this literally tore me apart inside


A/N: Request from anon. Oh, I very much enjoyed writing this. It was too perfect. I combined it with some of my own ideas and well… I guess I got a little carried away. So without further ado… Enjoy, everyone! ;-)

Words: 3829 (oops)
Warnings: smut

Keep reading

First Christmas

Fandom: WWE

Pairing/Characters: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Length: ~3200 words

Rating: M. Smut ahoy. But also some plot. Because it’s me.

AN: Christmas story I wrote for @tox-moxley and the @25daysofchrismuts challenge.

Also for @thee-asshole-of-moxicity, who got a sneak preview, and @actualamyautopsy, who suggested the working title of “Dickmas Cums Only Once A Year,” LMAO

Roman and Dean’s first Christmas as a couple.  YES THIS IS THE DICK IN A BOX STORY. I wasn’t lying about that.

Keep reading

Ugh can I just….

Okay but…

Fanfics (though few) that depict everyone in Overwatch hating Hanzo for what he did to Genji really hurt me. Like…

Everyone just kind of regards him distastefully, avoid him as much as possible. They’d also be passive aggressive, like Lucio or Mercy refusing to heal him, nobody inviting him to any group get togethers or activities, make indirect rude comments, etc.

I don’t however like the ones where characters straight up say mean stuff to Hanzo’s face like randomly -specifically when they first meet. It’s not a trait anyone in Overwatch would have (maybe an exception for Reaper, but we all know it’s just because he’s sad deep down).

The only ones who’d really be nice to Hanzo at all would probably be Zenyatta and Genji, maybe Ana and Reinhardt.

Just sad things though, like these little small things.

Hanzo just shows up one day with Genji and Genji is eager for his brother to be apart of Overwatch but the response everyone gives is very negative. Hanzo immediately knows that nobody wants him there so he spends as little time around them as possible except for missions briefs and de-briefs as well as missions and maybe team training.

Nobody covers him. When he’s doing the covering, nobody thanks him but they will thank Ana.

He eats separately, rarely attending meals with the team unless Genji wants him to.

He talks only to Genji, sometimes Zen if Zenyatta can catch him before he goes off to hide.

If Hanzo isn’t healed during the mission, he won’t ask any of their support afterwards. Once he limped around the Watchpoint for days until Genji got pissed and made him go to Angela. Another time he got hurt and tried to fix it himself because he didn’t want to irritate anybody with his presence. McCree found him bleeding all over the training deck floor.

Just, Hanzo hiding like a bird all over the Watchpoint: on the roof, behind crates, on rocks, on the beach; any place he can go to just avoid everyone and meditate. It’s a toxic environment, everyone keeps reminding him of the biggest mistake he ever made. They all keep holding him at fault even though it’s something that happened 10 years ago, he’s tried to get over it. “Killing” Genji tore him apart from the inside out. He threw away literally everything he’d trained his whole life for because he was so heartbroken.

And when after a mission, after Hanzo single handedly saves everyone’s ass and doesn’t get anything out of anyone for it, McCree finds him in the shooting range and goes up to him, says to Hanzo “nobody here is nice to you. why do you stay?”

Hanzo just stares at his empty bottle of sake and goes “because Genji wants me to”.

Mine Now (requested)

Fourteen days. Fourteen grueling days. Fourteen days of horror. Fourteen days of pain, of hunger, of darkness. Fourteen days alone. Fourteen days of wishing you weren’t alive. You were sure you’d lost a pound or two, and the shadowy circles under your eyes could attest to the lack of sleep. Your eyes had gotten so used to the darkness, that any light you might’ve been exposed you felt like knives. You were haunted with vividly horrendous nightmares in the small amounts of fitful sleep you could find. Of course, you weren’t starving. He knew just how much food to give you to sustain the dimmest flicker of life possible, but no more. You’d slipped into a dreamlike state where time meant nothing, words meant nothing, life was nothing

Only there was one thing. One thing that made this better. One thing that kept you clinging to the edge, no matter how exhausting it was. One thing that suppressed the madness bubbling up inside of you. One thing that took the pain away in the depths of sleep, that allowed you to breathe even when the walls seemed to be closing in on you.

That thing was Stiles. That thing was your lifeline. And he wasn’t there.


Stiles paced back and forth across the McCall’s family room, one hand near his lips as he anxiously pressed his knuckles to his teeth. His eyes darted about quickly, as if he could find an answer to his problem in the nooks and crannies of the home.

“Dude, calm down. We’re doing all that we can,” Scott spoke from the couch, his head in his hand with his eyes closed.

Stiles paused, whipping around to glare at the reclining boy. “Doing all we can? Yes, sitting in your house on the couch chilling is going to help us find her.”

Scott looked up at Stiles with a clenched jaw. “Stiles you know that if I could do something right now, I would have already done it.”

The two stared at each other quietly for a moment before Stiles broke eye contact with a shake of his head, sighing and flopping into a chair. “You’re right,” he mumbled, running a hand through his already stress-induced disheveled hair. “I’m sorry.”

Scott watched the distressed boy. “Stiles.” He looked up. “We’ll find her, okay?”

Stiles pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

And as he sat with his hands wrung together, he realized for the first time that he loved you. He realized that he was irrevocably, undeniably, completely in love with you. He realized how much he missed the way you sat on the couch with your legs curled underneath your body. He realized how much he admired the way you tucked your hair behind your ears when you were focused on something, or how sometimes you’d stick your tongue out slightly. He realized how he ached for your touch as soon as you left. He realized how he longed for the way you covered your mouth with your hand when you laughed too hard, or the way you could fall asleep almost anywhere you tried, including his arms. As he sat in his best friend’s crappy recliner chair, he realized that he’d be damned if he couldn’t get you back.


You started awake with a small intake of breath. You hadn’t realized you’d been dozing, and you were slightly disoriented. However, it didn’t take long for you to remember where you were, for the hunger pains to return and the cold to remind your body to shiver. For the fear to settle deep inside your bones.

You sat up straighter, flattening your back against the wall as you stared into the darkness in front of you. You could feel the change in the air; someone was with you. You swallowed, and your heart pounded against your chest, reverberating in your ears.

“What do you want?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, hoarse.

A small breath indicated a humorless laugh from not too far away from you, and you closed your eyes, irrationally praying that it’d be different this time, that he’d leave you alone.

“Just here to chat.”

That voice sent chills up your spine and coaxed goose bumps from your arms. That voice was wrong; it didn’t belong in the dank cellar, it didn’t sound right in that deep, menacing tone. It belonged to Stiles, it sounded right when telling a boisterous joke, or laughing loudly.

“And I brought you this.”

You winced as a loud clatter came from near your feet, and upon opening your eyes, you could faintly see a small plate with a piece of bread on it. If things had been different, you may have laughed; cliché bread and water meal of a dungeon prisoner. However, you greedily reached for the bread as your stomach let out an impressive rumble.

“Take it easy now,” the voice chuckled as the owner sat down a foot away.

You could make out his outline, his broad shoulders and messy hair. You forced yourself to look away, instead focusing on the taste of the bread as you practically inhaled it.

“You know,” he said casually, as if conversing across a casual dinner table. “I heard they’ve got a plan to get you back.”

This didn’t spark much interest, as you had learned not to take what he said too seriously. He’d made it his mission to torture you mentally.

“And Stiles is leading it.”

You froze, a hunk of bread in your mouth suddenly too dense, too large. You swallowed hard, feeling the lump go down agonizingly slowly as it felt like your throat tightened. You could practically hear the smile in his words.

“But they’re not going to find you,” he murmured. “Don’t fret.”

You heard him shift, and he was suddenly too close, crowding you against the wall. You could feel his cool breath on your face, and you squeezed your eyes closed, turning your head to the side.

“Because you’re mine now,” he whispered. “Mine.”

“Please,” you whispered.

“Begging won’t do you any good, sweetheart.” His voice was tantalizing.

You stretched further away from him. “Stiles,” you cried out weakly, as if he would somehow hear you.

The evil spirit in front of you bristled, and his hands slammed against the wall behind you. You flinched, whimpering quietly. “God dammit!” He roared. “You’re mine now!”

With that, he tore away from you, your head hitting the wall behind you. You wept quietly, slumping to your left as you curled into a ball.


All of a sudden, it was loud. It was loud and extremely confusing. You still lay curled up against the wall, arms around your knees like a frightened child. You heard noises you couldn’t explain, and you seemed to be paralyzed with anxiety. Your eyes were wide open, scanning the darkness around you. Suddenly, there were footsteps coming right at you, slapping the ground loudly.

“Who’s there?” You called out, voice shaking.

“It’s me,” a low, breathy voice came from right in front of you.

You pressed yourself against the wall, squinting at the figure in front of you. Although you didn’t have to see him to recognize the voice, the familiar outline.

“Please, leave me alone,” you whispered brokenly.

“(Y/N),” the voice came again, soft, almost hurt. “It’s me, I-” He reached out, gently resting his palm against your knee.

You jerked away from his touch. “Stop it!” You cried out frantically with a renewed, frightened energy. “Don’t do this to me, I can’t do this anymore!” You held your head in your hands, gripping your hair with tight fingers.

“It’s me, please, I won’t hurt you! You’re safe now, I promise,” he continued, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your trembling frame.

You screamed, immediately beginning to thrash about in his grip. “Stop it!” You shouted, twisting and turning. Your balled fists made contact with his chest, which you beat on weakly.

“(Y/N), please,” there was pain in the boy’s voice. “Please, it’s me, Stiles. Scott is here, I’m here. You’re safe now. He-it’s gone. I swear to you I won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt you anymore.”

All of a sudden, there was no energy left. You collapsed into the familiar arms, head falling into his neck. You tasted salt on your lips, and you vaguely wondered when you’d started to cry. But all you knew is that you couldn’t stop now. Huge, heaving sobs racked your body, and Stiles’ arms tightened around you. Your hands clawed at his shirt, pulling him closer.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated soothingly in your ear, one hand on the back of your head.

After god knows how long, you finally stopped sobbing, relaxing into his body. He continued to lightly rub your back, and he closed his eyes.

“I didn’t sleep,” he whispered. “I hardly ate, I didn’t go to school.”

You listened numbly, staring at the dark wall.

“I tore myself apart inside, (y/n),” he murmured. “I told myself this was my fault, I told myself you’d never forgive me. I told myself you wouldn’t-”

“Stop,” you interrupted quietly. “Stop it.”

He was quiet for a moment before pulling away slightly. “No, I won’t stop it, I-” he hesitated slightly. “I love you. I can’t- I won’t do this anymore, okay? I’m not pretending anymore. I love you, and I’ve loved you for a while now. I literally couldn’t imagine life without you, but then I had to. Because life was without you. And it was hell. It was absolutely a fiery, never-ending hell. And when I found you in here, all pitiful on the floor, my heart broke into a million pieces. And when you were afraid of me, when you thought I was going to hurt you, those pieces shattered into a billion more. Because I would never hurt you. Ever. And-”

He suddenly seemed at a loss for words, and before you knew it, his palms were on your cheeks, tugging you towards him firmly. Then his lips were on yours; sweet was on salty, strong was on broken. He kissed you with a tormented passion, softly yet urgently.

“I love you,” he mumbled against the corners of your lips.

A small breath left you, an immediate reaction of surprise evident. But it took no longer than a moment to realize he’d stolen the words right out of your mouth, and you nodded, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against his.

“I love you, Stiles.”

(for the lovely foreverbetrayedbycalzones)

I don’t know what else you want from me.
I’ve given you everything. I tore myself apart to try and give you more pieces of myself and nothing has been good enough for you.
So tell me, what do you want from me.
I swear to god I would give it to you.
I love you so goddamn much I would literally claw at my skin to give you something more.
Is that what you want?
Do you want me to claw at my skin until I’m bleeding, everything from inside me pouring out just for you, nothing left, just a body trying to figure out what else I can give you.
Tell me what you want and fuck, I’ll give it to you.
I’ve never felt so desperate for someone to love me in my entire goddamned life, but here I am begging you to ask me for more.
I’m asking you to tear my soul apart and fuck you’ve already done it.
You’ve already torn every piece of me apart by making me feel this pathetic.
Is this what love is supposed to feel like?
Because I don’t know how to recover from this.
I’m so fucking lost.
Please, just tell me what you want.
—  all for you

A while ago while sitting on the beach I sat with this book in my hands thinking how much money I had wasted on it. At first glance I saw it thinking, that’s and interesting title, it sounds relevant to an issue that lays heavy on my heart, I’m gonna read this right away. I didn’t touch it for literally months, almost a year actually. Boy was I so wrong. This book tore me apart. Halfway through it I felt like giving up on it. I felt like it was just making me feel even more terrible about myself. It made me feel sick to my stomach. Then this last line, even though not exactly relevant to any issues I was feeling, stuck out to me. I had to capture it. I had to share it. I saw something so beautiful about it. For some reason it just engraved itself inside my mind. I don’t why but it just…did.