Day 4: Strangled | Anxiety attack | No escape | “I wish I hadn’t stayed”
AN: I never recovered from this and now neither will you 😈
It’s taken all the time we wasted to shave off my waistline
Fandom: Heated Rivalry
Ship: Hollanov (Ilya x Shane)
Tags: angst, depression, post tuna melt scene drop, Ilya angst, smoking to cope and self harm, hurt/no comfort
“You gonna cum for me Rozanov?”
“Ah! Fucking make me Hollander.”
“Spit.”
Ilya does, and then the glide between their dicks is so much nicer he’s crying out, his head falling back as Shane pumps them faster. He's so close, so so close. “Fuck,” he warns, he can never last when Shane is touching him. “Shane!”
“Ilya…”
Ilya blacks out from the raw intensity of his orgasm. When he comes back to earth, he’s chuckling, pressing kisses into Shane’s mouth, his cheek. I love you Shane. I love you so much. It's practically bursting from his lips.
He wants to tell him. He feels ready. Now seems like as good a time as any. But he can’t find Shane’s eyes. And then the other man is moving away from him.
“I’m sorry… I- I have to go.”
Shane’s words drop on him like a bucket of ice water.
“Go?” Ilya is shattering inside. His heart feels strangled, his stomach kicked. What happened? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry Shane, please, please don’t leave. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him to stay? Maybe that's what ruined it all.
“Yeah, I forgot about a team meeting.”
“You forgot team meeting?” Shane’s lie is obvious, which is all the more insulting. Did he break a rule? Did he misinterpret something? Everything?
“Yeah, I, I'm sorry.”
“Hollander...” Please don’t go.
“Thank you, for the tuna melt. But I- have to go.”
“Hollander,” Ilya repeats, just to really send it home. See, things are normal, you don't have to leave. Please don't leave me Shane. Not like this. We can go back. This doesn’t have to be serious. It can be casual. Enemies hate sex or whatever you’ve been calling it that’s clearly so much different than how I interpreted the events.
“I’m sorry,” Shane says again, “I can't do this.”
And then he leaves.
Shane fucking leaves and he takes Ilya’s heart with him.
Ilya doesn't follow. In fact, he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch; eyes still locked on the hallway Shane left through. Like maybe, Shane will come to his senses halfway back to his hotel and come running back. Begging forgiveness. But that never happens. Not in the three hours Ilya sits there, catatonic.
When he’s finally given up all hope of Sh- Hollander returning, he walks into his bedroom, pulls out the hollowed-out Bible that holds his emergency cigarettes and stuffs one in his mouth.
He had cut down significantly since dating- hooking up with Hollander. But it wasn’t ‘serious.’ Just like he told Svetlana. And now that it's definitive he’s not coming back, Ilya doesn’t really see the need to not smoke them now.
So he does. One after another. All the way down to the filter until he’s finished the pack.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed, only that it’s evening now. The sun set a while ago. His stomach begs for food. His head, muscles, and body beg for water. Instead, he showers and brushes his teeth to get the thick layer of tar off and then passes out on his couch.
He doesn’t miss practice. Even if he woke up this morning feeling like he was hit and then repeatedly run over by a tank. If he misses practice, things will be worse for him. He may not have Shane anymore, but he still has hockey. At least for a little while.
Two weeks later
Things have been up up up for the great Shane Hollander, hands twisted on every local news station with his newest lover, Rose Landry. Ilya feels sick every time he sees them together. It's not even just the jealousy of being picked over, but the fact that they can be out in ways he and Shane could never be. He could never hold Shane’s hand like that in public. Shane could barely handle him saying his first name in private…
Fuck.
He gets off the exercise bike in such a huff he stubs his toe.
He has cigarettes and vodka for dinner again.
“Fuck!”
“Hey, are you alright?”
-
Three weeks of treating his body like shit is starting to catch up with him, and he’s not the only one who notices.
“Mm. Course,” Ilya says, not even gracing his best friend of almost two decades with a glance.
“Ilya.”
“What?”
“Пожалуйста, не лги мне.” (Please don’t lie to me.)
Ilya finally looks at her, just for a second. She’s always been too observant for her own good.
“Tired,” he eventually yields, “And,” what’s an appropriate word? Hollow, empty, numb. “distracted.”
“Because of Jane?”
“No! Because I am lazy, mediocre player fucking it all up!”
“Who the fuck said that?”
Ilya shoots her a look. There are two people in his immediate circle who are constantly telling him that. She knows that.
“It’s not true,” she insists.
Ilya shrugs.
“Maybe it is.”
“Maybe, it's not.”
He wishes he could give her that. He really does… “Have you called him?”
“Who? Alexi?”
“Jane.”
His head snaps up from his phone, a sharp, painful anxiety building in his chest. How did she know? How long has she known? What does this mean? Will this change everything? He can’t lose her too.
She only gives him one of his favorite knowing smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly.
Tears push their way down his face. He takes his hand back to wipe them.
“…He doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“How do you know?”
Ilya has to force down a hateful scoff. It will sound like he is mad at her, which he isn't. He just can’t afford a second anxiety attack this week. He’s still mentally recovering from the first. But he knows. Oh, he fucking knows. Every time he opens his phone, email, or fucking social media, he’s smacked with the reminder he will never be good enough. No one will ever want him. Everyone he loves will eventually leave him.
He grabs his necklace subconsciously. He wishes he could talk to his mom.
“Ilya-”
Today's the first day his cigarettes-and-vodka diet finally catches up with him. He's in so much pain that he’s physically unable to get out of bed. Every time he attempts to stand, he is brought to the floor by a dizzying nausea threatening to spill his guts.
“Trust me,” he huffs, “I know.”
-
He has to call in sick. He gets screamed at by his coach for a good half hour, but he knew that was going to happen anyway.
He doesn't leave his bed. All week. He misses three practices altogether. His paycheck, personal stock, and ego take a massive hit. His father and brother haven't stopped calling to bitch him out. He wants to cry, but he can't spare the fluids.
On day 9, the news must have broken containment because he’s staring at the first text he’s gotten from ‘Jane’ in weeks.
[Are you okay?]
Ilya laughs hatefully at the text. Months have passed. Not one word. Not one text, email, call, or word through the grapevine. Ilya feels insulted that he bothered to text him now.
He fires off a,
[Fine.]
Before tossing his phone onto his bed and moving to the living room to sulk some more.
All my AITCM & whumptober fics * AITCM Event * Sinful Sunday
Fandom: Heated Rivalry
Ship: Hollanov
Tags: One shot, Rookies + more sex, Shane's Dildo, first time, one shot, plot what plot, blowjobs, smut
Preview:
For the record, he hates that Rozanov is making him spell it out. But he’s not scared. Scared is the last thing he is right now. Now that he’s tasted everything he’s been needing since forever, Shane cannot get enough.
“No, Jesus, I’m trying to tell you- I have a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah… A- A dildo.”
“…”
“…” Goddamn it, Shane wants to evaporate out of his skin.
Tags: BodySwap AU, Bi Steve Harrington, Gay Billy Hargrove, Enemies to Friends to Lovers,
Minor Slow Burn
Preview:
A few days after their combined, second, near death experience, things are better. At least by comparison. They are still body swapped, but by now they have more or less figured out a routine, a passable imitation of the others mannerisms to fool unknown parties, and relocated to Steve's house again, but this time as boyfriends.
The last few days have been good, so Steve can't quite figure out why Billy has been giving his face frown lines for the last 4 hours.
“Okay, spill.”
“Spill what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Steve nods, touching the place of Billy’s borrowed face that is scrunched up. “You’re gonna make those permanent."
Billy snorts and knocks Steve’s hand away playfully. He doesn't answer immediately, delaying the inevitable by reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He lights it and smokes two drags before handing it over to Steve.
“He’s been quiet.”
Steve doesn't need to ask which ‘he’ he's referring to.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
”Why though? He was there, he had me, us, moments from death, and then he just, disappears?”
“Billy,” Steve exhales, taking Billy’s hand, “Baby. I’ve lived through, well, one too many apocalypses now. The biggest take away I got from that, is if you don't spend time in the good moments, then every second of your life is filled with this shit. And I mean every moment. I think that's what he feeds on. Our insecurities, our vulnerabilities.”
“Hit the jackpot with us.”
“Shut up,” Steve laughs, crushing out the cigarette in favor of crawling over Billy, guiding him down until his back rests against the oversized couch. “Speaking of moments,” he flirts, “We don't have to pick up the party for another 30 minutes.”
“Oh yeah? What are we going to do with the other 29 minutes? Cuddle?”
“Fuck you!” Steve laughs, biting into Billy’s neck sharply until he whines.
“Isn’t that what you were offering,” Billy pants, yanking Steve’s lips against his when his teeth finally released his neck. Billy pushes his tongue inside, claiming and hot and everything Steve is addicted to.
“Yes, 100% yes,” Steve groans, finding Billy's hands and pushing them down, effectively pinning the other man under his own muscular weight.
“Mmm,” Billy moans, rocking his hips up. “Something tells me you got a type Pretty Boy.”
“Oh yeah, what's that?”
“I don’t know, ask your dick.”
“Okay fine,” Steve chuckles, kissing up Billy's borrowed neck before biting hard again. “I love your muscles, what a shock to everyone. It's not like I told you that when we were watching Dirty-” but Billy interrupts him with his own biting kiss.
“Too much talking, not enough fucking Harrington.”
“Mmm,” Steve groans, pushing his tongue into Billy's open mouth. “Take off your clothes.”
Billy doesn't need to be told twice. He bucks Steve up so he can yank off his shirt.
While he does that Steve moves down, undoing Billy's jeans. Once his dick is free Steve is sucking it into his mouth.
“Oh shit, fuck,” Billy pants, and Steve grins. He hasn't seen anything yet.
Steve's hands find Billy's borrowed hipbones and grip hard, pinning him down onto the couch before taking the entirety of his dick into his throat.
“Ah! Steve,” Billy gasps, bucking his hips up, bottoming out. “Fuck.”
Steve groans around his dick and Billy swoons. Steve smirks before repeating the motion, pulling out another gasping moan out of Billy. “Steve, Stevesteve,” Billy begs, hips desperately trying to fuck deeper into his mouth but unable to under the strength of Steve’s borrowed hands.
Why is that so fucking hot? Steve doesn't think he's ever seen Billy so desperate. It really won't be long now. Steve knows that hitch in his own voice.
“Fuck,” Billy sobs, “Steve. I'm-”
Billy’s gonna cum any second. He's trying to be considerate and warn Steve to pull off. Steve doesn't want considerate, he wants filthy. His motions double in speed, pulling a deliciously strangled sound from his boyfriend as cum finally floods his mouth.
“Fuck,” Billy growls again, before yanking Steve off by his hair.
Steve can't help but chuckle. He knows how sensitive he is after orgasm.
“So I guess it was good,” Steve laughs.
“Good? Holy- fuck Steve, you’re fucking amazing at that!”
“Duh,” Steve chuckles, flopping down next to Billy before snatching the cigarette pack off the coffee table. “How do you think I got the title of King?”
Billy's eyebrows scrunch together before his eyes blow wide in genuine surprise. And then he's laughing, harder and lighter than Steve’s ever heard before.
They share the cigarette in a comfortable silence, sending each other playful looks. And then once it's finished, Billy is crawling over him, insisting,
“Your turn.”
“Not gonna argue there.”
Billy snorts and then yanks down Steve’s sweats.
Billy’s mouth is a velvet paradise, and that's confirmed by the feral sound currently tearing its way free of Steve’s chest. But it's not like he can help it. Not when Billy’s tongue and teeth are on the piercings; licking, biting, and pulling the way Billy knows his body likes. Fuckfuckfuck. “Biiilllyy.”
“Sensitive,” Billy smirks before going right back to messing with the curved bars.
“Y-Yes asshole.”
“Asshole?” Billy teases, sucking the length back into his throat and humming. “I’m being so nice to you,”
“Fuck, Billy,” Steve groans, hand immediately going for his hair to hold him there. He is being nice, but he’s also being so cruel. Because Billy knows exactly what to do to keep himself on edge and its as hot as it is sexually frustrating. And maybe a little narcissistic, because he looks really good with Billy's dick in his mouth. Enough to have him begging out, “Please fuck me.”
Billy’s got a condom and lube before Steve can finish another thought.
When Billy sits down on him, Steve nearly blacks out from the burst of sudden sensations. His borrowed cock pulses hard. His hand reaches out for Billy, needing to touch him to ground himself.
Billy finds him too, pulling him impossibly closer.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” Steve nods before reconnecting their mouths. “I like everything about you.”
This weeks update is thanks to a very kind reader @ssculker who wanted to see more of this one! I honestly love this one too, im a big slut for angst 🤩
Faith fell short this time your smile fades in the summer
Ch 2: When we die our souls will leave this place
Fandom: Stranger things
Ship: Mungrove
Tags: Post S3 & 4, Billy is in the upside down, feral billy, trapped in the upside down, Mungrove, injury hurt/comfort, memory loss, the upside down has psychedelic mushrooms
Preview:
“She was pretty. And you, you were happy…”
The last eight words Billy’s mortal ears would ever hear, and they were everything he has been begging, screaming, needing someone to see for so long. He wasn’t always like this. He used to be okay. Maybe even close to normal. And then his mom left and Neil got worse and his life went to literal shit. One this shadow monster saw and latched onto like a leech.
But this girl. This weird, magical, stranger had cut through the monster running his body, his Hawkins reputation, all the bullshit, and saw him. The person he wanted so desperately to be again.
His eyes shut in quiet surrender. His next move is clear. He hopes, prays Eddie will forgive him, because he knows, he will never be able to ask for forgiveness.
🔥Sinful Sunday🔥
happy (almost) breakfast club day!!!!
*Equip Sunglasses*
Fandom: The Breakfast Club
Ship: Bender x Andrew (Bendrew)
Tags: Enemies to Lovers to Friends, post movie-second detention, Smoking/Shotgunning, First Kiss, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, One Shot?
Content Warnings: Implied child abuse, homophobia
Preview:
Andrew is feeling significantly looser after those few hits. He’s much less anxious about how much they are still touching and every time Bender passes the joint back, Andrew can’t stop obsessing over how badly he wants to do more than just incidentally touch him.
“Last hit. Bender offers, breaking him out of his potentially dangerous thoughts. “You want it?”
“Sure,” Andrew says, holding his hand out.
Instead of handing it over, Bender smirks, pulling the joint back to his lips and inhaling. He doesn’t blow it out. Instead he's looking at Andrew almost expectantly.
Day 1: Shot | Runaway | Gagged | “Not like you care”
Ask me how did I let this get worse?
Fandom: White Collar
Ship: Peter x Neal
Tags: Sequel that can be read as standalone, Checkmate episode related, kidnapped & tortured, Angst and Tragedy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Neal Caffrey Whump
Content Warnings: Violence, sexual assault mention
It's another 14 hours, bound and gagged in the freezing darkness until he's found. And when he is, his body has finally given in to the exhaustion. He's still tied to the chair, but now it, and he, are on its side. Not a great long-term position, but Neal’s unconscious, floating somewhere between the delicate veil of life and death, so what does he care?
He's so far under that he doesn't hear the team burst through the doors of the abandoned cellar Keller locked him in. He doesn't feel Peter’s hands on his pale, clammy skin, searching desperately for a pulse. And he definitely doesn't process Peter’s beg to anyone who will listen, “No, no, no, NEAL! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE! PLEASE!”
--
Neal is unconscious for another two days. None of his wounds are deep enough to need more than a few stitches, thankfully, but the whip Keller used cracked two of Neal’s ribs. But that's just the physical toll Peter can see. There’s no telling what kind of psychological Hell Neal’s been through.
There’s… other marks too. Ones the doctor brought to Peter’s attention, that made him violently ill to think about again. A set of matching bite marks, angry and dark purple in color, on both Neal’s throat and inner thigh. Peter didn't see those in any of the live streams, so they must have happened after Keller cut the camera.
‘You practically hand-delivered him to me, Burke…’ Keller's sadistic voice echoes through his ears hauntingly, only fueled on by his guilt. ‘He was ready to do anything to atone for hurting the ‘Great Peter Burke.’
Including giving himself over in exchange.
Every muscle in Peter’s body is tight. He has to mentally remind himself to unclench his jaw so his teeth don't crack.
Looking at the broken version of his partner, Peter makes a vow right now. He will burn Keller, and every son of a bitch in his network down, even if it's the last thing he does.
--
Neal finally wakes on the fourth day in the hospital.
“Peter? Is that, you?”
“Neal! Oh my god.”
“Am I dead,” the forger blinks, eyes still swollen but able to open almost all the way now.
“No, you’re not,” Peter exhales, grateful to hear his voice. See him moving. “Touch and go there for a while. But the doctor said you should make a full physical recovery-”
“Shit!” Neal shouts suddenly, sitting up and looking anxiously at Peter’s face. “Keller. I- Elizabeth. Peter, I swear, I don’t know where he is, but I will do anything-”
“Hey, hey, whoa, hang on,” Peter soothes gently, holding up one hand, “El is safe. She’s home, Diana’s with her.”
Neal swallows hard, looking at Peter’s face like maybe he isn’t sure he’s telling the truth or not.
“S-She is?”
“Yes,” Peter nods. “I promise.”
“Were you,” Neal starts, before obviously editing whatever he initially wanted to ask and following with, “um, the one who found me?
“Yeah,” Peter mutters quietly. Shaking off that horrible visual that has already taken up too much time in his nightmares. “With Mozzie’s help actually.”
Neal nods.
“Look… Peter. I don’t know where Keller is. I spent most of the time blindfolded. I won’t be useful to you.”
“What?”
“If you let him take the treasure, he won’t have any more use for me. You won’t be able to use me to get it back.”
“Neal,” Peter gasps, a little exasperated, “I don’t fucking care about Keller right now, I care about you!”
Now it's time for Neal to mirror his exasperation.
“Are you sure about that?”
And here it is. The make-or-break moment. Peter can either admit what they are, what they’ve been doing for months in stolen moments in the dark, or he can bail, like Neal obviously expects him to.
“Neal...”
“It's fine Peter, I get it,” he scoffs, voice tight and full of resent. “But I don’t need you here, watching me. They got staff for that. Besides,” he pulls his leg out, where a new monitor has already been installed while he was unconscious. “Not like you won’t be able to find me.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
“Is there any legitimate reason for you to stay?”
“I have- a few follow-up questions.”
“As my friend or as a cop?”
“Both.”
“Fine,” Neal grumps, “Such as?”
“Did he…” Peter trails off, looking sick.
“Did he what Peter!” Neal snaps. All patience eroded.
“Sexually assault you?”
Neal scoffs.
“No. But right now I kinda wish he did.”
“What!” Peter’s eyes double in size. “Why- why would you say something like that?”
“Because then you wouldn’t be looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like exactly how you’re looking at me!”
“I just, help me understand.”
“Oh Jesus Christ, Peter don’t you get it? I was with Keller. For years, before our paths even crossed!”
“Together like?”
“You know like how Peter.”
An uncomfortable moment passes as Peter puts together all the pieces. He feels sick.
“...”
“...I needed him to let go of Elizabeth.”
“So you offered yourself up in exchange!”
Neal shrugs.
“Worked, didn't it?”
“Look what it cost Neal!”
“Yeah, so?”
“What?!”
“I should be asking you that! I mean, why do you even care, Peter? Your right hook sure sent a clear message! I mean I ‘stole’ the treasure right? I'm the reason El got taken! Only right I bear the consequences of that!
“I thought you didn't steal it.”
“Of course I didn't fucking steal it Peter! Mozz did! So we could leave, as soon as you figured out why it will never work between us!”
“Don’t, don’t do this.”
“I’m right, Peter. And you know it.”
“Neal.”
“I need you to leave.”
“Don’t, please don’t kick me out.”
“Go home Peter. To your wife.”
--
Against all better judgment and the knots in his stomach, Peter leaves. Reassured by the hospital staff if there are any changes to Neal's discharge date, they will let him know.
At 3:42 AM the next morning, Peter gets the phone call.
Neal cut his tracker and ran away.
All my AITCM & whumptober fics * AITCM Event * Sinful Sunday
Don't forget to follow @aprilisthecruelestmonth!!!
More Conphy? in this household?? (i'd apologize but I've seen yalls pages and I know most of you are Norman Reedus/Daryl/Murph girlies)
Fandom: The Boondock saints
Ship: Conphy-Connor x Murphy
Tags: twincest, accidental voyeurism, fleshlights, bottom murphy, smut, pwp, 3 missed opportunities and 1 very overdue night
Preview:
Murphy doesn’t mean to find it.
He’s sure his brother meant to put it away. But for some reason, he didn't, and now Murphy’s looking right at the sex toy, his mouth watering and dick hardening, wondering if the inside is still warm from use.
Murphy’s clothes instantly feel tight. He can’t stop the filthy fantasies that start without his permission.
Was Connor anticipating this scenario and left it out on purpose? Or did he really just get called away? It's not like Connor to run an errand without mentioning it first, but to be fair, Murphy’s nose has been engrossed in his sketchbook for the last, oh shit, 3 hours. Yeah, there's definitely a chance he said something and Murphy just tuned it out. But a part of him hopes that this is Connor's way of telling him they are the same. That he wants him too. So much so he can’t stop thinking about fucking him. Enough that he will risk fucking a Fleshlight with Murphy within earshot to get it.
A shudder runs down his spine as a sick thought passes through his mind. His hands grab the Fleshlight before his good conscience can stop him. As he yanks down his pants just enough to expose his dick, his hand pushes the toy down to the base, imagining Connor’s tight throat, taking all of him down smoothly.
“Fuck, oh shit!” His head falls back, his knees fold, and his free hand grips the mattress that catches him before he falls on his ass. “Fuck, Conn.”
As his hips fuck into the slick channel, he wonders when Connor bought this. The two were almost always together. And why did he leave it out if he was planning on keeping it a secret? He considers again the possibility that Connor wanted him to find it. But there's no way that could be the case. Right? Murphy’s the one with the fucked up, incestuous desires, not Connor. But then again, if Connor didn't want him to find it, he really should have hid it better! Or at all. It was literally just sitting there on top of the cover sheet on Connor’s bed. Murphy groans, pumping the fleshlight all the way down before dragging it back up slowly. “Fuck, fuck.”
Goddamn, Murphy would have lost his mind if he had caught Connor in the act. He doesn't think he’d be able to stop himself from sinking to his knees and sucking him down, proving why he’d always be superior to a toy.
And Connor would beg, groan out his name, ache for more, and Murph would give it to him. He will never deny Connor anything. “Connor,” he begs the air loudly. So so desperately close, just a little more- “Baby, please!”
He's so lost in the fantasy that he never lets himself fully have, he doesn’t hear Connor arrive back at their apartment.
