#yeah the whole “getting tortured” part sucks but that’s barely four hours out of a day every other day

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumpee who is so overworked, physically and mentally, that everything hurts. It hurts to walk, it hurts to move, it hurts to think. They are so damn tired they feel like they could drop. They’re working physically over fourteen hours a day, spending at least another five dealing with logistics like paperwork and conferences. It feels they are going to die if they have to take another goddamn step.

And then give them so much shit they have to do, completely unavoidable they genuinely can’t not do it, so the few moments of rest they actually have are completely consumed with thinking about how they only have twenty more minutes before they need to get back to work, they can’t sleep now because that’ll only make things so much worse when they have to wake up in fifteen minutes, they really should be laying down with their last ten minutes of break but hell they should also put together something to eat, and crap there’s not even five minutes left why bother to lie down they just have to get up.

Bonus points if it’s some kind of hero Whumpee and they know that they have to do this all day every day and their only reprieve will be their scheduled weekend off in a month and a half.

[mypoisonedvine]

Consolation || Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband.  you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t.  which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.

word count: 4k

warnings: smut!, infidelity (see summary, reader is married), descriptions of failing/sexless marriage, angst, fluff, ~feelings~

You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky's apartment unexpectedly, that is.  

It wasn’t entirely unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more.  He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue.  Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.

And who could blame him?  A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable.  I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky, you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up.  But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that he himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.

Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman.  It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend.  Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all.  He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.

“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer.  

He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment.  He loved it, but he hated it, too.  

“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.

“Uh, I dunno…”

“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.

“I narrowed it down to The Ring or You’ve Got Mail,” he decided suddenly.

You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings."

“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.

“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“They do to me,” he shrugged.

//

With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of The Ring was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.

“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.

“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.

You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.

He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you.  

“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.

He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.

Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.

But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight.  At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.

You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again.  As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.

“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“But I need to.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t.”

“...okay…”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation.  “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone.  But now I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times.  “God, Buck, I can't even say it…"

"You don't have to—" he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.

"He hasn't touched me in months.  And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex."

He tried not to choke when he heard that.  He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not.  This was something else entirely.  "Oh… um, wow."

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure where to start.  In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what.  “And he… he knows that you… want that?  I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?”  He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.

You laughed a little, in a sad way.  "I've begged him for it, fuck, it's so humiliating.  It doesn't even work.  He's always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something.  And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous."

"You're not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.

“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but fuck, it feels personal.  Do you know how often people talk about sex?  It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes.  Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night?  Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘at least he wants you’?  Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t,” he agreed.  

"It's been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again.  “It's been so long since somebody touched me.  I wondered if I would forget what it felt like."

His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.

"Did you forget?" he asked softly.

"I must have," you mumbled, "it feels better than I remembered."

The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional.  "I can't imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted.  “I can't imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you'd let me.  I can't imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I'd give you everything."

He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft.  

“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying.  “Give me everything.”

He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow.  His hands roamed your body like he'd wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.

As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, and he must've heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different.  

His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you'd always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners.  It was like lifelong puberty with you around.

When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head.  He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.

He pulled you closer and you must've felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little.  And you must've liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.

“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little.  

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants.  He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.

“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud.  He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation.  You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you.  Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.

“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”

For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… that look.  

It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough.  After all, you had asked him to give you everything.  So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.  You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.

Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.

You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking.  He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration.  Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle.  He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.

He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.

“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.

“Yes.”  Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it.  It was just too good to be true.  So he had to check again.

“...are you sure?”

"Don't make me beg, Bucky," you whimpered, "I've done it enough, I can't do it again.  Just make love to me— I need you inside me, please…"

Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).

"Don't stop," you whined, "need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don't stop—"

He definitely didn't have enough willpower to resist that.  Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.

"I— I need a second," you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, "it's been a while.”

"I can wait," he nodded, "I won't move until you're ready."

He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him?  He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.

You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it.  "Fuck me," you whispered.

And he did.  

He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.

But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him.  It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.

If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place.  That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.

“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”

The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.

“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.”  And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on.  “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”

“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.

“You like that, huh?  You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly.  “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”

You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.

Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin.  "Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it," he instructed lowly.  The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he'd dreamed it would be, increased exponentially.  Of course, he'd never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he'd also never thought it could ever come true.  He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly.  “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.

Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally.  He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way.  so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn't a subtle move, wasn't believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn't care anymore.  When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.

But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.

Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip.  You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh.  The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster.  He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover.  For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.

And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.

“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be.  He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.

"Yes, baby, I'm so close," you sighed, "I'm gonna come— you're gonna make me come."

You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it.  He couldn't believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.

"Come for me," he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, "say my name when I make you come."

It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment.  Only his.

"Bucky," you whimpered shakily.  Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then.  "Bucky, I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming—"

"I know," he whispered, "I know, pretty girl, keep going."

Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come.  It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.

He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck.  His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it.  But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently.  You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep.  

Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more.  

He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets.  

He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest.  He didn't want to fall asleep because he didn't want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.

Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.

It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.

He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away.  When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.

[ptergwen]

call me cupid

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: very mild angst and a few swears

summary: despite your hatred for valentine’s day, peter attempts to make you a card

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves!! i hope y’all get to spend some time with your people today and eat lots of chocolate <3 love you & enjoy mwah

-

it’s no secret that peter is terrible with words. he gets so flustered he can’t talk or forgets what he wants to say altogether. school presentations are torture. ordering food out is impossible. he’s accepted it at this point, that speaking just isn’t for him.

the one place it doesn’t come across is on paper. peter is ridiculously smart, and he knows all the right words to string together, which is why writing you a valentine should be no trouble at all. should be no trouble at all.

to tell the truth, he’s been sitting at his kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper in front of him for what feels like hours. nothing is coming to him. he’s not sure why this is so hard. you’re his girlfriend, he loves you, he’s said it so many times in every way he could think to. what’s different about it now?

everyone puts way too much pressure on giving the perfect gift when they should really just be enjoying each other’s company on a holiday about love. or, in your words, a meaningless holiday that was created by capitalists as another excuse to take people’s money. 

alright, you aren’t too fond of valentine’s day.

it makes anyone who’s single feel like shit and anyone who’s in a relationship lose their shit.

only mj agreed when you shared your criticisms. ned and betty gave you looks like you were insane, and flash muttered something about you being undateable. peter had laughed and swung an arm around your shoulders, but he didn’t fully agree.

although valentine’s day has its flaws, peter likes to see it as twenty four hours of extra appreciation for the people in his life. you can buy chocolate for your friends and family. it doesn’t have to be a significant other, really. him and ned would do it before he had you and ned had betty.

peter wants to remind you how loved you are even if you’re not into the festivities like he is, that bringing him to writing your card. it’s a simple and clinically underrated way of expressing his gratitude. he’d write you love letters every day if he didn’t suck at them.

may comes out of her room to see peter in the same place he’s been since he got home from school. she looks at him through her glasses, smiling as she comes into the room. he’s tapping his pencil on the table, eraser down, searching his mind for anything to write.

“still nothing?” may asks him, making her way over to the cabinets. peter puts down the pencil and sighs. his shoulders slump. “nope. i haven’t gotten past the intro.” “intro, huh?” she teases her newphew and grabs a jar of sauce. “y/n isn’t your teacher, kiddo. you’re not writing her an essay.” she looks at peter over her shoulder. a sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“you know what i mean.” he reads over the only words on his paper at the moment. dear y/n. he’s starting to feel like spongebob the one time he wrote a paper. “what are you making?” peter asks may so he can temporarily take the focus off his unwritten valentine. “pasta,” may shakes the box in her hand. “and meatballs.”

“should i dial 911 now or wait until we’re in flames?” peter jokes about her awful cooking skills. may shoos him off and puts the box of pasta on the counter. “worry about your own kitchen nightmare.” she nods at the sheet of paper tormenting him. frowning, he glances back at her. “i’m the worst, may. i really don’t know what to write.”

may struggles to open the jar of sauce as she replies. “i thought you said- jesus.” it pops off. “y/n doesn’t like valentine’s day.” she slides over a pot from the stove and dumps the sauce in. peter stares up at the ceiling. “she doesn’t.” that’s probably why he’s having such a hard time. “why are you writing her a card, then?” may questions, turning on a burner.

“because, i dunno, it’s nice? it’ll make her happy? she might not care, but i do.” he mumbles the last part. he’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea you had of not getting each other presents. you’re treating it like a regular day. some takeout and cuddles is all you’re doing.

peter would rather buy you things until his pockets are empty. not that there’s much in them, anyway. the point is that you deserve proper spoiling instead of corny words in his shitty handwriting.

“peter, honey. it might be better to stick with what y/n wants,” may suggests while stirring the sauce in the pot. she’s well aware that a few paragraphs from peter won’t change your mind. your opinions belong to you, and there’s nothing he can do about it, though he does have good intentions.

ignoring what may just said, peter makes a request. “what if you help me write it?” she faces the stove again. he can picture her playful smile when she quirks back, “she’s not my girlfriend.” “no, but you’re a girl... a woman,” he corrects himself, earning a scoff from may. “you’d probably know what sounds good.”

“you know y/n better than me, peter. do it on your own,” she exhales and turns back around with the wooden spoon in her hand. “it’ll be more... heartfelt.” peter hates that may is right because he’s completely stuck. his heart is being stupid today. “okay. i’ll try.” he gives her a slow nod. “why don’t you take a break? come stir the sauce. i’ll start the pasta.”

peter gets up from the table and grabs the spoon from may. she pinches his cheek on her way to the sink, getting a tight lipped smile from him.

this is not good.

-

the next day at school, peter asks around the lunch table for advice while you’re on line getting food. he feels guilty about it because may told him not to. he’s never going to get your valentine done if he doesn’t, though. it isn’t the worst thing in the world to bring on some co-writers.

“ok, what do you have so far?” betty asks, fully invested in the situation. she’s hoping this will switch up your views on valentine’s day. peter pulls out the same piece of paper from last night and says verbatim what’s on it. “dear y/n.” he looks up at ned and betty, the corners of his mouth twitching down. ned motions with his hand for peter to go on.

“that’s it,” peter confesses and folds the paper back up in shame. “dude, you told us it was a work in progress,” ned winces, betty taking his hand that’s resting on her shoulder. “where’s the progress?” betty patronizes him. they’re making him feel worse than he already did. what great co-writers he’s collaborating with.

peter throws a hand up, an eye roll included. “yeah, it’s terrible. can you help me or not?” mj narrows her own eyes at peter from the other end of his bench. she’s not interested in participating when the conversation is about forcing you to celebrate a holiday you don’t like.

“ooh!” betty squeals and squeezes ned’s hand. “you should make a list.” ned grins, leaning his head on hers. “genius, babe.” “a list of what?” peter furrows his eyebrows as he looks between the two of them. “what you love about y/n,” she explains, ned adding on, “stuff you do together, or you appreciate.”

“put whatever you come up with into sentences and voilà,” betty says in her best french accent. “oui oui,” ned agrees, both of them giggling. that doesn’t sound half bad. peter could manage a list about you. “thank you so much, guys. you literally just saved valentine’s day,” he confidently tucks his paper into his pocket. “it’s what we do,” ned tells him coolly.

“you never asked what i think,” mj cuts in, staring down her friends, who reluctantly meet her gaze. she pushes her bag of goldfish aside and raises an eyebrow. “mj, we know how you feel about valentine’s day.” peter presses his lips together. “y/n feels the same way,” mj reminds him dryly.

it’s true, but he doesn’t want to hear that right now. he’s having a breakthrough.

like clockwork, you appear at the table. you slip into the spot next to peter and put down your lunch tray. “what’d i miss?” you comment on the obvious tension, eyeing betty for an explanation. mj gives it to you. “valentine’s day discourse,” she tells you knowingly. peter shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

he technically has.

“yuck,” you murmur, winding your arms around peter’s neck. “yuck, yuck, yuck.” he finds your words ironic because you then kiss his cheek, and peck his lips when he turns his head. peter puts a hand on your side and lets his eyes go up and down your face. a smile spreads across it, which he returns without thinking about. mj huffs in disapproval. she’s seen enough pda.

-

peter makes his list later that night. he decided he isn’t being inauthentic because he’s coming up with everything himself. he breezes right through it, jotting down what he loves most about you across the paper. it’s a mess. scribbled out misspellings and shreds of eraser, single words and whole phrases covering both sides. he’s proud of his actual progress.

he’ll write the official letter tomorrow since you’re coming over tonight. he at least has his material. the next, thankfully final, step is to reword it.

you’re ranting to peter about some drama with one of your teachers. he listens intently as always, chuckling when you crack jokes and grinning the entire time, feeling so lucky to have the most passionate, say whatever is on her mind girlfriend ever. seriously, it’s inspiring to watch.

“no, like, i never know what’s going on in that class,” you snort, peter snaking his arms around your middle from behind. “because you don’t pay attention,” he hums with his face nuzzled into the back of your neck. “because it doesn’t make any sense!” you defend yourself. his lips brush against your bare skin, drawing a giggle out of you.

“back to what i was saying,” your voice drips with sarcasm. the two of you naturally gravitate to his room, you walking in first. “she called on me, and i- what’s this?” you escape peter’s arms and head over to his desk. crap, he was working on your valentine and forgot to put it away. it caught your attention because it’s surrounded by crumpled papers and glitter.

peter was... experimenting... with designs for the front of the card. he’s learned that he isn’t too artistic either.

“wait, don’t read that,“ peter tries, but you’ve already got the list in your hands. he anxiously sucks his lower lip into his mouth and comes to stand next to you.

you first see the ‘dear y/n,’ then focus in on a few other words. my person forever, which makes you coo at the paper. insane (in the best way), which makes you gasp dramatically. i know you don’t like valentine’s day, but...

you drop the card back on the desk and let out a breath, shutting your eyes as irritation creeps in. it wouldn’t be fair for you to be mad at peter because it’s a sweet gesture, it really is. just, not for you personally. you’re on opposite sides of the valentine’s spectrum. you despise it, he sort of loves it. you’d hoped to meet somewhere in the middle.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you keep your voice level and spin around to look at peter. his face is painted with guilt. “it’s a card,” he murmurs, then meets your eyes with his brows knitted together. “i can’t even give you a card?” “i mean...” you shrug and shake your head. “look, peter. we had an agreement. i’m not doing valentine’s day.”

his disappointment comes out in the form of hanging his head. “yeah, you’re right. sorry.”

may tried to tell him this would happen, mj tried to tell him, and now you’re telling him. he should’ve expected it. he isn’t sure why he’s being so mopey about it because he was fully aware of your hatred for anything with the word valentine in it. it still hurts. peter just wishes you’d let him have the one day to love you and only you, give you some special attention.

“it’s nothing against you, babe,” you reassure him, noticing the shift in his mood. you put a hand on his shoulder. “i really just don’t like valentine’s day. it feels so... fake to me.” peter musters up a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. it drops when you loop your arms around his torso.

“if i celebrated, you’d be the first person i’d wanna spend it with.” you punctuate your words with a kiss to his cheek. he rests his chin on your head, you nuzzling your own cheek into his sweater. he’s feeling a bit better now. it’s not about him, that’s what he needs to remind himself. “thanks, baby,” peter speaks lowly into the air. you hum as if to say no problem.

scratch literally everything he’s done.

-

peter rolls over in his bed, rubbing at his eyes as his alarm goes off. it’s today. happy valentine’s day to... himself. he doesn’t think you’d want to hear it.

he’s not as broken up about everything as the other day. you have your reasons for not celebrating, and peter accepts them. hey, he still gets to spend the whole day with you. you’re technically having an unspoken valentine’s date.

he gets up from his bed with a yawn and starts to dig through his drawers for an outfit. you should be over soon.

before you head over to peter’s, you decide to make a quick stop at cvs for a few things. you ended up feeling pretty terrible about snapping on him essentially for loving you. it was over a harmless valentine, something to make you feel good and be an outlet for the hundreds of romantic bones in his body. basically, you were bitter about having a thoughtful boyfriend.

you want to make it up to him by giving him gifts instead. you’ll never be down with the whole exploitive and capitalistic side of valentine’s day, but there’s a deeper meaning to it than what you give it credit for. you see that now. peter was able to show his love for you through a homemade mess of a card, and you felt it. the price tags don’t matter. the meaning does.

dressed in his nicest sweater with his hair all styled, peter answers your knocking at his door. a grin instantly paints his face as he takes you in. you’re bundled up in a coat and holding a bag by your side. “hey,” he greets you and lets you past him. you shut the door behind him, returning the smile and winding an arm around his neck for a hug. his drapes around your back.

“hey. happy valentine’s day.” “happy valentine’s-“ peter realizes what he’s about to say and what you just said, then stops himself. “what?” he breaks the hug, squinting at your odd behavior. you’re the last person he’d expected to hear that from. “it’s valentine’s day. so, happy valentine’s day,” you tell him like it’s nothing.

he stays quiet while you shrug off your coat and throw it over one of the kitchen chairs. you bring your bag along with you, peter following you in. he’s suspicious. intrigued, and suspicious. it’s been less than a day since he last say you. you had a change of heart that fast? you aren’t the biggest valentine’s day anti he knows anymore?

“where’s may?” you wonder aloud, taking both of peter’s hands in your now free ones. he eyes the shopping bag you put down while you lace your fingers together. “with happy. they’re getting brunch.” he’s never particularly psyched to talk about their relationship. it’s always been in a joking way, though. now, he sounds genuinely upset to go over may’s whereabouts.

“they’re so cute,” you comment, tugging on peter’s hands so he looks at you. “you good?” “great,” peter half lies and nods, then presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek. he’s not bad. puzzled is the word. what you say next only adds to it.

“good. i have a few things for you,” you beam at him and grab your shopping bag off the chair. that’s what that’s for? peter isn’t fully sure what you’re up to. it doesn’t stop a smile from stretching across his lips, though.

“what happened to no presents?” he tests you as you reach into the bag. “well, i feel bad about how i acted the other day.” you pull out a heart shaped box of chocolates. “the card was really sweet, and i was too caught off guard to appreciate it. i’m sorry, pete.” peter’s eyes twinkle at you, gazing as you give him a smile with a hint of shyness behind it. you’re leaving your comfort zone and entering his.

“i was wrong and cynical and just, yeah. happy valentine’s day,” you add on and shove the box into his hand. he finally grins, so wide and then lets out a breathy laugh. “thanks, y/n. i know it was probably hard to shop being surrounded by this stuff.” he holds up the box. he’s right. you’ll unfortunately be seeing pink and red for weeks. “it was, but i did it for you.” you happily open up your arms for him.

peter puts down the chocolates and pulls you into his arms, his cheek squished against the side of your head as he hugs you to his chest. “oh my god, i love you so much,” he mumbles out, you squeezing him in response. “i love you, pete.” you press a quick kiss to his neck and hold him at arm’s length so you can see him. “i have something else for you.”

“baby,” peter coos, a pout on his lips. “you don’t have to do all of this. i would’ve been fine without the chocolates, even.” “stop, you deserve it,” you shut down the part of him that’s way too nice and selfless. “you’re my real present,” he says lower and with a toothy smile. shaking your head, you reach behind you and into the bag.

he can’t believe you’ve switched stances on valentine’s day. you’re the present pusher, and he’s refusing them. peter thinks it’s some sort of miracle that you’re not only acknowledging the holiday, you’re also partaking in it. his hopeless romantic side tells him it’s actually love, and it is. that’s the cheesy, hallmark movie truth. you suffered through shopping at a heart themed cvs because you love him. simple.

you return with a pink envelope that you place into peter’s hand. his face softens as he closes his fingers around it. “y/n, you made me a card?” “kind of,” you laugh at his overstatement. it’s obviously pre-made. you’d used a pen to fill it out in the store, scribbled a few words and tucked it into the envelope.

“it really doesn’t compare to yours, though,” you simultaneously warn and compliment him. peter dismisses you with a lighthearted click of his tongue. “oh, shush. that was only a rough draft.” “which proves my point even more. open it.” you grip onto the bottom of his sweater and grin.

he keeps his eyes on you while ripping open the envelope, then looks down and chuckles at the gag of the card. it has r2d2 and r4d4 from star wars on the front. inside is already written, “r4 is red and r2 is blue. if i was the force then i’d be with you.” you giggle to yourself, watching him read what you wrote next. i love you more every day, especially on valentine’s. xo, y/n.

peter holds the card to his side and slings an arm around your waist. “they make star wars valentines?” he murmurs, another smile breaking out on his face, one that you of course return. you use his sweater to pull him closer. “apparently. perfect for you.” peter tosses the card down next to the chocolates, both arms now holding you.

“thank you so much, baby. you’re an angel,” he sighs and pecks your lips after. “call me cupid,” you answer.

you give him a longer kiss back, tilting your head up to deepen it. your hands find their place on his biceps, earning a hum from peter as he moves his lips against yours. you can feel his love in every little movement, how he hugs your waist like you’re made of glass, rests his forehead against yours. when your lips mutually detach, peter speaks first, voice slightly husky.

“happy valentine’s day, cupid.”

you breathe out, peter closing his eyes in content.

“happy valentine’s day, r2.”

[berrynarrybanana]

Mrs. Styles - Honeybee Extra

A/N: I would like to let you all know that I don’t know what happened here. I started writing at the beginning of my shift and I just didn’t stop and then bam, this happened? I have links to the outfit and other things mentioned in the fic below. I hope you enjoy the visual trip and the journey of this fic as it is a whirlwind ride. Please let me know if you enjoy this and please tell Harry to stop trying to kill me if you see him, kay? I love you all and I’m here if you need to talk!

Rental House | Outfit |

Word Count: 3k+ 

Warnings: Daddy kink, impreg!kink, roleplay

November 2020

The second the photos broke, I lost it. 

Harry wearing a wedding ring on the set of his new film sent me reeling in a pit of lust and wanting unlike any other. I spent my entire afternoon clenching my thighs together and avoiding small talk with coworkers. I was meant to fly out on Friday afternoon to visit him for the weekend, but I was struggling to hold it together. The wedding band on his finger was taunting me from two thousand miles away and I was caving. Anna had no problem with me disappearing a little early, so long as I had my laptop with me and my articles submitted. 

My flight was switched for Thursday morning instead of Friday evening as originally planned. I had to jump through some hoops to ensure no one actually saw me entering JFK or leaving LAX. Having pap photos taken of me would certainly ruin my surprise. I spent too much time hatching my plan for a group of sleazy men with camera’s to ruin it. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” Harry rubbed at his eyes, his voice scratchy and his brain groggy due to the early hour. “You look like you’re going on a run.”

“I’m doing a bunch of errands for Anna today, so I decided to dress casual.” I shrugged, shifting around in my private lounge seat at the airport. “I’m waiting for a friend of hers to get off their flight before I take them into the office.”

“Thought you were hopping on your flight a little early to surprise me.” He pouted, his eyes shining under the dim lighting. “Made my heart race a little.”

“I wish I could, darling.” I said softly. “I miss you so much already and it’s barely been two weeks.”

“I know, it sucks.” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Only one more sleep and then we’ll be together for the weekend.”

“I can’t wait, squid.” I said softly. “I’ll talk to you later today, okay? Don’t be upset if I can’t answer a text or anything, I’ll be so busy with Anna’s errands-”

“S’alright, honey.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “I’ll be on set so I might not be able to text as often either.”

“Alright.” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He blew a kiss to the camera and I caught it, pressing my fingers to my cheek with a soft giggle. “Have a great day, honey.”

“You too, squid.”

After I hung up with Harry, I jumped into planning mode. 

I already had the address to the rental house and a copy of the key. Harry had sent it to me the moment he got one himself just in case I ever wanted to come visit. We both knew that flight times and his filming schedule might not line up perfectly, so it didn’t hurt to have a key just in case I had to drive from LAX to Palm Springs on my own. I planned on stopping at the Malibu house to steal Roxanne from the garage. It would take me two hours and a half hours to get from Malibu to Palm Springs once I finally started my solo road trip. 

As I switched over to a calming playlist that Harry made for me on my birthday, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. 

I knew that it would be a fun trip, but I could only hope that Harry really liked his surprise. 

                                         ****************************

The sun was beating down on my bare legs as I leaned against Roxanne. 

I anxiously twirled the set of keys around my perfectly painted fingernails. I picked one of the most infamous shades from the 1950’s to match my hair, makeup, and outfit. I rubbed my painted lips together nervously, taking a shuddery breath as I watched the gate of the production set carefully. I thought that it was going to open four times before, but no one had stumbled off set yet. 

They were all set to do a two hour lunch break today and that gave me plenty of time to do what I wanted with Harry back in his rental home. I spent most of my time getting ready there, following several tutorials on vintage hair and makeup before I dressed in my adorable outfit. It was something I saw on a show about a female comedian in the fifties. I adored her style throughout the whole show, but I really loved this outfit on me. 

It was a pair of black and white check shorts with a matching, three quarter sleeve blazer. I went through Harry’s closet, in search of his ivory silk shirt that I’d seen him wear in a pap photo years ago, to add a little special touch to the outfit. It had his last name stitched on the pocket to compliment the fake wedding ring I’d slipped on my finger. 

That was the part I was nervous about. 

I didn’t want him to think that I was insane for finding a piece of costume jewelry to match his own fake wedding ring. I got the idea on the flight over from New York, my mind racing with ideas and scenarios to play out. I ultimately decided that if he could torture me with a wedding ring, then I could torture him with one. 

The gate finally opened as I started to contemplate picking my nails, a loud screeching sound pulling me from my thoughts as I gripped the keys to the benz in my hand tightly.

Florence was the first out, and while I was delighted to meet the girl who was spending so much time with my boyfriend, I didn’t care to meet her just yet. I watched her turn back, letting out a charming giggle as my boyfriend followed suite behind her. Olivia Wilde was next, a bag on her shoulder and a wide smile on her face. A few other familiar faces trailed out after Harry, and suddenly, my nerves had skyrocketed. A lot of famous people were about to see me in a classic fifties get up with a car scarf around my curls and my legs exposed. 

My nerves were soothed for just a moment as I looked at Harry’s freshly cut hair, slicked back in a style that I thought I would hate on him. As per usual, he looked like a daydream. My breath caught in my throat when he looked over at me, his eyes growing wide and a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Florence caught on to his line of sight, following his gaze until her eyes landed on me. I gave him a quick wave as everyone else turned to look at me and I felt my face grow hot. He pressed a quick kiss to Olivia’s cheek and then Florence’s before jogging my way. 

“What the hell is all this?” He gripped my elbow gently, leaning down to press his lips to mine with a wide smile. “Beatrice, you look so good.”

“I know.” I hummed against his lips, brushing my fingers over his cheek. “Hi.”

“Hiya, honey.” He cooed, wrapping his arms around me. “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.”

“I thought I’d do a little something to surprise you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, tossing my head back when he pulled the scarf from my head. “Harry!” 

“You did your hair and makeup, too?” He kissed my cheek. “Come on, I want you to meet Olivia and Florence. They’re going to love this.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m mocking her movie.” I glanced down at Harry, causing him to frown slightly. “I did it because I knew you would love it and I had a lot of fun dressing up, but I don’t want to offend her.”

“You won’t.” He reassured me. “She’ll probably make you an extra.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes as he pouted. “Fine, I’ll go over there.”

“Thank you.” He set me down, grabbing my hand before tugging me along. 

“Olivia, Florence,” Harry glanced back at me with a giddy grin. “This is my girlfriend, Beatrice.”

“Hello,” I stuck my hand out between us and they both went for a shake. “It’s really nice to meet y’all.”

“You too.” Florence beamed back at me with a smile that was almost as bright as the sun. “I just want to thank you for letting me borrow your boyfriend. He’s such a lovely person and a dream to work with.”

“Try baking with him, you’ll change your mind.” I squeezed Harry’s hand, letting out a soft chuckle. “He’s like a toddler when he gets in the kitchen.”

“I can’t imagine him in an apron.” Olivia laughed. “We have to see that.”

“I have pictures, I’ll make sure to give him a framed one for his trailer.” I pressed my lips together as Harry squeaked out. 

“Alright, I didn’t think you’d all gang up on me.” He said playfully. “I wanted to show you off and here you are, teasing me for baking.”

“I’m teasing you because you steal the batter on a spoon, not because you’re baking. I love baking with you.” I bumped my hip into his, smiling up at him. “But I’ve got to keep you grounded, don’t I? Your head will inflate and I’ll have to tie a cinder block to your foot to keep you from floating off.” 

“Haha, you’re so funny.” He scrunched his nose up and I tossed my head back, letting out a loud laugh. “Anyways, what do you think of her outfit?”

“Oh, Harry, don’t-”

“It looks great, actually.” Olivia said. “Did I see that on the set of the Marvelous Mrs. Masiel?” 

“Yeah, you did.” I nodded. “I love that show and all of her outfits so much.”

“It looks adorable on you.” Florence said. “You work for Vogue, don’t you?” 

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I did a piece with one of your Little Women co-stars not too long ago, actually.”

“I thought you seemed familiar.” She exclaimed. “You came on set one day, didn’t you?”

“I did.” I nodded. “It was an honest to god, out of body experience for me. I loved Little Women so much as a girl. I seriously wanted to change my name to Josephine after reading it.”

“And then the film was so bloody amazing!” Florence exclaimed. “Harry, why have you kept her away from us for so long?”

“S’not my fault she has a job.” He rolled his eyes, chortling playfully. “I tried to convince her that being a housewife was much more fun, but I think she read the script and decided against it.”

“Yeah, I sure did.” I laughed softly alongside Olivia and Florence. “We should do dinner or something this weekend. I don’t know if you all have plans, but Harry’s rental house has a table that seats like, eight people.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Olivia said. “Just let us know the details and I’ll pass it along to the other main actors.”

“Sounds great.” Harry said. “Well, I’m going to steal my girl away if you don’t mind. I’ll see you in two hours?”

“See you then, Harry.” Florence waved before she took off in the direction of her car. “Bye, Beatrice!”

“Bye, Florence.” I waved back at her with a giggle before turning to Olivia. “It was really lovely to meet you. I’ll make sure to get him back in time.”

“Thank you.” She laughed. “Have a great lunch, you two.” 

“Thanks.” Harry and I said at the same time. 

When Olivia was gone, Harry looked down at me with a smirk. 

“Do I get to fuck you now?” He asked, his dimple popping out. 

“It depends.” I said slowly. “Would you, by chance, like to partake in a little role play?”

“It depends.” He said back. “What do you have in mind?”

I walked forward, smoothing my hands over his t-shirt covered chest. I pressed up on my toes, bringing my lips as close to his ears as I could get them. 

“Do you still have your wedding ring from set?”

                             ********************************************

“Honey!” I heard Harry’s voice from where I was lounging on the sofa, a magazine draped over my thighs. “I’m home.”

I smiled, flipping through my magazine without actually paying attention to it. 

I heard Harry’s footsteps moments later, his dress shoes tapping along the concrete floor of the house. I tilted my head up when he moved in front of me, his eyes trailing over my body. 

“You look comfortable.” He said, reaching for my magazine with two fingers. “You didn’t answer when I called out for you.”

“Sorry, darling,” I hummed out when he pressed his lips to mine. “I was invested in an article.”

“You and your articles.” He breathed against my lips. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Are you just going to sit there?”

“I was planning on it, sweet pea.” I brushed my thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m relaxing my feet.”

“Now, I’ve been gone on business for six days, honey. I would like the chance to properly greet my beautiful wife.” He smirked, setting his briefcase to the coffee table behind him. 

“Mr. Styles,” I twisted my legs off the couch, standing up between the furniture and Harry. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’ve got far too much to get done today. I’ve still got grocery shopping to do and well, I have to call your Mother.”

“I have a better plan, doll.” He roughly gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my sides harshly as he yanked me against his chest. “How about we sneak off for a little afternoon delight?” 

“Harry Styles, I don’t think so.” I mocked offense, swatting his shoulder. “I’m far too busy.”

“Make time for your husband, honey.” He cooed, brushing his knuckles against my cheek gently before he gripped my chin. “Make love with your husband.” 

“Mr. Styles, you do drive a hard bargain.” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat as our eyes connected in a lustful gaze. “I do have something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Mrs. Styles, what have you been up to while daddy’s been away?” He hummed out as his lips brushed against my red painted lips. “Have you been naughty?” 

“No,” I smirked. “I’ve been an angel.”

“Prove it.” He whispered moments before our lips collided. 

He kissed me just like they did in the old movies, his body wrapping around mine. I moaned against him when I felt his tongue slip over my own, giving me a taste of what I had been craving for two weeks now. I let out a giggle and then a squeak of surprise when I felt his hands under my bum, lifting me up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him, holding on tight as he walked us from the living room towards the bedroom. He dropped me on the bed before grabbing my right ankle, holding my leg up as my ankle rested on his shoulder. 

“These heels…” He started to fiddle with the clasp, finally pulling the strap loose before he slipped it off. “They’re new.”

“Just bought them.” I gripped the duvet under my fingers. “Do you like them?” 

“Yes.” He kissed my ankle before gently resting my right leg on the bed. “Did you buy them with daddy’s money?” 

“I did.” I bit my lower lip as my core clenched, my walls fluttering at his tone. “I bought them for you.”

“You didn’t even ask daddy before you bought them.” He tutted, reaching for my left ankle. “You’re getting bold.”

“I just wanted to surprise you.” I said. 

“I’m very surprised.” He gave me a soft wink, one that let me know my Harry was still in this version of him that we’d quickly created in the car. 

A business man with a daddy kink in the 1950’s that wanted to knock his wife up after a long business trip. It was a simple plot, but it combined quite a few kinks into one scenario, so we didn’t really mind. I giggled when he reminded me that daddy was a common nickname in that time period, something girls called their husbands in a provocative setting. 

When both of my heels were off, Harry brushed his hands up my bare thighs until they landed on my hips. He gently guided me towards the center of the bed before kneeling over me. I lifted both hands up, cupping his cheeks as he leaned down to kiss my lips. 

“Mrs. Styles,” He hummed out. “I’ve been thinking?”

“About what, Mr. Styles?” I pressed my lips over his cheek, sliding my fingers towards the back of his neck. 

“I think it’s been quite lonely around here.” He said. “I can’t imagine you’re enjoying all of this time alone when I’m away on business.” 

“I get by just fine.” I said softly, dropping my head back to the mattress. “Do you want to get a dog, Harry? Is that what this is about?”

“I don’t want to get a dog, darling.” He chuckled, brushing his nose over mine. “I want a baby.”

“A baby?” My eyes grew wide. “Isn’t it a bit soon, darling? We’ve only been married for five months.” 

“That’s more than enough time, doll.” He whined. “I want us to have a beautiful little baby to love and to dote on. I want to show her off in front of my friends and my family-”

“Oh, Mr. Styles.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you, darling.”

“Is that a yes?” He smirked, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes.” I gasped out when he rutted his hips forward. “Please.”

He wasted no time, stripping me from my blazer and then my tiny shorts. He tossed them aside carelessly, his hands falling to the buttons on the silk shirt that I had stolen from our closet. 

“S’this mine?” He glanced up at me with a confused smirk. “Haven’t seen this in ages.”

“S’yours.” I nodded, holding the lapel to the side to show off his name. “S’got your name on it and everything.”

“Cheeky girl.” He cooed out, dropping his head to press a kiss to my stomach. “It’s our name.”

I let out a low whine in the back of my throat, shifting my hips as Harry made it to the last button towards the top of the dress shirt. I watched his face carefully as he pushed it to the side, his eyes scanning the black, vintage set that I had purchased for today. 

“You’re trying to kill me.” He gasped out as his fingers brushed over the skin of my stomach to my breasts. “Fucking….I can’t take this anymore. I need to be inside of you.”

“Then get inside of me, Mr. Styles.” I lifted my legs, spreading them apart slightly so he could see the cut out area on the crotch of the panties. “You don’t even have to take everything off.”

Harry’s eyes were on mine, burning a dark shade of emerald as he licked over his bottom lip. I giggled when he started to unbuckle his trousers, tanking the zipper down before he tucked his hand in. He pulled his cock out, giving it a few firm strokes before he hovered his body over mine. Seconds later, I felt the stretch of my walls around his cock, causing my body to tense.

“There’s my girl.” He grunted out, pushing himself in as far as he could possibly go before pressing a few, sloppy kisses to my face. “So snug around me, aren’t you?”

“Harry.” I dropped my hands to his back, digging my nails into the cotton of his shirt as he pulled out slowly. Seconds later, he was pushing back in and I was gasping for air. “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Mrs. Styles, you have such a filthy mouth.” He smeared his lips over mine before both of his hands found their home by my ears. “Who taught you to talk like that?” 

“You.” I let out a breathless chuckle that quickly faded as the tip of his cock massaged my g-spot. 

“Yeah?” His eyelids fluttered shut as he continued to work his hips in a steady rhythm. “No other blokes have been hangin’ round here?” 

“None.” I shook my head as my nails drug down to his lower back and eventually to his bum. I pushed my fingers down his pants, digging my nails into the flesh there. “Just you.”

“You’re my girl.” He gritted out as a single curl fell to his forehead. “Only mine.”

“Only yours.” I whimpered, biting at my lower lip. “You feel so good, Harry.” 

“Can’t wait to see you pregnant, honey.” He let out a whine of his own, clenching his eyes. “It’s gonna be so beautiful, seeing you round and full while you carry my baby..”

“I want it so bad, Harry.”

“And after this baby,” He let out a strangled moan, delivering another sharp thrust that had me gasping. “I’m gonna put another one in you, and then another.” 

“Please, I want it.” I nodded, sliding my fingers back up his back. “Want you closer.”

He pressed his body into mine, his hips moving in desperate thrusts and his pelvis applying pressure to my clit with each move. I tossed my head back, silently asking for his lips to press against my throat. I felt him latch on as his thrust started to get sloppier. I knew that he was close by the little whines pulling from his throat and the puffs of air hitting my skin. 

Harry’s hand slipped between our bodies in no time, rubbing my clit with an urgency that I’d never experienced before with him. I felt my body flush warm and my walls tighten around him as he delivered three final thrusts. We both cried out when he spilled into me, filling my walls with his cum until it dripped out onto the black panties still settled onto my hips. 

“You bought yourself a ring?” our chests were both heaving, his body still pressed into mine. 

I tried to let out a giggle, but he was heavy against my body and it came out wheezy. 

“It’s costume jewelry.” I brushed my hand over his back. “Just thought it would be fun after I saw you wearing that ring on set. I saw the pictures online and they nearly killed me.”

“Mhm, you’re just trying to seduce me into proposing earlier than I planned.” He lifted his head, pressing his lips against mine in a sweet kiss. “Hello, honey.”

“Hiya, darling.” I lifted my hand, tugging gently on the curl that fell over forehead with a fond smile. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” He whispered. “I love you and everything you do for me. I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you for being the best girlfriend out there.”

“Harry-” 

“Don’t deflect or play it down,” He said sternly. “I mean every word from the bottom of my heart, Beatrice. I...no one else on set has had a spouse or partner come visit them on the weekends. No one else had flowers sent to their trailer or daily facetime calls and inspirational messages. You make me feel so loved and so special on a daily basis and that means the world to me. So thank you for being you, honey. I love you with all of my heart.”

“I love you, too.” I sniffled, blinking rapidly as a few tears fell down my temples, into my hair. “I hope you liked your surprise. I didn’t want to freak you out, but I thought it would be fun.”

“It was.” He brushed his nose over mine. “It was a lot of fun, actually. I think we should mess around like that more often.”

“Not too often, though.” I chuckled. “One of these days, I’ll actually end up pregnant.” 

“Wheat’s wrong with that?” He hummed out. 

“One step at a time, darling.” I patted his shoulder. “Oh, just so you know, we won’t be having a girl first.”

“Excuse me?” Harry hissed when I pushed at his shoulders, causing him to slip out of my walls. I guided him to his back before I climbed on top of him, pressing my palms to his tummy. “I don’t...what?” 

“You said ‘her’ earlier, but we’re having a boy first.” I said casually. “I know it.”

“How do you know it?” He chuckled as his brows creased. “Did you make a deal with Stevie at one of her witch things?” 

“I didn’t need to make a deal, I just know it.” I patted his cheek. “Gonna name him Ellis.”

“Why Ellis?” He tilted his head to the side. “Where did you hear that?” 

“Ellis Island.” I smiled. “We took our first vacation together in New York and the ferry to Ellis Island was one of my favorite parts of that trip. It’s a piece of our history.”

“I love that.” He said softly. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” I giggled, leaning forward to press my lips against his. “Round two?” 

“Why, Mrs. Styles, I like the way you think.”

[writingsbychlo]

more ways than one (02)

word count; 5135

summary; you have to patch up the man you found, and help him tend to his wounds, and at least try and find some kind of common ground.

notes; things will begin to pick up pretty soon, I promise. we’re just laying the foundations.

warnings; graphic descriptions of injury, gore, blood, near-death experiences. 

You were panicking as you looked out of the main bay windows, barely able to see your own car down below where it was parked out front from the dark that had set in, and the rain was pelting against the windows. You had practically bitten your thumbnail right down to a stub and your chest was almost aching from how long your heart had been pounding against it in fear.

Cold shivers had long since set over your body, your hair still dripping with water from where you had gotten caught out in the woods searching for the missing male when the storm clouds had finally cracked, and your skin was still sticky as it slowly dried in the cool environment of Derek’s loft. The lights were all turned off so that you could see best outside, a few candles lit to give you just enough light to move around, and yet, you could barely see anything more than outlines on the horizon, your breath fogging up the glass as you pressed your forehead to it and cursed.

You had lost an injured man who had no idea where he was, possibly even who he was, and you still had no idea whether he understood you. He looked exactly like your best friend, and you’d kept him a secret for twenty-four hours now. Your friends would be pissed when they found out. You really weren’t sure what you’d do if one of the pack found him first, or a regular person, or the Sheriff.

Your eyes stung as salty tears lined them, and you had already busied yourself with every task you could think of, knowing it was unsafe for you to go back out there searching, no matter how much you wanted to. The roads would be slippy in the storm, the window howling fiercely and it wasn’t safe to drive. It wasn’t safe to wander the woods alone in the dark anywhere, but certainly not in Beacon Hills, and despite the strained situation between you and the man, you were deeply concerned for him.

The wounds on his back were open and debilitating, and he hadn't eaten in at least twenty four hours, most likely more. He didn’t talk, and he seemed to have no idea where he was. All you could do was wait until the morning before going out searching again, and at this point, it was beginning to feel more and more like you’d be going out in the morning to search for a body instead of a fleeing person.

Just as you were giving up hope, the stumbling sound of heavy and uneven footsteps on the stairs outside of the entrance was heard, and you almost fell over in your rush to get to the door, sliding the metal open and wincing at the emphasises sound of screeching metal in your hurry, Your mind was practically spinning as your eyes locked onto the dishevelled form before you, and he was barely holding himself up as he climbed the final step, his body slumping over in exhaustion and he fell towards the ground, your feet moving you forward to catch him before you even had a second to think about it.

He stumbled into your arms, his skin so cold he was almost blue and you let out a ragged and relieved sigh, a shaky laugh sounding from you the pure relief flooding through you made you feel like you were floating in the clouds. His gaze found yours, eyes half-lidded and dazed and he focused in on the unshed tears lining your eyes, confusion etching onto his tired features but for once, it wasn’t a judgemental confusion.

Your arms sealed around his waist, one of his own slung loosely over your shoulders as you guided him over to the couch, his feet all but dragging against the floor as you tried to carry him along and he collapsed down on the soft material, falling onto his stomach and letting out a low groan under his breath as his face pressed into the cushions. His body was shaking from the cold you were panicking, rolling on the balls of your feet as your spinning mind tried to process every option.

He tried to move, yet another sound of pain leaving him and you dropped to your knees, your gaze finding his as you knelt by his head looking over his body as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, brushing the wet strands of hair that was flopping into his eyes away, and his gaze on your narrowed, tiredly analysing your movements as you mumbled to yourself about a plan.

With a hand on the edge of the coffee table, you stripped the light jacket from sitting on your shoulders, shaking yourself down nervously as you moved around, all but bouncing on your feet as a  new kind of energy-filled your body, and you made your way toward the kitchen, poking your head back around the doorframe for a split second to look at the man still collapsed across the furniture.

“Don’t fucking run again!”

He merely grunted in response, what had to be the most sarcastic grunt you had ever heard, and you were sure if he weren’t half-dead - and knew what it meant - he’d probably be flipping you off for your comment. Instead, you hurried around, swiping the handful of rags that you’d been intending to use before as you fill a dish with warm water, trying to balance the collection in your arms as you moved back towards him. Pushing the coffee table as close to the couch as you could get it, you knelt beside him, taking a deep breath as your hands hovered over his back, palms spread open as you paused, your eyes open wide as you tried to process where to begin.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, but you’re just going to have to suck it up and let me fix you up, okay?”

All you received in response was a low sigh, and you placed one hand down on his lower back carefully, his whole body tensing up at the contact, a low sound of discomfort leaving him as he did, and you placed the other down on his upper arm, squeezing his bicep lightly in reassurance and you felt his muscles ease just a little from the gesture.

“I’ll talk you through it all, okay? And I’ll go slow.”

You had no idea whether he was understanding you, but his eyes found yours, no longer narrowed and scrutinising, simply watching you, and you turned to the bowl of warm water, pulling it toward you and grabbing the first of the stack of cloths you would have to wash and replace before Derek came home. Dipping the end of the cloth into the water enough to wet it, you lifted it up before his eyes, and he observed you carefully, his body twitching as he considered moving, inevitably choosing to fight his flight instinct and stay where he was.

“I’m just going to clean your back first, you’re covering in dirt. I’ll be careful.” You nodded to him, before pressing the warm cloth to his skin, wiping in slow movements, cautiously moving around the edges of each cut as you cleared his skin of the dirt, pale flesh showing up each time you dipped the cloth back into the water. You swallowed thickly as you noticed the murky colour of the cleaning water holding a slight red tinge, your heart sinking for him each time you came across a new cut and bruise on his flesh, wondering just what he got himself into while he was out there alone.

Moving along his arms, you cleaned his skin carefully, everything you could see as you worked, until you were holding the hand that wasn’t propped under his head, cleaning along his fingers delicately, and they twitched in your hold, what almost resembled a light squeeze before you pulled away, heat crawling up your cheeks as your head ducked, and you offered him a small smile as you put the filthy rag down.

“You’re not going to like this next part.” The tension in his body returned, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, and yet his body never shifted this time. Tearing open the bag of cotton ball swabs, you took one in your hand, unscrewing the lid of the anti-bacterial wash and dabbing some onto the small applicator, his nose scrunching up as the smell filled the air, and it prompted a small laugh from you. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell great. It reminds me of hospitals, which is really where you should be, but I have a feeling that wouldn't work out very well.”

You shot him a pointed glare at his word as you continued to soak the cotton balls, lining them up along the table until you had a fair amount ready to work with, and he watched you build the collection, his gaze flicking between your face and the swabs you were preparing.

“This is going to sting, but it’ll stop them getting infected, okay? I’ll start with the little scratches.”

Doing exactly as you said you would, you dabbed the first cotton ball along his skin, and he huffed out at the contact, squirming as the antiseptic soaked into his cuts and grazes, and you moved over the smallest injuries you could find, avoiding the fleshy red wounds along either side to his middle back, focusing your attention on them until you’d cleaned each one, his body shaky slightly under your hold. You placed it down beside the discarded bowl of water, wringing your hands nervously as you picked up a fresh swab.

Looking at him, you could almost make out the worry in his eyes, his fingers curled around the edge of the cushion so hard you were sure his fingers would burst right through the material and into the stuffing inside. On a small act of comfort, you peeled his fingers from the couch, slipping your hand into his, your palms pressed together as your fingers wrapped around the back of his hand, his own hanging limp in your grasp as you returned your focus to his injuries.

Deciding to start with the furthest cut, you adjusted yourself on your knees, leaning over him with the first swab in hand and you squeezed his hand lightly before dabbing it softly along the wound, his body arching and a tortured cry leaving his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers wrapping around your own and gripping so tight your own eyes watered, but you allowed him to hold on.

Once the cotton swab had turned from snow white to crimson red, you swapped it out, dropping it to the floor and replacing it as you worked as swiftly as you could. As you cleared away the blood, both fresh and old, you began to truly see the extent of the injuries. The flesh was torn and ripped raw, chunks of flesh and muscle missing, and it became apparent that these weren’t just clean cut slashes but more like ripped away holes, as though something had torn down his back. You sniffed, pulling away for a second to blink back tears as you shivered at the mere thought of just how much pain he must be in, sympathy pains racking your body as you choked back the bile rising in your throat in order to clean the bloody mess.

His fingers flexed around your own, and you squeezed back as you moved onto the second one, his body tensing up and goosebumps crawled over his skin, his muscles so tense you worried they may lock in that position, and the only sounds between you both were your occasional sniffs from you and the grunts and groans the man beneath you made as you cleaned him up.

You left out a relieved little cheer as you finally finished, and your head hung back for a moment as your eyes closed, and the man under you relaxed, his fingers going slack in your hold as you slipped your hand free. His eyes were half-lidded and his lips parted as he let out shirt breaths, and you relaxed, rolling your shoulders as you wiped your bloodied fingers clean, on a fresh rag, picking up the packet of the largest paper stitches you had and tearing the top open with your teeth.

“You did so good.” You whispered, and his lips closed, sealing in a thin line as he focused his sighs on you, eyes searching yours carefully. “I’m going to put a few of these on to close the wounds so they heal better, then some bandages and we’re done.”

Taking the first row of the large sticky items, you lined up a row long the unaffected skin on the first cut, from the top to the bottom as you prepared yourself, a hand soothing over his lower back carefully as you readied yourself and him. Pinching the skin together, he shuffled uncomfortably, burying his face in the cushion to muffle the noises he made as you quickly sealed down the strips, pulling back to see if they’d hold, and your eyes widened, a happy cheer leaving you as the skin remained pulled taut, the stitches holding the wounds shut as best they could so they could begin to heal.

Repeating the action on the other side, you dropped the empty sheet of stitches to the floor, wiping at your forehead as you slumped back, unfolding your aching legs from underneath you as you lay across the cold stone floor, a tired sigh leaving you as you both relaxed. When you’d taken a minute, praising yourself for the work you’d done, you forced yourself back up, finding he’d turned his head to the side and was looking at you once again. “Think you can sit up for me?”

He blinked at you, and you reached out to him, taking his shoulder carefully as you tried to ease him up into a sitting position, and he growled at you his eyes flashing with anger to warn you away and you backed off, hands raised as you let out a deep sigh.

“Just when I thought we were making progress.” You mumbled, shaking your head and watching as he struggled on weak arms to push himself up, his face contorting in pain and for a moment you worries he’d burst open the stitches you’d done on his back, but he managed to heave himself up into a sitting position, twisting his body until he was tiredly sitting on the edge of the couch, hands bracing himself on his knees as his upper body hunched over on itself.

Soaking and ringing out one of the final clean rags you had, you handed it to him, motioning to the dirt covering his torso and he looked between it and himself, before taking it in a shaky hand and cleaning himself off as best he could. Water dripped down from the cloth, leaving streaks along his pants and the couch before dripping to the floor, but it was the least of your concerns right now, and you busied yourself with prepping the padding and gauze while he did, the wet sound of the cloth dropping to the floor alerting you that he was done.

Taking the padding first, you moved behind him, tape in hand as you sealed down padding over the cuts, something that sounded almost like a relieved sigh sounding from him as you covered the cuts, the cool air of the loft no longer brushing over them and irritating the raw and exposed flesh, his body sagging under the weight of holding it up, his skin twitching in each place your fingers brushed against. Circling back to his front, you picked up the roll of wrapping, kneeling up before him between his parted legs, a slight heat rising to your cheeks as he remained where he was, his unsteady breaths brushing over your cheeks with each light pant he released. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

You motioned with your own arms for him, and he did as instructed, his arms rising up just enough for you to be able to tuck your arms underneath. Sealing the end of the wrapping down to the centre of his chest with a piece of tape, you moved the roll around, your face so close to his your noses were almost touching, your hands passing the roll around in what could be mistaken for a hug had you closed your arms around him any tighter. Once you had the roll in your other hand, you pulled back, circling around his front again, his arms shaking as he struggled to hold them out in his weakened state.

Each time you moved back in, it gave you a chance to really observe him. Everything from the speckled moles on his jaw to the shade of his eyes was the same as your best friend, and despite the sickly pale clour of his skin and the sunken bags under his eyes, you knew they would be identical once he healed, your confusion only deepening at the situation.

Once you were sure he was fully bandaged up, you ripped the fabric off sealing it down with a few pieces of tape, fastening the bandages in various places around his body. It didn’t look great, not as good a job as Melissa could have done, but it was pretty good for your best effort, and you rewarded yourself with a smile, nodding at your work.

Gathering the equipment that was around you, your eyes closed in one the flannel you’d stripped away earlier so that you didn’t have long sleeves in the way. It was Stiles’, one you’d stolen a long time ago, and you held it out to the man carefully, his eyes flicking over the item before lifting an arm to take it. He struggled to ease his arms into it, your own hands helping him get it up over his shoulders, and he was looking more and more like your best friend with everything you did to try and help him.

Taking the used and dirty equipment, you dumped them all in the kitchen sink, washing them tiredly as you suppressed your yawn, leaving them on the rack beside to sink to dry once they were scrubbed clean. The towels you’d used would have to be washed, and so you wrapped up all the rubbish on in the last clean one, a bloody mess sealed within and you tied it tight leaving the rest of the medical supplies on the table.

When you glanced back to the man, he’d keeled over, a small smile flicking on your face at the similarity between him and Stiles as you took in the way his cheek was pressed to the cushion, jaw open and eyes fluttering as he slept, one arm hanging over the edge of the couch as his legs spread out, the other arm tucked under his head as he lay on his stomach.

Taking your bag, you shrugged it up onto your shoulder, the bundle to be disposed of and clean in one hand as you took your keys in the other, blowing out the candles and closing the loft door, making sure to lock both of them behind you as you went. Despite the tiredness crawling through your body as you got into your car, you couldn't help but feel good about yourself, knowing all you had accomplished tonight.

--------------

You were exhausted when you returned the next morning, arms wrapped tightly around another bag full of belongings, and you laughed to yourself at the idea that by the time Derek came home, he’d think you’d moved into his place. Unlocking the door, the motions awkward and jerky as you struggled to get the keys into the lock, but you finally succeeded, the door sliding open as you stepped into the room.

You had barely turned around from closing the door when something flew past your head rapidly, bouncing off of the now-closed door and you let out a small shriek in shock, some of the items in your arms toppling to the floor as you jumped. Your eyes closed in on the object, one of Derek’s wooden coasters sitting on the floor by the wall, and your eyes narrowed as you turned to glare at the man who was standing by the couch.

“Don’t fucking throw things at me!”

Your angry scream shocked him, and his hands balled into fists by his sides, but he at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of his actions as he shuffled from one foot to the other. You scowled at him, grumbling under your breath and he scoffed as you shot him a dirty look. He frowned at you, your eyes locked in an intense staredown between the two of you, and his jaw clenched. He blinked, the soft honey colour slipping away as the orbs filled entirely with a deep black, before he blinked again, the darkness having slipped away and your jaw dropped, the edges of his lips flicking up for a split second in a hint to a smirk that you almost didn’t catch sight of it was gone so quickly.

“You know what? Those were your clothes that you made me drop, so you and your.. creepy eyes can pick up the clothes off of the floor.” You kicked the bundle toward him, before stomping away to the kitchen, ensuring to give him an extra dirty look as you went. To your surprise, when you glanced over your shoulder, he was standing before the dropped clothes, before kneeling awkwardly, his knees hitting the floor as he tried not to lean too far while picking them up, folding them in terrible piles and placing them on the coffee table before him and climbing to his feet.

He winced as he did, but quickly schooled his features, your attention moving back to the bag of food before you as you pulled open the fridge, hearing him shuffling about behind you as he slowly entered the kitchen. You were unstacking groceries into the fridge, packing items in the cupboards as you slowly emptied the heavy bag in your arms until the ache no longer existed.

Finally turning to him, you leaned back against the counter, your eyes taking in every detail as his face as you watched him. “You look better. Thanks to my amazing medical skills, not your stupid attempt to get pneumonia.” You grumbled, and you heard him huff in response, your lips quirking up at the sides. Colour had filled his skin once again, his statue holding a little stronger and more lively, he stood taller than he had last night and he’d managed to do up the buttons on the front of the flannel covering his body, even if they were done askew, but this was the first time since you’d seen him that he’d actually been wearing a shirt, and this the injuries, almost making him look normal.

Your nose wrinkled as you reached his feet, both his pants and skin caked in dry mud and dirt, the pants were torn and the smell of dirt, sweat and blood hung in the air around him, even with your human senses it was overwhelming and you were more than glad to have no wolf senses in this moment.

“You need a bath. I should also change your wrappings.” He stiffened at the mention of his bandages, and you made sure to stand as far from him as you could while walking around him, picking up a pair of grey sweatpants and a navy blue cotton t-shirt from the pile, glancing over your shoulders as your eyebrows raised. “Well? Come on. You’re going to stink everything up.”

He growled lowly, glaring at you as he followed you through the large complex, glancing around curiously as you took him up the spiral staircase, and you weren’t sure if he’d bothered exploring or whether he’d just stuck to lurking around the couch. Opening the large bathroom door, you dropped the fresh clothes down on the counter as he stood in the doorway, practically filling it frame to frame with his broad shoulders as you plugged the tub, switching on the taps and listening to water filling the tub.

You searched through the cabinets for a fresh sponge, swiping it from it’s wrapping and finding some shampoo and body wash, placing them all along the side of the tub for him as the water filled up. “I’ll leave the clothes here, and when you’re done, I’ll help you rewrap your bandages.”

As the water ran, you made your way over to him, nodding slowly to the shirt he was wearing, and his fingers undid the buttons slowly, his body tense and stiff as he slipped the flannel from his arms, your fingers peeling at the tape holding them down as you let the material fall away slowly. Once it had cleared, you checked that the padding was still secure, humming as you looked at it happily, the lack of blood soaking through meaning that the paper stitches were holding tight.

He looked at you pointedly as you turned off the taps, heat flooding to your cheeks as you nodded, hurrying from the room quickly and shutting the door behind you, leaning back against the cold wood as your eyes closed. Seconds later, you heard the water sloshing, knowing that he had climbed into the tub and you shook your head, retreating from the bathroom slowly and making your way back to the kitchen choosing to busy yourself with washing and chopping some carrots as you waited.

You had just finished scraping the carrots into the boiling water over the hob, having put a little too much effort into slicing them into tiny pieces to occupy your buzzing mind. The floorboards creaking behind you are what caught your attention, and you spun around, taking a shallow breath as you turned to look at the man, wet hair spiky and sticking up in random directions as he searched through the collection on the table as he fished about for the bandages, the grey sweats sitting on his hips just barely brushing the edge of the tape holding on the padding.

“Let me help you; you won’t be able to do it alone.” The second you doubted him, his eyes flashed up to meet yours in a burning glare, a look you were quickly becoming accustomed to and you halted in your steps immediately. Your brows raised as he held the roll close to himself, sneering at you as he turned his back and wandered away, your eyes wide as you watched him walk up the stairs and your jaw dropped, a scoff leaving you as you shook your head.

Turning back to the kitchen, you searched through the cupboards, finding the instant noodles again and dropping them into the pan of bubbling water alongside the thinly sliced carrots. Sprinkling the flavour packets over the top and stirring the water carefully, you got two dishes out of the cupboard, turning to place them on the counter and you jumped as you looked at the tall man watching you. His eyes were avoiding your own as he shuffled between his feet, eventually letting his shoulders slump as he held out the roll of bandages to you, a wince on his face as he shifted uncomfortably.

In his other hand dangled the blue t-shirt, and you turned down the heat on the hob before taking the bundle from him silently, shooting him a small smile and placing a hand on his chest to push him back from the doorway to and you could feel the irrational beat of his heart under your hand, which you quickly retracted as you had him angled in the lighting you needed. Taking the roll of sticky tape from the table, you snapped a few pieces off and stuck them in tabs along his arm, before adjusting them outwards in the air and pinning down the first piece just over his ribs.

Your arms pushed around him, his chin tilting up to rest over your head each time you leaned back into him, your hair brushing against his skin and you caught a whiff of the pleasantly scented citrus body wash he had used his skin truly clean for the first time since you had saved him. You worked quietly, only the combined deep breaths of you both and the bubbling of the boiling water only ten metres away from you.

“You smell better now. You smell good.” You were fastening the bandages in the front as you spoke, and he looked down at you, humming under his breath once you finished speaking and you chuckled lightly at the basic response, but it was a nice change from grunting and growling.

Once you were happy with the way they were secured, you stepped back, and he pushed his hands through the sleeves of the t-shirt, raising his hands up as far as he could as he tried to shrug the material onto his body, a pained noise leaving him as he struggled, the material getting caught around his elbows. You stepped in, taking the material and lifting it up, helping to guide his head through the gap, tugging it down over his body until the ends were brushing the band of the sweatpants, and you tapped his hips, taking a step back and turning away from him.

A hand sealed around your wrist, not in the tight and bruising grips you had been used to from him, but in such a feather-light touch there was barely a weight on your skin, and your eyes scanned along the arm to his eyes. He looked at you carefully, licking over his bottom lip and opening his mouth, closing it again before swallowing down thickly before fixing a gaze on you.

“Thank you.”

He coughed after speaking, his voice so hoarse and raspy that he could barely speak the words, and he stretched out his throat, shifting his head side to side form the discomfort speaking the words must have caused. For once, the tension in the room dissipated, and you felt like there was finally some kind of common ground between the two of you. You finally gave him a smile, nodding your head toward the kitchen as you stepped backwards toward it, the smell drifting through the room. “C’mon. I made noodles again. Maybe you’ll actually eat it this time.”

[mypassionfortrash]

KICKS (part 7)

It’s the night Roger’s been training for! Can you continue to keep your kinks and your feelings separate?

WARNINGS: Strong D/s themes throughout this fic; small mentions of sexual/physical abuse; STRICTLY 18+. NOTES: As always a massive thank you to those of you who are sticking with this fic. I promise I’ll try and make this worth your while. If you liked this chapter, please REBLOG THE EVERLOVING FUCK OUT OF THIS (and maybe leave feedback, I beg of thee). Thank you!

CATCH UP: Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six

TAGS: @jennyggggrrr​ @sarahgurl09​ @scorpiogemini @johnricharddeacy​​ @brianssixpence​ @hellohellothere12 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @internationalkpoplova @thefairyfellersmasterstroke @six-bloodyminutes @hannafuckingsucks​ @dancingcoolcat​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @theedwardscollection​ @inthelapofrogertaylor​ @80s-roger​ @just-my-sickly-pride​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @johndeaconshands​ @loveandbeloved29​ @toreyyyyyy @fallingprincess​ @radiob-l-a-hblah

Tugging the zipper on your makeup bag, you stared across at your reflection on your wardrobe door. Hair up in rollers, rogue sparkling away on your lips, your silk robe draped over your shoulders. Your skin still glowed from a flaming hot shower. You looked good, though, you reasoned to yourself above your heartbeat surging away in your ears. With trembling fingers, you jabbed out Roger’s number.

“Hello?” Roger’s voice wavered over the line.

“Hello, Roggie. Ready for our playdate?”

“Yeah… about that,” he began.

That was the starting gun and your mind was off to the races.

“I’ve been really bad,” Roger admitted, with the kind of sly intonation that made him sound like he was sharing a sordid secret with you. “I–I… I came last night.”

You sucked in a heavy sigh of relief, but before you could talk, Roger was back at it, explaining himself.

“You see I managed to take the biggest plug while I was… you know… and it just sort of popped in. I couldn’t help it.”

He sounded rather pleased with himself. “Well, you know I’m going to have to punish you, don’t you, Roggie?”

On the other end of the line, Roger swallowed hard, feeling his breathing cripple in an iron fist around his lungs.

“Don’t you, Roggie?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be over in an hour,” you began. Your tone could have carved stone. “I want you waiting on your knees with your back to the door. Bottom in the air. I want you naked and lubed up with that plug inside you. Keep the door unlocked. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

As soon as you hung up, you cast an eye over to the duffel bag at the foot of your bed. You had crammed it with all the accoutrements you needed for another night with Roger, plus clothes for work the next day. But you never banked on having to pack something to punish him with. He was always so eager and obedient any time you checked in on him. 

Leaning forward, you pulled open the drawer at the bottom of your wardrobe. You liked to keep these items separate from the ones in the cabinet at your bedside. 

Drawing your fingers over all the torture instruments at your disposal, you wondered about Roger’s pain tolerance. He was so slight that you wondered if he really could take anything more than a flimsy little riding crop. Canes and whips and floggers were out of the question. For now, of course. You wiggled your fingers just a bit more.

There it was.

Exactly what you had been looking for.

You were going to wear gloves, the elbow length vinyl ones that were draped over the bed frame with the rest of your outfit. They would be enough to dull the pain but still pack a punch. Chewing the inside of your lip, you closed the drawer.

And then you snatched it open again.

On second thoughts, you couldn’t guarantee your hand would be enough for him. After all, Roger was stubborn. He had fight in him. What if he misbehaved again?

In a second of pure sadism, you laughed to yourself as you picked up a small and supple leather paddle. That would be perfect.

Looking at the clock beside your bed, your eyes bulged. Somehow you had managed to waste ten whole minutes and you still needed to get dressed, and drive to Roger’s, and allow yourself some time to gather your composure once you got there. 

You cursed under your breath and jumped to your feet. 

Grabbing the bottle of talcum powder from your washbag, you patted some powder over your stomach and your thighs. You had big plans for your outfit, but if even a hint of sweat or moisture stuck around on your skin, that plan would become very very difficult for you. You held up a pair of shiny black hot pants to assess just how much sucking in your had to do to hike those up. “Here goes nothing.”

It turns out the shorts were the least of your worries. When you had slipped into your sheer red bra, your fishnet stockings and then your vinyl gloves, the time came to put on your boots. They rose to your knees with heels that lifted you up to the sky. But it had been a while since you had a chance to wear them. 

Maybe it was you? Maybe the zipper was just stubborn? But you definitely broke a sweat by squeezing into them. And you wasted another ten minutes doing just that.

So, all dressed up like a devilish Wonder Woman, you slipped on your coat, grabbed your bag and hurried out to your car.

A disconnect between your gut and your brain nearly landed you in an accident or two on the way to Roger’s place. You struggled to keep your eyes on the road as came in waves. But when you arrived and the car came to a halt, it was a struggle just to breathe.

Focusing on the reflection of your eye in the rearview mirror helped. Blinking slowly, lined with heavy black eyeliner. When you calmed down, it travelled from the mirror to Roger’s door and the dull glow coming from the stained glass window up above it.

All the houses on the broad suburban street were dotted safely apart. No risk of curtain pullers here. That was a bonus, you thought, stepping out of your car. You grabbed your bag from the boot and looked around again. Not a soul in sight.

He must be rich – richer than you even dared to imagine – you thought, tottering down the winding path in his front garden. Neatly trimmed shrubs and exotic looking plants shone through the darkness, and you couldn’t get over the sheer enormity of the house itself. You counted three floors, but your neck couldn’t crane your neck far enough to verify that. You cast a glance back to your decade-old Ford Escort sitting at the side of the road. He was definitely too rich for you.

Bolstering yourself for what was waiting for you on the other side, you reached for the handle, taking a deep breath. Your eyes widened when you realised that Roger had left the door unlocked. That sparked an unbearable curiosity and one swift push later, the door was open; the sight that greeted you took your breath away.

Without a word, you stepped inside on unsteady legs. All while Roger kept still on the floor, waiting for you to greet him.

“Good boy,” you whispered, giving his hair a ruffle as you breezed past him, shrugging out of your coat as you moved along. The hall was quaint, decorated with dark wood and ornate rugs on the floor. You pointed towards the room on your left. “Is the living room through here?”

“Yes,” Roger said.

“Good. Follow me. On your knees.”

With every move that Roger made, his muscles seemed to contract and tense in a strange mix of anticipation and the draught from the hall seeping into his frame. The wooden floor bore into his knees, making crawling even more uncomfortable for him. He barely kept up.

Perching on the edge of a chesterfield sofa, you gave Roger a moment to catch up. His head was bowed as he tried to maintain his composure. But when he arrived at your feet, he looked up at you with big, sad eyes. 

Curling one of your vinyl clad fingers under Roger’s chin, you kept his sights set firmly on you. “Are you going to be good?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Ok,” you said, sitting back. You patted your thigh. “Over my lap.”

Roger scrambled to his feet for the first time in almost an hour. Unsteady and unsightly, he flung himself over your knee, facing the floor.

He was light as a feather but he had more than enough to grab on to at the back. “Do you know why I’m punishing you, Roggie?” you asked, unable to resist pawing at his soft backside. 

“I–I disobeyed you,” he began. “I was supposed to go a whole week without making myself come. And I disobeyed you.”

“I’m so disappointed in you, Roggie.”

Roger fumbled at the top of your stockings. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to go easy on you for this. You’ll have to work for it.”

“I know.”

“But, if you want me to stop, what do you say?”

Without hesitation, Roger spoke: “Red.”

“Good. You ready?”

Roger shuffled on your lap in an attempt to get comfortable, but he quickly realised it was no good. There was no comfortable position. Not like this. You felt him give up; his muscles relaxed. Resigned. “Ready.”

You started hard. One swift stinging swat to his cheeks to test the water had him hissing. “Remember, if you need me to stop just say–“

“Red, I know.”

“Oh, he has an attitude,” you cooed. “You know, I was going to ease you into this, but now I don’t think I will.”

Before Roger could respond, you doled out no less than twenty strikes, with one arm around his waist to keep him still as he fought for control over his movements. His skin burned, but his cock pressing up against your thigh told a different story.

“You’re.” 

One smack. 

“Not.” 

Another smack. 

“Supposed.” 

Another one. 

“To be.” 

And another. 

“Enjoying this.”

Roger’s backside was painted with pink handprints, but he was stubborn. He wasn’t showing any signs of remorse. Not even a single ‘ow.’ You had to be sure he wasn’t just gritting his teeth to get through this. You had to test his limits. 

“I think we should take this up a notch, don’t you, Roggie?” you said, prodding at the base of the plug he was wearing.

“N-no!… Yes.”

“At least you followed that instruction, didn’t you?” You gave the plug a twist and then pulled it ever so slightly until the metal bulb inside him became visible. That was enough to elicit a moan from him. And for you to refocus on the task at hand. “Didn’t you, my little slut?” you repeated with another smack on Roger’s bottom.

“Yes, yes. Fuck.”

With one arm around Roger’s waist, you reached down with the other to unzip your bag. You fumbled around inside it, searching for the paddle from earlier. “This ought to get to you squeal,” you said, gripping it firmly. “After all, you’ve been very naughty.”

“I know,” Roger’s voice wavered.

You brought the paddle down on Roger’s bottom ten times in quick succession. Each and every whack punctuated with whimpers from him. He was starting to break. Then you paused, admiring your work. A pattern of bright scarlet blotches all over his tender little rump. “My, my you sound pretty when you whine, Roggie. Is it getting too much for you yet?”

“No,” he scoffed. “I can take it.”

You chuckled. “Right. Twenty more then and we’ll see if you’re still a brave little bitch.”

“Oh… FUCK!” Roger hunched over, grasping at your thigh for some semblance of relief.

“You’ll never learn if you don’t take it.” Your tone was cold, cracking the paddle down on his soft, sensitive flesh. “Ten fucking more,” you hissed. “Count for me.”

“Fuck,” Roger whined.

“It’ll be quick. I promise you. Just ten more.”

Sure enough, Roger counted the final ten strikes without missing a single one. Although tears did make an appearance by number five. And he could barely speak by number ten.

And when it was over, his skin was dripping with sweat. His body felt limp as he sniffled into your thigh.

In the moment, discipline always felt so cathartic for you and any sub you went through that with, but afterwards, the guilt you felt was always so overwhelming. First and foremost, you didn’t want his sweet derrière coming up in welts. You didn’t want to prolong the pain any longer. Grabbing the tube of ointment from your bag of tricks, you applied some to Roger’s skin. You could feel the burning of the swollen scarlet marks as you worked it in.

Roger still whimpered and squirmed. You swore you felt tears trickle down on to your leg. 

“It’ll be over in just a second,” you soothed. “It’s ok.” When you finished up, Roger’s body was still limp enough that you could pull him upright to sit on your knee. You wrapped your arms around him, trying to transfer some heat from your body to his own and swept the tears from his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

Roger lifted his hands to his face to take care of the straggling tears. “I’m ok.” Then he laughed under his breath, a small smiled formed at the corners of his mouth. “That was intense. I don’t think my dick’s ever been this hard.”

“I think you’ve earned a reward after that.”

Roger’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning in closer to him. “Do you want to show me what that gorgeous arse of yours can do?”

Roger nodded and grinned. “Ok.”

You had to race to keep up with Roger as he led you upstairs towards the bedroom. That struggle was compounded by the lack of light in the staircase and down the hall. Luckily, Roger arrived at his bedroom and flipped on the light, looking back at you rushing towards him, duffle bag in hand. 

“On the bed, slip a pillow under your hips, spread those legs,” you grinned, dumping the bag on the floor.

“Christ, you’re not fucking around, are you?” he quipped, flopping backwards. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and eyed you rummaging around for his reward.

You sensed this and glanced up at him. “Touch yourself for me. But don’t come just yet.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Averting his eyes, he wrapped his hand around the shaft of his cock and started gently stroking it. He listened intently to you unpacking everything you needed to put him through his paces. But even with the distraction, it took mere seconds before his muscles tensed. Especially around the plug still inside him. He had to take a breather.

But that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Not while you stood at the foot of the bed donning a bright red strap-on that sat just inches away from Roger’s bottom. “You��re so pretty like this,” you purred. You slipped your fingers underneath the base of Roger’s plug and gently pulled at it. At first, his muscles resisted and the plug shot back inside him. He groaned at the sensation. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he sighed. 

His eyes couldn’t meet your own, but now wasn’t the time to push him too far. For now, you revelled in how angelic he looked with his red cheeks and bashful mannerisms having all of this done to him. Letting you do this. You pulled at the plug again, this time further out. He clung to it at its widest point in an impressive stretch that showed you just how much he had been practising since the last time you met. “I love seeing that gorgeous arse of yours all stretched out for me, Roggie. You’ve really been working hard. Training yourself to take my big, hard cock, haven’t you?” You let go of the plug again, and sure enough, Roger sucked the plug back inside.

“Every day, just like you told me,” he sighed. He started to jerk himself off again. “And I loved every second of it.”

“I think you deserve a big reward, don’t you?”

His eyes were still closed; you could tell he was engulfed in sheer bliss. And you were only getting started. “Yes, please,” he smiled.

Finally, you eased the plug all the way out of Roger with a pop. Then you replaced it with one well-lubed finger, pushing in right up to the knuckle. “Look at this beautiful little hole. Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

“Ok,” he nodded.

Another finger joined the first, curling in on themselves while Roger worked his hand over his cock. But that didn’t earn enough of a reaction for your liking. So you added a third. Roger’s lips parted with a quiet moan. “Feel good?” you asked.

“So good.”

“Another?”

“Try it,” he said.

With a healthy amount of pressure and a hefty dose of lube, your pinkie joined the rest of your fingers, fucking Roger. “Fuck, you really like being stretched out like this Roggie.”

“I love it,” he purred, arching his back against your movements. 

“Are you close?” Your fingers curled with renewed purpose, hoping for the answer you really wanted. His own hand certainly travelled faster.

Roger couldn’t speak. So he nodded.

And then, you withdrew your fingers.

Roger let out a pained whine at the loss of contact. Suddenly his hand just wasn’t enough. 

“Aw, what’s wrong, Roggie?” you pouted, peeling back your gloves from the arms down. 

“Please put them back inside me,” he begged. “Please!”

With your gloves discarded on the floor, you loomed over Roger. Your fingers wrapped around the red dildo between your legs, spreading a generous amount of glistening lube over the shaft. “I can give you something better,” you smirked. 

“Please get on with it,” he huffed.

With a devilish look, you grabbed Roger’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Your other hand pressed your rubber cock against his entrance. “You want it?”

“Please.”

“Tell me how much you want it. What do you want, Roggie? Use your words.”

He couldn’t look at you. Instead, he screwed his eyes closed and turned his head away. “Fill me. Fuck me. Anything. Please.”

“Alright, Roggie,” you soothed, easing into him. “Just relax.” You kept your eyes trained on Roger’s face for any inkling of discomfort or apprehension. But that never came. 

Instead, Roger’s jaw slackened as you bottomed out. A delicious, warm fullness swelled inside him. He didn’t strain against your grip on his wrists and he didn’t need to touch his cock for him to climb that tense slope at an achingly slow pace again. 

“Feel good?” you asked.

“Amazing.”

“I’m going to start moving now, just let me know if it hurts.”

“Ok.”

You leaned back and pulled away from Roger. Your hands trailed along the backs of his thighs before hiking them up high around your waist. Roger was utterly exposed to you in every sense of the word, but he didn’t mind. As your thrusts began, slow and shallow, his hips rolled to meet yours. Finding a position that worked for both of you. His arms stretched out above his head, reaching to grasp at the pillows for something – anything – to help him keep his grip on reality while you gathered pace. Purposeful, unrelenting pace.

You knew Roger was proud and you knew he didn’t do ‘vulnerable’ and there was something about seeing him so unhinged and so undone that made this even more special. He didn’t even need to say a word for you to know that. And he looked so beautiful just lying there taking your cock, being lavished with all the attention his heart desired. And you needed to be closer to him again. 

You leaned down, pressing your body close to his as you continued to fuck him. You could feel his heart racing away in his chest and every moan rattle his ribs. And his fingers. Tracing your shoulderblades as he held you close to him.

Tighter. Then tighter still.

Your breath caught the mist of sweat along his collarbones, making him shiver when you spoke. “Close?”

“Please keep going,” he begged through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Roggie,” you reassured. “Not until I see you come.”

Roger’s lips curved, safe in the knowledge you wouldn’t rob him of the pleasure he so desperately chased. Even if you wanted to, Roger was too far gone. Over the edge. Bathed in absolute euphoria.

Roger returned to his senses with you nestled into his chest. You watched over him, trying to search for any sign of pain or discomfort. But all you found was a look of sheer satisfaction. 

“You look exhausted,” you said, stroking his chin.

“Feel exhausted. And disgusting.”

You laughed and gave his chest a gentle pat. “I’ll go and run you a bath.”

Stepping into Roger’s bathroom felt like a shock to the system. Equal amounts of opulence and tackiness, just like Roger’s fashion sense. Green marble and gold accents. A deep tub lined with bits and bobs in stylish, expensive-looking bottles. You knew the drill, though. 

Bubble bath. 

Water. 

You left it to run and ducked back into the bedroom to find a sweaty, bedraggled Roger bundling robes and towels into his arms.

He peered at you over the thin gold rims of his glasses. “Are you sticking around?” he asked. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Plenty of space.”

A nerves crept up your chest as you tried to croak your words out. Sure, you had packed a change of clothes, just in case, but you didn’t bank on Roger actually wanting you to stay. “I’d love to.” Before Roger had time to respond, you continued. “I better go and check on your bath.” 

You had already peeled off your shiny sexy getup and hopped in the shower when Roger came through, but you had yet to switch it on. Your hands flitted between the two gold dials on the wall. This wasn’t like your shower back home.

Roger’s voice made you jump out of your skin. “The left one’s for temperature, and the right one’s for pressure.”

You turned around, trying your best to cover yourself with your arms. He hadn’t fully seen you naked yet. Your jaw was slack from the horror. “What was that?”

Roger obviously got a kick out of your predicament. He had poked his head into the cubicle to speak to you, but he lingered there just a second too long for your liking. With bright eyes and a fiendish smirk. “I said the left one’s for temperature and the right one’s for pressure. Start slow with the right one, and maybe cower in a corner while it warms up,” he laughed. 

Gingerly turning up the dial on the right – just a single notch – the ceiling dumped an icy deluge right on top of you. You shrieked, trying to cover your body with your arms again and turning away from the shards that fired at your skin. Through the cubicle, you could just about make out a smile on Roger’s face as he observed you from the bathtub. He had to lie facing you, didn’t he?

“I told you to start slow!”

“I bloody did,” you said, turning back into the stream. Thankfully, strands of warmth trickled into the downpour. But it just wasn’t enough for you. So you reached for the dial on the left, ratcheting the heat all the way up. The temperature change took forever to kick in, but when it did, it went from bearable to the fiery depths of hell before you had the chance to react to what was happening. Again, it made you yelp and cling to the steamed up panels. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you hissed, slinking your hand along the wall towards the dial again. Eventually, with a lot of patience and only minor scalding, the shower allowed you to bathe comfortably. Now all you had to do was find something to wash the night’s dirt and grime off of you.

You didn’t have to look far. A small golden dish was fixed to the emerald green wall with a purple bottle on top of it. Turning the bottle in your hand, you read the label, smiling as you did. Maybe you’d smell like Roger if you used this? He always smelled like heaven; lavender and rosemary.

And he had the cheek to call you out on your banana shampoo.

You squeezed a dollop of the silky liquid into your palm and lathered it over your skin, allowing the scent to unravel all the knots in your muscles and your mind. Visions of what had happened between you and Roger barely an hour before hijacked your imagination and you couldn’t help but give a satisfied hum as it all played out. There was nothing you would have changed about it. But the lower your hands travelled, the more your awareness returned. You could feel Roger’s eyes focusing on you – as much as his eyesight allowed.

Peering over your shoulder, sure enough, you found him with his arm resting on the side of the tub, and his face propped against his hand. His sleepy eyes followed every single move you made with a look of soft, dreamy lust. And that hit you right between your thighs.

Your gaze shot forward and it stayed there while you rinsed the suds from your skin. You couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge that Roger was watching you. Again.

When you shut off the water and stepped out of the cubicle, your trembling legs took you over to the chair beside the bathtub. 

Not once did Roger peel his eyes off of you. 

You took a towel and wrapped it around your body, then you looked down at him. Still wearing a smug but content expression. “What’s the matter with you?” you purred.

“You look nice.”

“Don’t get too amorous.”

He huffed. “Last time I pay you a compliment.”

Without saying a word, you ruffled his hair and gravitated towards the mirror opposite the shower and the tub. It spanned the entire width of the back wall. When your features came into focus, you were startled by what you saw. You could handle the grey wisps of steam dancing off your scorched skin, or the way your hair fell flat and clung to your face. But you made one grave error in your haste to shower. Your makeup slipped your mind. And now, you looked like Ronald McDonald’s meth-addicted cousin. Black spikes splayed from your eyes and a red grin spread from cheek to cheek. “I look nice?” you said, glancing at Roger. Unable to contain a giggle.

He looked you up and down. “Well… everything south of the face.”

“Take it you don’t have wipes or anything?” you asked, circling your finger around your face.

“Soap and water, darling.”

You shook your head, turning back to the mirror. 

Roger returned from the bathroom to find you sitting cross-legged on his bed. In the time he had spent in the tub, you had commandeered one of his shirts to sleep in and the sight of you like this, with your damp hair and dewy skin, almost made him forget how to breathe. “You really do look nice,” he said quietly.

He had barely got your attention, standing in the doorway, swaddled in an oversized bathrobe, but his words were enough to scorch your cheeks and your chest even more than the shower did before. “You think?” you asked. You had tried so hard not to sound needy or dumb. Now you just felt the overwhelming urge to backpeddle furiously. “I mean… yeah, thanks.”

Roger sat down at the foot of the bed and studied every detail of you over the frames of his glasses. His eyes lingered on his shirt. “Did you find everything you needed?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “The only thing I’m missing is a toothbrush.”

“Well, I might not have your make up wipes, but I do have spare toothbrushes. I’ll remember the wipes for next time.”

“Good.”

“I also have lots of wine,” he added, waggling his eyebrows enough to make you giggle.

“Wine would be lovely,” you said.

Roger heaved himself on to his weary feet and got as far as the door before he turned back to you. “Red? White? What do you fancy?”

“Something fruity!”

“Something fruity,” he repeated with a wink. “That about sums you up!”

The first bottle of wine went down smoothly. You and Roger danced around in his bedroom lit by golden lamps along the walls, with Springsteen playing on a well used tape deck in the corner. Dancing and laughing and focused wholly on each other. 

By the end of the second bottle, balancing became impossible. You and Roger collapsed side by side. Out of breath, grinning wildly and looking up at the ceiling. Until Roger’s gaze shifted. You couldn’t see it. But you felt it. “You’ve gone awfully quiet, Roggie. Bum trouble?”

“I’m just thinking,” he laughed.

“About your bum? Is it sore?”

Roger rolled on to his side and propped himself up on his arms. “You know how you have those three rules?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve never really told me why you have them.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. Trying to visualise where to begin. “Right,” you said. “I had a really really awful boyfriend a while ago. A real manipulator. One of those guys that thought being dominant meant breezing past your safe words like they were nothing, or when ‘no’ means ‘hit me harder.’ It wasn’t good if I didn’t cry. And all of that just became my sex life for a year.”

Roger couldn’t look you in the eye. “I’m so sorry.”

“And the thing was,” you added, “He was the nicest person ever outside of all that. I loved him. But there’s a difference between getting kinky and getting off on beating someone up. So I suppose this is just my way of separating love and sex and feelings and kink. Setting boundaries. I know how amazing kink is and I don’t want to go without that. But I just don’t think I feel comfortable mixing all of that. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

Roger sensed the streak of sorrow in your voice. His fingers laced with yours and his thumb circled over the back of your hand. “Are you alright?” he asked, flashing you his baby blues.

Somehow, he always managed to melt your heart in lots of different ways. But right then, it was the way his glasses had slid down to the very tip of his nose and the way his eyes rolled off in different directions thanks to the wine. 

“I think so.”

He rolled over on to his front. “Why am I not convinced?”

You laughed. “Do I need to convince you?”

Roger just shrugged and buried his face in his arms, his eyes peering up at you.

You couldn’t resist reaching out to ruffle his hair again, allowing the soft blonde strands to curl around your fingers. “I’m ok.”

“Do you need a cuddle?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Without warning, you rolled on top of Roger; your chest pressed to his back. “You really are lovely, Roggie.”

A dull haze split the curtains; the first wisps of spring in the air. You turned on to your back, eyes fluttering closed again, and drank in that now-familiar scent on the duvet. Roger. 

Your eyes shot open.

Where was he?

Sitting bolt upright, you searched the room for a sign that he wasn’t far away. But you came up blank.

A pang of disappointment turned to a wave of gratitude, though, when you remembered just how terrible you tended to look in the morning. Messy hair. Morning breath. Bare skin. Panic carried you into the bathroom to fix your hair, brush your teeth and maybe, if you were lucky, wash your face and steal some moisturiser.

Face and hair fixed, you wandered through Roger’s house. It looked completely different from the night before. Whether it was the dark or the anticipation, you hadn’t registered much about the strange house you found yourself in. 

The garish ornaments that lined the window ledges in the landing. The way the carpet felt like you were treading on angels. Even the timeline of Queen’s escapades that punctuated every foot of the staircase. It all felt like another way of getting closer to Roger. 

You wondered if he did the same thing when he stayed at your place. 

Nevertheless, you were sure of one thing: Roger Taylor had questionable taste in interior design.

Downstairs, you paused in the hall to get your bearings. To your right was the living room. You had been in there. And on your left was the kitchen. 

The growl of your stomach couldn’t be ignored.

The kitchen was even more outlandish than the living room and the bedroom and the landing and the staircase. Ornate floral tiles lined the walls and the wooden cupboard doors just clashed with the smoky marble countertop. Everything around you felt like was dialled up to eleven. Until you zeroed in on a scrap of paper sitting beside the fridge. 

‘Morning!’ The scrawled note read. ‘Bacon sandwich under the grill. Hopefully, the tea’s still hot! Enjoy! PS: Bum’s fine, by the way!’

Your stomach growled again. You flung open the grill to find the most glorious bacon sandwich you had ever seen. Two rashers of crispy bacon trapped between two inch-thick slices of white, crusty bread. Dripping with golden buttery goodness. And it was still warm.

Chomping through your breakfast, you ambled towards the french doors at the back of the kitchen and looked out on the garden. A drop of orange was starting to spill through the trees along the bounds of the expanse in front of you. But that only held your attention for so long. 

Three revs screeched out from the garage, and somehow you knew that was where you would find him.

After you polished off your sandwich, you quickly poured tea for two and braved the freezing February frost in just Roger’s shirt and your knickers. Running for your life towards the garage and trying your best not to waste a drop of tea. You’d need it.

Inside, Roger toiled away under the hood of a Mercedes, bathed in the orange glow from the paraffin heater behind him. His white t-shirt was smudged with oil and dirt and his hair stuck up in every direction. But he was still sickeningly beautiful, even at this ungodly hour.

“Morning,” you chirped, clutching the two mugs.

In a moment of surprise, Roger cracked his head off the bonnet as he stood up, sending the spanner in his hand crashing to the floor. “Sorry! Hi. Morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. A renewed sense of shock and awe washed over his features as you approached him. “You look nice.”

You rolled your eyes and handed Roger his cup of tea, but the burn in your cheeks chipped away at your calm facade. “Do I now?”

“You are.” Roger winked, lifting the cup to his lips. Then he got back to work on his car. 

Perfectly content to watch him work, you hauled yourself up on the workbench behind you, cradling your cup of tea in your hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. Even though, in that moment, it was actually hunched over an engine ten feet away. “Why did you come back to the shop that second time?” you blurted.

“You made it impossible for me not to like you.”

“No, but why?” you pressed.

Roger straightened up again. With his back still turned, his shoulders dropped and he stretched his neck from side to side. “I guess,” he began, turning around, “I guess I came back because you know your stuff. You’re funny…” He trailed off, edging closer. “I don’t think you take shit from anyone. And,” he paused, shrugging, “I think you’re gorgeous.”

Your internal monologue screamed. Roger was far too close and he smelled far too good. And it took every ounce of strength you had not to topple backwards. “Oh,” you smiled. Your voice faltered. “Right.”

“I’m going to go for broke here,” Roger said, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “I’m pretty gutted that I can’t even touch you.”

You couldn’t resist pushing him. “Well, do it.”

Roger took one more step towards you, standing between your thighs. His scent was so intoxicating, you couldn’t resist trying to close the gap. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

You nodded. Focusing only on the blissful feeling of having him that close.

His fingertips brushed over your hips. 

That stare of his sucked the air right from your lungs. 

His mouth just inches from yours. “And now I can’t even kiss you.” He bit his lip, looking you dead in the eye. “That’s unfortunate.”

Without thinking, you grabbed Roger’s shirt at the chest and pulled him into you…

NEXT >>

[unstoppableforcce]

a new dawn

—CHAPTER 7: we get better

pairing: Poe Dameron x reader (modern au)

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: oof just when I promised things were getting better, I did more sad with an uplifting end and I’m really promising things are getting better this time around. and I honestly don’t even know how I feel about it but here we are

“You have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

He liked Doctor Holdo, he really did. The purple hair was fun, made him forget that he was in therapy every so often just because she looked so different from the air force doctors he saw right after the accident. And she had this level stare that made it clear early on that she wasn’t going to take any of his shit, no matter how soft her tone tended to be. It reminded him of his god mother.

He liked her.

But he hated these sessions.

This was his second so far and he was already exhausted with them. She just asked question after question and forced him to places in his own mind that he locked away once he got back. The whole first session she was just establishing background on him, what she couldn’t read from his medical records and air force files.

Today was different though, she seemed like she was on a mission.

And one thing he hated more than anything else was being told things he already knew. He knew he had PTSD, the psychologist he saw after the accident over there told him it was a possibility, the doctor he saw for physical therapy once he got back here practically confirmed it.

The last thing he needed was her to remind him of that.

“It’s not something you can ignore—”

You had said that. You had told him he couldn’t just will it away and he knew that. Of course, he knew that.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He countered, speaking up for the first time this session with a voice that came nowhere close to the strength his tone normally took. It barely even sounded like it was coming from him.

“Your girlfriend is making you come, isn’t she?” Holdo was quick to counter with a raised brow, the pen in her hand tapping a steady rhythm against the notepad in her lap. “I don’t know her well—”

“Yeah, she is…” He finally answered, gaining some strength back in his voice, “Because I didn’t want to come in here to talk to you about my feelings—”

“I don’t think you’ve ever heard me ask you about your feelings, Commander.”

“Poe.” He corrected her. “It’s just Poe.”

That was another thing he hated that she did, she called him by his title and it wasn’t his title anymore…

“Poe, I have never asked you about your feelings and you know that.”

Another thing he hated was that she was usually right. She wasn’t like he expected, she wasn’t like what all the guys said their therapists were like. He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, but she was not it.

She didn’t ask about his feelings, they typically just talked. Just like they were talking now. Though like you, even as he felt they were edging closer to a confrontation, Holdo didn’t raise her voice. She was stern, but even though he was probably a very frustrating patient, she didn’t shout like he imagined he deserved.

“The last thing I want you to do is talk about your feelings.” She leveled out, still tapping away, her pen against the pad in her lap.

“Then why the hell am I here?” He countered back with far more heat.

“Because we need to get you to remember what happened to you without reliving it.”

He didn’t even realize he was out of breath, not unlike he just ran a marathon, his chest was pumping up and down. He tried to rub his eyes to rub it all away, but it wasn’t working.

“You have been reliving it every time it storms, or you see something that reminds you of that day, or in your sleep or—”

“No.” He tried to fight it but Holdo leaned forward on her crossed legs and kept tapping her pen to the constant beat.

“Yes, Poe. You have been.”

“No—I—”

She pressed on, completely unphased, it seemed, by the reaction he was having. “It happened four months ago, didn’t it? When she checked you into the ER to put stitches in your hand—”

“That was an accident.” He choked out, rubbing his hands at the worn denim over his legs, specifically over the scar that ran the length of his thigh.

“That was what you told your girlfriend, but it wasn’t an accident.”

“It was an accident…”

“Tell me what happened that day, Poe.”

Tell her what happened? He hadn’t even told you what happened and now he was supposed to tell her?

He tried not to think of that night. He spent so much time lingering on it when you two were separated, he played it over again and again in his head but now that he had you back, he preferred not to torture himself with that night. But Holdo didn’t seem to have those reservations…

“Poe, tell me what happened that day.”

“I don’t know how it started, but I couldn’t make it stop.” He finally let out, still trying to get his breath back.

“No, you couldn’t. You’ve been trying since you got home but you couldn’t and that’s why you haven’t been sleeping or feeling like yourself.” Holdo explained and he couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

She said it so simply, like she had it all figured out already.

She’d only spent two hours with him before this session and she understood him better than he understood himself—

“Tell me what happened the night she broke up with you.”

His nervous chuckle turned to a scoff at that. “She didn’t break up with me, we took a break—”

“What happened that night?”

“I had a drink and I put the glass down too hard, it was an accident—”

“Okay,” she readjusted in her seat to lean forward, to face him even more. “You are going to sit there and tell me that nothing else happened that day? You’re going to lie to me about what happened that night?”

“Nothing happened that night, I put the glass down too hard—”

“Poe—”

“Nothing happened, it was an accident—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

No. It wasn’t.

He had gotten stuck out in the rain earlier. He took BB out on a walk when the sun was shining and then it was pouring, a sudden summer storm and he was caught in it.

His clothes were drenched and all he could hear was the rain.

He got BB inside and sat on the couch for hours in his still soaked clothes, just trying to get the rain to stop. It was all he could hear, he needed to get it out of his head, he needed to focus and he couldn’t.

You had been gone that whole week, you had been staying in your apartment because his not sleeping was keeping up and you were up for a promotion at work…

He needed a drink. He didn’t know how many hours passed with him just sitting there, but it was night by the time he moved for the bottle of whiskey in his cabinet. He filled the glass and he just started drinking. He didn’t drink often and when he did, he rarely drank a lot, but he was now.

He thought that maybe it would make the rain stop, that maybe it would muffle it. But it wasn’t working.

He didn’t really remember it happening, he knew that he blacked out for a minute, but when he came to, he realized what he had done.

He had taken the glass and slammed it into the table so hard it shattered up into his hand…

He just needed to distract himself from the rain and…

And It had been an exhaustive shift for you. And you were just so tired when you stumbled home, you didn’t even realize it was his apartment you were stumbling to.

It was just routine for you normally, and you were so tired, you forgot you weren’t staying with him.

You forgot that you had been staying at your own apartment for the last week.

You could barely keep your eyes open until you walked through the apartment and found him standing over the sink in the bathroom with his hand gushing blood. It snapped you awake quicker than anything had before.

Awake and with a burning fear in your eyes that he just couldn’t forget.

“Poe, what the hell happened?” Rushing to his side, grabbing the towel hanging on the rack, you immediately took over the situation from his useless attempts to stop the bleeding.

“I broke a glass.”

You could smell the alcohol on his breath, but you didn’t linger on it, all your focus on his hand.

But ignoring that he had been drinking was one thing, you couldn’t help but fight back his explanation. “A broken glass wouldn’t do this kind of damage.”

“It was an accident.”

“You need to go to the ER.” Grabbing his other hand, you pressed it where yours was on the towel and pulled away, “Let me grab my keys—”

“Babe, it’s fine—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

He didn’t after that, he got in your car and let you drive him back to the place that sucked all life out of you for the past twelve hours. It was just after 2 am by the time you got him there and secured a small corner of the bustling ER to stitch him up. And in the hour it took to do all that, you hadn’t heard Poe say a word, clearly taking your orders to heart.

“This is bad Poe,” You sighed, finally getting to work on his hand as a loud echo of thunder rang out from the open bay doors not too far from you small workstation. “What the hell did you do?”

“I broke a glass…”

“You did not break a glass.”

“I did.”

The next stitch through his palm was much more painful than the previous few.

You didn’t say anything else after that, and neither did he, he just watched as you continued your work. That was until you finished, laid a bandage out over the stitched wound, and pulled your gloves off.

“I’m done, Poe.”

At first he thought he had just misheard you, but after searching your stare for a sign that you meant anything else, he just got lost in the cold harsh reality emanating from your eyes.

“What?”

“This,” you gestured your hand between the two of you before rubbing your hands over your face, “I just can’t do this right now.”

“I just broke a glass—”

He didn’t even realize he had begun to cry until he had to reach up to wipe the dampness from his face. Feeling his heartbreak and watching your heartbreak play out so plainly in front of him, it was doubling the hurt coursing through him and he couldn’t even feel his hand anymore. You didn’t want to say it just as much as he didn’t want to hear it.

“Work has just been…” You never cried, but the smallest tear dripped from your eye. He wanted to reach up, but it didn’t feel right anymore. “And you’re not sleeping or... and I need to sleep and—”

“You can stay at your place or I can sleep on the couch—”

Your head fell to the side as your arms crossed over your chest. That wasn’t the real problem and both of you knew it.

“I’m worried about you, but I can’t do this if you’re lying to me and—”

“I’ll do whatever—”

“I think I just need a break right now.” You explained, reaching forward to take his hand, the non-injured one. “Poe, I love you but…”

“But just not right now?” He pulled his hand away to wipe his tears. He didn’t mean to snap even as he did, he regretted it but you weren’t pulling back.

“No. Poe, I love you right now, I just can’t do this… I’m sorry.”

The worst part was that he understood. He knew the burden he was, he knew how much work was straining you, it wasn’t fair to stretch you so thin but he wanted you…

“Poe—”

He held out a hand to keep you at distance once you tried to move closer and it took every ounce of your restraint to actually hold back. “I’m going to get a cab…”

“No, let me drive you home—”

“No…” He stood, shaking his head. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “I’m okay…”

“Poe—”

He lingered with his face next to yours, but after a few seconds, he didn’t have a choice but to pull away. If you couldn’t do it, he wasn’t going to do it to you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, and watching another tear slip from your eye only reminded him that he was already hurting you.

“I love you…” He sighed, “But I get it… don’t worry about me.”

If only saying it made it true… He could see the worry in your eyes as soon as he stole his last glance back to you.

He didn’t even realize that he was telling it to her as he was reliving it in his head. Not until it finally stopped and he shut his mouth to stop the words from flooding out.

She sat back in her chair, her rhythmic tapping of the pen finally ceasing.

He wasn’t sure what he felt, but he could see in her stare that she was satisfied and he knew why.

He could catch his breath.

Getting that off his chest... he didn’t even know it was weighing on him so heavily until he got it off. He was leveling out, he didn’t know how to explain it.

“Okay.” She said simply.

His head snapped back to hers and he quickly wiped the tears away. “What?”

“I said okay.”

He didn’t get it. “I just told you I smashed a glass to get the rain to stop—”

“Yeah, stop doing that.” She smirked, looking down to scribble something into her pad.

Clearly she knew something he didn’t. That wasn’t new but he just didn’t get it.

“But I—”

“Was that the first time you ever told anyone that Poe, what really happened that night?”

“Yeah…”

“You hear the rain and to you that takes you back to the worst day of your life.” He swallowed as she said that. He knew that was what was happening but hearing it said so plainly...

He clenched his eyes shut in fear of what that would mean for his life.

“So I’m just going to have to deal with reliving my worst memories every time it rains—”

“No, Poe.” She was quick to counter, closing her notepad in her lap.

“Why not?”

“Because we get better.” Her smile was sweet, like she hadn’t just antagonized him into spilling his secrets to her. “Because in coming to sessions and talking it out, getting that weight that probably feels like a four-ton elephant off your chest, you’ll get better.”

He wondered how she knew how it felt. He could see the medals on the wall though, he knew how she knew.

“But won’t I always hear rain and think of that day?” He rubbed start his eyes again, but there weren’t nearly as many tears as he expected.

“Remembering something and reliving it are two different things.” She began with her smooth voice,“There are good memories and there are bad memories, and neither are going to go away. You remember that night of the accident whenever you think of Snap but you must have plenty of good memories with him too, right?”

His head was full of good memories with him.

And now that she mentioned it, it was all he could think of.

He remembered when the met in flight school. He remembered his wedding, Poe was his best man. He remembered that night in the bar when he talked you into talking to him because Poe was too afraid even after you gave him your number the first time you met...

He was Poe’s best friend. And he missed him every day.

“And your girlfriend, you’ve got good memories with her, I’m sure.”

All of the memories... The warmth he felt when he remembered them was so dramatically different than the cold he felt accompanying the painful memories which lingered in his mind. Holdo had a point. She always had a point.

“And you’ll keep making more memories, bad and good.” Holdo continued, a soft smile still sitting on her lips.

“But reliving the worst night of my life… I can just talk that away because—” he still tried to rationalize it in his mind.

“Because you have to process the things that happen to us.”

“And because… because we get better?” He tried the words out on his tongue.

“Because we get better.” She repeated.

The session ended a few minutes later, and unlike the last, he wasn’t leaving her office fuming from the discussion and avoiding you on his way out. This time, he headed straight for you in the ER.

He had to ask around for a minute to find you but eventually you came out of a room and smiled catching sight of him.

“Hey baby...” you smiled, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him out of the busy hub. “I wasn’t expecting to see you after your session—“

“I wanted to see you.” He smiled back as best he could.

“Everything is okay?”

He nodded easily, “yeah, just thinking...”

“Thinking is good?” You mused out hesitantly and laughed when he laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s always you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing if you’re coming from therapy...” you joked wryly.

“No, it’s not...” he joined in the laughter again. “I just wanted to stop and see you before I head home.”

“I’m glad you did.” You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, held the kiss for a second longer than you intended but neither of you minded.

“I’ll see you at home later?” He said softly against your lips and you nodded.

When he left, he wondered if you could see that he felt just a bit lighter than he did that morning. He turned back to steal one last look at you before he left and he was pretty sure you did.

He wasn’t cured, far from it. But he felt better today, even just a little bit. And maybe he was just running off the high of ending the session on a high note, but who was he to scoff at it.

He felt okay. And that was new.

— —

-> tags: @imaginecrushes @somuchrandomshxt @itsamedeemoney @blushingwueen @grincheveryday @tommy-holland @shakespeareanwannabe @mad-hatters-teapot

[kainumbernine009]

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

[dvp95]

step into the light

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: teen & up tags: uni au, sort of? they're both in uni but this is not about uni, it's about two idiots meeting in the middle of the night at a corner shop where one of them works, and also heelies are involved, fluff, humour, meet-cute word count: 1.4k summary: Dan works the night shift at a corner store and Phil needs a sugar fix.

this was written for @cactilads in october, but i kept it on my back burner in case i wanted to come back to it and make it a whole Story. i've decided that i like it the way it is and i don’t want it on my shoulders like a gargoyle anymore. vivi drew GORGEOUS art for it already, which you can see and reblog here!

read on ao3 or here!

Dan doesn't mind the night shift. It's eons better than when he started his Asda shifts at five in the fucking morning - that was basically actual torture. Sure, it kind of sucks to go to classes at regular times throughout the week when his sleep schedule is swapped for work, but he'd be lying if he said he'd be asleep on Friday and Saturday nights anyway.

It's just boring, most of the time. The owner, a no-nonsense Indian woman a little older than Dan's parents, doesn't give a shit if Dan plays on his DS all night, as long as he doesn't nod off or let anyone break anything. He's been expressly forbidden from dealing with shoplifters in any way but to call the police, which works just fine for Dan. He wouldn't know what to do, anyway, always feels a little tongue-tied and awkward when he sees people shove candy bars and sodas into their jackets. He never calls the police, because, well, it's a fucking Mars bar.

There are a few moments of interest, usually in the form of drunk students livening up the place or exhausted parents stood in front of the baby food for so long that Dan worries they've fallen asleep, but for the most part his weekend shifts go by in quiet Pokémon battles and half-assed studying.

Tonight, though, Dan gets his favourite distraction. He's folded up on his chair in a way that increases his chances of tumbling off it and struggling not to fall asleep on his property law textbook.

Dan glances up as the door of his shoddy little corner shop dings. It's nearing three, which means he's either dealing with someone drunk, high, or very tired.

The guy who comes in is none of the three - at least, not obviously so. He gives Dan a jaunty, familiar sort of wave before he makes a beeline towards the slushie machine. Dan is sufficiently distracted, because this guy is the most bewildering part of his nights.

He doesn't come in every night that Dan's working, but it's often enough that Dan has developed a kind of fixation. Why does he always need an extra large slushie between the hours of two and four in the goddamn morning? Why does he mix all the flavours together and act like it's good (Dan has tried it, many times, and it's awful)? Nothing about him makes any sense at all.

Dan likes a good mystery, especially when it distracts him from property law, so he sits up a little straighter and lets his eyes follow the guy around the store.

And - okay. Okay. Maybe the guy is cute, in addition to being bemusing. He's always got glasses on and his dark hair shoved haphazardly off his forehead, a smile that reaches his sparkling eyes, long legs that always end up catching Dan's gaze.

He's looking at them now, actually, half wishing Hot Slushie Guy could be wearing his usual grey sweats, because the Star Wars pyjamas just aren't doing his thighs justice, when Dan notices the shoes at the end of the nice legs.

At first he just thinks, huh. Weird of a guy who looks uni age to be wearing light-up sneakers, but whatever. He's seen much, much weirder in this corner shop alone. Hell, he's seen weirder from this guy alone, since there was that one night that he'd come in wearing animal slippers of some kind or the other time he'd come with a beret on his head at 4:15 in the morning or the time - the point is, the sneakers themselves don't really give Dan any kind of pause.

Not until the guy goes to get a straw, and instead of walking like a regular person, he shifts onto his heels and glides over.

Dan is dumbfounded. Heelies still exist? What the fuck? He has not thought about them in literal years, not since people collectively decided they were mildly dangerous and very uncool.

This guy doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. He glides back over to his slushie and Dan has a moment of total certainty that he's about to eat shit before he does so, smashing into a rack of magazines with a small yelp and knocking it all to the floor. He manages to stay upright, but just barely.

Dan sighs. At least he didn't spill his stupid drink everywhere.

"Alright, mate?" Dan calls over, coming out from behind the counter. He knows that this doesn't count as letting someone break things, but he still wants to clean it up before Ms. Gujar magically appears behind his shoulder and scolds him.

"Uh," the guy says, his eyes wide and apologetic. He crouches down to start picking up the mess of magazines and Dan, not wanting to look like he's slacking off, joins him. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's okay," says Dan. He shrugs a bit, stacking the mags into neat piles. "I've had people do stupider shit."

The guy's voice is much brighter when he asks, "Really?"

He's just grabbing magazines at random. Dan has to reach out and take them from him before he puts the Good Housekeeping beside the Cosmo.

"Really," Dan assures him. "I have a spray bottle for breaking up chav fights."

The joke makes the guy grin at him, wide and sparkling and so contagious that Dan has to duck his head to hide his own.

"Well, it doesn't look like much of value was lost," the guy says, holding up a magazine by the corner with his finger and thumb like he doesn't want to touch it. Dan can't stop the embarrassing bark of a laugh that comes out of his mouth when he gets a good look at the cover.

"Bikinis don't really do it for you, huh?" he asks, taking the magazine and shoving it at the back where it belongs. He stands and, after a beat, thinks to offer his hand to help the guy up as well.

His hand is a little smaller than Dan's and soft, like he actually moisturizes. He squeezes Dan's hand before he stands up and again before he lets go. Dan wonders, a little ridiculously, if he's trying to communicate in Morse code or something.

"No, Dan, they don't," the guy laughs, reaching for his slushie like he hadn't almost broken his neck for it.

"How," Dan starts, and then looks down at himself as he remembers that he's got a name tag on. "Oh. Well, that's not very fair. I don't know your name."

The guy takes a long drink of his slushie and then winces. "Ugh, brain freeze. I know your name, but you know that girls in bikinis are boring to me," he laughs, "so I think we're even on the personal information front."

That's not fair. Dan wants to know, wants to stop calling him Hot Slushie Guy in his own mind, wants to find out what he's always doing here to get early morning sugar rushes. Dan feels his mouth twist into a sulk before he can think too much about how uncool that makes him look.

"Well," says Dan, putting his hands on his hips in a way he hopes looks casual and not awkward. "I'm not big on girls in bikinis, either."

He swears he sees those blue-green eyes sparkle. "No?"

"So now we're uneven," Dan says. "And you should tell me your name. Also, why you get a disgusting drink almost every weekend at a time most humans are asleep. Also, also, why you have heelies."

"Wow, that's a lot of questions," the guy says, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. He's still grinning. "You're gonna owe me some stuff, too, y'know. To even it back out. So why don't I pay for this, and I'll keep you company for a bit."

Alright. Dan can work with that.

"As long as you don't use those anymore," he says with a gesture down at the light-up sneakers. "I don't want you destroying the place."

"That's fair. I'm Phil, and I do tend to destroy places when left to my own devices." Now Dan just has to focus on actually calling him that and not just accidentally saying Hot Slushie Guy out loud.

"Nice to meet you, Phil," he says. "You should teach me how to make all the flavours taste good together."

Phil grins around his straw. "It's a science."

"We've got all night," says Dan, a little more hope in his voice than he really wants there to be. Phil grins even wider and grabs for an empty slushie cup.

[tsuki-chibi]

Passionfruit (November) Day 12: Variable

Catch up on AO3: Passionfruit

————

“I can’t believe Nino got akumatized because of me,” Chat said softly.

They stood on the roof of a nearby building, looking down at the boy in question. Nino was still rubbing his head and looking around in confusion; like everyone else, he had no idea what had happened while he was akumatized and so was left feeling worried and embarrassed over what he might have done under Hawkmoth’s influence. Ladybug and Chat hadn’t had much time to talk to him. But...

She rested a comforting hand on Chat’s shoulder. “Nino’s your friend. He cares about you a lot. It makes total sense for him to get mad over how unfair your dad is,” she said. “I think Adrien should go talk to him.”

“You think?” Chat looked nervous.

“Yeah. Go on. No one is watching but me, so you’re clear.” She gave him a gentle nudge.

He visibly gulped but leaped down off the building. A green flash of light signified his detransformation. Moments later, Adrien jogged out from between the two buildings and went over to Nino. Ladybug wished she could stay on the roof to watch, but her transformation was mere seconds from giving out. She jumped down into the same alley as Chat.

“Spots off!” Ladybug said.

“Good job, Mari - what are you doing?” Tikki asked.

“Sssh!” Marinette hissed, moving to the edge of the alley. She thrust a couple of cookies at Tikki, then peeked out and watched intently as Adrien spoke to Nino. Through their bond, she could hear everything that they were saying.

“Are you okay?” Adrien was asking. “I’m so sorry, Nino.”

“Sorry for what?” Nino said. “I’m the one who ruined your birthday by getting akumatized.”

“Ruined?!” Adrien exclaimed. “No way! You cared so much about my birthday that you got akumatized because my father was being awful. That means a lot to me.”

Nino was quiet for a moment. “Well... that’s not the only reason I got akumatized. It was the tipping point, but...”

“Are you sure you should be spying?” Tikki said into Marinette’s ear, distracting Marinette from the two boys. “It looks like Nino and Adrien are having a private conversation, and you can’t hear them from here anyway.”

“I just wanted to make sure they were okay,” Marinette lied. Truth be told, there wasn’t really any privacy when you had a soulmate. She’d lost several hours of sleep to knitting Adrien’s birthday gift because she had to wait until he was asleep, and unaware of what she was doing, to do it.

The result had been completely worth it, of course. She wrapped her arms around herself and smiled, thinking about Adrien’s reaction. It was a little painful - no one should be that surprised by a gift - but it also meant a lot to know how much he adored her gift. Even now, he wore the blue scarf around his neck.

‘Whoa! Did you hear that?’ Adrien thought.

‘What? I was distracted by Tikki. What happened?’ Marinette thought back, cursing her kwami. She hadn’t yet mastered the skill of holding a conversation mentally with Adrien while also talking outwardly to someone else. It was too hard to split her focus.

Hearing through Adrien’s ears and even seeing through his eyes was easier than ever, and of course their thoughts streamed through their bond like water through a sieve, but that didn’t mean Marinette was any better at having her attention divided. She frowned, realizing that she had missed something major.

‘Nino has a crush on you,’ Adrien thought.

‘WHAT?!’ Marinette thought at full volume, just barely keeping herself from screaming the word out loud. As it was, she clapped her hand over her mouth and a strangled squeak escaped her.

“Marinette? What’s wrong?” Tikki exclaimed.

Marinette hastily cleared her throat. “Nothing! I just remembered I have an assignment due tomorrow. I should get home fast. Any chance you’re good to go?”

Tikki looked at her suspiciously. “You’re not planning to go talk to Adrien as Ladybug, as you?”

“No, of course not,” Marinette said, startled.

“Are you sure?” Tikki said, narrowing her eyes.

“Why would I talk to Adrien as Ladybug? He’s my boyfriend. I can talk to him as me anytime I want,” Marinette said.

Tikki didn’t look entirely convinced, which only served to make Marinette’s nerves worsen. Apparently they hadn’t been as sneaky as she had hoped. She pasted on her most innocent smile and resolved to be a lot more careful in the future. Adrien’s amusement at the whole situation wasn’t really helping. She sent a pulse of annoyance back at him.

“Okay,” Tikki said finally.

“Great, thanks. Spots on!” Marinette whispered. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was transformed - no more kwami literally hovering over her shoulder.

‘Good?’ Adrien thought, smiling like the little shit that he was.

‘Nino has a crush on me?!’ Ladybug thought back incredulously. ‘No way!’ She peeked back around the corner and saw that Nino and Adrien were walking away, heading back towards the school.

‘Way,’ Adren thought. ‘He saw you kiss my cheek this morning and it made him a little upset and my dad pushed him over the edge. I didn’t know what to tell him... I didn’t want to lie. So I told him the truth and said we’re dating. Is that okay?’

'This is crazy! I can’t believe this,’ Ladybug thought, pacing back and forth. She and Nino had been going to the same school since they were little kids. Hell, they’d been in the same class for the past four years. They were friends, but she wouldn’t have called them close. And she definitely wouldn’t have guessed that Nino felt that way about her!

Oh god, what would’ve happened if he’d asked her out before she met Adrien? She might actually have said yes. Nino was a great guy. He was obsessed with music, sure, but no more so than Marinette was with designing. She cringed as she realized how convoluted things could have become, with Nino’s best guy friend being his girlfriend’s soulmate, and Marinette’s best girl friend being her boyfriend’s soulmate.

Alya. Ladybug stopped dead as realization struck her. So far, Alya and Nino had been keeping their soulmate bond blocked. They had figured out how to construct rudimentary shields of their own rather than pay someone else to do it for them; Alya said it was because she was nervous, and wanted to get to know Nino on her own terms before bringing the whole soulmate thing into the equation.

‘I couldn’t date Alya’s soulmate! She would kill me!’ Ladybug thought frantically.

Adrien laughed. ‘My Lady, calm down,’ he thought. ‘You’re dating me, remember? Your kitty?’

‘Right. Of course.’ Ladybug shook her head. She was catastrophizing again. She took a deep breath, trying to get her pulse under control. Adrien sent her a slew of soothing feelings, which helped.

‘So is it okay I told Nino we’re dating? He kinda figured that was the case already,’ Adrien thought.

‘Yes. Yeah. That was good thinking,’ Ladybug thought, hoping that meant Nino would never bring up his crush again. She would have to figure out some way to make Alya and Nino spend time together. They would be so good together if the two of them could just get past their initial nerves!

‘I’ll leave that plotting to you,’ Adrien thought back. ‘I told Nino I’d walk him back to the school.’

‘Then can you meet me at the Eiffel Tower?’ Ladybug thought.

‘Sure,’ Adrien thought. He was distracted now because Nino was talking to him. Perfect.

Ladybug used her yoyo to make her way home, deliberately keeping her thoughts on Nino and Alya. They’d come close to a disaster - how awkward would it have been if Nino had actually asked her out? - and now she had to assess all the variables to figure out how to make things out work the way they were supposed to.

And also, she would have to tell Alya she and Adrien were dating before Nino let it slip. Alya wouldn’t be happy to have been kept out of the loop like that. She and Adrien had tentatively agreed to keep things low key for now, mostly for the same reasons they were keeping their soulmate status secret, but it didn’t have to be a complete secret.

She entered her room, gathered what she need, and headed back out again. The Eiffel Tower was back to normal after their battle. She landed on their favorite beam and sat down to look at the city. It was late in the afternoon, but at least there were no bubbles full of helpless adults floating up towards the sky.

‘On my way,’ Chat thought to her.

‘Do you think your dad got you anything for your birthday?’ she thought.

‘If he did, it was nothing more than a pen. That’s what he‘s given me for the last two... no, three years,’ Chat thought back. ‘Before my mom died, she was always the one who planned something special for my birthday.’

Ladybug shook her head. ‘Again, your dad -’

‘Sucks, I know,’ Chat thought. His boots touched down on the beam behind her. Ladybug turned to see him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Hello, Chaton,” she said.

“Bugaboo. Not that I mind spending time with you, but what’s this about?” He walked closer.

“I know Adrien already got his gift from Marinette,” she began. “But Ladybug wanted Chat to have his birthday gift, too.”

His lips parted in surprise, eyes rounding. “Wh-what? Seriously?!”

“Seriously. Here.” She patted the beam beside her.

Chat sank down, staring at her. “You didn’t have to give me two presents.”

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to,” she said, setting the box on his lap. “Go on! Open it.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You’re impatient.”

“I’m sleep deprived. I get cranky,” Ladybug said, wiggling. “So stop torturing me!”

Chat shook his head - he didn’t like the thought of her sacrificing sleep time just for him, which Ladybug naturally brushed off - and unwrapped the box. He opened it up to reveal a beret made from the same soft blue material as his scarf.

“Maybe for Christmas, I’ll make you the matching gloves - oof!” Ladybug yelped as he tackled her, knocking her over in his haste to wrap her up in a huge hug. Staring up at the sky as Chat cried into her shoulder, Ladybug wrapped her arms around him and gently stroked his hair.

‘Merci, Marinette,’ he thought, the mental words so weighted with gratitude and love that her breath caught.

‘Bon anniversaire, Adrien,’ she thought back, this time pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

That night, Adrien received a hastily wrapped pen as a gift from his father by way of Nathalie. For once, he didn’t even care. He threw the pen on his desk and fell asleep clutching the scarf and beret to his chest. Marinette stayed up late to start work on a pair of gloves.

[cemeterygrotesque]

Didn’t I tell you so? [Drabble]

Trigger warnings; torture, gore, abuse, kidnapping, brainwashing. Nero’s scene with Ruby @sapphireblackfox

--------------------------------------------------------

It’s not particularly difficult to be prepared when you could arrange for something to be done to such precise instructions. And so Nero waits patiently outside of the house with four men to assist him with tonight’s plans. A smile cracks his otherwise bored expression when Ruby finds herself dropped from a lesser height just in front of him. Only briefly does Nero notice the flash of hold and black that accompanied the sudden appearance.

The drop is unexpected, and the fall leaves Ruby somewhat stunned, especially as she lands poorly on her one leg. And Nero is quick to instruct his men to tie her up. Of course it proves a bit more challenging than expected, as everything with Ruby does. But the people he picked out for this job weren’t fresh off the streets, and in the end her struggles, even if bothersome, prove fruitless. As she is dragged, tied up, in to the house.

Into the hallway.. then the living room, through a door.. down the stairs, through a hallway.. through a heavily secured door, and finally into a small room and pushed and tied into a chair with experienced movements. The room is mostly empty. With a smooth concrete floor, tiled walls and a light in the ceiling. There is drainage in the middle of the room, along with a hose by the side of the wall. The room was clearly designed for easy maintenance.

Of course Ruby kicks, screaming profanities all the while. "Nero fucking fuck you! What the hell is this? Where is Nico??" She demands, arguing as she struggles against her bonds. Nero replies very simply, snorting in grim amusement at her insults. "Interesting choice of words." However he ignores her other question, he wasn't here to accommodate her.

"I have a wide variety if you want fucking interesting!"

This time he turns around. Looking at her. "Will see if you learn quickly. Judging from my experience with you I doubt that." He moves slowly to the wall, where he placed the crowbar. Eyeing it as he waits for her reply. "Let me go and try me one on one you fucking coward"

"You remember what you said..? That you wanted to see if I could find you?" He asks, looking almost bored. "On your own you fucking cheating ass bitch." Ruby spits the words out at him, as if it was venom.

Nero snorts again. Did he expect her to act civil? No. Did he expect her to be scared? Nero hoped she would have some common sense, but clearly that wasn't the case here. "It's not cheating to have an army, it's power." He replies, finally picking up the crowbar and weighing it in his hands.

"If it's between the two of us then fucking yeah it is cheating!" She squirmed, not liking the potential of the crowbar. "One on one if you actually want a fair fight."

"Life isn't fair." The vampire shrugs, staring towards her. His expression took on a more cold appearance, the overhead light not doing much to change his apparent demeanour.

"Not for lack of trying..."

"Hm?" Nero walks over, gently tapping her knee with the crowbar to encourage that reflex induced jerk of the leg. Smiling when her body responds as it's naturally made to do. Ruby squirms, trying to curl her leg out of the way. It's difficult, with her legs tied to the chair. "Where is Nico?" She asks  instead, ignoring him.

"Dead." Nero says, about as interested as if she asked him about the weather. "Do you remember what else you taunted me to do? What was so uncreative?" He asks instead.

He's ignored again. "The fuck do you mean, he's dead?" Her voice cracked. He presses her again, giving her another chance to answer. To at least hint at some form of respect towards his person. "You don't want to answer?"

"Where is Nico?" She asked instead, trying to sound more demanding.

This time Nero sneers, baring his teeth in anger. "And you still don't have an ounce of respect for me." And with the fresh reminder of her actions he doesn't hesitate, lifting the crowbar over his shoulder and striking down against her knee. Beating down on the fragile joint there. Ruby cries out, straining as much as she could against the pain.

"I told you I would shatter you kneecaps. Since you seem to have forgotten." He says, now smiling at her. Taunting her in sadistic glee. He felt empowered. Ruby gasps out a swearword, shaking with pain and adrenaline, "Fuck.."

Nero however continues his monologue. "Though you have pissed me off, so I might just fucking pry them off you instead. With all your fucking sassing. 'Whiny Bitch' was it?" He lifts the crowbar to strike at the same knee when he reminds himself of her insults. "You still think it's fucking uncreative?" He leans in after the next hit and grabs her hair, yanking her head back. "I have never had anyone I have done so much for insult me like you have."

"Yeah..." She choked out. "Uncreative..."

Nero sneers at her reply again, baring his teeth. "Oh I will try to spice it up then, just for you." He yanks her head to the side and away before letting go, moving back to lift the crowbar and hit her knee again. Choking a pained sob from Ruby. However he seems more than enraged now, not giving her any pause. Lifting the crowbar he takes the pointy side and stabs it into the side of her knee. Not particularly precisely as he tries to quite frankly pry up her kneecap from the tendons attaching it to her leg. Ruby screams and swears, wanting to get away from the agony.

It wouldn't take much time for him to rip the kneecap and the tendons off and away from her body. The vampiric strength made it easy enough, even for him. But he takes his time. Working on the gruesome task without much care for her gasping. She hasn't even starting begging yet.

Eventually though the tendons do rip and the bone is free. Sadly there is plenty of skin left in place to keep it there. So Nero starts roughly chopping into her flesh with the crowbar. It was nowhere near the surgical precision that would be preferred, but Nero didn't want it to be clean and precise. He keeps going until a chunk of her skin, bone and tissue actually separates from her body, Nero hooking onto it with the crowbar to dangle it in the air in front of her. "Am I still being uncreative Ruby..?" He asks, spitting out her name between clenched teeth.

Ruby doesn't answer, gasping from pain as her body reacted in gruesome ways. The contents of her stomach spilling across her torso as the pain overtakes her body. Nero grimaces and steps back, intending for her to rest before he continued on the other leg. Even if he intended to burn the wound, she couldn't be allowed to bleed out. While he puts away the crowbar she gasps out a word against the pain "Nico..."

Nero turns around just briefly, looking at her with a glare. "And you still refuse to answer me. Not even the basic respect." He says, ignoring her nagging demands before leaving. He needed to come get a blowtorch. Ruby doesn't say anything, trying too wiggle out her wrists, to try and get away while he isn't there. But it doesn't take him long, holding a semi large butane torch that he holds on a far distance from himself as he lights it up. Flinching at the bright blue flame before he walks over to her and almost nonchalantly sears the bleeding, gaping flesh wound that was her knee. Quickly lifting the torch back up again as walks over to the wall to lean back against it, putting the torch on the ground. Now he was simply staring at her.

"I'm never eating BBQ again..." She mumbled, barely hanging on for the moment, tugging at a wrist. Nero answers somewhat amused. "Oh yeah, great reason to turn vegetarian." He says, taking out wet wipes to clean up his hands. Picking up his phone to stare at the screen.

"Rumor has it you're a leech.." Ruby mumbles.

Nero looks up from his screen. "Not as much as you."

"pfft...  I know you are, but what am I?" She says. Nero answering with a harsh tone. "A parasite on everything and everyone around you." He would wait an hour, he didn't want her to enjoy that adrenaline rush too much. "Says the leech." She scoffed, looking somewhat disoriented  "Fuck..."

"That's the funny part. I drink blood and yet it doesn't compare with how much life you suck out of everyone." He pouts, mocking her.

"Mmm... That's the assassin part probably."

"No respect what so fucking ever." Nero mumbles to himself. Staring at his phone when she gives yet another snarky remark. "Kind of hard to bend the knee when you haven't got one." She shrugs against the pain.

"Soon you won't have the other." He mumbles again, trough clenched teeth. Shaking his head in disbelief at her next remark. "Damn. That sucks." Nero doesn't say anything else, occupied with his phone.

"Damn..." She scoffed. "Shock is one bitch if a drug."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to miss out on the whole experience. I wouldn't want to be uncreative and let you think I was boring... so we are waiting." He remarks, dryly. "How considerate..." She grumbles, taking a breath. "Let me thank you for thinking of me..."

Nero scoffs. "What is it you're wanting out of this, Nero...?" She asks him, her voice strained with pain. "I want you and everyone to see that I can't be fucking stepped over and insulted." He answers.

"Mm... Is that why Franz isn't here?" She asks quietly. "Shocked I decide I have had enough myself?" He asks back. Raising his brows in mockery. "No. Not surprised you're showing everyone but him your point though."

"He isn't the one that needs it." Nero snarls, barking out the words. "Everyone has this idea that I can't possibly stand up for my words."

"Well, making others unable to certainly gives you an advantage." She says. Another snarky remark.

This time Nero just stares at her, with a blank expression."Do you want me to kill you?" He finally asks her rather bluntly.

"Not particularly but I feel I don't have a say right now so it doesn't matter." She answers, tired. "You have a strange look on life. You don't think you have a say in it, yet you make fun of me and insult me.. uh huh." He licks the inside of his cheek. Glaring at her.  "Yeah. Basically. What happens happens. Me being nice right now won't make you just change your mind and let me go." She answers.

"It sure as fuck is making it worse." He says with a heavy sigh. "But I feel like you have snapped out of your adrenaline.. so let's finish this up." Moving to lift up his crowbar. He wasn't sure if she was mad or arrogant. Mocking him where he would be begging for mercy in his situation, screaming apologies. Ruby flinches when he gets closer, closing her eyes as she awaited the pain.

"Nothing?" He asks, waiting in front of her with the crowbar hanging low in his grip. "Good. Shame I can't reward it." He stares down at her.

"Just do it." She says with teeth clenched.

"So much spirit.." He shakes his head, smiling sadistically as he taps the crowbar against her knee, causing the same reflexive reaction of her leg jerking up gently a few times. Ruby flinches and whimpers, closing her eyes tightly. "I wonder if they will cut your legs off." He mumbles to himself, curious. He lifts the crowbar up and slams it into her undamaged knee,  before stopping and looking at her again. "So. Still uncreative?" Ruby doesn't reply, screaming from pain. This time Nero waits, taking his time to have her stop screaming so he could at least give her a chance to answer. See how long she would try and deny him. "Fuck.." She gasps, tears rolling down her cheeks with pain. "You better answer me." Nero insists, threatens even. A dark tone to his voice.

"Yea." It's short, and she is pain. But to Nero it reads clear as day just how insulting she was being.

So the vampire scoffs, and this time he doesn't smash her knee with the crowbar, instead he goes straight to the stabbing motion. Trying to pry the crowbar roughly down into her knee to try and start prying the knee cap up. He would again drag this out, yanking roughly back and forth and scraping against the bones of her knee joint as he tore the tendons apart with the blunt metal tool. It doesn't take long for Ruby to wait, roughly snapping back to reality as the pain doesn't stop with a choked scream, her voice cracking. Nero doesn't pay much attention to her well being, but he stops when she doesn't move. Waiting to see her come back to it. So he takes a moment, simply standing there with the bloody crowbar. But as soon as she seem to gather her senses he continues, this time prying the long curved part of the crowbar into the gash and under the skin, feeling into the cracks between her bones and roughly shoving it under her knee cap before tugging up and away. Slowly tearing the bone away from the tendons holding it down..

"Stop!" She finally begs, and Nero stops the tearing, looking at her as he lets the crowbar stay in the wedged position in her joint. "Fuck, stop. Please.." She continues.

"A bit late don't you think? You just complained that I was uncreative. I have to prove you wrong." He taunts, leaning over to be a bit closer to her face. Finally answering her.  "You are. I.. fuck... I'm gonna pass out..." She was shaking from the pain now.

"What do you say?" He says, leaning close to her face.

"About what?" Her head rolls back, her body trying to cope between the agony she has just experienced. It wasn't strange she couldn't think. It was a miracle she hasn't passed out. Or died. Partially thanks to her experience as an assassin, no doubt.  "Well that's up to you." Nero answers. He wanted her to come up with something. He didn't want to have to spell it out for her.

"Fuck..." She took a deep breath. "Where's Nico?"

Nero leans back again, shaking his head with an angry sneer.  He doesn't know what he expected. Without another word, and without an answer he yanks on the crowbar, ripping trough her flesh in a rough motion until the bone and whatever tissue came off with it comes loose. Falling to the floor as he taps the crowbar against the concrete. Ruby screaming again at the pain. Nero clearly wasn't interested in playing games. She didn't answer his questions and yet she demanded answers. It was clear as day to the vampire that there was no respect in her. But he was starting to doubt if he would ever see it. Instead he tosses the crowbar to the side nonchalantly and without any care, and picks up the torch. He lights it again, just as carefully as last time, before he walks over to her, intending to burn the wound. The bound woman wiggling to get away from him without much luck, though she manages to trip the chair over, falling onto the floor and sending shock waves trough her cracked legs. Nero however doesn't show much mercy, he grabs hold of the damaged leg and roughly and painfully yanks it forward to get access to it, before putting the hot flame against the bleeding wound. It results in more screams.

He quickly turns off the torch, happy to not have to use it again. And puts it aside, even if a tad more gently. He walks over to her again and crouches so that he was close to where she was laying. "You know what the best part will be? How much you are going to suffer when not a single person gives a fuck that I did this to you. You are going to see everyone smiling, and joking and wanting to spend time with me and god will it hurt you." He taunts her, speaking with a sweet, sadistic tone. Full of spite.

"You act as if that's something new..." She says between gasps, swallowing away the soreness of her throat.

"No. But it's going to hurt so much more." He whispers, as if telling a secret only he knew. "And this time you will be alone at the hospital. And perhaps you will look back and actually appreciate all the fucking things I did for you." He snarls before standing up. "Or you won't. God knows you don't learn." He cleans off his hands again. Trying to consider his steps before he was going to prepare the mental torture, all the memories he would implant into her head.

"You didn't have to..." She sniffles, the slightest movement of her toes shooting fire through her body.  "No. I know. That's why it hurts so much to listen to you repeating how none of it was good enough, or how you don't think I did it for you." He answers. Grimacing to himself.

"Like you cared enough to do anything just for me..." She mutters. "Why would you?"

This shit again. How Nero hated it, this repeating nonsense. Did it even matter what he said? Or would she just later forget it as always. It fills him with rage. "Because I wanted to. Because I didn't want you to be alone. Or go trough things alone. Or to be alone. Because I fucking felt like it you dumb, fucking, bitch." He spits out the last few words, walking over to the chair again.

"why the fuck would you even care though? If I'm always such a pain? If I tried to kill you? If I'm such a dumb, fucking bitch? Why the fuck would you care?"

"Because I wanted to. You fucking moron!" He shrieks suddenly, his voice booming in the small room. His emotions spilling over.

"For what possible purpose?!" She cried back, shaking.

Nero lifts his arms, hands pulling back on his hair and squeeze his head with stress and frustration as he groaned. He wanted to kick something, but decides against it. Shaking his head he ignores her, giving up on this conversation.

Instead he moves to grab her by the hair and roughly pull her, her body and the chair back up on it's legs. Very obviously showing that he was capable of more than an average human would be. Ruby crying and whimpering as she strained against the painful hold. "There was no purpose. That's the sad fucking part. I did it for no fucking reason what so ever. And god do I regret it." He exaggerates the word. Leaning in close as he hisses the words into her face before roughly yanking her head away again.

"And why are you doing this then?" She choked out. "Why do you seem so he'll bent on caring what I think or do when... Why...?"

"I told you why." He says. "Because you told me you wanted me to. You didn't think I could be serious. And I need people to learn that I can. You included. Some respect would do you well." He sneers at her.

"You'd be better off just forgetting about me, Nero. Save us both the effort. Because nothing either of us do will make the other happy!" She says, her voice choking with pain and exhaustion.

"No, you have proved as much." He snorts. "And I will try my best."

Nero was clearly done talking. At least in that sense of the word. He grabs hold of her hair and yanks her head back to stare into her eyes. He wanted to implement the memories and get it over it. Knowing full well that it would take him. He speaks to her, reshaping her mind he begins to form the new memories in her head.

Embedding a memory at a point of distress in her recent past, adding in a story of her torturing and hurting Nico. The child pleading, crying and screaming her name as she snapped bones, kicked and stomped on his little body. He ends the memory with her choking her child dead, until the throat gave in under her grip and his body went limp.

He didn't need it to be realistic. He just wanted her to remember it.

Somewhere under this process Franz would peek in. And in a morbidly humorous moment Nero would simply say 'busy' as if it was a bathroom he was occupying and not sitting and torturing someone.

Once he finished he would remove the memories of Nico prior to that event, even if it was just a day or so. And removed her now fresh memory of his tampering with her mind. And when that was done Nero stepped away from her and went out of the room to get his goons. Telling his men to drag Ruby up and to dump her at the side of the road somewhere.

He was done.

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (7)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4228

It felt shit to feel thankful of someone’s screaming. Mostly, Taehyung was happy it was them and not him.

a/n: funny story, i submitted this chapter as part of my creative writing portfolio and the prestige uni i sent it off to loved it and accepted me :D hopefully thats a nice indication on whether or not this is good :S

warnings: extremely graphic content, sexual pain, graphic torture, gore, violence, death, Humans Suck

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05.scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare ↝ 07. thrones ↝ 08. moon motel

The group leave the trailer park three days later.

Bundling everything of use into the back of the truck, which seemed darker in colour since the last time it was used, you had found you enjoyed leaving more than you did settling in. Packing everything into correct places had always been such a bore, even at a young age. You remembered when you were eight, and moving in to your grandparents’ home in the outskirts of Denver. Was this really Denver? It was a small town, barely noticeable amongst the cluster of trees and ferns, but nonetheless peaceful, ‘perfect for a new place to start fresh’. Yeah, it only took around an hour and a half to get to school every-day, but don’t worry, it’s a fucking perfect place to live, aged eight, as an orphan. It took you around eleven months to finish emptying each box.

But four years ago, throwing everything into a backpack and into the boot of a car you nicked from down the road, it had been so easy. It was so easy to throw everything out and keep what you really needed. Easy to forget to pack a jacket you had been given for Christmas off an aunt you barely knew, easy to remember to pack all the knives out of the kitchen and the forbidden gun your grandfather used to hunt deer in the winter. It was rather symbolic- pretending people were deers as you shot them between the eyes.

“That everything?”

Namjoon stood, risen off the ground, his hand on the bar of the roof of the truck. Taehyung stepped down the plastic steps from the trailer, not bothering to lock the door, knowing nothing in there was of any value. At one point, the rainbow-glassed fruit bowl might have been of value, sentimental value or something. Now, it was worthless, with a lightning bolt crack down the middle.

“Yeah, good to go,” Taehyung replied, hovering when you climbed into the back to join Kyungmin. He waited, not knowing what for, only mildly embarrassed when you turned to see him staring. “You okay?”

You nodded once with a smile. “Mm. Are you?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I-”

Somehow, he hadn’t realised you shuffle to the open back doors to pull him in for a simple kiss. It was that quick and simple that he almost missed it. His eyes opened to the sight of you in front of him, your hands holding his face, rubbing the stubble around his jaw.

“You’re holding us all up, you know.”

“You’re holding me up,” he muttered, peeling your hands off his face and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, somehow finding the strength to let go and at the same time, make his way to the front of the truck. The whole vehicle shook as you pulled the back doors closed, submerging Kyungmin and yourself in familiar darkness.

“You got a map anywhere?” Taehyung fuddled in the glove compartment as Namjoon started the truck up. He pulled out a worn map, the same one you had used to direct the both of you out of Denver. Namjoon didn’t care for the quality, muttering a hasty thanks and peeling it open, staring at the lines and faded colours. “Keep heading East, as if we’re going to Georgia. Hopefully, we’ll catch Seokjin and his crew of fans on the way there.”

“And if we don’t?” Taehyung asked. When Namjoon fell silent, Taehyung’s lips pulled into a tight frown, “I’m just asking for the future. You’re not coming to Georgia. We’re going. I wanna know what our plan is before we put ourselves in danger in the middle of nowhere.”

Very aware of the compartment slider down, Namjoon found it was difficult to pick a solution that would best suit everybody. Kyungmin wanted to stay with Taehyung and yourself, forgetting Korea entirely and heading straight for the islands off the coast. Namjoon knew you wanted to go to Georgia with everybody, hoping to stick together as a four, but if there was no other option, you’d go to find a plane. Taehyung wanted to get to Georgia with you, but wouldn’t be opposed to finding Seokjin. As for himself, Namjoon wanted to take the jeep to Virginia, leaving Taehyung and yourself on the road.

Everybody made tough calls. Those words echoed in his head. Above all else, Kyungmin was his priority.

“I wanna take the jeep,” Namjoon said slowly, aware of the frowns, “but I can help find a vehicle for you and Y/N to use to get to Georgia. When that happens...we’ll go our separate ways. Half to Virginia. Half to Georgia. Fair, and square.”

Kyungmin fell with a thud and a sigh in the back of the jeep, and Namjoon did his best to ignore it.

“Alright,” Taehyung agreed, believing there was no other way around it. As long as you and him were safe, he didn’t care how it happened. “Whatever you say goes.”

14TH MARCH, 5 YEARS AGO.

Jiyong: i’ll be round at like 7:30ish. lost my weed bag and i’m a junkie and cant leave without it

Y/N: i hope it kills you

Jiyong: watch me actually die

Jiyong: don’t cry at my funeral you fake friend

Y/N: KIDDING!!!!

Y/N: is...seunghyun coming

Jiyong: fuck off

Jiyong: hes banned from seeing you

Jiyong: i cant believe my best friend is fucking my other best friend

Y/N: i like to call it woohooing and we’re being safe

Jiyong: i cant believe this is happening

Jiyong: why seunghyun?????? why not youngbae he treats women nice

Y/N: idk!!! we just hit it off a lot

Jiyong: you’ve known him for like 5 minutes

Y/N: it’s literally been like 5 years but whatever

Y/N: can’t you just be happy for me? i’m living life getting laid being happy n shit

Jiyong: i respect it but i’m not coming to urs expecting to have fun watching goblet of fire for the millionth time only for you to give seunghyun a sweaty bj right in front of me

Y/N: that was one time Let It Go

Jiyong: one day i’m gonna fucking die and you’ll realise how badly you treated me

Y/N: stop you’re my best friend :-(

Y/N: what are you like jealous that im banging him and not you???? wanna join

Jiyong: yeah i’d literally rather fuck the girl from the ring

Y/N: kinky

[03:45am]

Jiyong: woah did you hear about the north korea shit

Y/N: im literally being pounded into Cant this wait

Jiyong: we’re gonna die because kim jongun wants to nuke us and all you care about is seunghyun’s 3 inches

Y/N: it’s just fake news dont worry about it

Y/N: how many times has he threatened nuclear war

Y/N: he should hurry up and do it before exams

Jiyong: just wanted to check up on you because ur nan is fucking mental and she’ll probably collapse tomorrow morning and panic buy loaves of bread

Y/N: stop omg

Jiyong: anyways stay safe love U please bring me my weed tomorrow morning me and Jennie are gonna get high and try anal

Y/N: sweet thanks

SOMETIME LATER.

Leaving the world behind through the back windows of the jeep, you were oddly reminded of the time you left everybody behind during a Summer many years ago. It had been a spur of the moment decision, something you never expected to do, but found yourself doing anyway.

It felt like a lifetime ago; you had almost forgotten about it, until now, until seeing a sign graffitied with a smiley face, reminding you of the “GRIME SIGN” back in your hometown, renowned for being the most graffitied sign in the city. Whether or not that's true, you never really found out. Seunghyun and Jiyong had come along too, for the moral support of being alone on the road. With Jiyong in shotgun and Seunghyun in the backseat, it had felt like something slap-bang out of a teenage coming-of-age movie, titled “3 delinquents on the road to God knows where”, directed by Quentin Tarantino. You didn’t even know how to drive. It was pure bliss.

“Any luck with the radio?”

Kyungmin rattling the small radio that had been picked up from the trailer park startled you, the memory of driving nowhere and everywhere at the same time suddenly gone like the wind. As your vision readjusted to the dark, you noticed that Kyungmin was pressing all the buttons and turning all the dials, a frown on her lips jutted outwards.

“Not yet,” she replied. “Just give me a few more minutes, I can probably get this thing working.”

Namjoon let out a soft curse, swerving the truck slightly to move around a left behind Volvo, the cars open like wings with a dried trail of dragged blood leading into the thick forest. Things like that were common accessories, famed like tourist attractions. Namjoon now thought of what the world was really like- could Paris be any worse than America? What was Iceland like these days?

“Nearly there, now,” Namjoon said vaguely, and Taehyung debated whether or not to reply, if there was even anything to reply with at all. That’s how things went now, short replies or simply none at all. When the world died, so did words. Namjoon thought that was funny, how the collapse of society could mean the collapse of communication and language.

“We’ll need to stop for gas,” Taehyung said, his voice barely above a third volume. From the back of the van, you sat with your face looking out towards the left behind road, your eyelids growing heavy at the sound of Kyungmin pressing buttons, and the hum of the van beneath your thighs. “We’re running on fumes.”

Namjoon grumbled a reply, mentioning something about a gas station a couple miles ahead, near the clearing in the woods, just off the road. It didn’t take long to approach, only around ten minutes if Taehyung were to count. At least three songs had played since then. Taehyung couldn’t believe he was now counting using songs.

The station was large, decaying and it looked unsafe. Taehyung didn’t exactly care about the safety of the building itself, just caring about how safe it would be in the long-run. Safe enough to hide inside? Safe enough to step inside? Safety in architectural design didn’t matter anymore. If it looked rusted, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Namjoon pulled the truck into the station, immediately noticing a few canisters of fuel that was left for the purpose of using, a sign reading “STAY SAFE” stood up, stuck with black masking tape. The letters were dripping onto the concrete, a small pool of chalky white near the drain where a plant was starting to sprout.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Kyungmin’s voice made you look over from the canisters, a wrinkle between your brows. She smiled, generously, and waited for your reply. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She was talking about the Great Escape the other day. You already knew that.

“Just curious,” she replied, the smile never wavering. “There’s not many people left in the world, you know. Next to Namjoon, you and Taehyung are all I have.”

A silence fell on the two of you, and all you could hear was the sound of Taehyung dragging a barrel across the gas station, dipping his head underneath a broken window and scanning the interior of the gas station.

“I’m here for you,” Kyungmin continued, her voice significantly quieter. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, and your hand came up to stroke her forearm, a smile on your lips. For a moment, it didn’t feel like the apocalypse. In that moment, it felt like two best friends, reunited after a Summer break, the pine trees isolating them from the world, a Studio Ghibli film, released 2019.

And yet Kyungmin moved away, her gaze lowered as she passed across the gas station to meet Namjoon, already lifting canisters of gas towards the car to refill. Taehyung had emerged once again, his bag refilled with cans and cigarette packets, surprisingly a bottle of liquor in his hands as he stepped back into the bitter wind. Inhaling a breath, Taehyung crossed the width of the station and opened the passenger door to the vehicle, setting down his bag and the bottle, as if they were small children.

“There’s no way we’re making it to Georgia on time.”

Taehyung paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. “What?”

“Let’s think realistically,” you reasoned, tugging at the cloth over his elbow. Above all, you didn’t want Kyungmin to be upset if she overheard. “It’s been...how long? Since we left the warehouse? I haven’t exactly been keeping up with the dates, but it’s been too long, Tae. Normally, it takes less than 24 hours to get from where we are- wherever we are- to Georgia. And yet, we’re still not near. I’m just-” you sighed, raking your hands through your hair. In the dim light, the grease was visible. “I think we’re out of time.”

“Y/N, they’ll be there,” Taehyung said. He didn’t know what else to say, frowning, “I thought you wanted to remain optimistic?”

“I do, but I can’t afford to hope to get to Georgia and find them there. And what?” you continued. Your voice had raised slightly, not enough to make Kyungmin or Namjoon ask questions, but enough to make Taehyung’s nose cringe at the increase. “We get there, and find them. Is anything gonna be the same? What if we get there and they’re gone and there’s no boats? What if we get there and something happens to any one of us? Tae, I can’t have that on me. I can’t have that on my conscience. Not again.”

Not again. “Yena wasn’t your fault, Y/N, you have to know that-”

“I don’t fancy being out on the road all night.” Namjoon stepped into view from around the front of the van, his hands shoved into the pockets of his distressed jeans. “Thinking we keep driving, turn in when it gets dark to the first place we see.”

“Isn’t that a little risky?” Taehyung asked, mentally making a note to continue your conversation later. “I mean, we have to really check the place before we head in.”

Namjoon frowned. “I know that. But, Kyungmin’s feeling kinda travel sick, and I don’t wanna overdo it, you know? Nights like back at the trailer park...I want more of them.”

Already moving to the back of the van, you pulled open the double doors and slipped inside, keeping them open in time for Kyungmin to crawl in after you. Her skin was a shade of ivory, whiter than earlier, as if the sickness had come suddenly like a simulation glitch. Wasn’t that what you were now? A glitch? An error in coding.

Namjoon shut the drivers door, groaning at the loud sound.

“Hey, man, you okay to drive?” Taehyung asked quietly, looking over from shotgun. “Look, if you’re tired, we can switch the orders around.”

Namjoon looked over weakly- “You’re sure?”

Taehyung unbuckled his seatbelt, dumping his jacket in the footwell with a sniff of stuffy air. “I’d prefer if you slept if you’re tired. ‘Specially when they’re in the back. Don’t wanna hurt them.”

He made a sort of grunt as a reply, switching seats with the younger. When he was sat in the passenger seat instead of the drivers, he let his head lull back onto the windowpane, feeling the chilly glass cool the back of his head. It was as if resting his head had added extra weight to his eyes.

“‘m gonna drive straight-ish,” Taehyung said with his tongue between his lips, backing up the van slowly and carefully. Namjoon opened his eyes slightly, squinting.

“Can you drive?”

Taehyung changed gears. “Yes.” 

If Namjoon noticed that Taehyung paused, he didn’t mention it. In-fact, he closed his eyes again with a shrug, a half wriggle, resting his forehead against the glass, pushing towards the cool touch.

Taehyung had been driving for hours, for sure.

The time in the van was unlikely to be reliable, reading 5:19pm when the sky was as black as squid ink, the dim street-lights that somehow worked- probably solar - beckoning the group forward. In honesty, Taehyung had no idea how long it had been since the gas station, just long enough to give him a crick in his neck, the back of his thighs numbed. All things considering, Taehyung thought he was getting better at driving.

He flinched slightly as the divider to the back came sliding down, and your face popped out slightly, peering out the front window with sleepy eyes. If he had a free hand, Taehyung would have wiped the sleep from the corner of your eye, and he turned back to the road, oddly afraid of crashing the car with all four of you inside. Like yourself, he didn’t want that on his conscience. Like yourself, he couldn’t have it on his conscience, not again.

“Are we stopping soon?” you asked quietly. Namjoon shifted, making it known he wasn’t sleeping. He groaned, grinding the heel of his palm into his eyes, unbothered when dust and dirt smudged on his skin when he pulled away. He could look worse, he thinks.

“Nearly,” Taehyung replied. “I don’t know where to go from here. Last road was blocked, so, I’m trying to get out of here.”

Namjoon shifted, cracking his shoulder loudly. “You tried any back-streets?”

Instantly, Taehyung thought of the woman earlier in his trip. The way she screamed at the car, scratching at the rusty paint job, her eyes bloodshot and her skin a lime colour. He gulped the hot lump in his throat, “I’d rather avoid them.”

“It’s safer,” Namjoon continued. “Out of the way-”

Somewhere outside of the van, there was a loud crash, similar to the way you sound when you drop something at midnight when your parents are sleeping. The volume was loud, louder than anticipated, and Taehyung unintentionally stalled the van. Kyungmin jeered forward, hitting the underneath of her chin on the seats opposite, sending out a string of foreign curses to Taehyung in the driver's seat. He avoided the stare of Namjoon, deciding he didn’t want to see the deathly glare.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, cradling a throbbing pain on the side of your face after catching it on the separation between front and back. “Is someone here?”

Namjoon stayed silent for a moment, staring darkly into the outside. Taehyung didn’t know what to do except wait, ready to jump into action when Namjoon made a noise of surprise- or was it shock?- and slapped Taehyung’s hand with great panic, “Fucking pull up somewhere. Turn off those fucking lights. Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Jesus,” Taehyung cursed, doing exactly that as you leaned back to switch off the lights, submerging Kyungmin into darkness as the blood pooled in her mouth from earlier. She groaned something between her lips, holding her chin with her left hand as she picked herself up to lean over into the front, staring out at what Namjoon was watching across the small street. With the van now in darkness, away from the streetlight, you were invisible.

It wasn’t hard, locating the source of Namjoon’s panic.

Across the street, a flood of artificial white engulfed the street, barely missing the pull-in that Taehyung had moved into moments earlier. Namjoon slouched out of instinct, keeping his eyes on the road as he noticed three people dashing out into the darkness, the explosive lights following them as if they were automatic. They probably were, turning on as they stepped further and further away from the door they ran from. As they hurried past the hidden van, another noise pulled away your attention.

A large garage door screamed as it opened, in desperate need of oil, chains clattering against the metal interior. The light suddenly changed to an eerie green, something you saw in documentaries about weed farms. As it slid further up into the building, Namjoon hitched a breath as the sight of three sets of human legs came into view, dressed in stunning ebony, large guns by their hips. One of them smoked a cigarette, the smoke rising up like old Native smoke-signals. The middle guy pulled up his mask, covering his nose and lower face, and loaded the large Heckler Koch HK MG4 MG 43, aiming it swiftly at the little piggies running away from the slaughterhouse.

Taehyung knew that gun- the Heckler Koch never missed a target. He barely flinched when the gunman hit the kneepits of the runners, sending them to the ground instantly, their bodies buckling under the loss of legs. The screams were loud. Mama has the bacon, now.

The other two gunmen laughed loudly, approaching the pigs and picking them up to drag them back into the garage, a trail of blood marking the concrete like paint. He said something, the main gunner, and the two spares were taken away, possibly to die, maybe to a waiting room where they would await their death, as casually as they would waiting for a doctor’s appointment. The last runner, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, with already greying hair at the top, was pulled to the side of the room where three more men emerged, a woman amongst the pack with her hair sprawled out to her elbows, in mermaid curls. She was gorgeous, nobody could argue against that, with her body in a glamorous dress, something too glamorous for the apocalypse. On her feet, heels that presented her perfectly painted toes, a peachy shade.

“What’s happening?” Kyungmin asked. It was rhetoric. Everybody knew the answer.

The woman dressed in glam approached the slumped body of the runner, crouching to cup his face and stroke a thumb across the bags under his eyes, bleeding out with veins a bright red, the red of a freshly picked apple, the red line under a spelling error. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, putting her thumb over his lips and kissing her nail, before retreating and nodding curtly at the men around her. It was a signal, for they picked up the runner and began to tear off his clothes, leaving him stark naked, covered in purple bruises, tiny flowers on his skin.

Taehyung had seen things like this before- he was no stranger to the way the men beat the man with clubs and their boots, laughing at the way he retreated into his own skin, recoiling at every kick and screaming with every sickening club, until he accepted the fact that his body was their plaything. He watched, in morbid wonder, as they dragged him by his swollen balls to the center of the room, where a sharpened hook hanging from a chain off the ceiling swung threateningly, a bone being wagged in the face of a dog. The man whimpered, his eyes hurting, only barely making out his destination before his body shook violently.

The man picked him up as if he was a sack of sugar, with one hand around his neck, promptly planting him on the hook as if it were a throne. Now Taehyung had to close his eyes.

It was curling upwards, sharply, scraping every wall and nerve and good spot that ached. Yet, the men watched with wonder and satisfaction, clapping when he thrashed like a fish out of water. His legs were immobile, moving inches and with every movement came a grunt of pain, flashed with panic and agony from his rather pointy throne, and then the passing pain of his arm being cracked upwards.

The crack was loud.

From behind him, Taehyung heard Kyungmin make a small wheeze, hurrying into the back of the van, where Taehyung watched you pick her head up off the seats, your thumbs in a pool of vomit around her mouth. You didn’t even care about the sick on her knees, or the smell in your nose. Namjoon looked through the slot, dragging the divider up before the sound of retching made him sick, too.

You stopped listening to the retching, quietly shushing each whimper as Taehyung slowly started the van back up, grateful that he was covered by the sound of someone screaming in fucking agony. It felt so wrong, to be thankful of a tortured man. Cock and all, Taehyung was thankful he was screaming. The tyres of the van slowly rolled along the road, in the shadows, at a sluggish pace. Namjoon wiped away a line of sweat on his forehead, unable to look away from the man, thrashing like a pig, hanging like a sack of meat in a slaughterhouse, blood pooling now at the corner of his mouth, his eyes, his nose, dried blood at his ears.

It felt shit to feel thankful of someone’s screaming. Mostly, Taehyung was happy it was them and not him.

[sunlightdances]

Blooming in the Shadows (1/6)

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Rating: Overall PG-13 because of canon-typical violence. Also swearing. Words: 2,573 (this part) Warnings: Angst! Dean and the Reader swearing like sailors! Mutual pining with a dash of bed sharing and a slow burn romance added in for extra fluffy goodness. Summary: You and Dean Winchester are barely friends. His sudden reappearance from Hell brings you together, and you find yourself right back in the life you ran away from when you were a teenager. (Canon AU that takes place during season 4, specifically starting at 4.01 - for reference, Dean is 29) Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. I also don’t own “Love is a Wild Thing” by Kacey Musgraves, which I used lyrics from for the title. I do own original elements of the plot. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (ao3 and wattpad included!) - reblogs are welcomed, as are replies and likes! 

Links in posts are acting dumb, but you can find the master list for this fic on my blog, as well as my full master list :)

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk slowly across the parking lot, your gun at the ready, your heart hammering in your ears. You feel half-deaf - the high pitched noise from a few minutes earlier enough to knock out the windows in this gas station, and the hearing from your ears.

It makes you jumpy - worried that something is going to have an advantage over you because your senses are muted.

Your car had all but died driving down this lonely stretch of highway, your hunter senses instantly on alert when the radio fizzled and faded out, your engine following suit soon after. Your car windows were the next things to bite it - the sound so piercing it shattered every window. You’ll have time to be embarrassed about the pained scream you had let out later.

“What the hell…” you whisper, looking at the doorway and the blown out windows, seeing salt lines spread across.

“Hands up.” A deep voice from behind you startles you, and you curse as you flinch. “Where I can see both of them.”

You turn slowly, and your hand drops when you realize who you’re looking at. “Jesus Christ--” you curse, gun flying back up at the ready.

His eyes widen as he recognizes you, and your own eyes harden, because no matter what your eyes are telling you, your heart knows this is not Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester is in hell.

“Kid, you have no idea how good it is to see you.”

Another strike. The Dean you know would never be happy to see you, no matter the circumstances. “Don’t move,” you hiss, taking a step towards it. “Don’t fucking move or I swear, I’ll--”

“It’s me.”

Strike three.

“Bullshit. Give me one reason I shouldn’t take a shot right now.” You will your hands not to shake. You need to have the upper hand here.

“Do the checks.” His voice is sharp. You flinch again, cursing under your breath softly. “Do it.”

Still aiming your gun with one hand, you take a step closer, pulling a knife from your back pocket. He’s in short sleeves, so it’s not difficult to slowly move down, eyes on his, nicking him with the silver knife.

If he hears your audible sigh of relief, he doesn’t say anything.

“Wait,” you say before he can move, “One more.” The knife goes back in your pocket. You did your flask out of your other pocket. A quick flick of your wrist and his face is doused in holy water. His eyes scrunch in discomfort, but otherwise there’s no sizzling of flesh, no screams of fury.

It’s him. It’s Dean.

You both stare at each other, not sure what to do. You’ve never been huggers, so you say the only thing you can think of.

“Dean, what the hell?”

~~~~

Hours later, your hearing is almost back to normal as you sit with Dean in the grimy restroom of the gas station, watching as he washes his face and takes some antiseptic to the cuts littering his forearms and face. He winces, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You look away quickly.

“So…” He starts, clearing his throat. “Come here often?”

You meet his gaze with a blank look. “I was driving. Car stopped. Then the noise, and… you know the rest, I guess.” You stand, starting to pace. “How are you here? How is this possible? Sam--”

“Sam said I was in hell.”

You shrug. “Well, yeah.”

“Didn’t know you two still talked.”

You roll your eyes. “Are we really going to do this right now? One of you was going to hell - he thought I should know about it.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to tell him how typical it is that he’s ignoring you even though you’re literally the only one who can get him out of here right now-- you see that he’s staring at his shoulder.

There’s a fucking handprint burned into his arm.

“What the--”

“Fuck.” Dean finishes, and you think it’s the only time the two of you have ever been on the same page in your entire lives.

“Don’t panic,” you say, more to yourself than him, but he takes offense anyway.

“I’m not panicking. You don’t panic.”

“I wasn’t--” You stop yourself with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Never mind. We have to get out of here. Whatever that was… I don’t really feel like sticking around to find out how pissed it’s going to be when it comes back.”

Begrudgingly, he agrees. You gather up your bag and sling it over your shoulder, Dean following you out of the building, the sunlight reflecting off the broken glass making you shield your eyes.

Your car is only about fifty feet away. Dean stops halfway there. “Your car?”

You groan. “Really, Dean? How else are we supposed to get out of here?”

He glares. “I meant -- you said your engine died. Am I going to have to work on this car?” The again goes without saying, images of a teenage Dean grumbling as he changes the oil in your car flashing through your head.

You shrug. “I guess so, I don’t know. I didn’t do this on purpose, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he’s not arguing either, so you take it as a win. He opens the hood and you watch as he goes to work with the few tools you had in the trunk, grumbling to himself the entire time.

You can’t help but be on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop - either for whatever blew out the windows in town to show up again, or for Dean to decide he’s had enough and leave you here.

“Get inside and turn the key, kid,” Dean says, and for once you don’t argue. You get in the driver’s seat and start the engine, laughing triumphantly when it starts right up. Dean peers around the hood, an answering grin on his face. He shuts the hood and slides into the passenger seat, tossing both of your bags over his shoulder and into the back seat.

“Careful, the glass--”

“Just drive,” Dean says, “You remember the way to Bobby’s?”

You glare at him, the car still in park. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Just wondered if you remembered where it was, seeing as how you turned tail and never came back as soon as you were old enough--”

“You can walk there, if you’d like.” Your voice is cold. You hate him. You hate that he has the ability to make you feel like you’re the absolute scum of the earth. As if you don’t feel enough guilt about the way you left things all those years ago.

“I’m--” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly. He lets out a deep exhale. “Sorry. I’m just--”

“I know.” You keep your voice quiet. “Let’s just-- we’ll get to Bobby’s and he’ll know what to do.” Almost to yourself, you repeat it. “He’ll know what to do.”

Your foot hits the gas, and you start to drive.

.

.

.

Bobby reacts much in the same way you had, splashing holy water in both of your faces before he grabs Dean into a bone crushing hug. You stand there, arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to remind yourself that there’s clearly something bigger going on here, so you don’t have time to feel like an outsider.

“Don’t just stand there,” Bobby says, gruff, grabbing your elbow and tugging you in, so you’re awkwardly pinned underneath Bobby’s arm and pressed up against Dean’s side, the weirdest group hug in the history of mankind.

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, “I hate to break up this happy family moment, but we have to figure out what the hell is going on. How long have I been gone? Where’s Sam?”

You could hear a pin drop.

“It’s been four months,” You say quietly.

“That’s it?” Dean looks back and forth between you and Bobby. “That doesn’t answer my other question.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from Sam since we buried you.” Bobby says, and you freeze. Yikes, that’s not what you were expecting.

“Since you buried me? What the hell?” Dean asks through grit teeth.

“Sam was dead set against a hunter’s funeral. I couldn’t-- it wasn’t my decision to make. Lucky for you,” He adds, glaring at Dean, who rolls his eyes.

“No one’s heard from Sam in months?” He looks back at you.

You shrug. “He called me when-- when you died. That’s the last I heard from him.”

“He doesn’t want to be found, Dean.” Bobby says.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I-- I need some air. We need to find him.” Dean says, voice tight, before he pushes through the screen door and out into the yard.

You watch him go, wary, before looking back over at Bobby, who’s already looking at you. “What?”

“Did you get him out?” Bobby asks, almost a growl.

“Excuse me?”

“You brought him here. He was supposed to be in hell.” Bobby takes a step closer. “Did you make a deal?”

The air is practically sucked out of your lungs. Jesus, no wonder Bobby is so pissed all of a sudden. “No! God, Bobby.” You cross your arms tight over your chest. “I found him. It was coincidence, the whole thing. I don’t know any more than you do about how he got out.”

“I’m just saying, I know how you feel--”

You hold your hand up, “Stop right there. I don’t feel anything.” You’re so angry you can barely see straight. It’s not like you’re not relieved Dean isn’t being tortured in hell. No matter how much you two can’t stand each other, you’d never wish that on him. But you absolutely do not have feelings for him.

Maybe you did once, when you were young and stupid and didn’t know how the world worked. Before you realized what a fucking cliche it was - a young, starry-eyed hunter and the over-protective, broody type. God. What a riot. Sure, you thought he was attractive. You knew deep down he was a good person. It was easy for you to develop a crush on him when you were sixteen and constantly in close quarters with him.

But then he developed a mean streak, and you received the message loud and clear. You hit the road as soon as you felt confident enough to hunt on your own, and didn’t look back.

10 years earlier…

You’re struggling to keep your voice down as you stand almost toe to toe with Bobby in the kitchen, very aware of the Winchesters asleep in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

“I’m not asking for your permission,” you tell him.

“Good, because I’m not giving it.” He fires back.

You resist the urge to stomp your foot. Certainly wouldn’t help your case. “Bobby, I-- I am so grateful to you. You have no idea. But I have to do this. I can’t stay here anymore. I’m just in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s going on?” A deep voice interrupts, and you turn to look at Dean standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He looks between you and Bobby, and then his gaze finally settles on the bag at your feet.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m not doing this. I’ll call when I get to a motel,” you say, leaning in to give Bobby a hug before he can say anything else.

Dean says your name, but you ignore him. You shoulder your way out the front door, trying like hell to keep your tears at bay, because despite what Bobby thinks, this actually isn’t the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Hey!”

You stop, shoulders slumping as you hear his voice. Jesus, you really don’t want to argue with him. Not now.

“What the hell is going on?” His eyes are a little wild. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the night. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” You take the few remaining steps towards your car, wrenching open the driver’s side back door to toss your bag onto the seat.

“What are you talking about?”

“God!” You whirl around, “Why is this so hard for everyone to understand! I’m leaving. I’m going to hunt on my own, or find some friends, or whatever. I’m going.”

Dean actually looks a little speechless, which would be a first for him. “Why?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. You laugh so hard you know he’s probably thinking you’re possessed. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Dean? Now it’ll be just the three of you, the way it was before I came along and ruined everything.”

He looks like you’ve slapped him across the face. “I never--”

“Yes, you did. Look, I don’t know what I ever did to make you hate me so much, after all, it wasn’t my fault that demon killed my parents and I had nowhere else to go. But you do, and I can’t-- living here with all of you and constantly feeling like I don’t belong here is… it’s suffocating. I can’t stand it anymore. So I’m going.”

Dean shifts his weight, his hands going to his hips. “What about Bobby? Sam? You’re just going to turn your back on them.”

You try not to flinch at the way he pointedly leaves himself out of the list of people you care about.

“I’m not turning my back on anyone. I don’t belong here. I never have.” You can’t help but add, “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

His mouth opens and closes again, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. You hate yourself for the tiny flare of hope that springs up inside you.

“If you go now, you don’t get to come back.”

And… that’s it. The last piece of your already fragile heart breaks. You’re surprised it isn’t an audible sound. A tear slips down your cheek, but you’re too exhausted to wipe it away.

“I have to go,” Is all you can say, softly, and you watch as he takes a half step towards you before stopping, clenching his fists at his sides. He turns on his heel and heads inside without so much as a backwards glance, and only when you’re in the car, pulling out onto the main road, do you let the rest of your tears fall.

Now

Bobby checks you over for a concussion even though you insist you’re fine, and you convince him to go check on Dean, too.

You take the precious few minutes you’re alone to reacquaint yourself with the old house, running your fingers reverently over the spines of the books on the shelves, and smiling at the pictures of the Winchesters and Bobby.

You have to remember that whatever is going on here is bigger than you. It’s bigger than whatever bad blood there is between you and Dean. You decide you’re going to take the high road and help them with whatever this is, but leave as soon as they’ve got it handled. You won’t be a burden to them. Not anymore.

When they come back in, Dean’s sleeve is rolled up again, the edges of that burn mark peeking out underneath black cotton. You try not to stare at it.

“I got a hit on the GPS on Sam’s phone.”

Tag list for this fic is OPEN. Please send me an ASK to be added - they’re much easier for me to keep track of! 

New chapters posted every Friday!

[pika-ace]

ITH/SPN - Miracles Do Happen Part 1/2

A special request for @kikabennet and @thisstableground. We got to talking about how in an ITH Supernatural AU Ruben would be Castiel, so I’ve decided to do a little condensed two-shot about it! Hope you enjoy!

Usnavi was killed and brought to Hell. Four months later, he’s brought back to life. And the culprit seems a bit friendlier than anyone was expecting. 

Usnavi never imagined his life would end up like this. 

Well, the whole thing about supernatural entities being real was something he was used to, but waking up after being certain he had died and gone to Hell? That was definitely a new one. 

First, he was in Hell, being tortured, and then the next thing he knew he was in a pine box and clawing his way up from six feet of dirt from a barely marked grave. 

Now he was staggering back towards home, as his grave was in a place he recognized. Well, he did remember dying, so the grave made sense. But that meant he got resurrected and that meant...oh hell no. 

No, he didn’t, Sonny wouldn’t be that stupid, not after Usnavi did the exact same deal for him a year ago! Maybe Vanessa or Benny? No, surely they knew better, right? Right?! 

Usnavi picked up the pace until he somehow made it back to the barrio and found himself in front of the bodega. It was locked, of course; still just a bit too early to be opening time. Then again, the place hadn’t had many consistent hours lately. 

Thankfully, Usnavi (somehow) still had a spare key in his pocket. The last thing he wanted was to break into his own store. He staggered inside, relishing the familiar scent and feel of the building before helping himself to two bottles of water, chugging them in record time. He even grabbed a few candy bars and munched on them when his eyes fell on the newspaper, specifically the date. Usnavi picked it up and stared at it; it had only been four months since that night?! 

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Usnavi felt his body, specifically his chest and stomach. He had felt it; felt the Hellhound’s claws rip into him, the tools of torture from the demons in Hell. And yet...he felt no pain. 

Lifting his shirt and looking down, any injury he should’ve had was gone! He did, however, feel a slight sting on his right shoulder. Usnavi went to the small bathroom and gazed at his reflection as he lifted his sleeve, revealing a large handprint, burned into his skin. That was certainly new… 

“Hello?!” Usnavi froze at the familiar voice. Sonny…? “Whoever’s in here, I got a bat, and I ain’t afraid to use it!” That’s right, it was opening time now...and Usnavi had left the door open. He had taught Sonny well. 

“It’s okay!” Usnavi called; he heard Sonny suck in a sharp breath. Usnavi slowly exited from the bathroom with his hands up to see his baby cousin. Sonny’s eyes were wide and disbelieving as he slowly lowered his bat. 

“Hey, mijo…” Usnavi said tearfully. Sonny said nothing, and Usnavi was ready to move forward for a hug, but he should’ve realized how it probably looked when someone who you saw die suddenly reappears. 

Sonny yanked out his small silver pocket knife and charged at Usnavi. 

“Sonny!” Usnavi yelped and ducked out of the way. Sonny ran at him and Usnavi barely stopped him from running him through. “Mijito, it’s me!” 

“Fuck you!” Sonny spat. Well, guess it was safe to say that Sonny wasn’t behind his resurrection (thank god). 

Usnavi threw him off him and hurried behind the counter as if it was a barrier, “Wait wait wait,” He held up his hands, racking his brain for a way to convince him. “Your name is Sonny Mateo De la Vega, my parents took you in when you were born after your Mom was killed by a demon, you’re the closest thing I have to a son!” 

Sonny seemed to hesitate, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but the kid was stubborn. 

“Sonny, I’m not tricking you!” Usnavi rolled out of the way as Sonny kept running at him. 

“Stop hiding behind my cousin!” Sonny screamed, tears starting to leak out. “My cousin’s dead! Has been for months!” 

Usnavi finally managed to grab Sonny and wrestle the knife out of his hands, causing the boy to fall against the counter. “Sonny, it’s really me,” Usnavi said calmly. “Look, if, if I was a monster...could I do this?” He showed Sonny his hand, and gently cut himself with the knife, drawing blood. Sonny stared at the sight. 

“I’m not a shapeshifted, ghost, revenant, nothing,” Usnavi continued. “I’m not even a demon, you can test for that too if you want.” 

Sonny slowly got to his feet and shakily reached into his pocket, pulling out his flask of holy water. He splashed some on Usnavi’s face, and nothing happened. 

Usnavi wiped the water away and tears started to roll down Sonny’s face. “...Navi…?” He croaked. Usnavi only nodded and pulled the boy in the tightest hug imaginable. Sonny returned it in kind, softly sobbing into his shirt. 

They stayed in the embrace for a good few moments until Sonny broke the silence. “The others are gonna freak…” He sniffed. 

“Wait...so no one brought me back?” Usnavi asked, pulling away slightly. 

Sonny looked up and shook his head, “We tried,” Sonny said, wiping his eyes. “We tried everything but...not even demons would bargain with us...so we thought…” 

Usnavi pulled Sonny back into the hug, thoughts now swirling in his brain. If a human didn’t make a deal to bring him back...what did bring him back?

Usnavi’s reunion with Vanessa, Nina, and Benny, went about the same as the one with Sonny. Only with Sonny being there to help keep one of them from murdering Usnavi, the situation was cleared up much quicker. 

Benny and Nina both had pulled him into tight hugs and Vanessa kissed him deeply, trying to keep tears back. But after that, there still came the issue of who brought Usnavi back. 

They sought out a fortune-teller who Nina was friendly with, but the poor woman took one look at whatever did this, and her eyes were burned right out of her skull. 

After that, it was clear that they were gonna have to meet this thing face to face. 

So a few nights later, Usnavi and Benny put together a small summoning ritual in Benny’s apartment, also ready with weapons, including a special demon-killing knife that hadn’t failed them in the four years they started this journey. 

They performed the summoning ritual and waited, and after a while, just when they were about to deem the summoning a failure, the lights flickered. The wind began to howl, rattling the windows, and the presence of a figure could be felt moving slowly towards them. 

The door flew open and the lights blew out. Usnavi and Benny winced from the wind as a figure made itself known in the doorway. The being looked human; very human in fact. As the being walked inside, they made out dark hair, a goatee, and a rumpled lab coat over a plaid button-down shirt. 

As they took in his appearance, they barely realized that he had walked right over the demon circle with no effort at all. They backed away and Benny subtly grabbed the knife from the table behind his back. The being only seemed interested in Usnavi, as he looked at him expectantly. 

“Who are you?” Usnavi managed. 

“Well, um,” The being shuffled his feet. “I’m the one who got you out. Of Hell.” ...Really? This was the one who got him out? Who burned out that lady’s eyes? This puppy-eyed scientist guy? 

Benny wasted no time striding forward, “Thanks for helping my buddy,” And he raised the knife. 

The being flinched and cried out as Benny plunged the knife into his heart. The being shook and whimpered, but not from pain, from fear. “You scared me!” He exclaimed, glaring at Benny with the knife still in him. He pulled the knife out and threw it away, “Don’t ever do that again!” 

“What the fuck…?” Benny breathed, taking a few steps back. The knife did nothing?! What was this thing?! The being then moved quickly towards Benny, and Usnavi let out a gasp as two fingers were pressed to Benny’s temple, making him collapse. 

“Benny…!” 

“I’m sorry, but we need to talk,” The being said, glancing at Benny. “Alone.” He had his hands up in front of him in a cautious gesture. “No more knives, okay? Please?” There was a bit of a pleading edge to his voice. 

Usnavi didn’t answer, still too shocked by everything that had just happened. The being seemed to take that for a positive answer and started wandering around the apartment. Usnavi then barely remembered that Benny was on the floor, not moving. 

Usnavi ran over to his side and checked his pulse with shaky hands, melting when he found it. 

“He’ll be fine,” The being said, who was looking curiously at some house plants. “He’s just asleep.” 

“Who are you?” Usnavi managed. 

“Ruben,” The being answered. 

“N-No...what are you?” Usnavi asked. 

Ruben looked at him, “Oh, I’m an angel.” 

Usnavi felt his eyes grow huge in disbelief; angels? Real angels, like from the bible? “A real one?” He squeaked. 

“Well I mean, what else could get you out of Hell?” Ruben shrugged, chuckling awkwardly. “If you don’t believe me, then…” 

Thunder crashed and Usnavi flinched as the shadow of two dark wings appeared on the wall behind Ruben. Nothing they had ever encountered had wings like that. But could this really be true? 

“But you...you burned out that lady’s eyes…!” 

Ruben suddenly looked worried, “Is she alive?” 

Usnavi blinked, “Uh...yeah, just...blind.” 

Ruben deflated, “Good; I warned her not to look. Seeing an angel’s true form and heard their true voice can be...overwhelming.” 

“Then...how am I talking to you now?” 

“Oh, uh,” Ruben looked down at his body. “We need vessels to communicate with humans so...I found one.” 

Usnavi immediately backed away. “You’re possessing someone?!” 

“It’s not what you think!” Ruben resolved quickly. “Angels have to ask permission to possess someone, and even then only a select few people can hold us! This man he’s...had it rough, he was willing to let me inhabit him, I swear on his life and mine.” 

This was all way too much to take in; they just discovered a new species and Usnavi wasn’t used to learning all the basics from the monsters themselves. “

Are you okay?” Ruben asked nervously. “Am I going to fast for you?” 

“Just...give me a minute…” Usnavi swallowed. “Angels uh...we don’t really get a lot of...friendly monsters…” 

“Technically I’m an ethereal being, but I see your point,” Ruben said softly, wringing his hands. “We haven’t been sent down here in centuries; not everyone’s first job is to raise the Righteous Man from Hell.” 

“But...why?” Usnavi asked desperately. “Why did you get me out?” 

Ruben seemed to swallow nervously, “Because...God commanded it,” He said. “It wasn’t your time; you have more to do. I can’t tell you much, but something big is coming. Both for you, and your cousin Sonny.” 

Usnavi sucked in a breath, “Wait, what does Sonny-” 

There was a flutter, and Ruben was gone in a blink.

(Part 2 will have more Ruben, I promise XP)

[dearest-alexander]

You Are The Reason Chapter V (Tom Holland x Reader fanfiction)

Summary: “I could be anything in the world, yet I wanted to be yours. But you don’t love me yet…or do you?“ The whole world thought you’re together but something’s stopping you, something’s stopping him.

Summary Chapter: “Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi-deliverance from the human prison.I’   - Henri Amiel

Chapter 5

YOUR POV

Much to our chagrin, traffic jam had caught up right after leaving the hospital premises. Harrison and a sleeping Gabby dropped us off first before heading back to our place. We called out the old guy at the reception who raised a mug of something at us in acknowledgement. My watch read 10:46pm by the time we reached their doorstep. Our dogs’ excited barks could be heard from the other side of the door as Tom wrestled with his keys for a bit.  

“Im telling you, he’ll find a way to do it.” Tom argued, pushing the apartment door open.

“Uhm, no. Cause I know Gabby, once she’s tired, she’s tired. You can’t make her do anything not until you’re bleeding to death that is.” I debated back cheekily.

The traffic seemed to go on for the rest of the night ergo, to past boredom, Tom and I exchanged text messages whether Harrison would be able to pull his plan or won’t, among many other silly things. We still have to keep it under wraps since Gabby still has no idea. “What are you two scowling bout back there?” she asked before falling asleep minutes later.

“Fine! Alright! Let’s just ask Harrison tomorrow!” he exhaled with resignation in his voice.

. I brought a clenched fist and elbow to my knees in a sign of victory.  

“Bloody hell, you don’t give up do you.” He said after a moment, putting everything on the countertop separating the living room and their kitchen.

I wriggled my eyebrows at him. His face contorted for a second to fight the smile from slipping through. He failed.  

“Only for you love.” I said with a laugh, hugging my dog who won’t stop bouncing up at me from the moment we enter the apartment.  

“Whatever… How are you lovely?” he knelt down to give Tessa a smooch on her gray head.  

I filled the pet bowl with water before dragging my body onto the couch, face down with a heavy groan. I hate traffic.

“You wanna hit the shower first or should I?” Tom asked after minutes of shuffling in and out of the room. I propped my chin but kept my eyes closed as I replied.

“Go ahead, I need a second so these cushion could suck me in.” I wiggled my body as if it would dissipate the stiffness of my legs from sitting too long.  

“You know where my room is.” He answered with a small laugh. I heard a creaking noise of the cabinet door then a wisp of wind when he threw something soft and large at my opiate position. I lifted my head when I heard him dematerialized behind the bathroom door.

I scanned the two-bedroom flat from my lying state. It was too tidy for two grown men to live in. Not a crumb or bottles of energy drinks in sight. Perhaps Gabby’s controlling nature had finally rubbed off on Harrison. He and Tom had decided to rent this place from Gabby’s cousin whenever they want to stay a while longer after wrapping up press junkets. Possibly, it was Harrison who wanted to stay longer and Tom being wherever his mate was, would stay until he pleased.

Willing myself to get up, I grabbed my overnight bag and the towel he threw at me to his room, the wall behind the mounted television. Two dogs sniffing happily behind me.  

His room reeked with ocean breeze laundry detergent and embodied late adolescence-ness. I noted the lack of articles of clothing and trainers scattered on the floor, unmade bed and wide open luggage last time I was here. His double bed stood at the center of the room, two end tables on either side and dark clothes hung and were neatly stacked on the exposed clothing rack. 10 pairs of shoes in an orderly pile on the floor.  

Despite the fact that he had let me sleepover a thousand times, I never heeded nor have I ever had the slight urge to interest myself on what he is like in his solidarity. I pride myself to never the one to snoop around. The prevalent awareness of being in his room haven’t bother me. Up until now. Which was the case I found myself in, prancing around his room as if for the first time in an unnamable light.  

His room can’t be categorized as neither pristine nor disorganized. Stuff  that usually don’t go well with each other –not that I know anything about interior styling- somehow complemented and blended with his impulsive personality. His obsession on shameless hoarding of any Spider-man merchandise he could get his hands on endured after all these years. “What a total nerd.” I chuckled to myself, setting down his action figure on the same spot. The red and blue collection disparate from the gray overall theme of the room. Letters and artworks from his fans were all compiled inside three black dossiers.  

I was lazily lugging my index finger on his dust-free shelf, along the lines of books and photographs of his family, co-star photo calls, sceneries when a solid wooden framed picture halted me in my tracks.  

Memories gushed in an unstoppable wave. The picture was cropped from the chest and up. I snapped this shot right after the first successful jumping obstacles I finished with my mare. We’re smiling. His cheek pressed onto mine, his other eye was squinting in order to avoid the harsh glare of the sun and my face reddened with sweat and excitement in his riding helmet. My arm was draped around his shoulders while the other extended the camera to fit us in the frame. I remembered  hurriedly leapt down to Tom, who was already reaching out for me before my booted feet even touched the damp ground. I remembered stalling in his embrace, his body radiated as if he had somehow swallowed the whole sun, his thumbs that were drawing circles on my hips, pushing down the hitch emanating from my throat. I remembered how I  together with his family went to their lake house later in the evening, his dad, stood by my side, with one comforting and familiar arm on my blanket-ed shoulders, staring ahead the setting day had said, out of the blue:

“Sometimes it’s practical to test waters first cause no one wants to dive in murky water, knowing whether we’ll hit the rocks or sand. But this day..” he trailed off, smiling and shaking his head. “He may be daft sometimes but thank you for sticking by him. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Thank you for making him happy.”  

Before I could even ask Senior Holland to elaborate, an added weight made the docks screech in slight objection. Tom trudged to where we were, my bottled juice in hand. Frankly, I momentarily lost contact with my body, with my surroundings upon seeing his delightful face, how his curls bounced voluptuously like he’d just been prepped for some bloody movie minutes ago.  

All these years, I  try not to abide on what would  happen if Tom and I just.. that maybe we could… I shook my head to eliminate the thought that’s been trying to eat me ever since once upon a time. 

Tom’s POV 

We were left to ourselves. Again., I think Harrison and his girlfriend liked to do this on purpose. There's a part of me wanted to strangle them both for doing this, albeit, the half part wanted to get down on my knees and hug them both with praise and reverence, saying "I owe you, big time."  

I turned the shower knob off and quickly dressed in a shirt and sweats. I walked out into an empty and barely lit hall. The only evidence of her presence was her dog sitting outside my slightly open bedroom door. I patted his furry head before I knocked gently. She was not the one to get un-clothe with the door left ajar so I peeked inside when I didn't hear a response. She was leaning on my table, holding a picture frame in her hands, and the other clutching the desk. She didn't look up until I spoke.  

"Hey, everything ok?"  

She seemed startled for a swift second before smiling at me and waving the frame in her hands.

"I had no idea you printed and framed this."  

"It was a good day. I should dare you more often." I went to her side, brushing against her as I lean over to look at the picture. I crossed my arms over myself to hide the goosebumps running from the tip of my fingers up to the hairs on my neck.  

"Yeah. Really was." She sighed then locked her gaze with mine. I hugged myself even tighter, my fingers dug into my palms to keep from pulling her and crashing my lips to hers.. Heaven knows how badly I wanted no, needed to kiss her. But I’m waiting for her. Waiting for something to cross her eyes that will somehow tell me that she wants this just as bad as I do. I do not want to come across as one of those hot-blooded exes of hers who tried to force her to do something  she does not like. But it’s me, I try to tell her with my eyes. I will never hurt you. . I hugged myself tighter to keep my heart from sprinting out of my chest as the moment of pure electricity stretched between us.  

Until it wasn't anymore.

"I uhh.. Need to.... Take a bathe." She mumbled and broke her gaze. She handed me the frame and walked away. If she was nervous or felt at least something, she’s hiding it extraordinarily. I could feel my cheeks as they started to redden. She stopped at the door and crouched down in a playful defensive stance against her dog who wagged its tail gleefully. We let out short laughs before she disappeared.

I hung my head to the ceiling and I swear I could hear Harrison say  “Youre the world’s greatest idiot..” I groaned.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind has not accustomed with Harrison’s four walls of a bedroom for the past two hours.. Every time she and Gabby would come over, I’ll let her have my bed like the perfect gentleman that I was raised. I didn’t mind the couch nor Harrison’s bed because I knew my sheets would smell like her for the remainder of the week and I would wake up in the morning and bury my face in the pillow. A sweet torture.  

I fluffed Harrison's pillow to try to make myself more comfortable. Laying like a starfish on the bed and stared up the ceiling, my mind recalling one type of conversation that  had always seem to play out every morning whenever we were alone together..

The couple would show up, their elbows leaning on the countertop, hyperexcitable faces on the palm of their hands, kind of like children waiting for their slices of chocolate cake.

"So...... Did you do it?"  

I kept quiet while rummaging the kitchen for  her favorite breakfast. Eyes never leaving my task. But shook my head.. "Nah. Wasn't the right time."

"Oh c'mon man!" Harrison exclaimed, dropping his head  on the countertop in between in forearms.  

"Alright Osterfield ,  hand it over ." Gabby opened and closed the back of her hands. Harrison produced a 20 dollar bill from his wallet to give her.  

“You guys are the worst. I hope you know that.” I scowled under my breath.

"Thanks H olland " She patted me on my naked back..

"Man! How can you chicken out on me like that, you said you're gonna tell her last night....or the night of last week..... or the fortnight......or the months before that."  He whined,  Emphasizing each time frame then   his forearms inching  dangerously near the breakfast I'm making. I moved the plate out of the way and my eyes darted cautiously on my bedroom door. Checking for any signs or sounds of movement.

I shrugged, frowning.  

"As much as I like winning against Haz, dude, you have to make a move. That window's not gonna be open forever.  Take that hunky actor from GQ for example.”  

“What? Who?” I snapped my head at her. I tried to sound less nervous and irritated but even to my own ears, I knew I came up short.  

“I forgot his name . But we saw him at Jamba juice last week and the punk’s leaning a bit closer, in my opinion.”  she shrugged

"She doesn't like me that way." I countered, hoping to get the melancholy disappointment out of my voice. Eyes still casted down.

"She likes you. Everyone with eyes can see it. You're just both too stubborn to admit it." Gabby retorted, before gulping down a carton of orange juice.    

“Why? Did she tell you anything ?” I deadpanned but a little hopeful.  

"Actions, Holland. Actions. They speak louder than words, like the song, dumbass." She had an elbow leaning on the counter at my side as she regarded me with slight irk and concern.

"But no... She doesn't tell me anything. You know she's always been like that, bottling up her feelings til she knows she can hold it."  She placed  the cap back on her carton box.

"Well then, i  think i'll  just wait for that bottle to spill."

"Tom." Harrison interrupted in a quiet tone that I finally   looked at him.

"You know she's not her right?. They're both, different. This is a new story. It's gonna be different this time around. You're not running blindly here, not this time." Harrison was never soft spoken  and sober , not unless he could help it.

"Maybe we'll just lock you guys up in here for a week and then maybe we'll see. Don't make me do it." Gabby remarked, staring at the something behind me  

"Don't make you do what?" Our heads frantically turned to the sound by my bedroom door. Dressed in a sleeveless loose top and pyjama  bottoms, her bedridden hair falling on her shoulders, the palm of her hand digging on his left eye.  Her healthy skin glowed along with the morning sun. Eyes still glossy from sleep and puffy lips pouted adoringly. It's almost impossible to be that alluring  during this early hour in the morning.  

"Hey!!!!! Good morning sunshine! Did you just wake up?" Gabby asked, a little too cheerfully, three of us following her every movement.

"Um yeah. I didn't even hear you guys come in. How was your night?" She sat on the bar stool in front of me and Gabby, Harrison seated on the stool by her side then faced his body towards her, chin leaning on his shoulder. I exhaled a great sigh of relief, our kitchen conversation safe from her ears.

"It was fantastic …” Gabby said in a haste, “ , by the way, I heard you got drunk last night?"  

"I did. And I'm never doing it again." She moaned, pressing her forehead on the cold counter, arms folded in front of her.

"Here you go." I pushed the garnished plate in her direction and the glass of juice.

She smiled, "You're brilliant. Did I ever tell you that?." pulling the plate near her.  

Gabby made a tsk sound then walked back round to the couch. Harrison grabbed the ripe banana off of her plate before jumping out of his seat.  

"Hey! That's mine!" She leapt up abruptly but regretted it in an instant. She grunted, dropping her head onto the surface again.

"You're a buffoon." I threw the dish towel resting on my shoulder at Harrison's figure who hustled out of the way. I hand her another.

"Don't you just love them?!" She mumbled under her breath, sarcastically

"Oh and would you mind putting some shirt on Holland, she and Haz may  be used to it, but I'm not besides it's completely unhygienic." She instructed, flinging the shirt I discarded upon waking up from the armrest.  

"You tell me." I chuckled, putting my shirt on.  

It didn’t take long before I became conscious of her little quirks: the way she would pinch her lips when she’s trying to decide about something, how she likes to pop her knuckles that always seem to creep out Harrison and how she always find something nice to say about mean people. Something about her just felt…right; like everything seems to fall into place whenever she’s near.  

My body almost jumped when I felt the incessant and loud ring of my phone on the bedside table.. I clicked answer right away .

"You still up?"  

"No." I kid.

"Idiot. I Can't sleep." She sighed.

"Me neither. What are you doing?"

"Reading one of your books"

"What book?" I got up and leaned against the headboard.

She laughed. "You know we can just talk to each other, You're literally just across the hall.

"Ok, let's meet."

I hurriedly put on my shirt and walked out the door. She's already on her way to the fridge when I appeared in the kitchen.

"I'm hungry. How come you don't have anything here?" She complained and closed the fridge door behind her.

"Well, we're always at your place anyway."  

"Urgh! Let's order pizza. You're paying." She picked up the phone line in  the living room and dialed.

I made my way to the couch and will my body  to heel before I do something I will regret. Like, I don't know, maybe kissing the day lights out of her until I die from deoxygenation..  

"Hey you wanna watch a movie?" I initiated, grabbing the remote from the floor.

12:47am

"You know what? Fine fine! Let's just watch The Breakfast Club and we'll see who's right." She retorted, getting up from the sofa and inserting the dvd on the player, a slice of pizza dangling from her mouth.

"You're gonna be so bummed out when I win the fourth time today." Putting my hands behind my head and stretching my feet under the blanket we shared on the couch. It's already 2 am and All attempts of falling asleep diminished after indulging on a box of pizza, 2 bags of chips and 4 cans of root beers. My previous jitters had died down to a embers as we fell back into an amiable and platonic routine.

"Ha-ha! Move." She sneered jabbing my foot with her finger.  

I scooched over backwards for her to settle comfortably on the opposite side her. She rested her head on the armrest. Her sock clad feet lying near my stomach, I boldly closed my hand around them.  

We watched in silence for the rest of the movie until we got to the part at the end where Claire gives John his diamond earring.

"See! I told you, I told you! It was an earring not a ring." I sat up and gestured towards the screen. "Oi yow Pizza!" When I didn't hear or feel a slightest of movement I extended my arm on the floor, half my body still sitting on the couch and look at her. I must have known she had dozed off. Her even breaths were calm and soothing halfway through the movie, her face appeared pallid against the television screen. I got up as gently as I could and sat on the floor, over her side. I watched her for a little while, memorizing the way her shutted eyes would twitch every few seconds, her long eyelashes fanned out attractively across her features, her pouted lips carnation in color. I saw a crease formed at the center of her eyebrows and felt a lump clogging my throat. "What are you dreaming about?" I whispered. I reached an index finger to carefully smoothen it out, and lingered.  

"I swear, you'll be the death of me. " Before I could help myself, i pressed a feathered kiss to her forehead in replace of my finger.

8:17 am

I felt more than heard the sound of barely audible mumbles as it vibrated from my chest. I squinted my eyes open to see panting smiles from two dogs and instantly became aware of the soft weight nesting on my chest. I don't remember sleeping in this position earlier in the morning but damn it to bloody hell, I wasn't complaining.  

I or she must have moved positions during our sleep because now, on this glorious Sunday morning, our bodies lie snugly on the sofa, both my arms around her, one of her hands rested underneath my shirt, atop the unsteady thumps of my heart. Her head on my shoulder.  Blanket still draped over us.

"Want. Pancakes." She mumbled, eyes still closed.

A chuckle crept up onto my already- smiling face. I never knew she talked in her sleep as we've had never been in this position before. I stayed still for quite some time, careful to maintain our position in case she woke up and assess the situation with regret or something . It Could be minutes or hours;. I lapsed the ability to comprehend anything right now as I committed this moment to memory

The smell of her hair dominate the entire room, happily suffocating me to my death.  

Or How every inch of her molded perfectly into mine; her breathing patterns almost lulling me back to sleep

Or How her warmth masked and overpower my senses, making me forget to think, to breathe.  

A nagging thought entered my mind that I was, in a way, taking advantage of her slumberous state, and was about to separate my body from hers but was snapped out if it when I heard her next words. Making my world rattle to smithereens then build back up again.

"Mmmm.. I like you Tom.”  

I looked down on her to see if she’s woken. It probably meant anything that I hope to be but still, I couldn't fight the grin that jeopardizes to split my face in half or the euphoria openly transuding over my skin. I pressed my lips on her forehead and slowly pulled her even tighter. And i could die right after this, because she shifted closer- if that was still even possible-and lightly scratched her fingers on my bare and beating pectoral. 

I’ll just put the links of my A03 and Fanfiction pages. :)

[seriousshit88]

Stiles falls into a patch of poison ivy in the Preserve (in his defense, it's not supposed to BE in California at all.) Cue Scott scrubbing him down with detergent and exfoliant, and then careful, tender application of calamine lotion. Just buddies being dudes, right? Except Stiles can't get the memory of Scott's hands on him out of his head.

Loz. This fic turned out to be over 3 times longer than it was supposed to be. I’m still not sure I did your prompt justice, but thank you for being patient with me.

“This is torture,” Stiles groused.

“Scratching is just going to make it worse, dude,” Scott said as they made it back safely to their tiny, two-bedroom apartment. He scrolled through his phone looking for info on poison ivy. And based on Stiles’s description, it was definitely poison ivy and not the far-more-likely poison oak. Because Stiles had the kind of luck that allowed him to find the lone patch of poison ivy in all of California.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose skin feels like there are thousands of fire ants crawling all over. Oh, my God! This is the worst!” He flung both of his shirts to the living room floor and stalked to the bathroom, where he could finally get a good look at his splotchy chest in the mirror. He cringed at the sight. “The. Worst.”

Hours ago, he and Scott were out in the Preserve following up on a very credible report of a Bigfoot sighting. Being a freshly-minted FBI Agent meant Stiles had to investigate stuff like this in the event there were real X-Files somewhere (he was pretty sure they existed, even though his more senior colleagues gave him weird looks whenever he asked). Unfortunately, they never found Bigfoot. But somewhere along the trail, Stiles tripped and fell onto what he thought was a normal bush. The itching didn’t start until the ride back home. It only got worse from there.

Maybe the mere presence of poison ivy in California was the real X-File all along. It’s something that certainly required investigation. By someone who wasn’t him.

Scott followed Stiles into the bathroom, tutting in sympathy once he saw Stiles’s bare chest. But then he cocked his head a little to the side in confusion. “Okay, how the hell did you get rashes under two shirts? It looks like you just stuffed a bunch of poison ivy under them.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles whined. The bathroom was too small for the both of them to comfortably be in there. They weren’t smushed, but it was close. It made Stiles feel funny in ways that had nothing to do with itchy plants.

Stiles made an absent-minded attempt to scratch his chest, but Scott swatted his hand away.

“Ow!”

“Turn around. Let me see your back.”

Stiles did as he was told. His hips knocked into Scott’s on the way around. The funny feeling only intensified.

Scott let out a soft gasp. “Oh, man.”

“What? Is it bad?”

Stiles felt Scott brush his fingers gently across a spot on his back. The incessant itch briefly gave way to an involuntary shiver.

“Um. Well. Let’s just say I’ve seen pepperoni pizzas with clearer complexions.”

“I know you’re used to your patients having four legs, fur, and barking to communicate, but your bedside manner for humans sucks ba-aahhhhhh…” The itching all over Stiles’s body ceased almost immediately.

“How’s my bedside manner, now?” Scott asked a little too smugly.

The sound Stiles made was somewhere between a moan and a sob. “The absolute best. I love you.” Thanks to the pain drain (itch ditch?) Scott so graciously administered, Stiles no longer felt like separating himself from his own skin.

Scott directed Stiles to sit on the edge of the tub, and proceeded to rummage through their medicine cabinet for supplies to clean and disinfect the rashes all over Stiles’s back. This involved touching. Lots of touching. And with the distraction of the horrendous itch reduced, Stiles couldn’t block out the feeling of Scott’s fingers on his bare skin. They felt good roaming all over his exposed back. They also felt good good, and Stiles really didn’t want to have to explain the confused boner he knew was just waiting to pop up at the worst moment. With how his luck was going, that was a distinct possibility.

“Are you okay? Your heart rate is through the roof right now,” Scott said.

Knowing Scott could easily hear the lie he wanted to tell, Stiles decided to go with something a little closer to the truth. “I’ve been better, dude.”

Scott patted his arm. “I’ll get the calamine and finish up back here, then you can do your front. We’ll be through in no time. If the itching flares up again, I can help you out with it, if you want.”

Though grateful for the itch relief, Stiles hated when Scott put that kind of strain on himself. They hadn’t discussed it, but Stiles knew Scott was doing it for the animals at work who needed it. Sometimes that was a lot.

“Thanks, but the calamine should be enough, right? I’ll manage.”

“You sure?” Scott asked as he trailed his fingers along Stiles’s side in a spot he very well knew was incredibly ticklish. “It’s really not a problem for me.”

“Scott, I swear to God, don’t you dare do what I think you’re about to do,” Stiles warned.

“What?” No one did fake innocent like Scott McCall did fake innocent. Stiles loved it.

“Just get the calamine, and no tickling, you dweeb,” Stiles said with no real heat. He couldn’t see Scott, but he knew Scott was smiling to himself.

The lotion was shockingly cold, and Stiles flinched a bit when it made first contact with his raw skin. Between Scott’s hand and Stiles’s back, though, it warmed pretty quickly and started feeling more like a massage than basic first aid. After the shit-tastic day he’d had, Stiles found it was way too easy to just…drift…

“…probably going to blister later, so try your best to keep it clean. You might have to sleep sitting up. If it gets worse, we’ll head straight to the ER. I’ll fill mom in, too. Oh, and you need to wash the clothes you’re wearing. Don’t forget the shirts in the living room. And I’ll wash mine too, just in case.”

Stiles’s brain barely processed any of what Scott said, but it sounded important. “Thanks, Dr. McCall,” he replied.

Scott handed him the lotion and hurried out of the bathroom, presumably to get started on the stuff he had to do.

With Scott gone, Stiles felt like he could finally breathe normally. He made quick work of his torso, and now that he felt significantly better, Stiles very gingerly went to help Scott.

***

Sleep was impossible. Stiles couldn’t find a sitting position comfortable enough without getting calamine lotion everywhere. He couldn’t put a shirt on or a blanket over himself, so add “cold” to the list of reasons why he couldn’t sleep. But that wasn’t the worst part. Every time Stiles closed his eyes, his thoughts went back to Scott’s hands on him, fingers roaming with the lightest pressure, just enough to make Stiles wonder what it would be like if Scott touched him for real. He could always claim curiosity, but who was he kidding? This wasn’t the first time he’d pictured Scott’s fingers brushing a nipple or slipping beneath his boxers’ waistband. A more mature person would deal with the situation head-on. Stiles, however, was not that person.

Sometime around 2am, the calamine wore off. There was no way Stiles would be able to reach his back to reapply the soothing lotion. With the itch rising in intensity with each passing second, and the impulse to scratch becoming harder and harder to fight, Stiles realized he had a very difficult decision to make.

***

Scott’s door was cracked. Stiles peeked in and saw Scott curled up beneath his covers and sleeping like a baby. He really hated having to do this.

“Scott?” he whispered into the dark bedroom.

No response.

He tried again, this time stepping into the room. “Scott? I kinda need you right now, buddy.”

Scott stirred. “Stiles?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry to wake you, but the itch came back, and-”

He couldn’t get the whole sentence out before Scott threw back a corner of his covers and scooted over to make room for Stiles in the bed.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m sticky with this calamine crap, and I don’t want to ruin your sheets.”

“I can wash them later. C’mon, get in here.” Scott patted the empty spot next to him. He wasn’t fully awake and hadn’t sat up, yet, but he still wanted to help. A tiny part of Stiles wondered if he wasn’t taking advantage of Scott’s generosity.

The miserable urge to scratch kept gnawing at him, though.

“Okay.” Scott’s sheets were pleasantly sleep-warm under Stiles’s butt, and his headboard? Surprisingly comfortable. If he had to sleep sitting up, this was definitely the best way to do it.

Scott’s hand found his in the darkness. The itch was gone a few moments later.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles sighed. Relief flooded through his veins and radiated across his skin. For the first time that night, Stiles felt like he could relax and get some sleep.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, giving his hand a little squeeze.

“Hmm?”

“No more Bigfoot tips, okay?”

Of all Scott’s touches so far, this one had to be Stiles’s favorite, and if it meant not getting to fall asleep with the soft weight of Scott’s hand in his, Stiles wasn’t so sure he could agree to that.

“Sure thing,” Stiles said knowing full well he didn’t mean it.

Scott burrowed a little deeper into his covers, never letting go of Stiles’s hand. “Finally got you in my bed, though,” he slurred into his pillow before letting out a soft snore.

Yawning, Stiles felt his eyelids droop. Blissful sleep was just around the cor-

Stiles’s head whipped around. Wait, what did Scott just say…?