confused.

He’s playing dumb. Fine. He can play dumb. But he won’t able to for much longer.

“I mean what were you and Avery just whispering about,” you ask directly, your tone flat as the tyre you’d burst on his car earlier that morning.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to tell you, that’s obvious.

“Oh, was it personal?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, opting a cold, curt, feigned sort of concern to your tone.

“Oh no,” he mumbles, “well kind of…Tobias Hawthorne is alive.”

You try not to the let your jaw drop, “your grandfather?”

How had that slimy bastard managed to fake his own death and-

He shakes his head, “my uncle.”

Of course, why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Him and Avery going into his wing, the sneaking around. But then how is the question, Toby had died before Jameson had even been born.

“And so the plot thickens,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“As always,” he says, flashing you a lopsided grin that was so like him, it reminded you of the old Jameson. The one that you got closer and closer to forgetting the less you saw of him.

“Who else knows?” you ask.

“The family,” he shrugs in response.

“And Avery?” you prompt.

“She knows,” he nods, not meeting your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, “you didn’t mention her name?”

“She was implied when I said family,” he replies.

“She was and I wasn’t,” you ask, the words not being filtered through your brain before you blurt them out. You don’t know why it hurt you so much, it just did.

“It’s not like that,” he shakes his head.

“Okay,” you reply flatly

He shoots you a knowing look and sighs, “y/n.”

“What? I said okay,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air, “that means it’s okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” he says gently.

“Well I’m fine,” you snap.

“I didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re part of this family,” Jameson replies, trying to make up for it.

“Forget it, I don’t care,” you retort.

“Common y/n,” he groans.

“No it’s fine, I don’t care,” you shrug, very obviously caring as your voice is high pitched and you’re being far too defensive, “do what you want.”

“She just worked it out,” he explains, “she found out that-“

“I said I don’t care,” you say sharply, eyes pinned to his.

“I know you do,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.

“No I don’t,” you shake your head in denial, “end of story, what’s for dinner?”

“I know I’ve been with her a lot recently,” he sighs.

“A lot is an understatement,” you blurt out, unable to stop the thoughts that circle your mind from finally surfacing.

“It was all part of the game, you understand,” he says as a statement, not a question.

“Of course I understand,” you reply, your voice a little colder than you’d intended but it’s too late to take it back.

For a split second hurt flashed across Jameson’s features but he swiftly continues, “it was the old man’s game.”

“It always is with you,” you say curtly, with an eye roll.

“You knew what you were getting into when you became my girlfriend,” he says, growing irritated, “I warned you-“

“Getting into?” you scoff.

“The old man always has a game,” he presses on, regaining his cool.

“And you always play it,” you snap, the fury inside of your raging a little too violently to be tamed.

“I have to play,” he says, his voice strained.

“No. You don’t. You think you have to play and your grandfather knew that,” you reply, “he knew you had a thirst to play and wouldn’t resist. Prove him wrong Jamie, make him stir for the flipping grave.”

“And what if I don’t want to do that,” he asks, raising his voice slightly.

“Then you’re not the Jameson I know,” you murmur in a low, dark voice.

“Maybe I’m not anymore,” he shrugs, “people change.”

“No,” you shake your head, “people have changed you, one person in particular.”

“Avery is just a friend,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so hotheaded about it!”

“You’re dimming yourself down for her,” you yell.

“So what?” Jameson challenges, making the volume of your voice.

“That’s not you,” you tell him.

“Maybe it is now,” he cocks his head to the side.

“You know you’re just talking shit,” you spit.

“I like her company,” he shrugs, “and I don’t want to prove the old man wrong, I want to make him proud.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and you know it. He’s doing a good job.

“You can’t live your life trying to prove something to him, he won’t be proud, he’s dead Jameson,” you snap.

“I know he’s dead,” he shouts, “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Good, now that information is consolidated maybe you’ll come back and live your life,” you say, the harshness in your tone making your throat ache.

“I am living my life,” he retorts.

“Running off with girls to the Laughlin’s cottage at 3am, that’s living your life?” you ask.

“Is this still about Avery?” he asks, then laughs, “you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” you yell, “you have spent the majority of the past few weeks at her side, working this shit out and I’ve been patient and I let it happen and I waited but now there’s more to this mystery and I can’t do it again and it’s not fair for you to put me in that situation again. So forgive me if I’m sounding a little pathetic.”

“Fair? My uncle is still out there, still alive,” he replies.

“You never even knew him,” I roll my eyes.

“He’s family,” he roars.

Something about Jameson was that he was loyal to the bone when it came to family.

I shrug, “so was your grandfather and look how he treated you.”

“Don’t speak a word against him,” he says, his voice low, warning, dangerous

“You were never good enough for him and that killed you,” I reply, my voice failing to stay stable, “he broke you and I helped fix you and now we’re going back around the same cycle. Why are you still letting him continue to break you?”

“I said don’t speak a WORD against him!” he tells, his voice powerful

You could cry. You feel like it. But you don’t. For some reason you’re past tears now.

“But when you did it was okay?” I scream back, “when you’d come to your bedroom a wreck and shit talk him, who listened to you then huh? Don’t throw this all back in my face now, don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m not trying to-“

“Well you are,” you cut him off,

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “look I don’t know what the hell you’re on this afternoon but-“

“What the hell I’m on?” you scoff.

His face softens and so does his tone, “all this arguing we’re doing, it’s not us,” he says, “it never has been so are we really going to carry on this stupid fight?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Avery?” you ask, it’s petty but you didn’t feel like being mature in this moment

“This keeps circling back to her,” he sighs with an eye roll.

“You have spent the entirety of the morning with her,” I stated “again.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he says.

“Seriously?” I ask, my jaw hanging slack.

“What?”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter,” you shake your head and begin to walk out.

“Sweetheart,” he says, lunging forwards to grab your arm. You spin around and can see the desperation seeping from his eyes.

“I’m going out,” you tell him harshly,

“Where?” he asks immediately.

“For a walk,” you shrug, going to turn again. But he holds you firmly in his grip.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“No, I need headspace right now,” you snap coldly.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he nods, eyes wide with understanding. You hated that he was being so nice when you were supposed to be mad at him, it wasn’t fair, “but at least take a bodyguard with you.”

“No,” you immediately say.

“Yes,” he argues back.

“I’m not one of you, Jameson,” you quip. You can see in his face that pains him but you’re too furious to care, “people aren’t coming for me, I’m not taking a bodyguard.”

“Look I’m sorry about before but-“

“It’s not about you Jameson,” you yell, “I just need a walk.”

“Okay, but I’m still sorry and please baby, take a bodyguard with you,” he begs.

“I’m not going to,” you reply, “I need to be alone.”

“Fine, okay then,” he shrugs, pretending not to care, “yeah fine, go have fun in nature or something.”

“I will,” you snap, charging out, slamming the door behind you.

***

You start walking with no intention of going anywhere. In a headspace of anger, your pace is swift and dominant. You needed air, you needed a clear head, you needed to get away. Bringing a bodyguard felt claustrophobic. You didn’t want another person breathing down your neck. You just needed to be alone for a while. A million and one thoughts swarm your mind. He probably complained about you to Avery, you think, kicking a rock violently. He’s probably with her right now, telling her what an annoying, selfish, jealous person you are and she’s probably comforting him. The thought of it makes your stomach squeeze.

It was getting darker and colder by the second. In your rage you’d forgotten to bring a hoodie and now you’re absolutely freezing. The street lights flicker on and you suddenly realise you have no idea where you are. You’re cold, alone, lost and a little hungry. You pray it doesn’t start to rain. You get out your phone quickly to look on google maps, but two red words flash up: no connection. Great. Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse. You wish you hadn’t left the house now, but didn’t know which way to turn to walk back. You walk around the corner of a tall white building, hoping to see a signpost nearby.

That’s when you notice the footsteps of someone behind you. You turn absentmindedly to see a stranger dressed in all black clothing. You couldn’t properly see their face or decipher whether they were a man or woman. Feeling a little sceptical, you choose to cross to the other side of the road, trying to shake or anxious feelings that were creeping in. You spin the ring on your finger, trying to breathe in and out slowly. You side glance at the figure a few times to see that they’re still on the opposite side of the road. You exhale and turn the corner, feeling stupid for getting so het up over nothing.

You hear more footsteps and paranoid you look behind. You feel sick. The mystery stranger is back. Panic seizes your throat and you walk a little faster, noting their feet also pick up the pace. You turn a second corner. So do they. A thousand and one questions flashed up in your mind. What did they want? Why were they following you? And more importantly how long had they been following you for? You’re breathing heavily, maybe too heavily. You don’t want them to know you’re scared.

You fumble to reach your phone, hurriedly finding your contacts. You click Jameson’s name but the call fails. Your eyes flick to your internet, still none. You try again, the cycle repeats. Tears well up in your eyes. You were hopeless, helpless and frightened to death. You begin to fiddle anxiously with your necklace trying to work out what to do next, but your mind was blank. You couldn’t think. The person was a good few meters behind you now. A silent tear of rolls down your cheek as you carry on walking forwards, pretending you’re going somewhere in hope the follower might get bored a leave. They did not. You bite back and audible sob and notice one bar lights up in the top right hand corner of your phone screen. You have one bar of internet and you’ve never felt more relieved. Your finger rushes to hit the call button. One ring and he picks up. It’s a miracle.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, a sense of relief and a smile in his voice.

“Jamie,” you say, your voice more panicked than you’d intended.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is immediate and assertive but thick with anxiety. He can sense there’s something wrong, he knows.

“Jamie there’s someone following me,” you hyperventilate, the sharp sudden breaths hurting your chest.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice shaky, “and I’m panicking.”

“Okay, don’t worry, just keep walking straight,” he instructs, “okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, “I’m tracking your location.”

You exhale unevenly and carry on walking.

“Are you near any buildings?” Jameson asks, strategically. You can tell he’s concentrated.

“There’s a housing complex and a few shops across the street,” you describe.

“Good,” he replies, “cross the road and go into one of the shops and stay in there.”

“Okay,” you answer, jogging across the road, taking note of anything that might help Jameson find you.

“What’s the name of the shop you’re going to go into?” he asks, “it might help me track you a little faster.”

You step back to read the cursive white letters, “Betty’s,” you reply, stepping in.

“That’s it?” he confirms.

“That’s it,” you say, carefully stepping inside, seeing the follower cross the road in the refection of the shop window.

Your heart thuds in your chest as the little bell rings to announce your entrance in the shop. It was one of those little knick-knack type shops, small but compact. You pretend to admire a china tea set.

“Are you inside?” Jameson asks, his voice washing some sort of comfort over you.

“Yes,” you say quickly, subconsciously tracing the tablecloth deign with your index finger.

“Have they followed you inside?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, though you haven’t looked up, the shop bell definitely has not rung since your arrival. You are the only customer in this shop. You look up and see them standing outside, you catch their eye and fear flicker through you as you quickly turn away, jolts of sheer nauseating panic runs up and down your abdomen, “Jamie they’re waiting outside, oh god Jameson they’re waiting outside, for me to come out, oh god.”

“Hey! Hey! You have the stay calm,” he says sharply but kindly, “as long as you’re in there you’re safe and I’m on my way now.”

“You found where I am?” you breathe, sounding too much like a child than you care to admit.

“I’m getting into the car as we speak,” he replies.

He’s coming. You tell yourself. You’re going to be okay. You say in your head.

“Stay on the line with me,” you blurt out, “please.”

“Of course baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the concern in his voice made you yearn to be in his arms.

The other end of the phone goes silent except for the sound of a car engine, gently groaning in motion. You try to distract yourself by admiring the little collection of ceramic mouse figurines and try to give all of them a name. That’s when you catch the stranger in your peripheral.

“Jameson I’m scared,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I’m really scared.”

“I’m coming, just hang in there okay,” he comforts “breathe for me.”

“Jameson,” you exhale, your hands becoming increasingly more restless.

“Hey, sweetheart, take a breath with me okay?” he says, “together?”

“Together,” you nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you, but somewhere deep down you know he knows you’re nodding.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?” he replies.

I’m through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the motion over and over with him over the phone, until you’re bored.

“I’m nearly there,” he mentions after a while.

“You promise?” you say, your breath hitching.

“I promise, just stay where you are,” he says calmly.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Sorry honey we close at 11:00,” comes a voice.

It makes you jump at first, as you yelp in surprise at the old woman beside you. Where had she appeared from? You drop your phone and it crashes to the floor. You realise for the first time how tightly you’d had it pressed to the side of your face as the cold air rushes to that spot and you feel the sticky sweat. You scramble to pick up your phone.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Jameson quickly, before turning the the woman, “sorry, would I be able to stay a few more minutes?”

She glances disapprovingly at you and then her watch, “I don’t think so.”

“It won’t be long, I promise,” you rush.

“I’m sorry but I have to lock up now,” she shakes her head and waves the keys between her fingers.

“Just until my boyfriend gets here,” you try again, desperation slicing through your tone.

“You’re not purchasing anything and it’s closing hours,” she replied sternly, “I need to lock up.”

“Please,” you beg.

“Store policy I’m afraid,” she shrugs flatly.

“I’ll but the whole damn place of you let me stay,” you exclaim, not really sure why the sentence left your mouth but it was too late to take it back now.

“This place isn’t for sale,” she says sourly with pursed wrinkled lips.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “look I’ll make a purchase.”

“No purchases after 11:00,” she responds, blunt as a baseball bat.

“But you just said-“

“We’re closed,” she snaps.

“Please just let me stay for five minutes,” you ask, hoping by some miracle she’ll agree.

“I really can’t do that,” she sighs, with an almost apologetic look on her face “I’m sorry.”

“Two minutes?” you try to compromise.

She stares through you, “I’m going to call the police.”

“There’s someone out there following me outside,” you burst, “so please, if you’re going to call the police on anyone, do it on them.”

The woman gently cocks her head to see the mysterious figure outside the window, her eyes widen by the tiniest fraction and she stares back at you. You wonder what she’s thinking. She chews her lip thoughtfully for a while and then finally replied, “there’s a back way out, I can take you through to there.”

“Thank you,” you exhale in relief.

She walks hurriedly walks away and you follow her, ending up at the very back of the shop. It couldn’t be seen from the window, but how long would it take for the follower to realise? Not long enough, you pray, hoping Jameson would arrive in time. There is a small green door with a lacy translucent curtain across the window.

“Here,” she nods towards it, “get home safe.”

“Thanks,” you say gratefully.

You almost trip out of the back door but managed to stabilise yourself, the old woman slams to door and it nearly clips your heals. You quickly press your phone back to your ear, realising Jameson is still on the line.

“Jamie?” you say.

“I’m still here,” he replies, reading your mind, “Betty’s a bitch.”

You choke on your own spittle, “what?”

“Betty,” he states as if it’s obvious.

“Betty?” you question, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Well I assume it’s her name,” he says, you could practically hear him shrug, “the woman who just kicked you out of her shop.”

“Oh, you heard all of that?” you say.

“I did,” he confirms, “but I’m two minutes away now.”

“Two minutes?” you check, hope returning your voice.

“Yeah,” he confirms gently.

“I’m still at the back,” you mention, “but I’ll walk to the front to meet you.”

“Okay,” he replies, “I’m so close sweetheart, don’t worry.”

“Okay I-“

All the air is knocked from your lungs as you turn the corner and someone grabs your shoulders and it’s so sudden you forget to scream. Fear runs cold and thick through your veins. You can’t move. The grip is strong and foreign, their hands are callous and your arms ache the longer you’re in their hold. Paralysed, you fail to struggle free. It all happens in a blur. You feel yourself being thrown to the side and you land on the pavement with a hard thump after rolling over your ankle. Pain seizes through it and you bite back a yelp. You look up, struggling to your feet and see Jameson has arrived.

Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

He’s fighting the mysterious follower who you can now see is man. He’s a few inches taller than Jameson and has much more muscle but Jameson is quicker, more agile. You wish you could help him but the searing agony deriving from your ankle would’ve only made him slower. So you’re now just watching. It’s a tête-a-tête of frantic hits and blocks, all scarily aggressive. The look in Jameson’s eyes is not one you recognise, it’s like the green had been frosted over with ice. The follower lunges at him suddenly and an audible gasp escapes your lips. He has Jameson in a headlock. You stumble forwards, ready to attack him from behind when Jameson twists the man’s arms in an awkward direction, leaving him vulnerable. In the split second Jameson knees him in the stomach and begins to punch him repeatedly.

Jameson’s jaw is clenched, his hair is ragged and wild. A flow of crimson red liquid falls from one nostril and from a new wound just above his eyebrow. His eyes are fierce and gleaming, like a predator on its prey. You’re not sure you know who this man is, he’s not Jameson, he’s a mutation, a weapon, a unrecognisable being.

“Jamie,” you murmur, your voice shaking. You can’t stop yourself, you’re too scared.

He can’t hear properly, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. He carries on punching and punching but the follower seems to be cold out.

“Jameson stop! You’re scaring me!” you yell, fear in your throat but fire in your belly.

He looks up and he freezes, all but his hands that are shaking from the adrelenline rush. He looks down at his bloodied knuckles to the limp figure on ground, then back to me again. He can see the fright in my features that I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s okay, let’s go home.”

“Is he dead?” you say, the words so much harsher than you intended.

“No,” he shakes his head gently, “just knocked out, I promise.”

“I-“ you can’t finish the sentence.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs tentatively, wrapping an arm around you to still your trembling torso.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound strong, but synthetic strength only made you sound weaker.

“You’re not fine,” he shakes his head.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you sigh, then look at him with sparkling eyes, “please?”

“Of course,” he says, concern bleeding across his features.

You begin to walk but have to bite your lip as pain rips through your ankle with weight pressing down on it.

“What wrong?” Jameson asks, his reaction instant and lightning fast.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to carry on without displaying the pain.

But he’s too vigilant for his own good, “are you hurt?”

“No, it’s fine,” you reply, in denial, “I’m fine.”

You’ve found that things are easier to believe if you say them out loud. Unfortunately not in this case.

“Where?” he asks, stopping still, pressing gently down your arms to check for tentative pressure points.

You pull away, “Jamie I’m-“

“Where?” he asks firmly, giving me that look.

“I just rolled over my ankle,” you sigh, “it’s not a big deal.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” he offers.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly.

The truth was, you did want to be carried. The thought of being in his protective arms, pressed up against his chest was very appealing. But just like he could see your winces and hear your sharp breaths in, you notice his. The fight hadn’t been easy on him, no matter how stubbornly he tries to hide it.

“Just support me and I’ll support you,” you reply.

“I don’t need support,” he says.

You stare at him, “you don’t have to be the knight in shining armour with me, I thought you’d stopped that.”

You’d made a pact at the start of your relationship that Jameson couldn’t play that role. You were there for each other, it wasn’t one or the other.

“Fine,” he grits through his teeth, “we’ll support each other.”

You both walk, labouring, limping and leaning on one another. In the silence of it all you have time to think about all that had happened, a chances you hadn’t previously had with your mind always preoccupied on something else. A tidal wave of guilt almost drowns you.

“I’m sorry,” you burst out suddenly, feeling all of a sudden emotional, as tears run down your face.

You didn’t realise how much yours been keeping it in, your fear, your pain, your guilt, your sorrow.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, caressing your cheek, “shhh shh stop that now, hey, hey.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” you shake your head, “I shouldn’t have got so angry and walked so far alone and it was dark-“

“Y/n, breathe,” Jameson murmurs, “I’m not angry, it’s not your fault, I’m just glad you’re safe now, okay? I would never let him hurt you, you know that right?”

You nod.

“Let’s get to the car and then we can go home, okay?” he suggests softly.

“Okay,” you murmur in response.

He wraps his arm back around your shoulders and holds your hand with the other, steering you towards his car. He walks around to your door, looking over his shoulder cautiously, making sure you are in and safe before he thinks of himself. You’ve never felt safer in a car, your back pressed up against the seat. Your leg bobs up and down uncontrollably, even when your try to stop it. Seems the adrenaline had gotten to you more than you’d thought.

Jameson is swift to get into the driver’s seat and start the car. He silently places his hand on your upper thigh to still the shaking. The warmth of his familiar touch relaxes some of the built up worry in your chest. One knot has been untied from the incomprehensible ball.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod numbly. You didn’t reply with words in fear that you’d spill out the truth. Lying to Jameson was a challenge.

“Stupid question,” he mumbles, “of course you’re not.”

“I think I’m still trying to process what just happened,” you murmur, not a complete lie. You’d only processed parts.

“Okay, that’s fine, take as long as you need,” he says reassuringly, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You nod again. Then take a breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, choked up with emotion, “I’m sorry for fighting, I don’t know why I get so annoyed it’s just-“

“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re safe,” he tells you gently.

“Safe,” you repeat, the word has an odd texture on your tongue.

“You are safe,” Jameson replies firmly.

“I am safe,” you repeat, believing it a little more.

***

The two of you had gotten back to Hawthorne House late. No one was around so no questions were asked. But whilst you showered and changed Jameson insisted on getting the security team on it and you didn’t object. You join Jameson in your shared room after your shower, he’s already waiting with open arms. You clamber into the bed and fall onto his chest. The smell of him indescribably addictive. He wraps his arms around your torso and you wince, tenderness spreading across the tops of your arms and upper back.

“What hurts baby?” he asks, eyebrows knotted with worry.

“Nothing,” you reply, shrugging the pain off.

He looks at you, “you don’t have to lie to me.”

You’re silent for a few beats but then finally murmur, “my arms.”

“Let me see,” he says.

“It’s okay-“

“Let me see,” he whispers, sending a hot shiver down your spine. 

You slowly slip of your jumper and expose the rounded bruises from the follower’s fingers. You’d discovered them moments ago in the bathroom, it must’ve been from where he’d grabbed you. You can’t see Jameson’s face but judging by the thick blanket of tense air that had enveloped your surroundings, you have a good idea of what he’s thinking.

“He did this?” he asks, tracing every bruise so delicately it nearly tickles.

“Jamie he grabbed me,” you explain.

“I’ll kill him for laying a finger on you,” he spits, a foreign violence in his tone you weren’t sure you liked.

“Don’t say that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“What?” he looks at you in wild disbelief.

“Talk of killing him,” you close your eyes, “you’re not a murderer.”

He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you dare argue with me,” you snap, a raw intensity in your voice. You struggle to recall where you found it.

Silence you like a car hits roadkill. Swiftly and out of nowhere with a sickening thud.

“You know you scared me back there,” you murmur, meeting his eyes shyly.

“Me?”

“When you were punching him…” you trail off, “you looked so angry.”

“I was angry” he retorts, “no one should do that, especially not to you. Never to you.”

“Yeah but I really thought you might…” you stop yourself.

“I might what?” he urges you to continue.

“I don’t know,” you say trying to brush it off, “it doesn’t matter.”

“No it does,” he replies, “you thought I might kill him right?”

“It just wasn’t you punching that guys, it wasn’t my Jameson,” you murmur.

“Your Jameson doesn’t protect you,” he yells and you flinch slightly.

You don’t meet his eye, “no, not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…” he sighs, “I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“It would’ve been my fault for storming off like that, god I’m so stupid,” emotion rises thick in your throat.

“Hey, stop beating yourself up about this,” Jameson says, “it was my fault in the first place.”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Yes it was, let’s just forget about this okay,” he insists.

“But what if he comes back? What if he knows where I am? What did he want with me Jamie? What if-“

“It’s all going to be sorted okay, we have so many staff on it right this second,” he says tracing the outlines of your knuckles, “you just need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you grit through your teeth.

“What’s worrying you then?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, biting back a sob.

He senses the emotion, “come here.”

You practically collapse into his arms, keeping your tears at bay just barely. There’s something about being in his arms, against the warmth of his body that made the bad things go quiet for a second, that stopped the overwhelming voices in your head, that silences your thudding heart. But even now, things were unusually playing on your mind, despite the comfort.

“I don’t know Jamie,” you murmur into his chest, “I’m scared and exhausted and anxious and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Let me help you,” he whisper, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t think you can,” you mumble, your eyes grappling to stay open.

“I will find a way,” he says, you almost laugh at his stubbornness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you reply, your voice breaking, “I don’t know anything bad to happen.”

“You’re not going to lose me and I won’t let anything bad happen,” Jameson kisses the top of your head, “I promise.”

“I don’t feel safe,” you admit.

“What’s making you feel unsafe baby?” he asks, aching concern in his voice.

“Before today I’d never even imagined potentially being kidnapped and it just happened today,” you ramble, “and that means there’s so many other things that I couldn’t ever have imagine that might happen.”

“If we spend our whole lives in fear of what might happen we’d forget to live,” Jameson says.

You meet his emerald eyes and try not to melt, “I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to be,” he comforts, “I’m here.”

“You promise?”

“Always,” he says. His voice is so sure, so strong. It almost makes you believe.

“And you’re not going anywhere?”

“Not anywhere without you,” he grins lopsidedly, the real Jameson shining through making your cheeks tint a pale pink.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the residing guilt flowing back in.

“If you apologise one more time I’m going to do a lyrical dance routine to ‘hot stuff’ only dressed in sequinned hot pants and a top hat,” he says.

“I think I’d quite like to see that,” you can’t help but smile, “I should apologise more often.”

He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head. You nuzzle into the nape of his neck and allow one tear to slip from the under your mask. Just one.

“I’ve got you baby and I’m not letting go,” Jameson whispers.

“Please don’t let me go,” you murmur, sounding as small as a child.

“I’m not, never ever,” he murmurs, kissing your nose, then cheeks and then a soft kiss on your lips.

You smile, a fluttery feeling in your chest and you kiss him back. His hands snake around your waist, the tentative touch making you tingle a little. You wish you could just focus on Jameson and nothing else but the problem was the scene kept replaying in your head. The man grabbing your shoulders, the bruises left on your skin, the smell of his cologne in your hair. He was everywhere.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s okay,” Jameson soothes, “you’re safe now.”

It’s only then you notice how your entire body is shaking, your bones rattling together. You try to stop but you can’t. He brings you into deeper his arms and holds your quivering limbs together. You wonder if he let go you’d fall apart all together.

***

You didn’t go to school the next day, instead you stayed curled up in Jameson’s arms as he gently traced spirals across your back with his index finger.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so in love.

***

Thursday rolls around far too quickly and you know you have to go back. Word about the stalker had been kept quiet but you know you couldn’t stay under your duvet forever. No matter how badly you wanted to. So you wake up early and take your time getting ready. Jameson sleeps like the dead all the way through it, even when you blow dry your hair. You meet Xander who is already at breakfast, eating muffins. You’d promised the week before you’d come and observe his biology project for him, so he could have a second opinion and you didn’t want to break that promise.

“You know you really didn’t have to come,” he says, still chewing, “after you know…”

“I want to Xand, really,” you say, “I can’t avoid it forever and I want to see your project.”

“If you’re sure?” he checks, with an eyebrow raise.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I swear.”

“Well then, have a muffin or two and then we’ll be on our way,” he grins, handing me one from the plate in the centre.

“Roger that sir,” you smile back, saluting him as you take a bite.

***

School was difficult that day, not the content, just the energy. The problem was you had none. And it was one of those long modified timetable days where your first break of the day was lunch and it wasn’t even until 2:00pm. That in itself was a mood killer. On top of that you couldn’t get the follower out of your head. The events played on some sort of endless loop in your head. You wonder who it might be, why they might have been following you of all people. It was known you were dating Jameson but not that known. Apparently, according to Xander, Oren had been put on high alert and Alisa was working on finding their identity. That should have brought you solace. It didn’t.

But the more you thought about it the more your realised that part of you selfishly didn’t mind that it has happened too much because last night you’d felt more connected to Jameson than you had in forever. It had been a while since it had just been the two of you, no mysteries, no arguments, no Avery. Yesterday had solely been the two of you, all day. Just in the presence of one another but, at school, you hadn’t seen Jameson all morning, seen as you’d left for school early with Xander but he had sent you a string of text messages that you only see at first on your very late lunch break.

morning sweetheart

are you okay??

I know you left early with Xand but I’m still worried about you

text me for ANYTHING okay??

I love you xx

And then an hour later…

you still haven’t text back

are you okay??

I bribed the woman at the front desk for your schedule so you’re probably in class right now

unless you’re not!!

just answer me when you can okay

I love you

Then in the next hour…

ARE YOU OKAY!?

I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN THE HALLWAYS

PLEASE ANSWERRR!!!!

I love you ;)

You almost laugh at the cuteness of it all. You type a couple of messages in response incase he bribed the headteacher to let him use the announcement speaker to find you next.

I’m fine Jamie, don’t worry

late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner

They bleep through one after the other, sending through.

meet you after school for our plans

You close your phone quickly and get to the next class, holding your books tightly to your chest. The next few periods better go fast.

***

They didn’t go fast. In fact every millisecond felt like an hour, the day seemed endless. You get out of class and don’t pass Jameson in any hallways yet again sk decide to go to your usual meeting spot after school. You send him a quick message.

waiting outside business studies

You wait for him by the curb. One minute passes, he’s been a minute late before, many times. So you figure it’s okay, leaning on the wall behind you. Five minutes go by next and most kids are leaving or have left the school premises. Maybe his class has run over, your brain suggests. Then it is ten minutes, barely anyone is walking out. The odd person, sure, but never Jameson. You begin to wonder where he might be. Detention? No, he always finds a way out of those. Basketball court? No, he doesn’t like to play with the other guys. Classroom? No, he wouldn’t spend longer than he had to in the school. You sigh, ten minutes isn’t that long after all. Maybe you’re overreacting. Still, you send him another text ‘hey, are you nearly here?’ Half an hour passes. That’s when you get really confused. He should definitely be here by now. Slowly you wonder down several hallways, checking your phone for any messages, calls or voicemails, but there are none. Few students are around and every time you look into a classroom Jameson isn’t there. You make your way back to your original spot, incase he turned up. Forty minutes pass and you try his phone for the last time, ringing him rather than just texting but it goes straight to voicemail. So you resort to calling Xander, hoping he’ll be able to help and ease the tightening knot of worry growing in your chest. There is only two rings.

“Hello y/n,” Xander’s cheerful voice says down the other end, “is there any reason you’re phoning the best Hawthorne on this fine afternoon?”

“Yeah, sorry Xand,” you reply, “but have you seen Jamie anywhere?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells me, “and I think I saw him come in earlier, I just presumed you were with him.”

Too many juxtaposed emotions hit you at once. Relief, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s at home. Hurt, he left without you, abdomen or forgot the plans you had. Annoyance, he’d left without sparing you a second thought.

“No,” you mutter, “I wasn’t.”

“You sound annoyed,” Xander comments.

“I’m fine, sorry Xand,” you reply, putting some more life into your voice to wash away and tense notes, “it’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it,” he sighs, “but hey it’s the weekend now, fancy a game of strip bowling when you get back?”

Strip bowling was one of your favourites, mostly because you were very good at it and barely had to strip and also because Jameson usually ended up in his underwear. Xander must’ve sensed the false happiness in your voice and suggested it to be nice.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say, trying to let him down gently. You did appreciate the gesture, but the thought of playing stop bowling right now did not match the mood.

“Yeesh your day was that bad huh?” he asks softly, playing it off as jokey.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him quietly.

“I’m here you know,” he reminds you.

“Thanks Xander,” you reply, but don’t elaborate. You didn’t feel like talking right now.

“Talk to Jamie, he’ll know how to make you feel better,” he suggests sweetly.

You smile through your pain, “yeah, I’ll give it a go.”

You hang up and exhale slowly, he doesn’t know that Jameson is your problem.

***

You get back to Hawthorne house about twenty minutes later. It sounds relatively empty, though it always does, seen as there were so many possible places for people to be. You wander through the entrance, trying to think where Jameson might be. You hear footsteps approaching and spin around to see a blonde in a suit. Wrong brother.

“Have you seen Jameson?” you ask him before he can greet you.

“He was upstairs earlier, with Avery,” Grayson replies.

All the air is knocked from your stomach, “Avery?”

“You didn’t know?” his expression flashed for a fraction of a second into something between guilt and shame before it is composed.

“No…” you trail off.

“Oh,” he replies, with an unreadable expression back on.

“Well thanks anyway,” you say with a synthetic smile.

You walk away quickly before he can respond, looking up with glossy eyes. You ascend the stairs quickly and don’t look back. You feel you need to see for yourself did this is true. But where would he take Avery? You could only hope it wasn’t the roof where the two of you stargazed, that would hurt like hell. You trail down a hallway where voices are coming from and stumble upon a door that is ajar. Inside, Jameson talking to Avery. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably. He’s positioned barely a foot a way and he’s laughing. He looks so beautiful when he laughs, but now it’s ugly. It’s like biting into something sweet and getting a sour taste. It’s not the fact that she made him laugh, it’s the fact he’s laughing like he laughs when he’s with you. That’s the thing that cuts deep. The way his eyes are sparkling and his smile is wide and carefree, you thought he reserved those kind of smiles only for you.

Clearly not.

You turn your back on the scene and rush to your bedroom. You swing the door open forcefully and then slam it shut behind you. So he’d ditched your plans for her. Great. You sigh as you collapse down on your bed feeling an unwelcome tightness squeezing across your chest. Tears well up in your eyes. You didn’t like to cry, you rarely ever did. But right now, you couldn’t do anything about it. The tears just flowed down your cheeks and your whole body shook with each sob. Your heart physically ached, something you hadn’t thought was possible until this moment. A searingly mournful agony rippling through the left side your the chest. You felt so vulnerable, so exposed. You didn’t stop crying the blanket was soaked through, weighted with wet emotion and your throat was so raw it was numb.

***

You binge movies for the rest of the evening, the only feeling left in your system was anger, you’d cried all the sadness out. You felt so done with feeling shit and binging movies gave you that outlet of doing nothing, thinking nothing and feeling nothing. Exhaustion is beginning to win the ongoing battle between the two of you when you hear soft footsteps approaching. Jameson had been practically out of your mind the whole evening, Disney movies are a good distraction, but that is until he walks in. You hear as the door handle turns and he enters. Your eyes flicker to the clock, it’s just gone midnight.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking his suit jacket off and undoing his top button, “you’re up late.”

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes glued to Elsa’s performance of ‘let it go’ on the tv screen.

He immediately notices something is off and walks over, “woah, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh so now you care?” you scoff, looking him dead in the eye.

“What did I do?” he asks quickly, cluelessly.

“You are unbelievable,” you exclaim, switching the movie off before hurling the control across the room.

Jameson stares in disbelief, “why are you so pissed off?”

“You don’t know why I’m annoyed?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“No…” he replies hesitantly, like he’s treading on egg shells.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,”

“Oh my god,” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head, “tell me you’re joking, please.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, the desperation and worry evident in his tone.

“Do you even know what we were supposed to do today?” you ask with a withered look.

A moment of realisation strikes and you notice as his eyes widen and his jaw drops a little.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot,” he says, actually looking guilty. You almost feel sorry for him.

“Yeah I know,” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

“There’s just been a lot going on lately and with the following and then I was days behind on the thing with Toby and-“

“Am I some sort of burden,” you retort, eyebrows raised.

“What? No! I never said that,” he exclaims, his voice raised.

“Okay,” you shrug, nonchalantly. The small display of passive aggression would get under his skin, prickling it like an unscratchable itch.

“Last time we argued it ended with you being followed, I don’t want you in that situation again,” he says, his voice dominant and definitive.

“You’re making this about you!” you yell, rage blinding your vision, “what you want, for me!”

“Oh so you want to be followed, stalked?” he asks, with a forced cruel laugh.

“That’s not what I said,” you snap, eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like it,” he bites back, the bitterness in his voice hurting you far more than you cared to admit.

You don’t say anything for a long while but eventually cut through the long silence, “I even text you about it,” you say quietly.

“What?” he replies, head cocked to the side, confused.

“About tonight,” you say, raising your hands into the air with an eye roll.

“No you didn’t!” he yells back, defensively.

“Yes I did,” you scream.

“Look, this is the last message I got,” he exclaims, shoving his phone’s bright screen into your face.

‘late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner’

You stare at the message and then quickly open your phone to double check. Your message hadn’t gone through, you look up glaring at him. You were mad he didn’t remember, mad the message never went through and just mad in general.

“It didn’t go through, I couldn’t help it,” he defends.

“You still forgot,” you press on, getting mor annoyed by the second, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you have plans with your girlfriend.”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he replies and you can see the meaning in his face, “we’ll reschedule.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” you tell him nonchalantly. You know you’re being petty, but you can’t help it.

“Oh common y/n,” he says.

“No I don’t,” you shrug. He’d messed it up, that opportunity was passed now.

“Look I just needed to-“

“What you needed to do was stick to your word, what you needed to do was remember when you had things plans, what you needed to do was think before you acted,” you say in a low voice, interrupting him, “but you did none of that.”

“I can’t have a life now?” he scoffs, growing irritated, “that’s not you.”

“What’s not me?” you scowl.

“This, right now,” he says, “you’re being so controlling!”

You raise your eyebrows, almost laughing, “controlling? You started this argument!”

“No I didn’t!” he argues.

“You know what, if you didn’t want to have it out then you shouldn’t have asked why I was angry,” you roll your eyes, “so just forget about it.”

“Oh would you STOP doing that,” he yells.

“What?”

“The whole ‘forget about it’ thing, it’s so fucking annoying,” he retorts, anger creeping up in his tone.

“You know what else is annoying?” you ask him, “when your boyfriend is hanging out constantly with some random girl who inherited all his grandfather’s money, that’s really fucking annoying.”

He’s silent. Nothing to say for once. No witty reply, no deflection, nothing. His face is impossible to read, blank.

“Hang on, that’s not quite the right word,” you continue, “what about aggravating, demoralising, hurtful-“

“You know I never would’ve pinned you as a jealous possessive girlfriend,” he shakes his head, with a cruel chuckle.

“I’m not!” you snap, “but you lied Jameson, why did you feel the need to lie!?”

“Lie?”

“You told me a few days ago you’d climbed a wall and if I hadn’t known any better I would’ve believed you,” you say, “but you weren’t climbing a wall, you were with Avery.”

“This,” he says exasperatedly, “this is exactly the reason I lied.”

“What?” you ask.

“This overreaction,” he explains, making some weird hand gesture.

“I’m overreacting?” you scoff, as your eyebrows shoot to your forehead.

“Completely,” he exclaims.

“So let me just get this straight,” you begin, “you’d have never pinned me as a jealous possessive girlfriend but you lied to me about ditching our plans to spend time with another girl because you were worried about an overreaction? Right, that makes sense.”

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, “I’m sorry.”

“No you can’t just say sorry and then think it’s all going to be okay,” you shake your head, “sorry is just a stupid word, it means nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to say what I said just now and I am sorry that I hurt you,” Jameson says desperately, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not just that! You blew off our plans for her,” you yell with a sob, “so yeah that kind of fucking hurts.”

“Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“Yeah well you did,” you laugh bitterly, aggressively wiping away your tears, “and I’m crying over it which is just stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he tells you gently.

“Yes it is stupid Jameson,” you snap, the tears only flowing thicker and faster, “I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t,” he insists.

“Well I do, I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot for fighting with you, I’m an idiot for getting myself followed, I’m an idiot for thinking that someone could actually love me, I’m an idiot for not seeing the signs sooner and I’m an idiot for crying over it all now,” you snivel, roughly scrubbing your tear-stained cheeks.

“Woah, hey,” he says, “sweetheart I love you. Just you.”

“Well it doesn’t feel like it lately,” you say, choking back a sob desperate to leave your throat.

His face softens, “sweetheart…”

He reaches out to touch me but you flinch away. His gentle touch is only a reminder of the good person he is and how much you love him for it. And you can’t afford to fall for it, not again, the pain was too much.

“You’re hurting me Jamie,” you say, your voice breaking as you jab a finger to your heart, “this is hurting me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, as his eyes mellow.

“If you want to be with her I’d rather you just tell me,” you whimper, “it would save me the pain of all this back and forth and sneaking around and finding out. Just tell me straight.”

“I don’t want to be with Avery,” he says, “I never have.”

“You don’t look at me how you look at her,” you say bitterly, getting it off of your chest.

“You’re right I don’t,” he agrees. Your heart plummets, here it comes, the confession, the break up, the empty sorrys and eyes filled with tears. “I don’t look at you like I look at her, because I look at her like any other person on this planet, but when I look at you I’m looking at my world. And I’d sure as hell hope that differs from the look that I gave to everyone else.”

A wave of emotion coats your skin, soaking you through. His world. The words repeat over and over and over until you feel delirious.

“Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?” you whisper.

“Of course I do,” he sighs, “don’t you understand? I love you, it’s always been you, it will never not be you! You’re my person, you’re my other half, I was supposed to meet you and fall in love with you. You give me purpose and passion and so much more. When you called me the other night after our fight I’ve never been more frightened in my life, I was freaking out over here. I’ve never felt so panicked, so sick with the thought of someone being hurt. I’m in so love with you that I can’t even explain it and I can’t believe I led you to doubt it. Avery is a friend, I promise, she means nothing to me compared to you, trust me. How can I prove that to you?”

“I don’t know Jameson,” you shout, your head aching from this endless circle of arguments.

“Then marry me!” he yells, then his voice softens, “marry me.”

You freeze, every muscle in your body suddenly falling into a state of paralysis, “what?”

“You heard me,” he says, his expression too serious.

“Jameson,” you murmur, barely getting his name out.

“Marry me.”

a/n: I’m a sucker for fat dramatic impulse decisions (it’s a problem, you may have gathered from my more recent fics) SOZ GUYS 😘😘 anywayyysss the time frame is roughly (and I mean very ROUGHLY) based around chapters 11-13 of the Hawthorne brothers incase you were wondering

thanks for the req anon, so sorry again for the wait, hope you enjoyed the read 🤍🤍 if you made it to the end and didn’t DNF halfway through, well done!! can you guys tell I got way too carried away, this fic was so all over the place but I posted it anyway bc yolo

there will be no part 2!! sorry!! I really need a break from reqs… you decide how you answer 🤭🤭

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[eris-snow]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Tags: Izuku x gn!reader, angst, lots of angst, I was feeling angsty, implied bakudeku?, I want what they have.

Y/n sacrifices the memory of themself to save Izuku's life. Consequences, consequences

"Izuku?" You say. No one hears you, no one knows you. Then again, you've known that already.

Even still, you can't help but try.

It's the beginning of fall, the summer breeze fading away as leaves turn from green to pretty shades of red. The window is clear when you look inside. The house is empty, though, and you assume that he must be out for patrol.

Walking down the streets of Japan dulls your senses, bit by bit. It used to be the other way around when you were still around, your senses roared and your guard was high, but here, there is no need for that. Why was it necessary, when you're nothing but a ghost in this world?

Some people call it a blessing, you call it a curse. Fantastical, magical, even. But so, so cruel.

You love it, but you despise it.

You long for it, but you're repulsed by it.

But you've never once regretted what you've had to do.

Eyes searching, your footsteps echo with purpose. Just a touch of green, even a hair. You could find him in a crowd, your eyes draw to him like bees to a hive.

You just have to look.

Izuku?

He's there, of course. Always there, with his yellow scarf, and big green eyes. There with his pretty smile you'd fallen in love with and a heart of polished gold. He's so, so beautiful, scars and all.

You reach out, maybe if you call his name, he'll hear you.

"Izuku?" You try again.

His eyes don't waver, but he's not looking at you.

"Kacchan!" He says instead, as Katsuki swats him on the head. "Idiot, it's Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight when we're on the job, shit nerd!" Katsuki snarls.

You retract your hand, as both boys breeze past you. Of course they would, you're just a spectator, after all.

"I was thinking of having Katsudon-"

"No."

"But Kacchan-"

"NO YOU UNHEALTHY FUCK."

You smile, a little sadly, but are still grateful he's safe.

He looks so happy.

"You've meddled far too much in this story." The villain whispers. "Give it up, outsider. You weren't meant to be here."

It's true. It isn't right, for you to be here. It's not your place.

"But I still wanted you." You say, voice cracking.

Your feet stumble, one after another, as you weave through the crowd, following them silently.

Stalker, your mind whispers, freak. Get a life.

It's all you've ever learnt how to do, because you never did, have a life. Just play doll fantasies and isekai aspirations.

They do end up getting katsudon for dinner, even if Katsuki's mad about it. You've always known he's had a soft spot for Izuku. You've always known the competition you were against.

In the end, what you had with Izuku wasn't substantial. No matter how much you wanted it. It's like wearing an odd pair of socks. Even if it fits, both of you didn't match.

"Ah, shit." You whisper, feeling your vision blur, as you wipe your tears away, shaking your head. A lump settles in your pharynx.

No, no, this is right. This is correct.

This was how it was meant to be.

The tears don't stop coming. "Kacchan, stop! I promise, I'll do my paperwork next week. You never let up on organisation, Kacchan. Remember that one time when we were still children? You had a space for each toy box, a drawer for each category of game..."

You look up, and they aren't there anymore. Panicking, you spent about five minutes trying to find them when you realise them already making their way out of the restaurant.

"Ah, son of a turkey leg, it's raining," Katsuki complains, as Izuku chuckles at his side.

"Turkey leg?" He teases, opening up his umbrella.

A sob bubbles up your throat. A curse, a fucking curse this is.

"He'll forget all about you, and that's okay, isn't it? It was only when you came here did everything start going wrong. Don't tell me you thought this dream could last forever. Come on, didn't you say you wanted to be a hero?"

"Izuku," You whisper, voice broken and cracked. He doesn't hear you.

They walk, and you follow. Into the plunging rain, or flames of the underworld, or on the bloody battlefield or fire or hail, you follow because that's all you've ever known how to do. You follow, even though it hurts.

"How's that injury holding up?" Katsuki asks, checking his partner over. Izuku shakes his head. "I'm alright. Was sure a scare, though. I thought I wouldn't make it."

Everything is in place, as it was always meant to be.

The rain beats down on you mercilessly, and you feel cold. So, so cold. "Shut up, nerd. Of course you did."

You know you did the right thing because it stings so badly.

But I want that too.

You sniffle, as you see them, under their stupid umbrella with their stupid faces and stupid heart eyes.

I want it so bad.

Your hand is outstretched, and you watch your hand sink through his hand, eyes glossing all over.

Why can't I have what you two have?

At the heart of it, you're just a greedy child throwing a tantrum because things didn't go your way. Impulsive, self-absorbed, Living out a fantasy that ruins a carefully crafted story with characters real enough to fall for. Even so, as you see them, happy, the memory of you wiped from this world as you're left to wander as a ghost, you cower at how out of place you were no matter how much you tried to make yourself right at home.

"Izuku..." You whisper, as they turn away. The rain is pouring, and your sweater is soaked.

"Why can't I have a happy ending too?"

---

I watched some of Season 7, and a lot of edits

[illusivesoul]

A short fic for ockissweek.

Characters: Javiera De Valterra, Kalzah Sabol

Words: 632

"In which Kalzah comforts Javiera after the destruction of the Conclave"

Javiera is 30 and she was the revered mother of a Chantry in Antiva. Kalzah is is 48, from Rivain, and she was the elder cleric of Javiera's Chantry.

.

Javiera's sight was fixated on the fire boiling the stew. The creaking of the old and rusted metal hinges that held the pot as they swinged slightly in the chilling night breeze and the bubbling soup inside seemed to have an almost hypnotic allure, almost strong enough for her not to think about the charred spots on her Chantry robes, consequence of the explosion that had destroyed the Conclave, or the distant greenish hue of the Breach, the doorway into the Fade that sat on top of the Frostback Mountains from where countless demons and other horrours seemed to pour through with each passing minute, eager to destroy a world that only seemed to spiral more and more into chaos with each passing day.

"You feeling alright?"

Annelise shook her head as she snapped out of her thoughts, turning to look at the source of the voice.

"Saw you staring into that pot as if you were looking at Andraste herself. You all right?"

"As well as one can be, considering all that has happened. How about you, Kalzah?"

“Not great, not terrible” The woman shrugged as she sat beside her on the log, folding the lower part of her Chantry robes so that they didn't touch the ground, not missing the chance to complain about her knees as usual. The bags under her eyes told Javiera that she had been getting as much sleep as she was. "Feeling like the world is about to end at any minute, and a strong desire to not let it happen"

"Always the fighter" Annelise said as she wrapped her fingers with hers, resting her head on the woman's shoulders.

"So bold” Kalzah said with a smile before lifting the woman's hand and placing a quick kiss on top of it, like they had done so many other times in those quiet and silent halls of their chantry “What will the Grand Clerics say?”

“Last I heard, there weren’t many Grand Clerics left to complain about us” Javiera sighed “What are we going to do?”

"You know, I think things are going to be alright"

The younger woman chuckled "You always think everything is going to be alright"

"And I'm usually right, no?"

"No, you’re not"

Kalzah began kneading Javiera’s brown hair, her fingers softly massaging her head as she spoke “Look, every few years something happens, a war, a crisis, a dragon attack that makes us feel like this is it, that it is all over. But things always end up getting sorted out. People always fix things somehow”

“There’s a hole in the sky, Kalzah”

Kalzah smiled “Indeed there is, which means it is just going to take a lot of people to fix it. Besides, I’m sure one of your stern talks will be enough to make all these demons and whatnot to go back into the Fade and close the Breach. Your social skills are quite magical”

Javiera stood upright and looked at Kalzah, the black in her eyes meeting the older woman`s deep blue ones, a half smile set on her face “Why are you so ridiculous?”

“Why are you so pretty?” the woman said as she softly ran her thumb across Javiera’s lower lip.

Javiera’s kiss took Kalzah by surprise, but it didn’t take her long to return it, as usual. Javiera’s hands moved into Kalzah’s graying black hair, and pulled her closer. It was a kiss that tasted in equal parts of despair and hope, a kiss that begged for the future they both wanted, and the future they would fight to get.

They parted the kiss for a moment, and rested forehead to forehead with their eyes closed, smiling, the cold of the night mountain air not bothering them anymore.

Everything was going to be alright.

[bodybeyondstories]

dicks keep growing around me - 8 (Miguel)

After Myron's growth spurt, Miguel takes him to his tailor for a wardrobe update. Late for work, and still pent up from their recent activities, Miguel finds a surprise piece of Myron's clothing in his bag, and just like Ty, he faces explosive consequences.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 (Previous)

male TF // growth // dick growth // pec growth // bubble butt // nsfw

4908 words

(I was inspired to play around with some pec growth by this ask a little while back. It was fun!)

---

“Do these make my butt look big?”

I struggled for words. “I think we left ‘big’ behind a long time ago,” I said, watching Myron check himself out in the dressing room stall, clad in a pair of chinos with a cartoonishly oversized waist that still managed to strain against his cartoonishly oversized butt cheeks. His curvy form being reproduced three times in the tri-fold mirror lent itself to a funhouse effect, as if he could step out and instantly return to the sensible, pert bubble he once had. Not that I would ever want that to happen. Having his already ridiculous monster booty inflate in real time while I was inside him was one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to me personally. It took everything in my power to extricate myself from between those cheeks this morning and my dick jumped against its triple security confines at the thought of once again getting to bury my face in that posterior. I knew I was an ass man but even this was beyond my wildest dreams. I was addicted.

Myron wore his stretchiest–and really only–option out of the house, a pair of plaid leggings that didn’t so much hug his curves as fight for dear life against the beach ball buns spilling out of the waistband more and more with each step. He tied a light hoodie around his waist to at least hide the top of his pink bikini briefs, though it didn’t do much to mitigate his ass from being on display. He even had a minor struggle fitting into my car, adjusting and readjusting the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs, tree trunk thighs, and voluptuous bottom. Another potential problem to solve.

“I’m seeing a lot of elastic waistbands in your future,” said Val, studying Myron’s physique with a scientific eye. Val had been my go to tailor for years, long before these changes had made it nigh impossible to shop for pants at a normal department store. She ran what she called a ‘gender expansive menswear experience,’ always looked the definition of dapper, and specialized in catering to a plethora of unique body types. She was also very down to give us some special attention on this slow morning after I explained Myron’s situation. “Oh I love a challenge!” she had exclaimed over the phone.

And Myron was a challenge she jumped to as soon as we walked in. As he suffered through a stack of ill-fitting slacks, jeans, trunks, and at least one asymmetrical short skirt that worked surprisingly well, she vocalized an ongoing calculus of fabric amounts, hip to waist ratios, and design patterns that might emphasize or de-emphasize his wild proportions. She was in the zone, whipping around her tape measure with a professional flair and handling Myron’s body with a gentle, open intimacy that he seemed like he grew to appreciate.

As we left the store, with not exactly success, but at least some options–and a set of new tailoring projects for Val to dig into–I noticed more confidence in his walk. I couldn’t tell if it was the awkwardness of his sudden growth spurt or the weight of open stares from onlookers, but he had seemed deeply self conscious on our way in that was thankfully fading on our way out. Between his wildly upsized lower body and my freakish bulge, we were both letting go of the luxury of blending in. We held hands and rolled with it. 

We got back to his place with just enough time to make some coffee and get me into some professional clothes before running off to the office. I had barely shut the door before Myron spun around and planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, looking hungrily down at me. It was weird seeing him from this new angle, his gentle, inquisitive gaze falling over me like a protective cloak. I was already liking this new dynamic. “Thanks again,” he said, and leaned down for an indulgent kiss. 

“It’s the least I could do with all the trouble I’ve caused,” I said, then returned the favor and pressed my lips against his. My hands rested on his hips like they were always meant to be there. I caressed the expanse of one ass cheek, still marveling at its sheer size, while he cupped one of my pecs and gave it a hearty squeeze. I moaned, louder than I meant to. They were so sensitive lately, and felt uncomfortable in my shirt. “But,” reluctantly breaking the kiss, “We’re both late for work. You want coffee?”

He waddled off in mock dejection as I slipped into his room to get dressed. I had a few versatile options stashed away in his wardrobe. Did my clothes really occupy an entire drawer? When did that happen? I was already running late, so I arranged something basic and reasonably business casual, though all my shirts felt a little tighter than I usually liked. I guess I wasn’t the only one making some gains in the gym.

By the time I returned to the kitchen to get beans grinding and the kettle on, Myron had whipped off everything except for his bikini briefs and proceeded to station himself at his standing desk and boot up his laptop. I envied whatever work from home contract gig he had most recently stumbled into and his resultant freedom from spending the rest of the day with multiple layers of constrictive fabric. But really my eyes rested longingly on the briefs stretched tight against his prodigious ass, my dick jumping in my sweats as he hinged his hips back and rested on his elbows.

“Just coffee?” he asked. “You’re not hungry?” We locked eyes and he gave his ass just enough of a shake to set off a tremor of jiggling cheek.

“...Well I’m already late.”

—

I moseyed into my office already dreaming of the next time I would have the privilege of eating the juiciest peach on the planet. I settled onto my exercise ball and opened my email, seeing if anything was on fire in my absence. 

A lazy knock on the door was followed by the shaggy auburn mane of Wes peeking in.

“Missed you earlier,” he said, with that easy smile. 

“Right, you were washing today! Yeah, I had kind of an emergency with my…” What were Myron and I? I don't think we'd had a chance to discuss it yet. “... with my, um–”

“Oh dude, don't worry about that,” he laughed. “That's not why I'm here. I actually just need your old key to the maintenance rooms in the basement. I'm updating the locks. I don't know if you saw my email.”

There it was on my screen, fourth from the top. I was one of the lucky few to be trusted with maintenance access, a responsibility I held sacred and never actually used.

“Of course, yeah yeah yeah,” I said, digging through my bag and pulling out not a key but a pair of very familiar crumpled underwear. I shoved them into a drawer before Wes could notice. How did those get in there? I continued digging until I finally produced the item in question.

“Thanks man.” He grabbed the key and gave me a fist bump. His knuckle tatts spelled out R-E-A-L. I wondered what the other hand said. “I'll, uh, see you out there,” he said, glancing towards the windows, then winked and slipped out the door.

These days, my dick turns into a faucet at the slightest hint of arousal, which truth be told is effectively all the time, so I usually pack a backup or two of my specially-fitted underwear to slip into so I don’t end up awkwardly cleaning precum off my desk chair. But I guess with all the weirdness that morning, I had accidentally grabbed Myron’s used briefs from yesterday’s incident at the gym. Which was weird because I didn’t remember rooting around in his hamper for this specific piece of clothing.

Just like I didn’t remember pulling them back out of my desk drawer and holding them just close enough to my face to catch a whiff of Myron’s compelling musk. Ty really did have a point, I couldn’t help but admit. My face had just been buried in Myron’s ass, but there was something magnetic about these residual pheromones. My dick jumped in anticipation.

Too early for this, I thought. I dropped his drawls in the bottom drawer, the one full of miscellaneous files with the janky handle, and closed it with finality, resolving to get through the rest of the day without distraction. I only had my one outfit to last me through the rest of the workday, and I wasn’t in the mood to sneak out with my pants soaked in my homemade lube (again). The realization that I missed my usual ‘appointment’ with Wes came with the realization that after all the festivities last night and this morning, I still hadn't cum. As much as I enjoyed servicing Myron and the Giant Peach, I was pent up, and so used to my exhibitionist dynamic with Wes that I felt I couldn't clear the pipes unless he was out there washing the windows. I had missed that opportunity. My balls began to churn with overproduction, frustrated at being teased multiple times in the past twelve hours with no relief. My dick felt heavy. Heavier than usual.

My whole body felt pressurized. My crotch had grown hot and constricted, but my shirt had followed suit. It felt so tight across my chest, my extra sensitive nipples delighting in the increased friction. I got up to stretch and clear my hand, pacing around my office and taking in the view of the surrounding high rises reflecting a clear sky belied by herds of thunderclouds rolling across the landscape miles away. I looked down to check my phone and instead saw that I had Myron’s underwear twirling between my fingers, just inches from my nose. When had I pulled these out of the drawer? But I turned around to see it apparently untouched. I unconsciously brought them closer to my face. They had a scent that was magnetic and threatened to occupy all my sensory attention. I breathed deep, indulging in the smell of him, warmth resonating across my body as I fantasized about the next time I could bury my face between those cheeks.

I know. I should've seen this coming.

I was jolted back to reality by a short, staccato knock on the door. Not fully closed by my last visitor, it drifted open to allow Josh, our comms specialist, to lean in with one quick motion into a scene, not of me working at my desk, but meandering around my office with my nose in his former co-worker’s panties. In the half second I had available, I snatched them from my face, and, with no other immediate options, shoved them into my pants.

“The intern workshop is starting now, almost out of donuts,” he said with a wink. Intern workshop was an out of date misnomer from when Josh first started with us and was mistakenly referred to as the intern far too often. Largely because of a youthful, eager demeanor and the crime of being chronically online. Occasionally, we start our all-team meetings early with a social media, marketing, and PR update from him. He tells us what's trending that month and I bring my basket full memes that I need explained. I had forgotten that this was one of those days and relented at his insistence that I tag along with him to the conference room, following him into the hall with Myron’s briefs hidden in my pants, a light tingle beginning to spread across my groin.

Hindsight. 20/20.

“Dude,” he continued in the hallway. “You've got to tell me your routine, your chest is looking great. Wish I could fit a workout in before work.”

“Oh, I didn't make it to–” I self-consciously grabbed my right pec, “--the gym this morning…” It felt noticeably juicier. Like I had a good pump. A great pump.

I dutifully followed Josh's perky bottom to the conference room, eyes fixed on the swish of his hips in his fitted pants. Everyone in the office had an oddly nice ass, for reasons unknown to anyone but obvious for me, but Josh's tight, perfectly round posterior was always a sight to behold, and always showcased in expertly tailored pants that fit like a glove on his short, svelte frame. I've always wondered if he also frequented Val's doorstep.

Everyone was already settled in the conference room (they were out of donuts), and I grabbed the last seat around the table, toward the back, right near the door. Josh did his thing about the latest social media strategy and I tried to maintain some semblance of professional decorum, keeping my gaze on the slides on screen and not just the bubble butt flitting back and forth at the front of the room. But I was still pent up, my balls churning with stronger intensity and my dick feeling heavier and heavier in my pants, not like it was getting hard but just gaining a deeper, stronger presence. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, leaning forward and hinging my hips back to provide more space along my leg. My midsection began to cramp as the tingle in my crotch turned into a generalized heat. My chest felt packed against my shirt, my nipples sending little shocks of pleasure with the slightest movements against the fabric. I felt overstimulated, hit by a full body malaise with an undercurrent of sticky sweet pleasure.

Then it clicked. I had seen the clip of Ty's latest growth spurt and got to witness Myron’s incident up close and personal. My heart pounded with the realization that Myron’s powerful pheromones were likely incubating in the warmth between my thighs. I began to have anxious visions of what that meant, of what could happen in the chaos of having an episode in the middle of the office. I imagined myself bursting out of my clothes, my chair collapsing under me, the table being flipped by the force of a superhuman monster cock. 

The cramps got stronger as I became increasingly hot and uncomfortable in my own skin, fighting against every item of clothing constricting my body. I tried to wait it out, think peaceful thoughts, hold myself energetically together. I thought I could psychically wrestle my dick into stasis until the meeting ended and I could triage the situation. But what is Bruce Banner to the Hulk?

My dick lurched. Didn't get harder, just took up a bit more space. I bit down angrily on my pen to keep from letting out a moan as I felt, vividly, the head sliding against the fabric of the pouch. My pants felt like they were shrinking around my crotch. My body was so uncomfortably hot, eliciting shivers down my spine and along my limbs. And why was my shirt so tight? 

But Josh was rolling with his presentation (and that ass was keeping me enthralled). I reasoned that I could at least relieve some pressure for the time being. I reached up and undid the first button at my collar as casually as possible, only to find the second locked in place by the pull of the fabric. When did this shirt become so small?? I awkwardly finagled it while trying to put on my best active listener face, but right when I was finally about to succeed, it was simply gone. The relief from a slight decrease in pressure along my chest mixed with terror as I saw the button sail across the room and land in someone's coffee. 

I froze. Josh froze. Miraculously, no one else noticed. He continued with his presentation and I resolved to form an escape as quickly as possible. My mind was filled with visions of what had happened to Ty and Myron, and as hot as it is to see someone grow in real time, this situation truly was not safe for work. Something serious was brewing, and by the pressure building in my balls, it was going to be messy. I had to find a bathroom or risk a scandal.

I carefully closed my laptop, mentally rehearsing my graceful exit in which I stand up, surreptitiously cover my bulge with my computer, and moonwalk out of there to take care of business. As I rose to my feet, I came to the chilling realization that I had underestimated the sheer size of the appendage distending my pants, hurrying to cover as much as possible with my modestly sized laptop, but not before Josh’s eyes locked on.

“So I really think this target audience could make for a good pipeline to…um…a pipeline…a pipe…” he stammered, on the verge of speaking in tongues as his eyes widened in disbelief, coming dangerously close to bringing the attention of the rest of the conference room to my predicament.

“You’re doing great!” I exclaimed, cutting him off and turning smoothly toward the exit. “Can’t wait to discuss implementing all of this, soon as I get back.”

I sped through the door and down the hallway, stopping abruptly at the makeshift signs printed and taped to the bathroom doors. “Out of order,” I whispered, anxiety spiking as the crotch of my pants bulged outward a little more. 

Downstairs! I thought. The single stalls on the ground floor materialized in my mind. I whipped around to find the elevators and slipped through the doors with my laptop still awkwardly situated in front of my overpacked crotch. To my dismay, a gaggle of interns scrambled on one floor below. I squeezed as far as I could into the back corner, and pressed my laptop against the furious bulge that was steadily becoming impossible to hide. It had to be at least five degrees warmer in there from the heat radiating off my overexcited dick. It lurched again. My hair stood on edge, pecs strained against my shirt as I fought back a moan of arousal and dismay.

By the time they got off on the ground floor, I was too terrified to move, convinced that the slightest increase in friction could send me over the edge.

“You heading back up?” asked Larry, the bright eyed receptionist who appeared from around the doorframe.

“No, I, uh, need to go check something downstairs,” I lied. “We’ve been having some electrical hiccups in the office.”

“Oh that’s the worst,” he said, holding his hand against the elevator door frame as he continued to recount the building’s litany of outages and anomalies. He was effectively holding me hostage.

“Oooof,” I whispered as my dick surged forward yet again. I was heading towards a nuclear meltdown.

“Right, right, duty calls,” he said, finally relinquishing his hold and letting the doors close in front of him.

I nearly collapsed out of blessed solitude. I let one hand drift down to investigate the area, eliciting a groan of shock and pleasure. My dick felt big. I mean yes, it’s painfully obvious to myself and the general public that I’m packing something serious down there. But it felt bigger than it should. Bigger than it felt less than an hour ago. Like it was echoing the essence of bigness on some metaphysical plane, gathering energy around it across multiple dimensions to emerge like Godzilla from the ocean and lay waste to the–

What the fuck am I talking about? My blood circulation must be cut off. I needed to get out of those pants. The slow drop of the elevator seemed to go on and on, what felt like far beyond the actual height of the building. The walls were closing in, the metal box shrinking around me as it fell through space, the seams of my shirt straining against my chest as what felt like every bit of fabric shrunk with it.

The elevator doors opened on the brutalist liminal space of the basement. I was pretty sure there was a bathroom down here, likely one significantly, dearly private. The only person I knew of who had any reason to be down here was–

“Wes!” I exclaimed at the cloud of auburn hair that popped up seemingly out of nowhere, toolbox in hand.

“Funny running into you here,” he beamed, giving the scruff on his chin a scratch. “Welcome to my office!” He splayed his arms wide, gesturing warmly to the concrete and fluorescent lights.

“Happy to be here,” I managed, attempting a gracious smile as the beads of sweat on my forehead hinted at the crisis at hand.

“Where you headed?” He asked, sidling next to me and hovering one finger over the number pad.

“Look, Wes, I actually need to run to the bathroom, the ones upstairs were all–”

“Out of order, yeah. Whole building is. It’s the issue with the plumbing, did you read the rest of my email? Folks have been heading to the coffee shop next door, I think.”

“Aughh,” I whispered, bracing a hand against the wall. My dick lurched again. Angry and boiling hot, it was all I could think about. That and the feeling of my shirt having somehow shrunk several sizes too small. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. I barely string words together. My nipples perked up in response to a cool sensation. I looked down to see two wet spots spreading slowly. Fuck, my chest was swollen, what was going on? I looked like I had the greatest pump of my life. What usually could pass for decently toned pecs were starting to resemble disproportionately juicy slabs of muscle. I could’ve sworn they were inflating slightly with each breath, each involuntarily twitch of muscle. But I didn’t have time to speculate further as my abs contracted hard and I doubled over in pain.

I wasn’t going to make it to the coffee shop. I wasn’t going to make it to the useless basement bathroom. I wasn’t going to make it off this elevator.

“Yeah, sorry dude. If it’s an emergency, maybe I can–oh…”

“It’s…it’s too late,” I eked out as my dick lurched even farther down my leg, the sound of stitches popping filling the space of Wes’s stunned silence and my heavy breathing. My shirt grew tighter and tighter with every heartbeat. I felt air against my midsection as it slowly revealed my treasure trail, heard the slow tearing of seams along my shoulders, the periodic ping of buttons flying off and hitting the metal walls. I gripped the door frame with inhuman force. “It’s happening.”

“Wh-what’s happening?” Wes had grown visibly concerned. “What can I do?”

“I can’t…hold it…” my face a contortion of pleasure and pain.

“Can’t hold what?? Should I call someone, or do something, or…” He stepped closer, his eyes entranced by the dark circles against my shirt. My pecs had swollen so large they were blocking the view of the baseball bat tearing apart the stitches of my pants. He held out his hands in support. “Maybe if I just–”

“Wait, don’t–” My head lolled back as the pressure along my leg finally became too much to bear and was suddenly replaced with lovely, catastrophic release. The seams gave way and my ungodly beast was freed from its cage, swinging up in a diagonal and catching Wes’s cheek with a mean left hook. He spun around like a ragdoll, landing unceremoniously against the wall.

My prodigious cock, furious and rock hard, bobbed in front of me at a distance that was hard to make sense of. I stared down in terror at a pipe that extended at least a few feet into the air, still managing a slight upward tilt despite its weight. It was too girthy to wrap both hands around. I felt my heart pounding through the massive vein that ran along the shaft. I briefly forgot about Wes lying unconscious on the floor as I gazed in shock at the tree trunk growing from my groin. With one final, monumental shudder, with the last dregs of my mental capacity, I wondered, Did I beat Ty? And came like a firehose.

The force of the first two blasts were enough to knock me off balance, my knees buckling as I fell on my ass. My hands gripped either side of my shaft as if I had any ability to mitigate the cum cannon bucking wildly from my crotch. I painted the ceiling as every muscle fiber of my body worked in unison to fire off each volley of jizz. I was dimly aware that my muscle tits jiggled with more and more heft as my body shook with every shot. I could feel the mass of them expanding across my torso, my sensitive nipples rubbing against what was left of my shirt before that too fell to tatters against my growing muscle tits. But I was gone in a deluge of orgasmic bliss, my brain burned hollow as some untapped reservoir of sexual energy sprung forth. As I lost any sort of mental coherence, I felt like my corporeal form might simply disintegrate into the pool of cum forming around me. I was moaning in sweet release and unrelenting ejaculation.

Countless ropes of cum painted the walls until my never ending orgasm finally let me go, and I collapsed next to Wes. After a minute, he came to, and turned to me with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Can we do that again?” He asked.

The elevator doors opened. And there was Josh.

—

“Hey Miguel, I was looking for…you…” he drifted off, taking in the scene. Me, sweaty and kneeling in my tattered pants, holding Wes’s shoulders to prop him up against the wall with what looked like a black eye on the way. I mused internally about how I should’ve reviewed the office first aid training materials for the exact protocol for a penis exploding so suddenly in size that it accidentally causes a potential concussion. I made a mental note to schedule a training for the entire office soon.

“Shit, uh, just wait outside for a sec?” I asked, putting on my best everything-is-totally-fine smile. It didn’t work.

“Woah, what happened?” asked Josh incredulously. “Were you attacked? What is this on the floor? What is…that…” He seemed to be mentally connecting the dots as he gazed horror struck at the semi-hard, adrenaline fueled dick resting on the floor between my legs.

I could hear footsteps and voices approaching. We’re back on the ground floor! Without any other recourse, I pulled him into the elevator and started smashing the button for the basement. The doors closed just in time.

“I'm so fired, I'm so unbelievably fired, no one has ever been more fired,” I said, my fingertips pressing into my temples as if I could telepathically will all of this away as a weird, horny dream. I began to rock back and forth until I was halted by a firm clasp against my bicep. I looked up to see Wes's meaty forearm, his sparkling green and gold eyes. 

“Deep breath,” he said firmly. “In…” His eyes fluttered closed then looked into mine, imploring me to follow. I took a tentative breath in through my nose. “And hold.” He held. “And out.” I sighed through my mouth until my lungs felt deflated. “OK, again, you too,” he glances at Josh, who looked less terrified and more uncomfortable about the faux pas of stumbling into this intimate moment. “In.” Josh took large gulps through his mouth, chest heaving up. “And hold…and out. We'll work on your technique.”

He turned back to me. “I’ve seen weirder things, man. We'll get it sorted. And you,” looking pointedly at Josh, “can't tell anyone about this. Scout's honor.”

“H-hell yeah,” he said, flourishing an awkward salute. “Anything for the Window Wanker.”

“Did you just come up with that?” Wes chuckled. “That’s good.” Josh looked on in mild confusion. 

“The last thing I need right now is a nickname, but we can workshop it,” I offered, trying to make light of the situation.

“No, it's just that…” his brows furrowed. “That's you, right? Window Wanker. Online.”

My spidey senses tingled. My hair stood on edge.

“What do you mean ‘online?'” Wes inquired, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Like, it's one of my favorite accounts,” said Josh. “I usually don't go for fake hidden camera scenario type stuff, but I've been hooked.” He perked up in enthusiasm. “The fact that from across the street, you can see how huge that monster is…” His utterance of monster was barely a whisper as his eyes turned to the up close monster laying between my legs. “Respectfully,” he added with a shy smile.

“Across the street…” I repeated, just as Wes said “...fake hidden camera…”

“I mean,” Josh continued, “I could tell you were packing for a while, I have no idea how no one else is talking about it. But I didn't know you were Double W.”

“Okay,” I blurted, wincing at the hitch in my voice and letting the elevator settle into a heavy silence, interrupted by the steady smack of globs of cum falling from the ceiling. “Okay. I need to know all about this now.”

Window Wanker. Ty's gonna love this.

[siriuslystargazing]

You know that moment from Arcane where powder is sobbing calling out for Violet, what if. And hear me out.

It’s Sirius and regulus.

Regulus thought he did the right thing by borrowing explosives from Barty and using them on death eaters. He didn’t think about the order members and the poor muggles that were trapped in the building. All regulus wanted to do was save his big brother.

Debris and fire consumed the warehouse bodies of innocent people and death eaters littered the floor. Sirius managed to peel himself away blood and tears smeared across his face. He’s 19 for fuck sake why is he fight a war! Sirius looked over at the body of an order member, he didn’t know his name yet he only turned 18 the other week. Sirius couldn’t help the tears that bubbled up in his eyes at the thought of it being Regulus lying there until that familiar voice came through, that naive voice “Siri! It worked!” Regulus cheered from the warehouse entrance he skidded over his face dropping at the aftermath of the bomb, he scanned Sirius he was clutching his ribs the same way he did when Walburga had finished punishing him. Sirius felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of regulus, he had a small cut to his temple but he was otherwise unscathed, unlike him.

“What?, what are you talking about” Sirius voice was low he was trying to piece it all together, “did you see me! The bomb me and Barty worked on finally worked!” Regulus beamed with pride. Sirius could feel the heat of the fire ranging around them his face remained neutral has everything hit him at once. This was Regulus’ fault.

“You did this? Regulus looked at Sirius confused, why wasn’t he proud or happy that he helped them shame crept it’s way through like cold dead hands, Sirius clutched his chest a little tighter wincing slightly “why? Why did you do this Reg?”

Regulus could feel the shame tear at him, it felt the prick of tears in his eyes. He’s done it again he messed up, regulus recoiled into himself clutching at his bag like a safety blanket “I-I was saving you” Regulus looked down at the floor still holding onto his tears, he looked over to the blood spattered glasses next to the body Sirius was standing over… surly it wasn’t James? Regulus felt his chest go tight a sob wracked it way though him “I only wanted to help” regulus felt his body go limp. “I only wanted to help!” Another sob came out, his bag hit the floor his knees felt weak. The tears finally spilled he new he was an ugly cryer so why wasn’t Sirius consoling him like he did when he was five?

Sirius held on tighter, he was angry. He said he would never get angry at Regulus but this was different “I told you to stay away!” Sirius promised himself he would never raise a hand to Regulus. But he did, it happened in a flash. One moment they were standing there the next regulus was on the floor his cheek stinging. Sirius couldn’t think couldn’t do anything he only felt hatred and anger towards his little brother.

Regulus choked on another sob, now isn’t the time for something like this “why did you leave me!” Regulus couldn’t control his emotions anymore, sob after sob came out. Tonight the past would resurface surrounded by the fires of consequence. Sirius grabbed his brothers face, it was like his the same nose and almond shaped eyes but his cheeks were rounder with adolescence, Regulus was 17 still in school it’s not June yet. “Because your a Jinx regulus! Your a fucking Jinx, a black cat in a human skin! Peter was right about you!” Sirius spat the words out at his brother, anger had finally taken control. Sirius was exactly like his father, passive until provoked to blinding rage.

Regulus continued to sob unable to draw a proper breath he kept muttering No like a mad man. “Please siri!” He choked out again and again until he saw his fathers rage within Sirius dissolve into regret, one of the many things that spectated the brothers from their parents was the fact they still had empathy and compassion for each other. Sirius moved his hand Regulus face, he just stared his his palm. Flecks of regulus blood were sneered over his palm from when he hit him. Regulus was properly ugly crying he balled his hands into fists pulling his jacket over to wipe away the tears and snot. “Sirius Please”

Sirius didn’t feel in control of his emotions or body, he thought the best thing to do was leave. He braced himself against debris and limped out of the wear house leaving regulus on the floor calling out to him.

“Sirius! Sirius please come back! Please, I need you” more sobs shot through him his breathing was erratic, Sirius let the please ring out as he hid behind the wall as he finally let the tears fall. Regulus was finally having the breakdown, everything that was pent up over the last 10 years was coming out and Sirius wasn’t there to help him though it.

——

I wrote this in the train to uni so it’s not been checked, it was just an idea okay if anyone wants to improve on it be my guest lol

[zzzman555]

Here’s the aforementioned fic lol

TW!! Descriptions of injuries, TMA Spoilers for seasons 1-4, self deprecating thoughts, tooth rotting fluff (I promise it’s in there)

Jonathan Sims knows trauma.

He knows it from small silvery worms biting and burying through his skin desperate to find purchase. Looking for a way to empty him and fill him with the Rot that they grew in. He knows it from the scars that he endlessly itched, peeled, and was gawked at for.

He knows it from the sleepless nights constantly thinking and mapping if, no, who was after him next. Who was going to mercilessly fill his chest with lead and leave him to bleed just like Gertrude. From watching a woman who he thought was his friend twist and crack her bones into a horrifying monster. From finding the man who was the root of most horrors he was experiencing- and fumbling with shaking hands for a cigarette while he was murdered.

From the consequences of his mistakes.

He knows it from the worried if not judging looks from an old friend and ex as he hid his face away from anyone or anything that might recognise him. As he grew frail and begrudgingly accepted help from the one man he never wanted to see again. He knows it from the feeling of his skin bubbling and blistering wondering if it would burn right off all because of the simple action of a handshake. From the knife held up against his throat, burning eyes threatening to end it all there. He still wonders if that would’ve been a blessing. From the feeling of cool, cracked, porcelain hands forcing his own into restraints, pulling, and rubbing at his skin. From being forced to choose death from distortion or death from dolls and still not getting the sweet release. From being welcomed back not with open arms but with distrustful glances and plans of destruction. From the mocking words of things pretending to be his friends. From the feeling of being blown away and crushed from the effects of a shocking amount of plastic explosives.

He knows it from the 6 month long nightmare he had while in a coma. Only to wake up and find that almost everyone was either gone or hated him, he didn’t blame them. From the guilt of not being there or being there too much. From the feeling of having a rib effortlessly pulled out of his skin. From the crushing environment of the coffin, where each breath filled felt suffocating and everything was too much. From the borderline desperate attempts to reach Martin, begging to just speak to him. From the purely desperate attempts to feel human again. From having to jump into the cold empty abyss of the Lonely to save perhaps the only person that still cared about him.

And on top of everything Jon knows it from the many people he spoke to. To the many people he saw in his unearned power. Grabbing it and ripping it to the surface for them to experience all over again.

Jonathan Sims knows trauma.

And he remembers it, he feels it, all over again when Martin gently grabs his hand. Every scratch, stab, bite, and burn. Now he sits across from the man clutching his hand to his chest like a child. They had sat down after a refreshing walk in the cool Scotland air, and Martin had just brought him his favorite chai tea. They were reading their respective books at the kitchen table when Martin had innocently placed his hand into Jon’s own and Jon pulled away in a panic. He snapped back to reality when laying his eyes on Martin’s worried and even slightly guilty face.

“Jon, I-I’m so sorry I should’ve ask-“ he started but Jon cut him off.

“No, Martin it’s fine, I- it was childish to react that way. I’m sorry uh- here,” Jon tentatively placed his hand back on the table, palm up for Martin to hold.

“Oh Jon…” he grabbed the darker man’s scarred hands and brought them up to his lips for a gentle kiss. “You've been through so much, you deserve some dramatic reactions.”

He gets up from the table to kneel in front of Jon, arms wide silently offering a hug. Jon returns it burying his face into Martin’s shoulder- they remain there for a moment. Then Martin stands from the position he was in causing Jon to stand from his own chair, Martin holds Jon’s face in his hands placing another kiss on his forehead. Then another on his cheek. Then near his eyes. Then his jaw.

“Can I pick you up?” Martin asks

“Yes you may,” the second after he finishes speaking Martin scoops Jon into his arms, holding him in the bridal style. He continues to attack the other with soft pecks causing a laugh to bubble out of Jon’s chest. Martin doesn’t let up even after they’ve collapsed onto their shared bed, with Martin’s arms wrapped around the smaller man’s torso Jon allows himself to melt completely into the embrace. Another kiss on his neck.

“What are you doing?” Jon questioned with a laugh in his voice and a smile gracing his lips.

“I’m kissing each of your scars,” he replied, and for effect grabbed Jon’s hand, the burned one, to kiss another circular scar.

A flush spread over Jon’s brown skin as he stumbled for a response.

“I- why?? I mean that’s very romantic but I don’t understand-?”

Martin placed another on his knuckle.

“The amount of stars in the sky cannot compare to your glory,” a kiss on Jon’s wrist, “because the stars merely make up the sky, whilst your skin, makes up you.” He spoke looking at Jon directly into his amber eyes.

Jon was stunned into silence, all he could do was look back at Martin and blush. Martin laughed, it was airy and care-free, it wasn’t long before Jon joined him.

Martin wrapped his arms tighter around Jon as their giggles died down,

“This is what you get for dating a poet dearest,” Martin said. Jon scoffed light heartedly,

“I think I’ll live,” he snuggled in closer and let out a deep breath.

Jonathan Sims may know trauma but he also knows love.

Ok bye lol

[thetoxicgamer]

Fallout 76 Update Finally Nerfs the MMO’s Most Broken Weapons

The Bethesda RPG game's most infamously broken weapons are being ultimately eliminated by a Fallout 76 update, four years in the making. In a single-player game like Skyrim or Fallout 4, having excessively powerful weapons and abilities might be a lot of fun, but because Fallout 76 is a multiplayer game, other players must deal with the consequences of anyone who chooses to use one of the game's most broken weapons. If you’ve ever seen a Scorchbeast Queen melt in seconds, you’ve probably run into one of these such legacy weapons. In particular, we’re mostly talking about explosive laser weapons here – that is to say, laser guns that have the ‘Bullets explode for area damage’ legendary mod effect applied. While you haven’t been able to get the explosive mod on laser weapons for years now, they were obtainable early in the life of Fallout 76. Many of these weapons aren’t actually a big problem, but some of them can absolutely devastate the game’s hardest challenges in seconds. Perhaps most notorious among them is the Explosive Gatling Laser, especially when paired with the Two Shot legendary mod causing it to shoot additional projectiles. Bethesda has long seemed reluctant to take these weapons away from players who obtained them legitimately, but they have finally taken action. The latest Fallout 76 PTS update removes the explosive mod from all legendary modules – the fix is expected to roll out on live servers with the next major update, Nuka-World on Tour, which is set to release in December. In a post detailing the update, Bethesda explains that “Although we are playing in a post-apocalyptic world, we still want to keep that world fair, fun, and inviting to all.” They say that the team is “implementing a system that will remove illegal mods attached to weapons that cannot be obtained in-game.” The community has certainly reacted to this change positively on the whole – a megathread on the game’s subreddit is already at over 1,700 comments. “This should have been addressed two weeks after being discovered,” remarks the top comment, “but four years will do.” Another says that they’re pleased to see that “Bethesda is taking off the gloves to deal with one of the oldest, ugliest, most divisive problems.” Meanwhile, Fallout 76 YouTubers and Twitch streamers have also chimed in on the issue, including some who have been away from the game but have taken the opportunity to return to discuss the patch. “I genuinely never thought this day would come,” says YouTuber LoneVaultWanderer, “I seriously thought that this was going to be swept under the rug and never talked about ever again officially.” Another YouTuber, AngryTurtle, is “excited” about the change, saying “I don’t enjoy using them – they are just too powerful.” Personally, I got into Fallout 76 much later down the line, so I missed my chance to get one of these guns – and I certainly wasn’t looking to veer into the dark underworld of black market trading and potential duplicated or hacked variants that has bubbled up around the weapons over the years. It was fun to see one pop up once in a while, but perhaps less fun the third time in a session that one of the most climactic fights was reduced to ash in seconds. As one Reddit user says: “War. War sometimes changes.” We’ve got everything you need to know about lining up the perfect Fallout 76 mutations and making the best use of your Fallout 76 perk cards for maximum effect. We’ve also got all the details on the Fallout 76 Nuka-World on Tour update and the Fallout 76 theatre group putting on in-game stage plays for charity. There’s also more of the best MMORPGs to look through if you fancy branching out. Read the full article

[theblindgoddess]

Batman au where everything is the same, except Bruce is a woman instead of a man.

Her name is Beatrice.

Her personality is exactly the same.

She’s still 6′ something and built like a tank.

Her superhero name is still Batman.

She was originally just going to go by The Bat, but then the media started calling her Batman, and she just rolled with it. Adds an extra layer of protection for her secret identity.

Some extra points that I find important

After the media dubs her ‘The Batman’, Bea spends hours gargling gravel in random closets in the manor to perfect her ‘manly Batman growly voice’ as she calls it. Her crime fighting identity is now male, and while she doesn’t speak much in the early days, when the time comes that she will need to speak she might as well have a voice that matches the name. She’s not going to do this halfway.

Bea has been diagnosed with OCD and is either somewhere on the autism spectrum or has ADHD, she stopped going to the psychiatrist before they could figure out which one. (Not that different from cannon, but it was important to me to mention it.)

While most of the Justice League only finds out Batman is a woman when she reveals her identity to them on her own terms, Wounder Woman can recognize a fellow warrior women almost on sight. She pulls Batman aside privately later to explain that she knows, and states that while she doesn’t understand why she is keeping her gender hidden from the others she will respect her decision to do so. They have girls nights twice a month.

When 12-year-old Jason Todd finds out that Batman is a woman after getting caught trying to steal her tires, his immediate response is to inform Bea that his respect for Batman has just increased immensely. Jason is very proud to have a new mom who could probably bench Superman.

While Bea enjoys wearing dresses, she mainly wears suits, pants, and traditionally ‘male’ clothing. Her reasons behind this being that it can be very hard to find dresses that fit her with out having them custom made, and while that's barely a hindrance with how much money she has, she also thinks that she just generally doesn’t look flattering in most dresses because of her build.

Branching off the last point, Bea had some major body image issues in her teenage years. While she wasn’t as huge back then, she still had a fair amount of muscle mass from being incredibly active in a few different sports and with helping Alfred take care of the manor wherever it was needed. She has also always preferred close cropped hair to longer styles that would just get in the way and annoy her. Because of these things she always looked more masculine and never fit the ‘ideal’ look for woman. The inadequate feelings caused by that were made worse because she felt like she didn’t know how to be a woman. While Leslie Tompkins was a great older female presence in Bea’s life, Leslie couldn’t be a constant presence. And while Alfred tried his best - and passed with flying colours and unflappable determination in most areas - he was still a man and just couldn’t understand somethings about womanhood no matter how hard he tried. Bea kept all of these negative thoughts and feelings about herself bottled up inside of her like the emotionally constipated person she is until one day everything bubbled over with explosive force and disastrous consequences. It was a bad few months for both her and Alfred after that incident. Alfred still feels guilty for not noticing the signs sooner. As an adult Bea has become one of the biggest advocates for healthy body positivity and mental health. She still deals with those thoughts and feelings, though not to the same extent and she recognizes that the majority of them stem from her OCD. She has copping mechanisms set up to help handle these thoughts and feelings and will almost always go talk to Alfred when any of her emotions become to much and she starts to drown in them. (One notable exception to the ‘always go talk to Alfred when everything gets to much’ rule was after Jason’s death.)

All of the few dresses and skirts that Bea owns are ankle or floor length and show very little skin. She just doesn’t feel comfortable having a lot of skin showing, to her it feels like an invasion of her privacy for anyone other then the people she trusts most in the world to see more skin then just what is generally visible while wearing a t-shirt and shorts that cover the knees. Tight fitting clothing gives her a similar feeling of discomfort, so if the outfit is more form fitting it has to be covering her ankles and wrists, but if it shows skin it has to be on the looser side. Everyone who is close to her understands this fact, and it has caused problems with injuries on the field of battle before. (Whenever one of her kids thinks that they have lost her trust they are very surprised when they are proven wrong the next time Bea gets hurt in battle with them and she lets them treat her injuries. Jason cries every time at this show of trust when it’s directed at him. Sometimes when Bea knows she’s messed up with one of her kids and doesn’t know how to fix it, she’ll go on patrol with them and get hurt on purpose just to let them know she still loves them and still trusts them even if she can’t say it. Alfred, Cass, and Tim are the only ones to have caught on to this behaviour yet, but Damian is suspicious and very close to figuring it out.)

Damian is still her biological kid, Talia is still his other parent, and Bea still had no idea of his existence for the first 9-ish years of his life. Haven’t figured out how that works exactly yet, if anyone has any suggestions I’m all ears.

Bea has less of a ‘sleeps around’ reputation then her cannon male counterpart mainly because most of Gotham high society is intimidated by pretty strong lady who could probably crush like a grape if she really wanted to and they have no idea how to handle it because there is no precedent for something like this. The last time Gotham high society had to deal with a woman even remotely as huge as Bea was in the mid to late 1800s with one of her ancestors. (Who was also named Beatrice and who is considered to be the first great Matriarch of the Wayne family as it is agreed upon by most historians that the Wayne name and business are as powerful and influential as they are today because of many of her actions and choices.) There have been plenty of tall and muscular women in Gotham high society, but Bea is just so huge that they just don’t know the proper and polite way to approach her. Would it be insensitive to bring up her size in casual conversation? This inability for the socialites to figure out how to talk to Bea about anything other than business is not helped by the airhead persona Bea puts of in public. She doesn’t mind though, people are hard to talk to, the less people that she has to mindlessly chat with the better. The majority of those Gotham socialites that aren’t intimidated by her size will mainly approach her for a relationship for either fame, money, or purely for sexual desires. Bea doesn’t want an intimate relationship with someone unless it’s going to be a serious one and with someone who cares for her and wants the relationship because of her and not what she could give them, and after the forth potential partner approached her purely to increase their standing in high society and for some fun in the sheets, she decided that it was not worth the damage her self worth would take for whatever extra secret identity protection being an airhead who also likes to sleep around might give her.

The whole ‘Batman is a dude but Beatrice Wayne is a girl’ thing did throw Tim for a bit when he figured out Robin’s identity. As far as 9-year-old Tim could tell, the only man who was a part of Dick Grayson’s life was Alfred, and Alfred looks nothing like Batman. It didn’t stall him for long though, because once he realized Batman and Bea had the exact same body type it wasn’t that far of a stretch to assume that Bea chose the name Batman as a way to hide her secret identity more, and he admits that it’s a smart idea. (Later when Tim takes up the superhero identity of Red Robin, he carefully crafts his costume to make him appear more feminine for the exact same reason. The flame wars on the internet over what Red Robin’s gender is are absolutely legendary, no one can say that they are one hundred percent certain as to what this vigilante’s gender might be)

Whenever someone finds out that Batman is indeed, in fact, a woman, they completely loose their minds. Some of them are in complete disbelief until it has been proven to them without a shadow of a doubt that Batman is in fact female. Some look deep inside of themselves and ask “how did I not figure it out?”. Others, mainly the non human/not raised in human society and culture ones (and John Constantine), go “ok, thank you for trusting me with this clearly very personal to you information” and move on with their lives.

A small handful of villains, both big bosses and small time henchmen, have figured out that Batman is a woman. Lex Luther pieced it together because he’s smart and is willing to accept the idea of women who are tanks unlike other smart villainous men who despite all the extensive evidence they have collected clearly pointing to at least the possibility that Beatrice Wayne is Batman refuse to entertain the idea simple because Bea is a woman and Batman has man in his name. (Lex’s right hand man is a very capable woman named Mercy, after all. He may treat most other people on this planet like they are beneath him, but he will never treat one gender as less then the others.) The majority of bad guys who know that Batman is a women don’t know her secret identity, and only realized Batman is a women because they were in a fight where someone got in a lucky shot at the Dark Knight, making him down for the count, and instead of whichever one of his army of children was with him in that fight got worried, but instead of calling out ‘dad’ before beating the stuffing out of all the collective bad guy force, they screamed ‘mom’ before beating the stuffing out of the collective bad guy force.

Selina Kyle found out that Batman is a woman one night a few years into both of their nightly careers. As Catwoman, she saw Batman sitting on the edge of a building looking even more broody then usual and offered to be a listening ear for Batman to rant to if he wanted. Batman, having had a crappy week, happily agreed, and given the strange nature of their relationship figured that it was only a matter of time before Catwoman found out her identity, completely dropped the ‘manly Batman growly voice’ and proceeded to rant about some gold digger who wasn’t taking no for an answer and who was starting to take it to far and about some  board member she was to deal with who keeps disregarding her and brushing her off when she tries to give her input into the inner workings of her own company, and the only reason this week hasn't fallen into her top 10 worst weeks of her life is because all of the pain resistance training that she endured before she let herself become Gotham’s protector that is making her period cramps manageable. Selina listens as she said she would and has a slowly building existential crisis because, holy crap, Batman is a woman, and not only that, but she’s giving out info that could probably easily link Batman to her secret identity, and is Batman actually trusting Catwoman, one of her more infamous rouges, with her secret identity?! After her hour long rant, Batman turns to look at Catwoman asking if she might have any advice, to find that Catwoman has done the mental equivalent of blue screening while trying to process all of this. They soon become kinda friends after this and Selina joins Bea and Diana on their bi-monthly girls nights. (Or Diana joins Bea and Selina on their bi-monthly girls nights, depends on if Selina and Bea become friends before or after the Justice League forms. Pick which one you like better.

Batman still has a bit of a reputation for ‘being involved’ with some villains.

When it comes time for Bea to give the puberty talk to any of the boys she’s raising, she freaks out. No mater how many books she reads, how many experts she consults, how many times she’s done this in the past, she still convinced that she’s gonna mess it up and misinform one of her boys on something very important when it comes to their biology and development that will have long lasting and horrible repercussions all because she doesn’t have personal experience in this area. Alfred helps out to keep Bea from having a panic attack, because in all honesty Bea would do just fine on her own for this parenthood milestone, the only thing that would negatively effect the situation, and therefore the outcome, is Bea having a panic attack. When it’s time to give Cass the puberty talk Bea breaths a huge sigh of relief because, finally!, she has personal experience with female puberty.

As a bit of a joke, Dick would give Bea presents for both mother’s day and father’s day, because while Bea may be a mother, Batman is, technically speaking in the eyes of most of the world, a father. This habit spread to Jason who would always try to one up the presents Dick would give Bea out of spite that Dick was kind of of jerk. When Tim joined the family and saw Dick giving Bea presents on both days, he just assumed that that’s what your supposed to do because his parents were never around for father’s day or mother’s day. After that the tradition just kind of stuck to the Wayne family, and they all give presents to multiple important parental figures on both holidays. ( It takes Tim years to realize that that is, in fact, not how everyone does things, but is in fact just a thing they do. He is very shocked.)

That’s all I have for now. If anyone else has any ideas they would like to add, please do!

[hael987]

I 100% think it's absolutely necessary for Porsche to tell Kinn to go f himself after this.

Wait, hear me out...

Is Kinn in pain? Yes. Does he have a plan? Also probably yes. Can I understand why Kinn did what he did? Also yes. Is Porsche partly to blame for the situation? Also yes.

So why do I think Porsche should tell Kinn to f**k off and leave him (temporarily) and maybe also slap him again?

Firstly, the relationship they have is not healthy. It's full of distrust, clouded in old feelings and insecurity, and there's a definite imbalance. It was fine in the bubble but we've seen what happens as soon as reality enters the equation. So, like a bone that's not setting straight and consequently causing issues, you have to break it and start the process again.

It would be such an important character growth for Porsche to finally stand up for himself and put his own self first, to put himself as the priority for once. So far he's forgiven any transgressions against himself. He ends up completely glossing over what happened to him in ep 4/5. In ep 8, he begins an angry outburst but it quickly gets glossed over with an apology. He also forgives Vegas for kissing him. For once, I'd like to see him make a stand - believe and demand that he's worthy of more, that being treated that way is wrong and for once he shouldn't endure it. To recognise that he has power over himself and isn't just someone who exists solely for others.

It would also somewhat put an end to Kinn's martyrdom [all his suffering and sacrificing for the sake of the Family]. He'd be forced to realise there are some things he just can't afford to sacrifice. If he keeps on this path, he'll lose it for real - it's the wake-up call he'll need.

It'd also be the perfect catalyst for a conversation. There'd be this big explosion of anger that wipes everything out, but after the dust settles it'd be the perfect environment for some honest and open conversation to happen. They'd be forced to confront each other and also reality.

I really hope it happens because we'd get so much growth and development because of it.

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 8 - 5+1 / 3+1

You're in my sickbay again...

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x GN!Reader

Fandom: Star Trek (I was writing it as AOS but pretty sure it works for TOS as well if that's your jam)

Rating: Teen and up

TW: Mentions of torture, mention of injuries

AN: Day 8 of @tropetember. Not a massively in depth fic, more like snapshots of situations that occur through the relationship.

3 times Dr McCoy didn't want to see you in his medbay and 1 time he did

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

1

While you hadn’t been expecting to be beamed directly into the quarantine suite in the Medbay of the USS Enterprise, after three months working with Captain James T for Trouble Kirk, it wasn’t totally surprising either.

Kirk had been invited to a celebration feast in a system you were exploring, but had only been allowed to bring one guest. As Chief Security Officer or CSO, you had been volunteered for the position.

You had done everything you could to keep the Captain away from anything questionable. Sadly, conversations with him usually went something along the lines of:

“Jim, no”

“Jim, yes”.

It was something you regularly discussed in your sessions with the ship's newly appointed counsellor.

Since quarantine procedures were only instigated when the transporter detected an anomaly in the crew members being transported, and assuming it was due to Jim, you just sigh to yourself and shake your head.

“I told you to watch him closely!”

The southern drawl didn’t soften the accusation, even deadened as it was by the plexiglass divider that separated Quarantine from the rest of the medbay.

“I did! I don’t understa…”

You trail off as you have a sudden realisation and groan.

“I found him with his tongue down the Princess’s throat.”

Dr McCoy gives a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll have to run tests on both of you. The transporter team couldn’t definitively tell if you both have it.” He pauses and looks you up and down. “I expected better of you Lieutenant Commander”

“Yeah, cos you’re so much better at this than I am. It was Orion herpes last time, wasn’t it?”

The CMO just smirks and tells you to stop pointing fingers before sauntering off towards the storage cupboard. You respond by flipping him off. And you maybe watch his ass a little.

Turning to the Captain, who has been uncharacteristically silent until this point, you channel your inner McCoy.

“Goddamnit Jim!”

Jim decides that you and Bones are spending too much time together.

2

When Scotty had called to warn Dr McCoy of an incoming victim of an explosion in engineering, he had not expected it to be you.

“You’re in my sickbay again sweetheart.”

He uses a sing-song tone that he doesn’t employ with the rest of the crew. Nurse Chapel, who is at the other side of the bed, takes note to check in with the Captain as to the state of the betting pool. She believes she may have lost.

You nod in response to the doctor’s enquiry. You’re in far too much pain to think of anything more complex than that in response.

“What were you even doing in Engineering?” he grumbles to himself, moving around in the space to grab hypos, bandages, burn salve and a dermal regenerator. “You’re almost as bad as Jim and Spock.”

You try to focus on him but you’re struggling to stay conscious. It’s not aided by the painkillers he dumps into your system.

McCoy gently moves you to be laying on the bed. He’s concerned at the extent of the damage done and the nerve trauma to your arm. To ease your pain, he hits you with a sedative and you’re out like a light.

-------

You groan as you come back to consciousness, the light of the medbay hurting your eyes.

“Welcome back darlin’” you hear.

Smiling despite yourself, you squint in Leonard’s direction.

“I was helping with the repairs on the lower decks. I assumed it was safer than an away mission. Apparently I was wrong.”

Surprised laughter bubbles from the grumpy doctor as he agrees.

“Well, get yourself rested up. I’m serious this time. I don’t want to see you back in my medbay.”

“Sure” you agree, both of you knowing it won’t last for long. Occupational hazard. “Dinner and a movie on Saturday if the mean Doctor lets me go?”

3

It made a change for a mission to go wrong due to something Spock did but in a culture that valued feelings as much more important than logic, it was not that surprising.

Most of the crew had made a successful escape but yourself and Dr McCoy had been taken hostage during the initial skirmish. You’d been thrown in a cell together and that had been that.

Or at least, so you’d thought.

You’d been dragged from the cell, questioned and beaten in front of McCoy in an attempt to find out details of the Enterprise and it’s crew. You hadn’t broken, but by the time you’d been rescued, you definitely had at least a couple of broken ribs, a black eye and various assorted cuts and bruises.

Len was quiet as he helped to repair your injuries. Where you were black and blue, his torture had been psychological. He couldn’t get your screams out of your head.

Noticing his distracted state you grasps his jaw gently, disguising the wince it bring when it pulls a little, and raise his eyes to yours.

“This isn’t your fault.”

His eyes dart away but you stay firm.

“I am trained for this, Len. I’d do it again to protect you. But you’re going to need to let the guilt go.”

He sighs heavily.

“I’ll try.” He pauses to run the regen unit over your upper arm. “You’ll need to do me a favour though.”

“Anything.”

“Go on a date with me?”

Mr Spock had been on his way to apologise for the consequences of his actions but is distracted by the fact that he has won the betting pool. He better inform the Captain and come back later.

1

You’re still not sure how it happened. As CSO, your main responsibility was the Captain and when things went wrong, his safety was paramount. You couldn’t check on everyone else. You just had to trust that your team was doing their job.

You hadn’t even realised Len had been hit until you landed on the transporter pad.

There had been so much blood.

Now, you were pacing outside the OR. It had been hours since the beam out when finally M’Benga pops his head out.

“He’ll be ok. He won’t be working for a few weeks but he’ll be ok.”

Your knees give out from under you and you land heavily on the chair behind you. Tears of relief escape without your permission and you drop your head into your hands.

M’Benga gives your shoulder a squeeze, letting you know where Len is being moved to and giving you permission to stay with him, before heading off to finish cleaning himself up.

You take a deep breath and approach Len’s bed. His larger than life presence is softened in sleep and you can’t help but notice how fragile he looks.

Taking his hand, you place a kiss on his knuckles and then rest your head against the mattress. After nearly 36hrs awake, you’re out like a light

-----

You wake to the feeling of fingers running through your hair which you automatically nuzzle into. It’s nice. Comforting.

It takes longer than you’d ever admit to orient yourself, but when you do, you raise yourself and meet Len’s eyes. He has a soft smile on his face that you can’t help but mirror.

“Sorry for dropping in, I know you didn’t want to see me in your medbay.” It’s a cheeky comment but it widens his smile into a grin. You pat yourself on the back for lightening the atmosphere.

“I’ll let you off this time.” His voice is a bit scratchy from lack of use but it sounds like the finest music to your ears. How could you have been so close to never hearing it again? He continues, “care to join me for dinner? I’m afraid there’s only jello.”

You laugh at the silly grump of a man in the hospital bed. Your best friend. Your favourite person. The love of your life.

“I’d love to.”

[babyloposts]

Quiet S/O Headcannons

Parings: Kaminari x reader, Mina x Reader, Kirishima x reader, Bakugo x reader

A/N: there are a lot of misconceptions about quiet people. Not all quiet people are shy, they just choose their words carefully. Not everyone can handle the smoke 🤷🏾‍♀️ as always the reader is Black but anyone can read. Enjoy ;)

𝐾𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑖 𝐷𝑒𝑛𝑘𝑖~

You seem like total opposites. You were quiet and rarely ever joined in on any of the class antics and Denki was the one usually starting the antics.

Your classmates wouldn’t have shipped you guys together in a million years, but you both made it work.

Quite simply, Denki made you laugh like no one else could. He said what was on his mind whenever he wanted and was 100% candid. You were too, but preferred to keep your thoughts to yourself.

When getting to know you, Denki found out your sense of humor was more dry and it perfectly complimented his outlandish attitude.

Y’all could not pair up for an assignment, or training because as soon as someone would do something even remotely funny or get hit, you’d start talking shit under your breath and of course Denki would hear you, take your joke and run with it.

You two are always giggling about random shit. You have countless inside jokes that once you bring up will have this man snickering for a good ten minutes. It doesn’t help that he’s always adding to the jokes, by pointing to your classmates or making faces at them.

“Y/N and Denki your behavior right now is completely inappropriate.” Iida is always yelling at you to stop joking around, but him laughing just makes it funnier and Kaminari always ends up apologizing for the both of you.

Do you stop? Ofc not.

𝐴𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑎~

You definite thought Mina was a lot when you first met her. Bubbly personalities weren’t really your thing.

You really hit it off after your first practice mission together.

You were out looking for villains when you almost got crushed by some falling rubble. Mina was able to save you with her quirk just just in time.

She begged you to start asking for help when you needed it because she didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

After that mission you guys came up with a lot of physical signals to indicate a multitude of feelings and cues.

You two literally have signs for everything. A light hip bump means you’re ready to go home. A graze on the elbow means you need assistance. And a circle on your palm meant ‘I love you’

Just because you weren’t a big talker in public didn’t mean you two didn’t have your intimate moments in private.

You and Mina talked about your futures a lot. Mina was super into fashion and you wanted to be a writer. You two talked about your passions and how to reach your goals. Mina is super supportive and pushes you to do things you thought were never possible.

𝐾𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑎 𝐸𝑖𝑗𝑖𝑟𝑜~

You didn’t talk more so to spare people’s feelings than anything else. You were pretty hot headed, anything but shy, but that’s what people first assumed about you because you weren’t trying to make enemies everywhere you went.

Kirishima was the first boy in your class to talk to you. Mainly because he had a crush on you, but also because a lot of the others cast you out for being so stand off-ish.

Kiri was also the first person you really laid into. At first his constant pestering was kind of annoying, and one day it just set you off.

Kirishima wasn’t deterred by your straightforwardness it just made him like you more. You were straight up and said what you wanted despite the consequences. He accepted you for who you were and that’s what attracted you.

All of your other classmates, however, were not as accepting to your explosive tendencies. (I mean they already have to deal with Bakugou) So if Kirishima can tell you’re getting ticked off he’ll diffuse the situation by talking for you and getting the other person out of your line of fire.

It was obvious that you and Bakugou would feud eventually. You ate him up and called him out on his bullshit on more than one occasion. That was Kirishima’s best friend, but he was thinking it too.

“Boy you’re not better than anybody in here. How you wanna be a pro-hero, the number one hero, but failed your lisensing exam. You let Mineta get his provisional license before you. What does that say about you, sir?”

“I don’t know why you had to bring me into it.” ���� -Mineta

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜𝑢 𝐾𝑎𝑡𝑠𝑢𝑘𝑖~

Another polar opposite pairing. You were super sweet and soft spoken. You were the Yin to his Yang. The much needed calm to the hurricane of a personality he has.

The one thing that always calmed him was when you whispered in his ear. No matter what he was angry about if you whispered for him to calm down or promise to cuddle and make him feel better later he would instantly mellow out.

Of course Bakugou was super over protective of you. He sticks up for you whenever people comment about how quiet you are.

“Why don’t you mind your fucking business?”

“Calm down Katsuki, it’s ok.”

[ramzawrites]

Ghost!Reader and Ghostbur a match made in heaven

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Ghostbur/Wilbur, Quackity, Philza, Ranboo, (mentioned) Fundy, (mentioned) Niki, (mentioned) Tubbo

Warnings: mentions of death, cursing

Series: No, a small drabble to get the blog and my brain juices going, might make a sequel that leans more into the X Ghostbur territory depending if people want that.

Summary: Y/N wakes up and gets confronted by Quackity that they are apparently dead and forgot everything. Quackity takes them on a small tour through L’manberg to show them to Ghostbur though for what reason he isn’t absolutely sure himself seeing how Y/N died by the hands of Wilbur.

Words count: 1930

Y/N opened their eyes immediately noticing the warm sun that was laying a blanket of warmth on their whole body. Birds were happily chirping as the wind was softly brushing through the trees, making for a nice background noise.

They then noticed that they were in fact laying outside with their arms and legs outstretched but for some reason they didn’t feel inclined in moving. It felt comfortable and safe.

“Y/N?” someone called out from behind.

They felt a bit disgruntled for having to move but when they looked back towards where the the shout came from, they saw a man with a beanie and small yellow wings approaching them.

With a soft smile they waved towards that person “Yes, I believe that is my name!”

Once the person got closer they noticed how shocked he looked. His mouth was wide open, as well as his eyes.

Huffing Y/N finally stood up and walked slowly towards this shocked man “Hello? You did call out for me is that right? Y/N is my name I think.”

He in return slowly shook his head, slowly opening up and closing his mouth as if he was searching for the right words but they just wouldn’t appear. To make him feel more comfortable Y/N tried to put on their nicest smile in order to encourage him. Quite the weird man isn’t he?

“Yeah that is your name but are you like Ghostbur?” he suddenly blurted out which resulted in him smacking his hands against his mouth as if he just suddenly said something incredibly rude or embarrassing.

Y/N frowned and gave his question a good thought before answering “I’m sorry but I don’t think I know what you mean, sir.” Ghostbur? Who is that? Like him? In what way?

“Sir? Y/N, don’t you know who I am?”

Embarrassed Y/N did notice that this man clearly knew their name but when they looked at him nothing came to their mind “Oh, I’m so sorry! I suppose that must have slipped my mind! This is embarrassing.”

The man nodded to himself as if he finally realized what was happening “I’m, uh, Quackity. You used to help me a lot out back when I was Vice President.”

“Oh, really? That is weird that I can’t re-“

But Quackity interrupted them “Okay, listen I think I know what is going on but I need to check something first. What is the last thing you remember before you met me here.”

Y/N tapped their lips with their fingers as they begun thinking “Hmm, well I remember waking up under the sun here but before that. I remember warmth, no, heat. Something was hot.” Now a frown was beginning to form on their face “A scream? From who? Me? Ugh, I’m sorry Quackity I’m beginning to have a headache I just cannot remember more.”

Quackity looked hurt and defeated as he listened, nervously kneading his hands “Hey, Y/N you do realize you are dead, right? Like, you are a ghost right now.”

They blinked for a second and looked down their body which did look a bit transparent “Ah, I guess you are right! I suppose I am dead!”

“Do you know how you died?”

“What is this? An interrogation?” Y/N laughed but chose to answer the question nonetheless “All I remember is a loud bang, heat and then I was gone. That’s it.”

Quackity nodded “Come with me.”

And Y/N answered cheerfully “Okay!” as they happily floated next to him.

Quackity then led Y/N into a really pretty city. He explained to them this little nation was called L’Manberg and was currently in the middle of being rebuilt. On the way he apparently reintroduced them to a number of characters like Tubbo, Fundy, Niki and introduced them to Ranboo which was a funny little thing.

As Ranboo approached Quackity begun explaining “Ah, he is new you wouldn’t have known him but his name is-“

But Y/N was already floating over to the Hybrid, stretching their hand out “Hello! My name is Y/N I do not remember you so I’m sorry! Can you tell me your name again?”

The teenager stared at them with an unsure expression but still shook their hand “Oh! We met before? I’m sorry Y/N I can’t seem to remember you as well but my name is Ranboo.”

Quackity then had to explain to the both of them that they have actually never met before. He then urged Y/N to continue walking since he had a specific person in mind they should talk to. He was thinking of Ghostbur.

Ghostbur doesn’t remember either but he and Y/N used to be best friends but also the reason for their death. When he pressed the button Y/N was in the middle of the explosion consequently loosing their last life. Shortly after, Wilbur himself died.

After some walking and searching Quackity grew annoyed so he just decided to yell out his name “Ghostbur! Where the fuck are you?”

“You called Quackity?” A soft voiced asked.

When Y/N looked they saw a pale man float from behind the building towards them. He wore a yellow sweatshirt and a red beanie on his fluffy brown hair. A single grey strand was running along the front of his hair.

They wanted to great this new man, which they presumed was Ghostbur but their body refused to act so they let Quackity speak first.

“Good, you are here. Ghostbur you know this person?”

Ghostbur was putting his hand against his chin as he floated towards Y/N. Floating around them looking at them from every angle. As he was upside down staring at them he finally spoke up again “I feel like we have been friends before. Way back. I’m sorry new ghost but I have a horrible memory.”

“Oh, I cannot remember you at all! So I’m sorry! I seem to not be able to remember anything! My name is Y/N!”

“Y/N! That’s it! You are a ghost as well! I guess we can continue being friends as ghosts! Isn’t that fun!”

The two ghosts begun happily chatting about what they remember from their death as Quackity just stared at them. He was hoping this could either awaken any memories from Y/N or Ghostbur. He wasn’t really sure what he would accomplish by doing this or what good it would do but he had to try.

He was disappointed but he didn’t know why.

“I’m gonna let you guys be, okay?” but the two weren’t really listening anymore. They were now comparing their transparency.

From that day on it was a rare thing if you didn’t see the two together. Most people first reaction was that of shock. Sure, they started out as friends but over time as Wilbur grew more desperate slowly loosing himself, Y/N made sure to stay away from him.

They tried their best to get him back off that edge but never succeeded. When the war happened they were fighting on Wilbur’s side but whenever he tried to talk to them they would just walk away.

Then they died. By a single button press from Wilbur.

While most assumed that Wilbur didn’t realize this, Philza knew. When he protected Wilbur from the blast Wilbur was squirming around trying to get a look as L’Manberg went up only for him to grow limp and whispering a shocked “Y/N”. At that point Philza was confused why he did that but after he learned of Y/N and that they apparently died in the blast, he knew.

So when he saw Ghostbur and Y/N happily interacting with each other he weirdly enough felt happy but also felt a pang of pain in his heart. Both deaths were unfair and seeing them interact like this now felt wrong to him but both seemed so happy.

The two, Ghostbur and Y/N, both lived in the sewers together. Enjoying their time as ghosts and handing out a substance called “Blue” towards everyone.

While Ghostbur still remembered some happy parts of his life Y/N barely remembered anything but small parts from their death. When prompted to try to remember more they would always get a huge headache that can get to the point that seemingly destabilizes their ghostly body, so the others didn’t try to force them again.

Philza tried to get Ghostbur to tell him more abt Y/N and what he remembers about them but he would always just answer “They were and are my best friend. I love them dearly. We hung out all the time it is really nice that we can hang out after dying as well.”

There was only one time their old self came through a bit. It was right after Tubbo exiled Tommy. Ghostbur was trying to talk to Y/N and make them follow him and Tommy. Y/N would say that the others in L’Manberg needed them to cheer all of them up so they couldn’t follow now but later they would.

Ghostbur wouldn’t take that as an answer since the two did everything together.

Y/N then got angry, so angry the other’s were figurately transported back into the time where both were still alive yelling at each other as they watched.

“No! I will not follow, Wilbur! You always do this! You assume I will just follow you but not this time! This time you are going down a route I cannot follow you!”

Everyone was surprised to hear that. For Tubbo and Fundy who stood close by recognized this speech. This was one to one what the alive Y/N once yelled at Wilbur.

Ghostbur was furrowing his eyebrows “I’m not Alivebur, I’m Ghostbur.”

Y/N looked confused themselves as they held their head in pain “I- I know that. I’m sorry Ghostbur. I have no idea where that came from. I- uh, please go after Tommy. I will come visit later and maybe stay but right now I need to be here.”

Ghostbur nodded and floated off.

Fundy wanted to run over to Y/N asking them if they remembered anything more but they were basically running off to the sewers saying that they needed to be alone.

They don’t know what came over them. Suddenly there was this hot anger that begun to form at the pit of their stomach only to bubble over which lead to their outburst. As they were yelling they swore they were standing inside a cave. Wilbur wasn’t transparent and wearing an old destroyed coat. One of his eyes hidden behind his fluffy hair that has grown longer. The grey streak gone.

They themself felt stronger but sad. Angry. Disappointed. Heartbroken.

Fundy and Tubbo were standing by. Both looked roughed up and worried. Tubbo had bandages hidden beneath his chin. One of his eyes was covered by bandages as well and Y/N remembered feeling so much anger when they saw Tubbo. Not against Tubbo but to whoever did this to him.

As they wanted to take a closer look at more around them, they suddenly noticed that they were standing outside in L’Manberg with an obsidian wall next to them. Ghostbur in front of them, looking hurt. Tubbo and Fundy looking pale as the others who were also listening looked more shocked and confused.

They huddled down in the sewers in the room with the nice warm fire Ghostbur started. Bookshelves full with books that Ghostbur and Y/N found. A couple of books they wrote together where also found between them.

Y/N hugged themselves as a thought crossed their mind “Did Ghostbur take >How to Sex 2< with him? I’m sure Tommy misses it.”

[hidethisblogjfc]

Sorry if this is terrible lol

Warnings- Mentions of stuffing, Scat, Eprocto, messing, brief mentions of omo (but I'm not really into that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Boxes from varying take out restaurants are littered around them, everything from Chinese from that questionable hole in the wall down the street, to a popular burger joint a couple blocks over. They aren't all from just one day, no, some of these are from dinner five days go. They've never been as good at keeping up with the cleaning as B is, or perhaps, A thinks, this slobby behavior is just a consequence the laziness that accompanies their...…over indulging.

By now, B has been gone on their overseas business trip for about five days, which means that A has two days to get everything back into unassuming order, though, part of A warns that maybe they should get around to it sooner, rather than later. Still, they ignore it, because it just feels so good to live out their fantasy, especially after keeping it under close wraps for so, so long.

A loves B, they do, with everything in them, but there are just some things that they're almost positive B won't get behind, and so, its been easier to hide their less than conventional desires; only getting an extra serving of fries as opposed to the additional burger or two that they want, or getting a large soda instead of that extra large milkshake. Usually, A wishes that they could take things further than just a handful of fries and sugary pop, they want to push their body, see how much they can eat before they're too full to move, become an almost permanent resident of the living room sofa, only giving the weighed down cushions a break when they lug their heavy frame to bed. For as long as they could remember, that's the life that A has dreamed of. But it's quite possible that B, who's notoriously clean, neat and healthy would be absolutely repulsed by just the idea.

And A loves B too much to lose them.

But they also wish they could have that life, that dream, with their partner.

But they can't.

Which is why when B came home one day, announcing that they're cushy job, would be sending them away for a week of seminars, the idea had bloomed in A's head; this was their chance. At first A felt a little guilty, especially when the first delivery guy had shown up, both arms filled with A's order, making a joke about how they must having been having a party, because conventionally, one simply doesn't order off half the menu unless there's company. And then, when they'd offered up the card that B religiously maintains for them, A had felt even worse; they were lying to the person they loved.

But then A popped that first egg roll into their mouth. The crispiness of the egg dipped shell crunching between their teeth, the explosion of flavors; oily, fried cabbage and carrots, melding with the saltiness of soy sauce and the juicy meat inside, had them moaning in pleasure. By the time the first delicious roll was through, and A glanced down at their lap, seeing that there were five more to go, all remnants of contrition seemed to dissipate. For the first time in years, they could eat without someone at their side, reminding them to take it easy so they don't make themselves sick.

That night, the first one after B's temporary departure, A had surprised themselves by finishing everything they'd ordered. Granted, it was past one am when they'd popped the last dumpling into their mouth, and they most definitely couldn't move after, but that was all part of the fun.

Things became even more fun when all that greasy food had started digesting, or at least, tried to. A was no laid on the sofa, the blue light from the television illuminating room, t-shirt bunched up at their chest and their hand splayed on their bare, bloated gut. Loud, deep belches plagued them for a while, the scent acting as a reminder of everything they'd scarfed down; eggrolls, noodles, orange chicken and stuffed dumplings, all washed down with two liters of their favorite soda, straight from the bottle.

Ever so often, A would groan following a protesting gurgle emanating from their over worked tummy, and eventually, those gurgles and that audible sloshing, slowly began making its rounds through their system. They weren't ready for the toilet yet though; fetid gas had just started being expelled into the chair, creating a humid cloud around them and joining their wet burps.

As much as it hurt though, and as foul as their gassy emissions were, A could hardly find it in their being to be remorseful. The gas continued through the late night, progressively growing sloppier, with a dangerous moisture accompanying each drawn out, bubbling fart. Yet, despite the symphony created by their ass, their gut didn't deflate one bit, instead it continued to press against the waistband of A's sweat pants, stained at the front with sauces from their adventurous dinner. A hadn't gone to bed that night, opting to spend the night dozing off in front of the television, occasionally rousing to drowsily rub large circles on their tum.

It was early the next morning when a particularly harsh cramp gripped their tummy, squeezing out a long fart, reminiscent of a liquidly gurgle from their ass, ended in a loud squelch. The new slimy warmth seeping past their crack and spreading around the seat of their underwear made what had happened glaringly obvious, while the musky air had taken on a new foulness.

Briefly, they'd contemplated standing up, and heading to the toilet like they usually would, but the feeling of their sloppy mess gathered in their undies brought an incomparable pleasure, and so instead of standing, A simply turned on their side, bending their knees slightly, so their butt wouldn't be pressed into sofa. A short, primal grunt pressed their lips together in a tight line as they pushed, a blort audible over the hum of a morning show as a larger batch of runny poop landed in their pants.

"Oh fuck," they hissed, reliving their bladder too, creating a dark wet patch on the front of their sweats to match to one at the back. The thick, pee soaked fabric clung to their thighs, while at the back, the mess made it pull away from their skin.

Their tummy groaned angrily, bubbling under A's palm as their load came effortlessly, soft lumps stretching the puckered, swollen lips of their anus. The semi-solid masses were occasionally interrupted by waves of pure mush, making a sickly burbling sound as it joined the impressive load in their underwear, making it wetter and heavy. It felt like waves of thick, warm sludge was just steadily flowing out of them, as if a tap had been opened.

Eventually when A stood, they could still manage brief, packed toots, though, unless they wanted to risk the integrity of the sofa, they'd had to finish up in the bathroom.

That, was going on five days ago. Now, A has let go even further, eating whatever they want guiltlessly, making their pants double as their bathroom, regardless of wherever they are in the house, and showering only when whatever they're wearing threatens to leave telling stains on the furniture. It feels like they're living an absolute dream; a slobby, smelly dream. Though, in two days, its back to normal.

Two days, forty-eight hours, countless minutes. It's a ways away, so A figures that they can get away with their questionable hygiene and eating habits for a while longer, and with that in mind, they linger among the clutter they've created, sitting in their eggy stink with the television playing reruns of their favorite show, as they wait for dinner to arrive, a generous selection from the bar-b-que place a couple blocks away.

It's late, and while their latest pair of sweats is a bit tighter than usual because of the perpetual bloat they've acquired over the past few days and even a little stained from misjudging a couple farts, A's pants are mostly dry and somewhat clean. They've already decided that they won't give a shower too much thought until the next morning, and the evidence of their latest raid of the snack cabinet is littered around them. It feels like heaven, that is, until from down the hall, they hear keys jingling in the door.

And there's only one person beside them with a key. The other person that lives there, A's unassuming partner; B.

They're early!

"Shit," in the haste to stand up, the pressure on their on their pudgy tummy pushes out a rumbling fart, only worsening the stench in the room, and suddenly, what mere minutes ago felt like ultimate bliss feels like a cruel punishment. B can't see them like this.

"A?" A can hear the curiosity peaked in B's tone, and they know its because the musky odor has long travelled down the downstairs hall of their condo, "Baby what's-"

A desperately tries to greet B nearer to the door, and hopefully stall, before they can witness their unofficial base of operations, but they're too slow and they're just pushing aside some of the empty boxes and soda cans when B enters, one of their carry-on's slipping from their shoulder and falling onto the typically pristine marble floor, jaw hanging slack in surprise. Cautiously, B probes, "Did you have a party or something?"

With their already dodgy stomach knotting with nerves, A shakes their head; B probably gonna figure it out anyway. A hasn't even though about it at this point, but B pays all of the credit card bills, just one look at the next one is gonna give away what they'd planned on hiding. Really, it's best they just tell the truth. "No," A croaks, wringing their fingers in front of their distended tummy, squeezing their musky cheeks closed to keep a barrage of nervous gas at bay.

The shock on B's face is unwavering, and it takes a moment before they're finally able to muster up their next questions, "You ate all of this? This is...…all you?" A is just noticing the slight scrunch in B's nose, and it only fuels the fear that the end of their relationship is inevitable. Why would someone like B want to be with A, they think and there isn't a way in their mind that this is going to work.

"Yeah," A nods, embarrassed.

B seems like they're about to say something, but their thoughts are interrupted by a buzz on the intercom;

A's food is here.

And they have a lot to talk about

[sunjaesol]

and in the haze you see colours

juke | human soulmate au | title: 5 am // amber run

The first colour she ever saw was purple.

When someone was born, they got to see one colour. To each it was different and often a reflection of one's aura. Julie's aura was purple and, naturally, it was the colour she could see. Which was unfortunate, as there weren't many purple things in life - not naturally, at least.

And so, her entire bedroom was purple. Purple walls and purple sheets and purple stationary. The rest were varying shades of grey. Often times, she asked her parents why some were lighter than others, and they told her about green and blue and red. It sounded like a fairy tale. Red was warm, apparently, and blue was flexible and green was fresh. Despite their best attempts, she couldn't visualise it.

It didn't matter. Once she met her soulmate, she would see all the colours imaginable.

Befriending Flynn was easy. The girl had purple ribbons in her hair and that instantly attracted Julie. Vice versa, Julie's orange dress was a plus for Flynn. Through their deep bond, oranges slowly infused itself in her cornea. Orange, like a child's laughter.

With Carrie came pink. Pink, like the fiery moves of a dancer. It was close to purple, so it wasn't a huge shock to see a bouquet of roses suddenly come alive with colour.

In retrospect, gaining orange and pink wasn't that amazing. Not when she lost her mother while doing so. Placing pink dahlias on her grave was just another punch in the gut.

Years passed and people around her found their soulmates. In freshmen year, so many students gasped and fainted as they crossed eyes with their One. She went to parties and someone would start randomly kissing the other. She went to open mics and watched as her soprano voice accompanied two people finding love. It was as beautiful as it was tragic.

Julie was seventeen and she still hadn't found her soulmate. Statistically, most had by now. Had she not gone to The Orpheum that night, she might’ve waited even longer.

Flynn urged her to go to this new and upcoming band, Sunset Curve, as their sound was someone she’d vibe with. Julie wasn’t really feeling it, drowning in homework and song ideas, but her friend was persistent. They needed a breather from everything and a concert was the perfect remedy. After a quick Google search, she realised they were her age. Curiosity swelled in her chest, wondering how they moved up from open mics or school assemblies to the iconic stage of The Orpheum. The only thing she could note about the band was the drummer’s pink hoodie. That was it.

The venue was packed when they arrived. Boisterous chatter, antsy for the band to come on stage and fill the spaces between the instruments. Glasses chiming of sodas and beers being filled and passed around, the soft hum of pop music blaring from a speaker. Most of the crowd were kids from neighbouring schools and all dressed more alternatively. Though she didn’t see most colours, it was clear as day the band tees were vintage and the trousers were ripped or checkered or both.

She shot Flynn a look. “Are you sure this is our thing?”

“Yes!” Propelling them to the front of the stage and consequently shouldering kids in the ribs, she added: “Their biggest hit is, like, insane. And you’ve been in a funk all week, so you need some insanity. To like, counteract it. I don’t know.”

Julie withheld a pout. She’s been ‘in a funk’, because while she was at Eats & Beats grabbing a coffee, two strangers fawned at the sight of each other. RIght in front of her nose, another couple found. It normally didn’t affect her that much, but it did this time. The girl was sick of hearing about romantical love instead of experiencing it herself. Sure, she had Flynn and Carrie and her family, but…

But she wanted that. She wanted more. And with each ticking hour, it felt less and less viable. Where was the One for her?  

The lights dimmed and the pop music stopped, smoke drifting across the stage as the audience began hollering and whistling. Egging the band to get on and give a performance worth watching. The hyped-up teens pushed everyone to the front, now Julie and Flynn forced to crane their necks to watch.

The drummer came on first, all applauding for him as he took his seat and started a drum beat that quickly upped in tempo. It swept them up in an atmosphere, heads bobbing and feeling that rise in anticipation.

Then the bassist came. His dark jacket glittered in the overhead lights, the flannel peaking beneath almost hinting at orange but remaining grey. He added to the beat, bringing in a bassline that had feet bouncing and more people cheering. The mic at the front remained empty, teasing its explosion of lyrics and electricity.

Finally, at the crescendo of sound, the frontman stormed on. He was all charm and smirks and cut-offs and blazing purple shoes. That caught her off guard, eyes dropping to the ultraviolet sneakers. A shock of colour amidst the grey.

His raspy voice belted out lyrics, a grin pulling on Julie’s face at the musicality. Grabbing Flynn’s hand, they jumped around with the other people. Their music was insane. It was fast and clashing and aggressive and raw.

With her neck in its odd position, she observed the singer for a beat. He was… hot. That was all Julie could think. He was hot. His hair falling perfectly right, big eyes, the smile breaking all lines in his face like a beautiful mosaic. Humming like an undercurrent was a buzz right beneath her ribs. Snug and warm, which could’ve been the vibrations from the amps, but it felt different. A good different.

They were in their fourth song when it happened. The band was kicking and jumping around, singing about making it big and not looking down, skyrocketing to stardom, when it happened.

The lead singer dropped to his knees and let the guitar riff bleed to the front row. The audience hollered, Julie laughing in delight at the expert playing, when her and the guy’s gazes met.

He yelped, music stopping short as he careened over the edge and crashed to the floor. Simultaneously, Julie felt the air knocked out of her lungs, losing balance and falling into Flynn. Her eyes were shrivelling with heat, as if hit with the embers of a campfire. A hammer slammed down on the buzz in her chest, electrifying the feeling till it was nearly unbearable.

Her eyes shot open. And then there was colour.  

The crowd dispersed in fright. Gasps and gawks echoed to the back, curious murmurs carefully watching the guy and the girl come to their senses.

“Flynn,” she exclaimed, grabbing for her friend. “Flynn, I can-”

Except she wasn’t there, joining the rest of the crowd further back. The bassist and drummer were watching on, baffled.

Oh. Her stare drifted to the squirming boy on the floor. Oh.

Luke scrambled upright, instantly coming face to face with Front Row Girl and all the colours he has wished to see forever. His eyes were burning from shock and euphoria, greys and whites bleeding out of his bloodstream.

Her hands grasped for his face, worried, lips forming words he hardly registered but vaguely processed as ‘asking if he was okay.’

“Y-yeah, yeah,” he stuttered, his gaze racing across her features to wholly take her in.

Warm skin and wide, brown eyes and dark lashes and curled, pink lips and a pointed chin and glossy, long curls dancing against her cheeks and soft hands and red - she was wearing red. His colour. His soulmate.

He laughed. “Hi.”

She matched it, giggling. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he sighed, still in disbelief that she was his soulmate. His soulmate. His soulmate. The One.

Her trembling smile softened, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones. “You have really pretty eyes,” she whispered.

Her own were shining with unshed tears and he felt himself choking up too. Never in a million years did he think he’d meet his soulmate. To him, it had always been music. Sure, it sounded nice, but he knew he shouldn’t be yearning for it. He had his friends - his aura was red and he gained pink from Alex and yellow from Reggie.

But suddenly she was here. She was really here.

“You’re- pretty-” he stumbled, causing her to laugh again.

Yeah, there was no way he’d be able to continue the gig. The Orpheum was a big deal, but meeting your soulmate? Most monumental moment of anyone's life.

There was so much colour now. So much life. There was so much more than just music and red and pink and yellow to enjoy. (Songs swirled in his mind though, exciting him to the bone as his hands slid to grab her own. Winking all coy, like the best was yet to come.)

“Do you wanna talk?” he rushed out after.

She nodded. “Yeah. You- uh- your band-”

Their fingers intertwined, warmth dancing in his heart. “Doesn’t matter,” he chuckled. “Really does not matter right now.”

The light of a camera flash and exhilarated screams of ‘soulmates!’ ripped them from their bubble. The bassist jumped offstage and clapped Luke on the back, whispering at him to go to the alley. Leading her away, there was no sense of doubt in their steps. Luke didn’t know her name, she maybe didn’t know his. None of that mattered. There was colour now.

From the alleyway, they found themselves wandering around the Strip as they talked for ages. Her name was Julie, his was Luke, they were musicians, they were seventeen, their auras were purple and red, he decided he adored her smile the most and she his twinkling eyes.

“I think they’re green,” Julie said, peering into his eyes. She was impossibly close and it sort of took his breath away. “They’re fresh.”

“Fresh?” he grinned.

She didn’t lean back - she didn’t want to, his soul simply enigmatic - and asked him the same question. “What are mine?”

His expression softened, a smile twitching on his lips. They’re beautiful. “Brown, I think,” he said instead. “Not sure though. You wanna figure it out tomorrow?”

Her stride halted, their grasp on each other nearly yanked apart. His brows raised expectantly. It was there - that invisible, innate, sense of understanding. It wasn’t just colour. It was the refusal to look at colour alone, ever again. It was insane for the both of them, how their rushing thoughts slotted all puzzle pieces together without a hitch. It had that satisfying click-click-click sound, like dominoes.

Luke found himself coming back to her, the space between them disappearing till their arms pressed together and there were no forces tugging them together. It was all themselves.

“I have a book about colour,” Julie eventually said. “We can learn them all.”

He smirked. “I can tell you your lips are pink.”

“Yours are too.”

“Yeah?” he teased.  

But then she lifted a finger and pressed against the plump skin. His heart stopped short at the sensation. Before he gave into the instinct to pucker them and kiss it, her hand dropped.

Julie grinned. “And now they’re red.”

When Luke kissed her, hers were red too.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @unsaidjulie​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​ @ourstarscollided​ @pink-flame​ @constantly-singing​ @stydixa​

[persephonesinfernos]

ignoti nulla cupido | part three.

summary: natasha finds you once again to be able to keep her an tony’s promise to keep you safe, but how would they react when they’ll learn about the little dirty secret you have been keeping since you left bucky’s side?  

word count: 1173.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

author’s note: shit starts to get real so be prepared.

ignoti nulla cupido series | masterlist.

A week has passed since the little impromptu road trip started, it seemed that Nat had all the time of the world to get to the Avenger’s Compound. Something that really stroke a nerve within (Y/N) because, if there was an imminent danger, why would she take so long to get there?

After all, she had made her come out in the clear after three years. (Y/N) was now in the real world, the safety that the bubble the town she was living in provided no longer existed. Both mother and child were out in the clear, a much bright and scary world than what she remembered.

There had been multiple stops along the way to the west coast: dinners, museums, amusement parks, Nat took care of all. She and James became friends surprisingly fast earning the aunt tittle in a matter of days.

It astounded (Y/N) how good Nat was with her son giving the fact that his father and her sometimes didn’t even look at each other’s way, or at least that was how it was back then.  Seeing her with James did bring back thoughts she’d pushed back to the deepest corners of her mind.

How would it be like if she had returned when she found out she was pregnant? Would that have changed anything between Bucky and her? Maybe it could, maybe if (Y/N) had come back Bucky would have loved her again, lots of maybes running wildly through her restless mind.

But what (Y/N) did know for sure was that she couldn’t force anything into Bucky, that she wouldn’t let a kid fix them both. No, she had seen that before, how parents got together again if they were expecting and that never ended up well. After all, she has been that child once in her life and she would not put that burden upon her baby’s shoulders.

Natasha stopped the car near a wood breaking her course of though. (Y/N) looked through the window, it didn’t look very welcoming. “Where are we at Nat?”

“We’re spending the night here, there’s a cabin just at the shore’s lake. Maybe do some fishing, a campfire, get the whole camping in the woods experience?” She stated jovially looking at Jay that couldn’t look more delighted.

“Okay” She just responded as she got off the car getting to James. “You and I are gonna have a talk, real talk Russian redhead once he’s out in bed” (Y/N) whispered to Natasha as her son ran to the cabin.

“Okay mamma” She chuckled “I see you master that motherly tone (Y/N/N) and it just makes you even scarier than before.”

“What’s going on? For real this time, so don’t you dare give me a fucking excuse this time” (Y/N) spat back to Nat when she was sure her son was deeply asleep inside the cabin.

“Nothing’s going on, I just want to spend some quality time with my best friend. The best friend I haven’t seen in almost four years and get to know her son before we get to the Compound and all hell breaks loose.” She said back nonchalantly but(Y/N) didn’t buy it, she was nervous. She seemed to be on alert as if she was expecting something to happen at any given moment.

“Nat, if you don’t tell me right now was goin…” (Y/N) couldn’t finish as an explosion was heard and both of them were thrown a few miles ago due to the blast.

(Y/N) couldn’t hear anything, but she stood up and ran to the cabin screaming her only son’s name. She didn’t see Nat running behind her as she pulled out a gun but she did felt her hand grabbing her wrist as she was about to enter the house.

“(Y/N), stop. You can’t go in there, it could be a trap” Everything sounded distorted and distant.

“My son is in there Nat, what the hell?” She said trying to break free, but she was stronger than her. All those years without training had their effects on (Y/N).

“Dammit, this was supposed to be a safe location” She let go of her as she surveyed the area. “Okay, I’m gonna get in there with you. I hope you’re not rusty because I got a feeling that your abilities are going to be very much needed.” She handed her a gun and smiled softly to her, motioning to get into the cabin.

Everything was clear, no sign of James. (Y/N)  started to panic, she couldn’t breathe, her son was gone. She did this, she let Nat dragged both of them off of their perfect plain and boring life and she was paying the consequences now.

“Mom” (Y/N) heard James cry out for help, making both of them bolt towards the sound.

“Shut up stupid boy” A man said as he slapped James across his cheek as his tears became to grow in size.

“Don’t touch him or you will die” A gun was pointed towards his head.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Finally, I get to see you, you’re looking good” An evil smirk forming in his face. “Natasha, thank you so much for bringing them to me. I really thought you were better than this, a better agent, a better spy but looks like you screwed it up.”

Nat launched herself forwards this man but she was knocked out in a matter of seconds, (Y/N)’s eyes widened in fear not knowing how he achieve that.

“What do you want? Just leave him out of this, he’s just a kid.” She smiled at Jay while she walked towards them. “Take me instead, I’ll do anything you want me to.” (Y/N) could feel it inside of her, how it was bubbling in her chest, the feeling foreign to her after much time.

“Sorry doll, not happening” The nickname made her gag as she realized it, he was HYDRA. “I want him, his DNA is a perfect and unique combination of what you’re able to do and what we did to his father. He’ll be a fantastic new fist of HYDRA when he’ll grow up.”

James stopped crying when the man mentioned his father and looked between both of them. It broke her heart, she had never told him anything about Bucky.

“Over my dead body” (Y/N) said between clenched teeth as the water from the lake began to rise and form a mass.

“Well, if you insist” The man was suddenly behind her, taking advantage of this he hit her in the head making her fell to the dirty ground, blood dripping from her forehead.

(Y/N)  pulled all her strength and crawled to where Jay was still but the man grabbed her hair and tossed her around. “Bye doll, send my dearest regards to the Winter Soldier.” He demanded as his foot covered in a military boot made contact with (Y/N)’s head followed by a blade inserted near her heart.

The last thing (Y/N) heard was her son, her three-year-old son yelling desperately for her to take him home.

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