#I don't know how good my writing is at the moment but I've been itching to write for a few weeks now.

[astral-athame]

((I need to start writing more again.

That said:

IF ANYONE* WANTS TO START SOMETHING NEW, TAP THE HEART AND I'LL TRY TO GET A SHORT STARTER WRITTEN UP FOR YOU THIS WEEKEND.

*This goes for new and old mutuals, people I've never written with, people I've written with a TON, anyone who thinks they might want to explore a specific dynamic with Cassia (ships, friendships, even enemies or something, etc). I just want to get back into writing please;;))

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[here2bbtstrash]

sunday (explicit)

genre: straight-up smut baybey, i did it y'all i wrote a pwp again

pairing: seokjin x reader

summary: you got your boyfriend exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

word count: 5k

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ say it with me: BRAT 👏 TAMER 👏 SEOKJIN 👏 established relationship, reader is uhhh 😬 Extremely bratty lmao, jin takes care of that, BDSM dynamics (mention of safewords and hand signals but neither are used!), reader gets spanked with a belt oop 🤭, fingering/a lil bit of eating it from the back, orgasm denial, big dick jin 😏, praise kink, mouth/throat fucking, a bit of breathplay, begging and apologizing, oh yeah she cries... like.... kind of a lot 🥲 there's a dacryphilia moment in there too (~*~add a little spice~*~), unprotected sex but they're in love it's fine, lots of subspace at the end, use of a vibrator, overstimulation, she comes.... idek how many times, and a smidge of aftercare 🫠 also i promise there's no food play, you'll get why the cake's there at the end ok lmao

A/N: a day late and a dollar short but hey that's my mental health rn 🫡 this was fun!!! always nice to dust off the ol' pwp muscles and frankly i've been itching to write proper BDSM for a bit now. sometimes you just wanna get the shit beat out of you lovingly and that's valid and sexy ya know. anyway feel free to silently skip this one if it's not for you!! and i know i'm gonna get a comment on it so 🙄 i used his korean age on purpose lmao 🙄 yes i can count and yes i know their system is changing~ ANYWAY i sincerely hope you enjoy babes and that you all had a lovely seokjin day 🥺 i loooove y'all !!! 💜

thank you to @haliiimede for beta reading and being my soulmate 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

The slam of the front door tells you that your plan for today has worked perfectly.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, you adjust a final strap on your bralette, then quickly scramble to pull your clothes back on. You attempt to keep your expression innocent as you slip down the hallway to greet your boyfriend.

Before you can even make it, you hear the unmistakable pop of a wine bottle being uncorked, and you enter the kitchen just in time to see Seokjin leaning up against the counter with a glass of white in hand. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to see you.

“Hi baby,” you say, sweet as can be. “Can I have a glass?”

A muscle works in his jaw as he looks you over, and the expression on his face already has a flame licking in the pit of your stomach.

“That's all you have to say?” he finally answers.

You blink up at him, feigning ignorance. Your heartbeat has started to race behind your ribs, sensing imminent danger— the good kind.

“I haven't heard from you all day today,” he tries again.

You shrug. “I was still sleeping when you left this morning, and then, I don't know. I was doing things. Does it matter?” If Seokjin wasn’t already pissed, you know your last question will get him. You turn away to busy yourself with retrieving a wine glass so he can’t see the smile you’re trying to bite back.

The tone of his voice makes you freeze, glass in hand. “I don't recall saying you could have any.”

Your lower lip juts out automatically, and you do your best to steady your breathing without making it apparent. Even your voice comes out a little shaky. “But we always share.”

The silence in the kitchen feels deafening, punctuated by the soft tap of Seokjin setting his glass on the counter. You mirror him, swallowing hard as he steps in to close the distance between you. It never gets any less exciting to have him tower over you, big and broad-shouldered, tall enough that you have to look up through your lashes to meet his gaze. A dull ache starts to pulse between your legs.

“Do you know what today is?”

You lick your lips and try to speak. “Sunday?”

It’s like you barely get the word out before he’s gripping your jaw with one large hand, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Anticipation buzzes through your body, all the way down to your toes, as he forces your chin up.

“Anything else?” His voice sounds like a warning.

Your mouth pulls into a grin beneath his grasp, one you can’t quite manage to keep innocent. “Oh, Seokjin, is it your birthday? I knew I was forgetting something. Oops.”

“Fucking brat.”

All at once Seokjin locks an arm around your hips, and you let out a shrill squeak as your feet leave the floor entirely when he outright slings you over his shoulder. This is, of course, exactly what you’d hoped for, but you struggle a little in his grip nonetheless. All part of the fun.

You’d left the bedroom door cracked on your way out to greet him, and he takes the opportunity to kick it back open. A shiver runs up your spine at the sight, and then you hit the bed hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

You push up onto your hands as you sit up, slightly dizzy.

“That hurt, Seokjin,” you whine, but you both know you don’t mean it. You have agreed-upon methods of telling him when he’s really hurting you in a way that doesn’t feel good: safewords, even hand signals for when you’re rendered non-verbal. Anything said that isn’t one of those is just you running your mouth on purpose, winding him up. Like now. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“And you’ve got a fucking attitude today,” he snaps. “Is this really how you want to do this? On my fucking birthday?”

You blink up at him with the same sweet smile. “What if I told you I got you a present?”

This seems to surprise him a little, and he pauses, like he doesn’t quite buy it. “A present, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod as you get to your feet. “Let me unwrap it for you.”

Taking your time with it, you peel off your sweatshirt and leggings to reveal the lingerie you pulled on as he was coming home. It’s a soft pink set with a floral design, thin straps, and romantic lace, and you happen to think it does wonders for your curves.

“What do you think?”

You can see the hungry gleam in Seokjin's eyes even as he scoffs, feigning disinterest. “Oh, this is my present? A disrespectful brat that I have to teach a lesson? I should rip this shit off.”

“Hey, this was expensive!” you snap, and he arches an eyebrow as if to give you a final chance to behave. It just makes you want to push him that much further.

You step closer, allowing a perfect line of sight to your tits that threaten to spill out of their confinements, and you soften your voice when you speak again. “What, you don’t forgive me, Seokjin?”

The corner of his mouth just barely ticks up. “You know the rules. Forgiveness is earned.”

He reaches a hand down to undo the buckle of his belt, and your nipples are suddenly painfully hard against the lace fabric. You can’t remember the last time he used his belt. Fuck, he’s really mad.

“Bend over.”

You huff a sigh as you drape yourself over the edge of the bed, and his hands are already on your ass. He makes a low noise of appreciation as his fingertips dig into your supple skin, pressing firm enough to make you wince. He's not being gentle, and you don’t want him to be.

Your eyes flutter closed in enjoyment of being manhandled like this, and you get so lost in it that it takes you a second to realize Seokjin has asked you a question. By then it’s already too late.

He gives a warning slap to your ass as he repeats himself. “I said, how old am I?”

You peek over your shoulder, wiggling your ass against the flat of his palm, only for him to smack you hard over your left cheek. You bite back a whimper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“I don't know,” you lie, blinking up at him. “You’re so old now, it’s hard to remember.”

In one swift move, he yanks his belt out from around his waist, and you swallow hard as you watch him fold it over in his hands.

“Then why don’t you fucking count for me.”

The belt cracks down over your ass, and you flinch at the first real rush of pain. It takes you a second to regain focus, your brain still buzzing from the hit, and then his words come back to you.

“One.”

“So you are capable of listening, huh?”

Another hit, equally as hard on the other side, and you grit your teeth.

“Two.”

“Aw, where’d that smart mouth go? Not so chatty now?” Seokjin cracks the belt again, and you can barely get the word three out before four is being delivered just as harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. He's really hitting hard tonight.

“Four,” you gasp, and you hear Seokjin exhale a dark laugh above you.

“Better toughen up, sweetheart. We’ve got a long way to go.” Another hit in the same spot, this one enough to really sting.

“Five.”

“You know, since I'm so old.”

The next blow he delivers is so hard, the word comes out as a cry of pain. “Six!”

You flatten your pelvis down against the sheets, as if in an attempt to hide from the beating, but there’s nowhere to go. The extra pressure makes you feel how hard your clit has started to throb from your punishment. You bury your face in the crook of your elbow, your hips jerking reflexively as you moan through seven, eight, nine.

Every muscle in your body seizes taut as you prepare for ten, trying to encourage yourself to breathe through it, though all you can get out right now are shallow gasps for air. I can take this, you tell yourself, I can take this.

But it doesn’t come. You’re pulled so tight you think you might snap, and you manage to lift your head up from your arms to look back at Seokjin.

“There she is,” he says, and the soft tone of his voice in no way influences how hard he brings the belt down over your ass.

“Ten!” you groan, and the sharp bite of pain over your already raw skin nearly brings tears to your eyes. And he’s not even halfway done.

It’s all you can do now to remember what number you’re on, especially as Seokjin continues to allow torturously long pauses between his hits. He'll wait just long enough that your heartbeat starts to slow, teasing the thin length of the belt up the backs of your thighs, sometimes even with a laugh.

But it’s not relief: the waiting keeps every inch of you on edge, all wound up with anticipation of the next dose of pain, so tense you’re not sure you’re breathing.

You’ve hardly choked out fourteen when you flinch at a brush of contact, the warm touch of skin where you were expecting the crack of leather. Letting your forehead drop against the bed, you pant like you’ve just run a marathon as Seokjin's hand moves over your abused flesh, groping and massaging as he did before. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours since then, but his touch is grounding, calming, even when his fingers sink into your fresh bruises with enough force to make you whimper.

You can feel the way the seam of your panties sticks to your center now, and you can only imagine that they must be entirely soaked through, your slickness already starting to paint the crux of your thighs. With a soft whine of need, you spread your legs a little wider in search of anything but more pain.

“What do you think?” Seokjin's voice is dark when he speaks, thick with lust. The thought of him straining hard against his pants has you practically drooling on the mattress. You want nothing more than that cock stretching you open right now. “Starting to learn your lesson?”

As much as the rational part of you appreciates the check-in, you can’t ignore the new rush of rebellion that surges up at the question. What, does he think you need him to go easy? Does he think you’re not tough enough, that you can’t take everything he’s willing to give you?

You push up to look over your shoulder at him again, your jaw set firm. “No.”

Anger flashes over his face, but he can’t quite hide his smile. “Then I guess I can stop holding back.”

Shit, he was—? You don’t get the opportunity to finish that thought before the loop of his belt is whizzing through the air, and the impact it makes against your ass hits so hard, you momentarily see stars. “Fuck!”

“That's not a fucking number.”

“Fifteen,” you gasp, dropping limp against the bed like a ragdoll, breathless with relief that you didn’t lose track. “Fifteen.”

“The brat can count,” Seokjin remarks, and then he delivers sixteen just as hard and your whole body spasms from the pain as you choke out the number. “If only you knew how old I was, you might have some idea of how much longer I have to beat your ass.”

Your eyes are really starting to well up now, but you force yourself to keep breathing, to focus on his words. It might be coded to fit the scene, but it’s a clear reminder nonetheless: you’re more than halfway. You can do this.

By twenty, the tears have started to spill down your face, but Seokjin knows you well enough to know the scene doesn’t stop unless you call a safeword. He trusts you to know your own limits, and you do. But fuck, he can really test them sometimes. You’re dying for him to touch you, fuck you, do anything but keep fucking beating you. It’s taking everything in you to keep going, your feet kicking helplessly each time he brings the belt down over your tender backside. He hasn’t lightened the weight of his hits up even in the slightest. If anything, they’re only getting worse.

“Twenty-one,” you breathe. You only have ten hits left, and you’ve already gotten through ten hits twice now. You can do this.

“Twenty-two.” You tell yourself not to fight it.

“Twenty-three.” Just give into the pain.

“Twenty-four.” Submit.

Your shoulders heave with sobs as the twenty-fifth strike finally, finally breaks your last resolve. You press your face into the mattress; you’re crying so hard you can scarcely breathe. Even though your body keeps flinching with the reflexive animal reaction to try and get away from the pain, your mind has fully accepted your punishment, all the fight gone out of you.

It’s like someone else is counting for you now, so much so that you don’t even realize what number Seokjin is on until the words leave your mouth.

“Thirty-one.”

You hear the jingle and thud of the belt hitting the floor, and then his gentle hands are encouraging your legs to spread apart. The brush of his fingers over your aching core is sweet, overwhelming relief from the pain still coursing through your system. You’d think it’d be enough to make you cry, if you weren’t already.

“Good girl,” he says softly, and that small praise alone has you floating straight up to the ceiling.

His hands move quickly to pull your panties down and off, and you work to get your breathing back under control, letting your sobs dissolve into sniffling gulps. You whimper when his palms slip under your hips, encouraging you up onto your knees. Your body shivers all over as you try to hold yourself up, to be good, and then you feel Seokjin slip two fingers into your drenched center.

“Oh my god,” you groan as he starts to rub diligently at the ridges of your front wall, his free hand gripping your ass to spread you open. His touch in both places at once, pressing down on fresh swollen bruises and curling up into the sweetest part of you, it’s so good. It reminds you why you willingly give yourself over to this man, the one you love so much, the only one who can make you feel like this. You’re so turned on from the mix of pleasure and pain, you might be close to blacking out.

The bed creaks as he shifts a little, and then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, and you keen. You bury your sounds in the crook of your elbow as his tongue plunges into you, and he snakes a hand between your legs to rub slow circles over your clit. Your mind is reeling; you can barely manage to speak.

“S-Seokjin,” you gasp. “You’re g-gonna, ngh, gonna make me—”

He pulls off just enough to mutter, “You better fucking ask first.”

You swear he ups the intensity on purpose when his mouth returns to your pussy, as if to drag you that much closer to the edge. His thumb is working so perfectly at your clit, you can feel your thighs starting to shake as you writhe back against him. “Can I— can I please come, Seokjin? Pleaseplease, please?”

“No.”

His voice is firm, unbothered, and paired with the painful loss of his touch all at once. A strangled sob of frustration escapes you as you collapse against the bed, exhausted from holding yourself up and from your denied release.

“Not yet,” Seokjin continues. “Not until you’ve learned to be a little more obedient.”

His strong hand closes over your bicep, and he easily flips you over onto your back, causing you to hiss at the graze of your sore flesh against the sheets. Your lower lip trembles, your eyes threatening tears as you stare up at him, but you stay quiet.

“Be a good girl,” Seokjin says, dragging one finger up the column of your throat. You willingly tip your head back for him as a shiver rolls through you. “Let me fuck this smart mouth, then I’ll make you come as many times as you can handle. Okay?”

When you nod softly, he hauls you up to your feet. “Get on your knees.”

You do as he says, sitting back on your heels and watching as he works his pants and boxers down to free his cock. He’s thick and long, flushed dark and dripping hard. Big enough that you go slightly cross-eyed trying to take him in. Your cunt clenches desperately at his size, at how badly you need all of him inside you, bottoming out into you again and again.

But even moreso, you want to be good.

“Mouth open,” Seokjin instructs, and you comply, letting your tongue loll out for him as he tangles a hand in your hair.

He guides himself between your lips, and your eyes roll back at the weight of him on your tongue, the feeling of your jaw stretching open to fit him. He’s so fucking big, it’s uncomfortable, but you do your best to breathe around him and give into it.

Trying to hold still, hands placed sweetly on your thighs because you know he likes it that way, you blink up at Seokjin as he starts to thrust into your mouth. You can taste the salt of his precum as his length drags along your tongue, and you fight back the urge to gag when the tip of his cock nudges into the back wall of your throat. He groans softly as he rubs himself there, his grip on your hair tightening until the pain stings your scalp. Your eyes start to water as you try to keep yourself from choking.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he pulls out, saliva stringing in thick strands from your mouth to the head of his cock. He squeezes at the base of it, eyes glazed dark with lust, and you take in as much air as you can, the cool rush painful where your throat is sore from the stretch of him.

You sit up taller as if to ask for more.

Seokjin’s gaze meets yours as the hand on his cock guides it back toward you, but he doesn’t slip back into your mouth. His eyes are fixated hungrily on your face as he drags the head of his dick down over your bottom lip, teasing it around your mouth and along your cheeks, clearly enjoying that he can do whatever he wants with you.

Your pulse drums loudly in your ears as you sit there, mouth open, and take it. The whole lower half of your face must be slick with spit and precum now, given how easily he glides across your skin, and then you’re hit with the heavy thud of him smacking his cock once, twice, three times against your flat, willing tongue.

“Are you done being a brat now?” he prompts, and you can feel drool spilling down your chin as you nod, his cock still weighing heavy on your outstretched tongue. He slips it in a little further, just past the ring of your lips.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

A soft whine escapes around his girth filling your mouth. You nod again, desperate, and then he hits the back of your throat with enough force to make you gag noisily. Your body shudders beneath him, and you try to keep it together.

“Learned your fucking lesson?”

Tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes as he keeps sliding himself into your mouth, the head of his cock dipping down into the tight clutch of your throat, as far as he can go until your nose is flush with his abdomen. You can’t make another sound, your mouth crammed too full, but you do your best to nod even as you lose the ability to keep breathing.

Seokjin’s thumb brushes over the bulge in your throat, and you know what he wants. Tears slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut and swallow around him, and he rewards you with an unabashed moan that lights up everything inside you.

“That’s it. You look so good when you cry on my cock,” he rasps, his hand closing over your throat as you swallow again.

You can feel yourself starting to get light headed from lack of oxygen as more tears stream down your face, but the praise spurs you on. You want it too much, it makes you eager to please at any cost, despite the dizzying surge of adrenaline, despite the way your throat is spasming painfully now. You’ll pass out with his cock down your throat, if that’s what it takes.

He pulls out all at once, and the rush of air you heave in is like broken glass against your raw throat. You fall forward, your palms just barely catching you from landing directly onto your face, and you can’t do anything for a moment but breathe in ragged, shaky gasps. Tears are still welling up in your eyes, dripping down onto the carpet beneath you.

Your world tilts as Seokjin easily scoops you up in his arms just to drop you onto the bed, flat on your back. There’s still the dull ache of the bruises he beat into your ass, but it’s like someone’s turned the volume down on it. All your physical sensations seem distant, like they’re happening to someone else, even the dull ache thudding between your legs, a desperate desire to come that was only made worse by being used as your boyfriend’s fucktoy.

Your eyes flutter closed as his hands slip up your body to undo your lacy bralette and peel it off of you, and you don’t fight it.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Seokjin's voice pulls you back from the edge, and you fight to open your eyes again. He's hovering over you, fully stripped now, his brow creased slightly with concern. “Stay with me a little bit longer, okay?” His tone is still serious, and you sniff softly as you nod.

He slips a palm encouragingly under your thigh and you do the rest, so out of body that it’s like you weigh nothing at all as you pull your knees up to effectively bend yourself in half for him. He practically growls at the sight of you spread for him so willingly, presenting a cunt swollen with need, painted glossy with arousal.

You watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he kneels up on the bed, and then his thick cock is grinding over you, dragged right up your center. The feeling of finally being touched where you need it most has you exhaling a moan of relief.

“Is this what you want?” Seokjin's breath is hot on your neck and chased by the scrape of his teeth, earning another noise of pleasure from you. Your clit throbs as he rolls the head of his dick over it, up and down, slow teasing.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp. Your voice comes out a little broken from your scraped-up throat. “Yes, please. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

“Which do you want more?”

You’re so gone, choking on whimpers and whines, that his hand closes over your throat to make you focus on the rest of his question. The look on his face is so dark, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“My dick, or my forgiveness?”

Tears spring to your eyes immediately as an overwhelming wave of emotions floods through you. There isn’t a doubt in your mind what your answer is, you don’t even have to pause to consider it. As badly as you want, need him to fuck you, the thought of Seokjin discarding you when he’s finished, still upset, not kissing every inch of your skin, not praising you for being so good… you can’t bear it.

“Your forgiveness,” you sob, doing your best to keep breathing despite his hand around your throat. “Please, please, please forgive me. I'm so sorry. I just wanna be good, wanna be good for you, I don't need anything else.”

You can see his face soften even through the tears that blur your vision. “There she is,” he murmurs, and then he tips his head down to brush his lips over yours. The warm touch of his mouth is all the reward you could ever ask for, and he sucks sweetly on your bottom lip before pulling back.

“Good answer, babygirl.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s fucking the whole of his thick cock into you, and you can only keen as he stretches you wide enough to fit all of him. Your walls are immediately trembling tight to him from how edged close you’ve been all night.

“Thank you,” you moan, your head dropping back against the pillow. A gasp rips through you as he bottoms out, your spine arching when the crown of his cock presses firmly on your cervix. “Thank you, oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin purrs, his mouth against your collarbone. You think he might be sucking a mark into your skin, but it’s already getting hard to tell what’s happening. “You always take it so well after I beat the brat out of you. Let go now, baby. You’ve earned it.”

You’re grateful for the permission, because you’re not sure you could stay tethered any longer if you tried. Not when he’s splitting you open, thrusting hard and deep because he knows you can take it, with a cock fat enough to light up every sweet spot in you at once. Your eyes roll back as you start to float, so out of it that you barely even notice a faint buzzing sound until you realize Seokjin is pressing your vibrator down against your swollen, aching clit.

Fuck, when did he even grab it off the nightstand?

You’re vaguely aware of someone moaning, but it doesn’t even feel like you. You’ve given up entirely to it now, a sweet surrender to this all-encompassing pleasure. It’s so good, too good, it slips you out of your mind and body alike, like he’s fucking your brain right out of your skull.

“That’s it, come on my cock,” Seokjin groans, and fuck, you are, you’re coming hard enough to drench his cock with every pulse of your needy cunt. “Such a good girl.”

He doesn't even pull the toy off to give you a moment of recovery, just keeps it nestled between your folds as he pounds into you. Your hips shudder violently as you coast out of your first climax and straight into another one.

It all starts to blur together now, wave after wave of orgasm washing over you until you’re drowning in it. You come and come and come until it feels like you’re melting into the bed, pinned through by this massive cock and the endless mind-numbing buzz on your clit. You can distantly tell that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the sheets beneath you, that your thighs and even the muscles of your ass are shaking from overstimulation.

“S-S-Seokjin.” It takes you three tries to get his name out, and you’re still not really sure if you said it until the toy switches off. The humming sensation is still reverberating through your body even in the absence of it, enough to make you tremble all over as he picks up the pace.

“Gonna fucking— fill you up,” Seokjin grunts, voice thick with effort, and then his cock twitches at the very back of you, buried deep as it can go, pulsing heavy as he paints you with rope after rope of his release. 

You’re still not here, not really, not when he pulls out with a heavy sigh, when the cum starts to drool down your legs, when he drops onto the mattress beside you and pulls you into him. It comes back to you in pieces: you’re shivering all over, breathing hard, your face is wet— fuck, when were you crying?

It takes you several moments to realize Seokjin is murmuring in your ear, that his fingers are carding through your hair, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Just breathe, baby. Did so well, it’s over now. You’re safe.”

As the post-scene comedown settles into your bones, you bury your face into his shoulder, trying to breathe through the myriad of emotions and chemicals flooding your system. He pulls the blanket up over your chest, and the warmth of it and his body help to gently bring you down from the high.

You don’t know how long you lay like that until you finally manage to squeak out a question. “Y-you’re not really mad, right?”

Seokjin laughs gently as he presses a kiss to your hairline. “No, baby. I know you didn’t really forget. The birthday cake in the fridge kinda gave it away.”

The words take a second to hit you, and then a dazed giggle bubbles up in your chest. It’s like you’re floating as you start to laugh, your face still pressed into Seokjin’s skin, and you can feel the rumble of him laughing too. It didn’t even occur to you that he would’ve seen the fucking cake when he grabbed himself a bottle of wine.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say, and you keep giggling as his lips move over the line of your jaw, trailing kisses.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to get punished,” he says softly. “It's part of why I love you. You’re my perfect little brat. And this was the perfect gift, seriously.”

A warm glow blooms in your chest at the praise, and you sigh happily as you curl up against his side. “Can we eat cake in bed?”

Seokjin leans down to brush his mouth over yours, sweetly adoring. “Anything you want.”

[gffa]

Usually, I like to finish reading a fic before recommending it properly, but I've been sucked into about five different STAR WARS fics recently that I've gotten far enough into that I'm willing to trust my heart to them because they're scratching a very specific itch for me--namely, that I want deeper explorations of both the Jedi Order and of Anakin's character. I want fic to punch me in the feelings over both of these aspects of the story. I want fic to sometimes set Obi-Wan and Anakin aside and focus on Ahsoka for awhile, really tell her story. I want Jedi themes woven into a story. I want an exploration of Anakin's mindset that reminds me of just how much I love him and have sympathy for him. And fandom has delivered for me.

DO YOU WANT FIC TO BLACK OUT TO AND LOSE AN ENTIRE WEEKEND OVER? HAVE I GOT SOME RECS FOR YOU:

✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, ahsoka & mace & jedi & clones & cast, 312.5k     In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know.     This fic accomplishes several things that have sent me over the moon: 1) At its heart, it's an Ahsoka fic that shows her growing up as a Padawan, going on missions, learning lessons, and having character growth. 2) It weaves in so many other characters around her, that Mace is there in almost every chapter, serious but warm in the Force, just as beautifully characterized as she is. 3) The other Jedi get their moments of excellents, Shaak taking Ahsoka on her Akul hunt was wonder to read, seeing Obi-Wan show up for a chapter had me over the moon, Adi taking care with Ahsoka was lovely, Depa was a shining star when she took Ahsoka under her wing, Fox growing used to these strange Jedi and growing into himself through Ahsoka's eyes was wonderful. 4) The writing is that kind of solid that I don't mean as mid-tier, but the kind that I feel like can bear weight on it, I can pick it up and read for 30k and barely realize any time has passed, despite that I've gotten through an entire arc of the fic. 5) It does an incredible job of balancing that feel of The Clone Wars show, without directly copying anything, that it's like these are arcs that I could have seen on the show itself, the lessons woven in, but still with enough plot moving forward and action to make it exciting. If you want more Jedi-centric fic in your life (where they don't have to be perfect! sometimes they can be less than perfect and it's okay because they're still good! ohhhh, my heart warmed at that) or you want to read a lovely Ahsoka-centric fic in a different life, but still so recognizably herself, then this is one I want to shove right in your face immediately.

✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & padme & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 116.k wip     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right?     I got sucked into the first fic in this series (which is complete, if you want to read it--it's not the end of the story, but it's a good stopping point and feels like it should have some solid resolution if you don't want to get into a wip) and read the first fic over the course of about three days because I was sucked in so thoroughly. I can never get enough of Obi-Wan time traveling back to the past, where he loves the Jedi and they love him, and I love this one because he has to make genuine plans for changing things--things change and I have no idea how that's going to affect Palpatine's machinations! Exciting! But it's also a lovely look at Obi-Wan's dynamics with multiple characters--I found the Obi-Wan & Padme scenes a hightlight personally, their friendship really blossomed as they both flung themselves into trying to better the galaxy, even if she doesn't know he's from the future, that he's working so hard matched a lot of her energy and I really enjoyed that--from Qui-Gon to Mace to Padme to Anakin and, as the sequel progresses, Dooku as well. It's another Jedi-positive fic, it has me invested in the plot, it's a joy to see competent!Obi-Wan, and I would love to shove it at more people.

✦ Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy, obi-wan & anakin, 46k (wip-esque)     After a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along.     This is probably the shortest fic on this list but I'm including it because it genuinely felt longer than that, for how dense the emotional intensity of it is. It's an AU where the Jedi barely eked out a victory, still on the edge of extinction in many ways, and Anakin deep in the pits of the dark side, so Obi-Wan takes him to a backwater planet in exile for the both of them, traveling through the countryside and just trying to make it from day to day. What punched me right in the feelings place is that this fic doesn't shy away from the hurt and the anger on both sides, that both of them are allowed to be unreliable narrators that have their own points of view on what's transpired and what lays between them. It doesn't back away from the hurt they both feel, the despair they both feel, yet there's hope here. It's ultimately a story about clawing yourself back from the dark side, and it's beautifully characterized for both of them, that unkind things are said on both of their parts, but you understand why the characters are in the place they are. It's wrapped up in a lushly written backdrop, with some lovely Japanese feudal era details woven in, but also with a Star Wars patina spread across all of it. It's not necessarily a kind fic, but if you like fic that bites down on a wound, I enjoyed this series a lot and would love to see it continued--but, honestly, what's here is already enough resolution that, looking back on it after the initial "Noooooo, I need more!" feeling has faded, I'm actually very satisfied with. ✦ Men of Power by AlabasterInk, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & jedi & palpatine & cast, 86.1k wip     When an old powerful man suddenly comes in and sweeps your underage Padawan away without so much as a by your leave, that’s the time to start asking questions.     I'm only about 20k into this fic, so I can't say what shape it will take later on or how much pairings might come into it, but I still had to come running over to shove this fic at people, because it's scratching the itch I have for Jedi-positive fic that explores the idea of Anakin's trauma from his childhood as a slave, that this is a child who is wound so tight and comes from such a horrible thing having been done to him, having been owned as a person, that I understand why he stays silent on some of the things I desperately wish he could talk about or he doesn't really believe some of the things the Jedi tell him. It's a fic that takes a lot more care with Anakin's character than I think canon ever intended, weaving in a lot of the heartbreaking stuff from Legends' supplementing the canon, and is creating something that punches me right in the feelings place for him, that he's such a bright, brilliant boy, but I see why he struggled and it's not about assigning blame in any direction. It's about deeply caring people who fate has take a few steps to the left and something shifts just a little--and I appreciate that there's something very delicate feeling here, that the Jedi just don't have any real reason to be suspicious of Palpatine, his actions make sense, they genuinely can't feel any ill intention from him in the Force, they discuss why it would make sense that he'd want to support Anakin, all while we the readers can see, in hindsight, where the shadows have been creeping in. If you want Jedi-positive fic that also leaves some teeth marks over Anakin's trauma being explored in a way that is entirely sympathetic to him, then I want to shove this fic at you, too.

[riality-check]

part 3 of... whatever this au is. here's part 1 and part 2 if you missed them. tw substance abuse. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

"You ever taken a hit?"

"Excuse me?"

First, Harrington calls his songs "boring" and "repetitive." "Talking about all the same thing." And, yeah, maybe he does have a point. Maybe Eddie can't write about much else, but that's a casualty of not being able to think about much else.

Everyone says addiction is selfish, and they're right. No one talks about how recovery is, too.

So, sorry that he's consumed by notoriously all-consuming things.

But then, Harrington shows up late to the studio. Granted, Eddie was, too, but Harrington stumbled into the little room fifteen minutes after the time Chrissy set up for them, ever-present coffee in hand.

And now he asks that.

"Like a punch," he explains. "Have you ever been hit?"

Eddie lets out a breath. "Yeah, I've been hit."

He thinks back to being a freshman in high school, what feels like forever ago, and getting shoved and tripped and swirlied by senior jock assholes.

There were never any closed-fist punches, but Eddie thinks he gets the idea.

"So you know that it feels good."

Eddie stares at him. "Good is not the word-"

"There's a moment," Harrington interrupts, and Eddie wants to kill him, "between the impact and the pain. You feel everything: how their hand feels, whether they're wearing rings, if they're holding something. And that might not feel good, but right after they hit you, everything is warm. And it feels really good, right until the pain sets in."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, not really, so he mouths off. "Got a lot of experience?"

"Four diagnosed concussions," Harrington replies.

Well. Eddie wasn't expecting that.

Just like he wasn't expecting Harrington's music to actually be good. He stayed up with the band last night, listening. And, yeah, he didn't like the goddamn synth chords, but reading along with the lyrics...

It was impressive. Eddie was impressed, okay?

Harrington's lyrics are far-ranging and emotionally impactful. He writes about family and love and survival in these really compelling, sometimes upbeat, sometimes not, ways. He writes about getting better and getting back up and fighting and Eddie gets it. He gets why Chrissy got his help.

Because not only is Harrington a rising star with a voice that Eddie thinks could be a little grittier if he put in the effort, but he also knows how to write about a lot of stuff.

And Eddie, since - since all of it, has clearly forgotten how to do so.

So, maybe, just maybe, he should start throwing his expectations about Harrington out the window.

"You know what it feels like," Harrington says. "So write about it."

Eddie sighs and lets his head flop onto the back of the couch. He hears Steve shift in his chair, hears him yawn.

In the silence, he wonders if he's sipping his coffee or covering his mouth like he did last week.

Eddie thinks that if he finds out the answer, he'll need a cigarette to kill the itch that'll inevitably spring up.

"Or not," Harrington mumbles.

Eddie drops his head forward. "Give a guy a second, will you? I don't know how-"

"Well, I'm here to help, not spoon-feed you lyrics."

"I didn't ask-"

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"Then why the hell-"

"Write about losing," Harrington snaps.

Eddie tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"You write about-"

"I know what I write about."

"Then you should know," Harrington says, raising his voice, "that there was a point where you wanted to give in."

Eddie shuts his mouth, and, despite his better instincts, leans forward, toward Harrington, far enough that his knees hit the coffee table between the couch and the chair.

"Because when you're fighting monsters, a little part of you thinks, it would be so much easier if I just lost. If I threw up my hands and let them get me."

Eddie thinks back to waking up after blackouts. To being carried places and dunked under cold water to sober the fuck up before we go out there. To figuring out ways to stay higher longer, refusing to be beholden to the inevitable crash.

And he hates that Steve Harrington has somehow found that out about him, however vaguely.

"Lot of experience with monsters?" Eddie says because damn if Harrington gets to cut him without getting cut back.

Harrington leans forward in turn. "You have no idea."

He picks up the black ballpoint pen on the coffee table and shoves it toward Eddie, toward his blank notepad.

Eddie bites his tongue, takes it, and writes lyrics and a lead guitar part in the fastest time he's ever managed, with Harrington as a sounding board, offering his suggestions.

They're good suggestions.

It's going to be a good song.

It's too bad that Eddie can't stand Harrington's smug smirks and his terrifying assumptions and his little bit of spaciness. It's too bad that after he sees Harrington swipe at his nose - even though it's probably not like that - when they're done that Eddie has to go outside and smoke two cigarettes to stop thinking about it.

Otherwise, they might actually make a good team.

[burgersnacksformax]

I Trust You (Sniper x reader)

Notes

Once again something that's been in my drafts for a long time. Apologies if the ending is abrupt, but I did try to smooth it out.

You don't have to be asexual to read but my intention was for both sniper and the reader to be ace

Reader's flavour of asexuality is "i dont know what sexual attraction is, i just crave intimacy"

This was completely me projecting into writing because i was so confused about my sexuality so i hired sniper to help me figure it out

Non-sexual body appreciation

Established relationship

You sat beside Sniper in his camper, leaning against his side as the sharp scraping sounds of him sharpening his kukri echoed in the cramped space. Neither of you were sure how much time had passed since either of you had said a word, but you both remained peaceful in the silence. Like an ocean of trust, where not a word needed to be spoken for you both to know you enjoyed each others company - to feel safe.

But a thought tugged at your mind, one you had been meaning to bring up for a while. It itched and burned, causing your heart to skip, and you wondered if your boyfriend could hear it. "Mick, I, uh-" you leaned bacward into the seat so he wouldn't be able to see your face without turning. "I wanted to tell you about something."

He did not turn to you, he did not stop his actions. He only hummed low in his throat, urging you to continue.

"I've been thinking about what sexual attraction means to me."

He paused to see if you would continue, but piped up when you didn't. "Okay."

You leaned closer to his side, realising you wanted his warmth more than you wanted to hide your embarassment. "I don't find people sexually attractive - but you know that." You took in a deep breath, the warm and familiar smell of his van putting you in relative ease. "But I do find people-" you nearly stammered, but didn't, "you, physically.. uh, appealing. For lack of a better word." In reality, you knew exactly what word you were going for. "I realise, what I personally crave is the intimacy."

He stopped for a moment, and it was convenient how he tilted his face away ever so slightly, obscuring his expression from your view. "What kind of intimacy?"

"I want to feel like I can be completely vulnerable with someone-" you paused, "you." You leaned forward a bit, hoping to catch his eye contact. "I want to be able to be open with you about my body."

He observed his kukri closely, as if it wasn't an excuse to continue averting eye contact. It wasn't that he didnt want to look at you, he simply felt it was less invasive that way. "Do you.. not already feel that you can?"

"I mean- I do. But it's not that. What I mean is-" you gestured with your hands, as if it would help him understand, "like.. okay, tell me of this makes you uncomfortable." You leaned back to nuzzle your cheek in his shoulder. It wasn't that you didn't want to look at him, you simply felt less embarrassed that way. "I want to be able to touch your body. Not in a sexual way, but I just.. I admire it sometimes."

You paused, and Mick almost spoke up, but you continued.

"Your body is.. yours. It's so unique to you, and I find it so beautiful. I wanna touch it."

He continued sharpening his kukri, and you only vaguely remembered when he stopped. "I want to do that for you too."

"Oh." Your reaction didn't properly express how your heart leapt into your throat. "I just.. but I'll be honest, I feel so comfortable with you that-" you took a deep breath, "I don't think I'd be uncomfortable if became anything sexual. But I don't want to approach you with that kind of intention, y'know?"

He stopped again.

You frowned. "Did that make you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"Okay, good." You tried to peek over at his face, which was difficult to read as always. But with the way his eyes were trained on his kukri like it was the only thing in the world, you could tell he was simply nervous.

He then stood up, walking over to put away his weapon and the supplies, before taking his vest off and hanging it on the back of the driver's seat.

You stood up to follow him, giving him a hug from behind and resting your head against his back.

"So, uh, where do I start?"

You looked up at the back of his head, but noticed his reflection in the rear view mirror, his eyes darting around nervously. "What do you mean?"

"With touching you."

You smiled sheepishly and hummed in thought. "Already? Um, well-" you twiddled your thumbs that were aroind his waist, "is there anywhere you've ever wanted to touch me, but were afraid to ask?"

He ran his fingers along yours, and you watched his Adam's apple bob in his reflection. "Your-" he paused, "back."

"My back?" He would often hold onto your bare back to pull you close when you cuddled, so why was he asking now? "Sure. But, is that it?"

He caught eye contact with you in the mirror for a split second, before turning around to hug your head close to his chest. "There's more. But I reckon we should work our way up to that."

You glanced at the curtains, grateful for the fact Mick usually kept them drawn.

He leaned back a little, looking at you in the eye with a soft gaze only reserved for you. "Just.. tell me if you dont like it."

"Of course."

So he pulled you close one more time as his hands made his way up the back of your shirt. His fingers traced cautious lines up your spine, while his other hand caressed your waist.

You leaned back a little to look up at him, smiling softly.

His hands stuttered for a moment, before continuing. "Is this okay?"

You nestled your head in his chest comfortably. "It's nice."

He leaned forward, and you felt his chapped lips brush gently against your forehead as he kissed you lightly. You continued to relax in his arms, letting the warms of his hands engulf you.

---

From then on, there were many moments where you two would simply touch each other.

Once when you had a stomach ache, when he pulled you close and stuck his hands under your shirt to rub your tummy comfortingly.

Another time, when you approached him from behind while he was changing, giving him a surprise hug.

And just in general, if you guys were together and your shirt would ride up, there was never any need to fix it.

You also more openly stared at him while he changed, and he did the same for you. Just so many things about him were beautiful to you. The scars decorating his body, the tan lines, his body hair, the curvature of his body..

And he let you stare to your heart's content, as if it was a non-verbal way to say he trusted you with his whole heart. That he let you witness all of his imperfections, all of the details of his body that he wouldn't share with anyone else. That was all yours to see. And hopefully with time, you would get to see more of it, as for him with you.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

I absolutely loved the Charlie hc of jealousy you really have a gift! I was wondering if you could do another one where reader gets insecure/ jealous? Maybe a high ranking mafia lady makes snide remarks about her being poor? I understand if you don’t want to but if you get inspired at all. Have a great night!

Awe, thank you! I really appreciate it, I've been doubting my writing a bit recently, so complements like that mean a lot!

I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you have a good day/night as well!

Oh, also, I'm trying out my hand at a new form of writing. It's kinda half headcanon format, half story format. Let me know if you like it, or if it works well, because I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Charlie Craven when his S/O gets jealous

Warnings: Yandere character, typical mafia violence, random mafia lady being a dick to you, implied murder, implied sexual content at the end

Fem! reader

Banner credit goes to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

On a normal basis, you never really get a chance to interact with most of Charlie's associates. Sure, there were a couple who would come in and out of the house on occasion, but they were usually only there for meetings with your husband, and they never stayed for long. You were itching to see what Charlie's job was like, who he worked with, what kind of jobs he deals with on a daily basis, but no matter how much you begged him, Charlie refused to allow you to accompany him at work, reminding you that he didn't want to risk your safety even the slightest bit. It seemed like you would forever remain in the dark about his work...

...Until one day, he caved.

You aren't sure why he did so. Neither is Charlie. All you know is that one day, while cuddling up to him on your shared bed, he brings up a conference he's hosting the next day with some of his highest ranking associates. You don't think much of it, Charlie usually lets you know whenever he has a big meeting coming up, just so you don't wonder where he is, but what you do think much of is when he pauses for a moment, taking in a deep breath before reluctantly asking you if you want to accompany him.

Obviously you say yes, over the moon that you're finally being allowed to see the inner workings of Charlie's job. He reminds you that you'll be surrounded by bodyguards the whole time, and obviously, he's going to be keeping an eye on you himself, but you don't care. You're just happy to finally see what goes on in Charlie's day to day life. He also warns you that upsetting topics (murder, drugs, that kind of stuff), might come up,but you reassure him that you'll be fine, you can handle yourself.

The next day, he's more on edge than normal. He's making sure all the body guards tasked with keeping you safe are there, armed, and in good enough shape to protect you if need be. You think it's a bit overkill, but Charlie isn't taking chances. You are going to be in a room full of extremely dangerous individuals after all, although none of them would dare do anything in Charlie's presence.

He stays next to you the entire time, from the car ride, to the building where the meeting is being held. A couple of his associates are already there, milling about in the conference room, conversing with each other while they wait for the meeting to start. They all quiet down as Charlie enters the room, hardly noticing you at all, standing rigid and at attention as Charlie makes his rounds, introducing you to each member. They're polite, treating you cordially as you meet them, but you can tell they're tense, probably because they don't want to say something that will get them in trouble, or seem overly friendly with you.

Well...except for one person, that is.

You can tell on of the ladies present is a little different from the rest as soon as you and your husband approach her. For starters, she's very well dressed, almost overly so, a blood red dress hugging her curves as it flowed down he legs, ending near her ankles. Her hair was a nice shade of blond, and you can tell she had curled it before putting it up, letting a couple ringlets spiral down her neck while the rest stayed in a well-tamed updo. You could tell she had a lot of makeup on, but it didn't look as ridiculous as one might think. In fact, she looked positively radiant, and it was fairly obvious that she knew how attractive she looked.

You were immediately jealous. Not like you had much reason to be, Charlie hadn't looked in her direction once since entering the room, but... you couldn't help but worry. You were suddenly very aware of how plain you must look, at least in comparison to her. Charlie had decked you out in expensive clothing and jewelry, as he always did when you two went anywhere, but even with all of that, you felt insignificant next to this lady. Plus, she looked like she had been born into, or at the very least currently had, a shit ton of wealth. And, well... you hadn't. Normally, you would have never cared, but now...

Eventually, you two ended up in front of her. She doesn't seem nearly as scared of Charlie as the rest of the people present, chatting with him casually, as if he were her friend, not her boss. She tries to compliment him multiple times, batting her clearly fake eyelashes at him, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care, saying nothing in return and instead moving to introduce you to her. Her name is Catherine Cecil, you find out, but she doesn't seem all that interested in you, giving you a quick up and down look before going right back to taking with Charlie.

Or, at least, she tried to go back to talking to Charlie. But he had only approached her to introduce the two of you, and now that you two clearly had nothing to say to each other, he moved on, bringing you with him as you approach the next mafia member.

You feel a little bad for her, but more than that, you feel a little smug. It became clear from your brief interaction that she likes Charlie far more than your comfortable with, so for Charlie to walk away from her as soon as he could? Especially after the way she looked at you? It felt nice. Really nice.

But you couldn't shake the feeling that you were inferior to her. That she would have been a better wife to your husband than you. I mean, she was a part of the same job as him, right? Not only that, but she clearly had a lot of money, just like him, and if she was this high ranking in the mafia, that must mean she has some serious skills you don't know about.

You didn't have anything. You were just a regular person, you didn't know how to fight, or how to kill, or how to hack into technology on a wim. You didn't know how to smuggle, or how to gather data, or how to do any of the other necessary jobs required to be a part of the mafia. Compared to all these people, you were nothing, the least extraordinary in the room. You don't know what Charlie saw in you, or why he was still with you in the first place.

Before you could dwell on it anymore though, the last of the associates entered, and without further delay, the meeting started.

Charlie sat at the head of the table, but he had pulled up a chair next to him for you, motioning for you to sit down with him while your guards stood behind the two of you. It seemed a little off for you, someone with no significance to the mafia, to be sitting at the head of the table, but you didn't want to argue with your husband, instead sitting down beside him.

Most of the meeting was confusing and boring for you. You had no idea what anyone was talking about and you weren't about to ask, so you remained blissfully unaware of what was going on, losing yourself inside your head while trying your hardest to look interested. Charlie hadn't been speaking much, letting his associates lay out their updates and talk amongst themselves, only interjecting when he needed to. Each person took their turn presenting what they needed to, giving Charlie the rundown of whatever it was they were talking about before listening intently to his next orders for them. Each of them were in charge of something different, but it might as well have been all the same to you, the different business deals and jobs blending together in your head.

But then it was Catherine's turn, and all of a sudden, the meeting got much more interesting.

For starters, she spent way too much time trying to provoke a response from Charlie, whether it be complimenting him (again), or asking him questions that had absolutely nothing to do with whatever she was meant to be reporting to him. This went on for several minutes, and you could tell the other people in the room were getting fed up with it, giving each other exasperated looks as she spoke. One or two of them even covered their mouths briefly, clearly trying to stifle a laugh.

You had to admit, it was a little funny, seeing how desperate she was for Charlie's attention, but it was less humorous to you than the others, considering it was your husband she was flirting with. You had more stakes in this game than the rest of them did.

Despite your jealousy, you couldn't do anything. You couldn't say anything either. This wasn't the time to interrupt, especially with a such a fickle feeling such as jealousy, so all you could really do was sit there, playing with your hands and breathing deeply as you tried to keep yourself under control.

Thankfully, it seemed Charlie had had enough of her antics as well, because he sharply interected, asking her to get to the point of her presentation quickly and then shut up. He used a tone he'd never dared use with you before, which made you feel a little better, if only slightly.

You hoped that would be the end of her flirting, but unfortunately, you were wrong.

Catherine seemed a little disappointed, but she continued on, recovering from Charlie's snappy tone almost instantly. She did as Charlie asked, moving on to her report without any more delay, but instead of moving on completely from her obsession with Charlie, she simply changed tactics, moving on from complimenting him, to shading you.

Obviously she would never dare say anything outright to you, she wasn't stupid enough to do that, but whenever the opportunity arose, she would insult you without naming you directly, staring you down with a smirk as she spoke.

"Of course, I wouldn't let such low lives touch the money I had earned from the deal, there's no way to trust them! Desperate people like that are only after one thing: Money. They don't care about anything else!"

" I knew she wasn't worth my time from the second I met her. Nobody with class would ever approach me so boldly. Besides, she lacked the skills and appearance needed for the job. Honestly, I can't believe anyone like that could possible get entangled with people like us."

"You can always tell who doesn't know what they're doing by how they dress. People without any talent or worth are just so...plain!"

It was obvious she was talking about you, her glaces to you as she spoke making that abundantly clear. You knew she knew she would never get away with insulting you directly in front of Charlie, but if she did it subtly enough, she probably could get away with it scot free.

Your eyes felt like they were burning, tears of rage and shame threatening to bubble up to the surface. You hated her, you hated that she had the audacity to insult you to you face. You hated how open she was about wanting your husband, and you hated how you couldn't do anything about it except gaze downwards at your lap, fighting away the tears that you could feel coming up.

Suddenly, you could feel Charlie's hand on your arm. You looked towards him, but he was still facing forward, his expression as stoic as ever.

"S/0," he starts, his voice icy calm. "Would you mind stepping out and grabbing my bag? I seem to have left it in the car."

You gladly accepted his ask, nodding your head and getting up without a word. Your guards follow you out the door, shielding you from the view of the others in the room as you depart, and you breathe a sigh of relief, happy to be out of that room. You make your way to the car, walking out the door and onto the asphalt. You get the car, grab the bag, and walk back to the meeting room slowly, taking your time in returning. You really don't want to see Catherine again, so you'll take as much time as you need.

To your surprise, however, when you return to the meeting room, Catherine is nowhere to be found. The seat she was in was empty, and it didn't appear like she was anywhere else in the room. So where...?

Charlie saw where you were gazing. "Oh, don't worry about Ms. Cecil," he said calmly. He reached out his hand and you approached, and you handed him the bag you were carrying. "She was behaving in a less than professional manner, so I sent her home. We won't be seeing her for the rest of this meeting."

As confused as you were, you also felt a wave of relief. She couldn't torment you if she wasn't present, so you didn't have any real reason to care much about where she'd gone. You sat back down, and the meeting progressed as normal, this time without any hiccups.

On the way out, Charlie seemed more touchy than normal. He normally walked with his arm in yours, but this time, he wrapped his arm right around your waist, pulling you close to him as the two of you exited the building. The physical contact felt nice after all that had gone down, and if his associates noticed anything was wrong, well, they didn't dare say anything.

The second the car doors close, Charlie's all over you. He can't keep his hands to himself, you'll be lucky if both of you can keep your pants on until you get back home. The poor chauffeur has to listen to the two of you as he drives, but neither of you care. He's kissing you like he'll die if he comes up for air, but when his lips aren't on you, he's telling you how beautiful he thinks you are , how radiant you look, how much he adores you, and how happy his is that he got to have you by his side at work. It's a nice ego boost after everything Catherine said, and as you two continue to get lost in each other, you quickly forget anything and everything that she said to you.

That night is gonna be a long one for you. Charlie is hellbent on keeping you as close to him as possible, even when your cleaning up after all your...activities. He's surprisingly tender with you, not that he'd ever be anywhere near rough with you, reminding you every couple of minutes how much he loves you. It makes you feel good to know your husband loves you, despite the beautiful people he works with.

As you go to bed that night, you hold Charlie close to you, kissing him softly before drifting off, a small smile on your face.

As for Charlie, he's happy you're feeling better. He's just glad you didn't hear the gunshot. Or open that one closet door. Or see the small bloodstain his associate had missed when cleaning off Catherine's chair.

Nobody gets away with insulting his wife. No one.

[saltpepperbeard]

OFMD Week Day 4: Favorite Ships/Fluff

The Kiss (Favorite Moments/Commentary/Fluffy Writing) 💙💋💜

So I've been wanting to step through the kiss bit by bit and point out/wax poetic ramble on about all the intricacies for so, so long. And on a day of OFMD Week dedicated to ships, fluff, and favorite moments, it was a match made in heaven!

I'll go ahead and start with the confession. The careful hesitance, the uncertainty, the moment right there in the air for both of them to take. The way Ed's lips barely even move with the whispered "...you" even when the weight of such an admittance is so strong. Yet, he does it. He goes for it. He finally frees the single word that has been clawing its way out of his chest for weeks.

But the way he's still so cautious, still so unsure. It's new to him. It's new to them both. He's likely never been in such a vulnerable position before. And it's a huge leap to make even if you're experienced anyway.

So, to see him slowly look over to gauge Stede's reaction, to see him so fragile...

...And then to see Stede smile.

Granted, Stede's expression hurts a bit because it's incredulous. The way his eyebrows shoot up—he can't fathom it. His mind can't process that he makes Edward Teach happy. He probably believes he hasn't made anyone happy, ever.

But still, he smiles. Something inside of him sings. Something inside of him rejoices, because Ed makes him so happy too. Ed makes him feel worthy, feel seen.

And that smile is him seeing Ed right back, meeting him in the vulnerability as they have before. Not a look of disgust, or judgement, or anything negative of the sort.

But acceptance. Mutuality. A sunrise over a new beginning.

So, of course Ed has to kiss him. Of course Ed has to take advantage of the moment. Of course Ed has to hush Stede by meeting his lips with his own. Words wouldn't have been as effective. Talking things through wouldn't have sufficed, not when things were so open.

Their mouths had to do a different sort of talking. Their souls had to breathe into each other, to finally meet as they had been wanting.

And oh, how they had been wanting. Even with the muddiness in Stede's mind, even with all the underlying complexities, they relax into each other. There's the split-second jolt of surprise, the utter shock that exists from suddenly sharing such intimacy.

But then their bodies melt. They both fall into the connection. Stede eases himself into it, and some of the tension in Ed's eyes lessens.

Even still, they don't move or actively kiss right away. But why should they? It's new. It's different. It's precious.

It's something to be experienced, something to be savored.

And something to be further explored, eventually.

Again, they meet each other. They know each other. They see each other.

When one body moves, so too, does the other. When one itches to try, to reach out just that little bit further, the other reaches back.

Ed started the kiss. Ed initiated. But Stede finds him—Stede kisses him in return.

And they seem to build off each other, to heighten their dance; when Stede kisses back, when Stede shows he's there, Ed seems that much more invigorated. He eases himself nearer, and pulls their bodies that much closer together...

With Stede following him and meeting his every move.

They're there. They're there with each other. There's nothing else but them in that moment.

Again, Ed steps, and again, Stede meets. A tilt of the head, a glide of their lips, answered by the softest hum. A breathy little something that screams bliss. A tiny noise that says, "I have never known this before, but I want to for the rest of my life."

And Stede's eyes remaining closed after they part really hammers that sentiment in.

His mind may be a mess. His emotions may be all over the place.

But his heart isn't. His heart assuredly isn't.

It is warm, and dazed, and just as dreamy as he.

Because goodness, the absolute fondness in his eyes. The sheer love in his eyes. The difference in his smiles—first stunned, then at home.

And again, another bit of mutuality. A returned breath in the space just for them.

"You make Stede happy."

And oh, how wondrous is that. Oh, how relieving is that.

They make each other happy.

They're in love.

Despite everything, despite what's beneath the surface, despite all that will come, they're in love.

They're there for each other in a way no one ever has been before, and no one ever will be. Ed can hold Stede so softly, regarding him so gently as though he'll shatter. Stede can stare right into Ed's eyes, breathing the same air as though it's the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe because it is.

Because they're in love.

[coolcoolcoolbutwtf]

Receptionist Danny working in the main Wayne lobby

First few days at the job site and Danny was already regretting getting this job.

Why?

Because this exact scenario had been repeated five times already just today. Not as persistent as THIS one though. God he is so tired of this bull. It got tiring after the third time now he's just tired and annoyed.

A bad combo considering Danny the "Town Menace Phantom" Fenton was beginning to lose the little patients he had left.

' just count down from ten like Jazz had taught me years ago'. Danny gave a sigh and kept repeating the mantra in his mind.

He has to stay strong he fought ghost for years! What is a few minutes worth of questions from a few eager journalist? He could handle Wes how could they be any worse?

Oh who was he kidding certainly not himself! Not after having suffered a day full of questions about shit he didn't know squat about.

This situation with this gender bent Wes was WORSE considering Danny couldn't just tell her to piss off. The others had just asked a few questions or had gotten turned down regarding questions. Not TO bad. He could handle it. He still kinda liked this job. Well, he likes the work benefits. It was the main reason he applied after all.

So give him some credit this was the sixth harpy "journalist" to come sniffing around after having gotten wind of a new employee in the main office. Though their sources must be bad. He was just a receptionist! Not the new head of the financing department or Bruce Wayne's new secretary, leave him alone!

He doesn't know what the company boss does??? Why ask him? How would lil' old receptionist Danny Fenton know!

Has he not suffered enough?? His suffering with this specific harpy had been going on for the past twenty five minutes.

"So, where does Bruce Wayne leave for during his meetings? A new woman? Man? Trouble in the family?"

Vicky Vale as she had introduced herself before had officially made Danny hear his last strained thread of patients fraying. He could only take so much before the menace in him gott done with this nonsense. Time for Ms Vale to go away, fuck off and not come back. Danny menace mode ON now.

Smiling the most customer service™ smile he could manage Danny responded in the flattest tone he was capable of.

"Well to fuck your mom of course, Ms Vale."

And of course at just the moment the older receptionist Ms Linda Smith that had been in charge of showing Danny the territory before retirement finally came back. With two coffee cups in her hands. She had taken off on her break the moment she spotted Ms Vale walking towards the front desk. She promised to grab him a coffee on her way back. Truly abandoning him to the wolves. Or wolf. She had bribed him and Danny hadn't even known what kind of suffering awaited him. Ms Linda had started speaking.

"Okay Danny no we don't---

Danny didn't know exactly what was up with the big boss and his family. Something was definitely up but he didn't think it was bad.

"And your dad, because we here at Wayne enterprises support the LBGTQIA community. Thank you and leave.

((((((((((((End )))))))))))) :)

Thank you for reading! I might do some more for this idea again. This is basically just the idea by @some-rotten-nest link below. I've had a similar idea about Danny being an evil assistant before. Not a receptionist though. It was fun writing this I keep thinking about all the interesting scenarios that could play out in this (Au?) Idea. Also I just wanted to test the waters. I've never written anything and actually posted it before. I hope this was okay. Um bye and have a good day oh am I kidding have a good night!

This idea is based on this https://www.tumblr.com/some-rotten-nest/725017913035276288/danny-fenton-a-new-receptionist-at-wayne by the amazing @some-rotten-nest ! I was just so inspired by it, all of my creative instincts were just itching to make something for this<3

>:D

[attapullman]

Let's talk writing, and how rewarding it can be to do it properly.

I've been thinking a lot, and several of my thoughts navigate back to this post - one of my favourites about fan fiction and why writing is so important.

This absolutely extends to writing style! It takes time to not only write the piece, but re-read/beta it, add punctuation, finesse plot, and double check your grammar! Every time I read through one of my own fics I find something new to tweak to capture the vision, which is part of the 'slow dopamine' the post refers to.

This proofreading process actually prolongs enjoyment of your fic! You get to sit in those scenes a bit longer, have fun figuring out if you should have dialogue that's more choppy or a paragraph with one line to be punchy. In the moment it feels great to just put words on the page and hit publish, but in the long run the more time you spend with a fic until publishing the more connected you'll feel to the story.

Plus then you get to think about the style of your writing!

Writing isn't just words - it's also the visual. How does it look on the page? Is the amount of dialogue you have what you envisioned? Do your scenes have enough description?

Once you've mastered the basics of a high school English class, then you can break the rules! Get creative, have fun, be a rebel in the margins!

Those slow dopamine hits peak now, because you're seeing your entire fic come together exactly as you envisioned - not in a typo-ridden text post that is just a keyboard smash of your brain rot. Now others can enjoy your story just as you enjoy it!

That quick dopamine hit is a one night stand: quick, rushed, and in the moment exactly what you need to itch that scratch. And you may regret it, especially when other's are free to judge it. But taking time to revise your story and really put your best into it? That's the lifelong relationship with a partner who knows you intrinsically and fulfills your needs.

Now you can add a header, pop a little synopsis, and put a 'read more' for good measure before sending into the world!

And if you're upset/scared because you don't know basic English skills and are using this 'quick hit' style to hide behind? READ! Find authors you love and learn from them. Ask others to beta for you and teach you the trade. There's also plenty of online programs like Grammarly that will proofread for punctuation, spelling, and grammar.

It's time for us to get our slow dopamine hits and create content we're not only proud of, but will spark a revolution of spending time on our writing!

You might also be shocked at how much more engagement you receive...😉

[supernaturalscribe67]

The Secrets We (Don't) Keep

Words: 7,314

POV: 1st & 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean/Sam Winchester x Brother!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Fluff, Mention of John Winchester, Mention of Childhood Abuse, Awkward Moments

Summary: After finding out that his brothers, Sam and Dean, read the first entry of his journal, the reader decides to take a rather creative approach to his payback.

Request:

i’d love to see you continue with that winchester brother reader! or something similar? your writing is very comfortable to read :)

@stklett

@xdark-acadamiax - (Tagged because I saw how much you loved this idea!)

A/N: I really hope you guys enjoy this next part! I can honestly admit some parts make me laugh so I hope they make you guys laugh as well! Feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

OCTOBER 2014

I don’t know why I thought I was going to be able to keep this journal private. I guess my expectations were too high. How dare I assume that Sam and Dean would respect my privacy? Of course, they wouldn’t. How dare I presume that hiding this thing between my mattress and boxspring would be a good idea? I mean, who in their right mind would hide something there? Everyone looks between their brother’s boxspring and mattress!

Silly me.

But, since I found out my brothers decided to read through my first entry (and ultimately vandalize my journal), I have done some brainstorming. Brainstorming ways that I can get back at them. I've considered the classic pranks to start with; itching powder in their underwear, hair dye in their shampoo, Nair in their body wash, or even putting laxatives in their coffee. All of these pranks have been used by all three of us multiple times. Even with some thinking, I’m still unable to come up with a prank that I feel would be good enough to teach them a lesson. 

So, I’ve come up with the next best thing. 

In this entry, I’m going to be writing down some of Sam and Dean’s embarrassing moments. 

Throughout our decades of life, all three of us have had our fair share of shameful moments, but the instances that I am thinking of are ones that I like to bring up from time to time. Each time I mention them, I get an eye roll from Dean and one of Sam’s classic bitch faces. It’s always so satisfying to get that kind of reaction from them. 

It would only be fitting to see what kind of reaction I get when they eventually read this entry. 

JUNE 1989

Everyone has their fears. Some people’s fears are more valid than others. Sam has a fear of clowns, I have a fear of needles, and Dean has a fear of planes. I can understand Sam’s fear of clowns - Plucky Pennywhistle's always made me uneasy when I was a kid - and, as far as my fear of needles, have you seen some of the needles that doctors use on patients? They’re HUGE! No thanks. 

What a lot of people don’t know about my older brother, however, is that he didn’t just suddenly have a fear of planes. He didn’t wake up one morning and discover that he didn’t like flying. Sam’s fear of clowns developed from our times at Plucky Pennywhistle’s, my fear of needles stemmed from an unprofessional doctor (who shouldn’t practice medicine anymore, in my opinion) from my second round of childhood vaccinations, and Dean’s fear of flying…well…

Dean used to be afraid of heights. 

I say ‘used’ to be because, if he still has that fear, he does a really good job at hiding it. We’ve gone to some pretty high places on our hunts, and, from what I noticed, it never seemed to bother him. He could always be masking it well enough, which is possibly the case. Then again, he could have learned to deal with the fear and forget about it completely. Lucky him. 

But, when Dean was younger, that was one thing that he was never good at doing - masking his emotions - especially when the three of us were by ourselves. When it was just us three, Dean felt like he could express how he truly felt about anything and we would keep it just between us. It was a little 'brother code' that we had going. Whatever was said between us was kept between us. Kind of like Vegas, in a way. 

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I’ve always wanted to visit Vegas. 

Stay on topic, (Y/N).

For most of our young childhood, we spent half the time traveling with our father, and the other half at Bobby’s. I always loved going to Bobby’s house. It felt like a home. To me, it was always my home growing up, even if I wasn’t there all the time. Even though we stopped going there as often when we got older, it was still the place that I would technically consider my home. We had the most fun there. We felt like we could be kids for once. Like we didn’t need to worry about the things that went bump in the night anymore. 

I loved Bobby’s house. 

We were there during summer vacation, which was somewhat of a common occurrence when we were younger. Sam, Dean, and I always found things to do while we were there, and playing throughout the maze of cars in Bobby’s junkyard wasn’t unusual. Normally, we would play hide-and-seek, tag, have races, or some stupid war games that we would come up with. 

That day, however, we discovered a new stack of cars, about six cars high in total, that we had not previously known about near the far backside of the property. We would have usually stayed towards the front, but, that day, we decided to roam around. Dean had the expert idea to see who could climb the highest. Sammy went first, climbing on top of the first car with some help before he got nervous and backed down. I managed to make it up three cars before I decided that I had enough and came back down. Dean, on the other hand, took the challenge a little too seriously. He didn’t waste any time reaching the car that sat on top of the pile. He was so proud of himself. 

It all went downhill after that…

“Ha! I beat you both!” Dean exclaimed as he stood on top of the roof of the car, fists balled up and placed onto his hips in a mock Superman pose. “I’m the King of the Cars!”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam pouted as he looked up at Dean, his bottom lip pushed out. 

“I wanna get up there,” he said, letting out a small whine.

“You tried to get up there, Sammy, but you said it was too high.” (Y/N) explained, looking down at him.

Sam hung his head as he kicked a pebble on the ground. Dean still stood on top of the car, waving his arms around. He let out quiet, faint shouts as if mimicking a cheering crowd. Sam pursed his lips ever so slightly.

"I wanna play hide-and-go-seek." 

"It's ‘hide-and-seek’, Sammy." (Y/N) deadpanned. 

"That's what I said." 

"Do you wanna play with just you and me?" 

"No," Sam shook his head and glanced up at his oldest brother, who was still cheering for himself. "I want De to play." 

(Y/N) gave a short nod before he turned to his older brother as well. He reached up and cupped his hands to the side of his lips. "Hey, idiot! Sammy and I wanna play hide-and-seek! Get down here so we can go play!" He called up to Dean. 

"You guys are just jealous because I could climb up to the top!" 

“No one’s jealous of you, Dean! We just want to play! Come on!” (Y/N) let out a groan as he placed his hands on his sides. 

Dean scoffed and waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He mumbled as he walked closer to the edge of the car. 

As Dean gazed down at the ground below, he froze. His eyes went wide and his legs and arms tensed. The confident smile that he had once had on his face was now gone, replaced by an uneasy frown. (Y/N) and Sam’s eyes were on him, watching him intently, waiting. After a minute or so of Dean standing there, not moving, (Y/N) shook his head and cupped his hands around his mouth again. 

“What are you doing?” He called out. 

(Y/N)’s voice caused Dean to jump and turn his gaze towards him. He opened his mouth, attempting to speak. 

“I-I can’t get down,” Dean said with a shaky tone. 

“What do you mean you ‘can’t get down’?” 

“I can’t get down! I-It’s too high!” 

“You were the one that wanted to get up there!” 

“I know I was, will you just shut up!” Dean’s voice came out cracked and high-pitched. 

(Y/N) closed his mouth and stood there, watching as Dean struggled to get down on his knees. As he attempted to move his leg down towards the trunk of the car, he felt the car shift. (Y/N) and Sam jumped when they heard the metal scrape against the car below. Dean let out a yelp and pulled his leg back. His fists were clenched onto nothing, knuckles a ghostly white color. His face was noticeably red and tears began to form in his eyes. 

“G-Go get Bobby!” Dean called down. 

“You can get down, Dean! You’ll be okay!” 

“No! I’m not okay!” Dean let out a sob. “It’s too high! The car’s going to fall. Go get Bobby,” Dean’s voice was as shaky as his hands were. 

(Y/N) looked down at Sam. “Go get Bobby, Sammy.” 

Sam’s eyes were wide with worry as he nodded slightly. He turned and made a mad dash towards the house. “Bobby! Bobby!” He cried out. 

(Y/N) then turned his attention back to Dean, who seemed like he was seconds away from having a breakdown.

“Dean! You’re going to be okay! Just come down the same way you went up.” 

“N-No!” Dean shook his head rapidly. 

“Quit being a baby!”

“I’m not a baby!” 

“Then why are you crying like one!?” 

“Will you shut up!?” 

(Y/N) stopped talking and let out a huff. Not even a minute later, Sam came running out towards them, Bobby quickly behind him. Bobby ran his fingers through his hair stressfully. 

“What the Hell have you idjits done?” 

It took thirty minutes of coaxing for Dean to be able to climb down two of the cars before Bobby had to make his way towards him and carry him down the rest of the way. Needless to say, Dean wasn’t in the mood to play any type of game with us after that, especially when I began to tease him mercilessly about his crying. I still tease him to this day about it, comparing him to a cat that had been stuck in a tree. Bobby was known as ‘Firefighter Bobby’ for a good month-and-a-half after that. 

We were forbidden from climbing on the cars anymore, which none of us seemed to have a problem with. As for my teasing, I had managed to get in trouble with Bobby once he caught me and was forced to help him organize the study while Sam and Dean went out to play. It wasn’t very fun, at the time, but I had learned a lot more about hunting during that punishment, so some good came out of it. 

To this day, Dean still likes to pretend as if it never happened. Or, if it did happen, then it was either Sam or me that needed to be rescued. Not him. He never needed to be rescued (according to him). Still, Sam and I can remember this vividly. It’s two against one, Dean. 

So much for ‘King of the Cars’.

OCTOBER 1989

Sam was always gullible when he was a kid. He grew out of it in his early teens and became more aware of how deceitful people could be. Before that, however, he was fun to mess with. I’m his big brother, I have a right to mess with him. 

I still do, but it’s not as easy. 

Sam was the type to believe anything that anyone wanted to tell him. Even if it was the most outlandish thing possible. I was able to convince him that unicorns were real and that everyone got one when they turned ten. When he asked Bobby what kind of unicorn he had gotten for his tenth birthday, Bobby told him the truth right then and there. He was so disappointed that he didn’t talk to me for about a week. I felt bad, at least a little bit. But the other part of me thought it was the funniest thing I had ever done to him at the time. 

That was when he was four. 

I still ask him what he wants his unicorn to look like. 

He hasn’t given me a straight answer yet. 

Around the age of six, Sam had started to let his hair grow out. Granted, everyone’s hair was growing out at that point - my father had neglected to get us any type of haircut for a little over six months - but out of all of ours, Sam’s was the longest. Dean had started calling him ‘Samantha’ at some point, which irritated Sam to no end. I decided to take a different approach, however. 

Back then, we knew about monsters. We knew about the different kinds of monsters that our father fought but didn’t know a lot about them. We knew their names, what they looked like, and common signs for each of them. One thing we didn’t know about certain monsters was how people were turned into them. 

So, with this limited knowledge in the back of my head, one dreary fall night, while our father was away on a hunt and Dean was out finding us some food, I decided to play a little…prank, if you will, on Sammy. 

Sam’s eyes were glued to the television screen. A rerun of Alf played that he was completely enamored with. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s eyes were attached to something other than the show. He watched as Sam brushed his long locks out of his face occasionally. Sam tucked some hair behind his ear, but it didn’t stay there long before it fell in his face. His hair was down to his chin by then and (Y/N) had to admit that he was more irritated about the length than Sam was. 

When the show moved to a commercial break, Sam clenched his eyes shut and stretched his arms over his head. He glanced over at (Y/N) and furrowed his brows. 

“What’re you looking at?” 

“That hair,” (Y/N) gestured to the top of his head. 

Sam frowned. “What’s wrong with my hair?” 

“It’s long…too long,” (Y/N) narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He reached over and gently grabbed a piece of Sam’s hair before letting it go, allowing the strand to fall against Sam’s chubby cheek. 

“Dad said he was going to get it cut soon.” 

“Yeah, I know, but…it’s not like mine and Dean’s hair. It’s so much longer. It’s kind of like…” (Y/N) pursed his lips as he studied the top of his head. “Werewolf hair. Maybe you’re turning into a werewolf.”

Sam’s eyes slowly widened as he sat up straight and shifted uneasily in his seat. “I-I’m not turning into a werewolf.” 

“I don’t know, it sure seems like it.” 

Sam reached up and hesitantly ran his fingers through his hair. “How…how would I know if I’m turning into a werewolf?” 

“What? You don’t know the signs?” 

Sam shook his head. (Y/N) scoffed. 

“Come on, Sammy! You have to know the classic signs!” (Y/N) exclaimed as he leaned forward, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips. “The long hair, the way your fingernails curve, the hair between your eyebrows, and your sharp teeth.” 

Sam brought his hands up to his face, his fingers roaming around his features. Quickly, he got off the couch and ran towards the motel bathroom, shoving the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. (Y/N) followed after his brother. He watched as Sam studied himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushed a single finger down his nose, studied the curvature of his fingernails, and bared his teeth. His eyes widened as soon as they landed on his sharp canines. Sam frowned and pushed his bottom lip out. It began to wobble as tears appeared in the corner of his eyes. He turned to (Y/N).

“I-I don’t want to be a werewolf!” He whimpered. 

(Y/N) leaned against the doorframe and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Sammy. It looks like you can’t help it.” 

“B-But,” Sam turned and looked at himself in the mirror for a second before turning back to his brother. “But what if hunters come after me?” 

“Hey!” (Y/N) shook his head as he walked closer to Sam. He placed both of his hands on his shoulders, bending down so that he was at eye level with his little brother. “That is something you never have to worry about. Dean, Dad, and I will protect you.” 

Tears streaked down his red cheeks and he nodded. “Do you think Dad and De know?” 

(Y/N) sighed and pursed his lips, moving his hands off of Sam so that he could place them on his hips. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. They haven’t said anything about it, yet. But, I think you should tell them. That way, they will be able to protect you.” 

“I-I don’t wanna tell them.” 

“Why not?” 

“What if they don’t like me anymore because I’m a werewolf?” 

(Y/N) shook his head and gave a comforting smile. “Sammy, they’re always going to love you, werewolf or not.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Sam glanced down at the ground, his shoulders slumped. (Y/N) could see how much the news had upset his brother. He didn’t want him to be in hysterics by the time Dean got back, so he thought of the next best thing to try and cheer him up. 

“You know, a lot of people think that werewolves are the bad guys,” he began. “But you could be the first-ever werewolf hunter! You could be the one werewolf that protects humans from bad things! Kind of like a…uh…a werewolf superhero!” 

Sam looked up at him and raised his brows, cocking his head to the side. “A werewolf superhero?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Like a…a werewolf Batman?” A smile slowly appeared on Sam’s lips. 

“Just like a werewolf Batman.” 

The worry quickly left Sam’s face as he looked at himself in the mirror. He studied his face once more. “Maybe being a werewolf isn’t so bad,” he shrugged. “Thank you, (Y/N).” 

“Anytime, Sammy,” 

Sam turned and wrapped his arms tightly around (Y/N) in a bone-crushing embrace. “I love you.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face. Whether it was from the sentimental words or the devious nature behind them, he wasn’t sure. He wrapped his arms around Sam as well, pulling him close. 

“I love you, too, Sammy.” 

For six months, six whole months, Sam kept the little secret quiet. He would mention it to me from time to time. Ask me questions about lycanthropy in general or question me about whether or not I thought Dean and our Dad knew about it. I would always comfort him, tell him that I didn’t think they knew anything, and we would go about our day-to-day lives. 

Eventually, it got to a point where I was hounding him to tell Dean and Dad about it. Sam was hesitant at first. He was scared about how they would react. I was able to talk him through it, though, and, one night, he sat all of us down so he could tell us. 

The look on Dean and Dad’s faces? 

Pure confusion. 

And I thought it was the funniest thing at the time. 

I had to hold back my laughter as I watched my father deal with Sam and explain that he couldn't be a werewolf if he had not been bitten by one. Sam was in hysterics at that point. He was crying and sobbing and while our father was trying his best to comfort him, I was trying my best to keep it together. At that moment, I patted myself on the back for the longest-lasting prank. 

The celebration didn’t last long. When Sam told our father that I was the one who told him about it, he was furious. I swear, I saw his eyes turn red. I won’t go into too many details about my punishment, but it was one of the worst ones that I got. Even now, I don’t think that it was what I deserved. But it happened, and I can’t necessarily change it. 

I couldn’t sit down for a week. 

The punishment didn’t stop me from teasing Sam about it, but it was quick to make me stop when Sam told me he was going to tell Dad. Now that Dad’s dead, Sam doesn’t have anyone to tattle to. I can say whatever I want. 

Cut that damn hair, Sammy. You look like a werewolf. 

JANUARY 2010

We always had some type of celebration for our birthdays. When we got older, that is. Not all of them necessarily had a cake and presents, but they were celebrations nonetheless whether we acknowledged it or not. Whenever Dean has a birthday, his favorite place to go is at any local bar that we were closest to at the time. Sam and I would switch back and forth on who would be the designated driver so that the other one could celebrate properly with Dean. On Dean’s 31st birthday, I was the designated driver. 

And, man, was I glad I was. 

We were in Colorado after just finishing a hunt. It was a smaller bar near the far northeast corner of the state. It was a little busy, given it was a Sunday, but most of the clientele seemed to consist of regulars who would come in after their nine-to-five. I honestly couldn’t tell you what the theme of the bar was. The decoration scattered on the walls was a mix of historical pieces from the town we were in, rock 'n roll memorabilia, and different pieces from various Colorado sports teams. 

Dean was plastered, and Sam wasn’t too far behind him. It had been a while since I saw the two of them get that drunk, but we were under a lot of stress at the time. I was jealous that I wasn’t the one who was able to get drunk enough to forget, but I figured I would make up for it later. 

The bar began to shut down around one in the morning. The bartender had shouted for 'last call' half an hour before. I knew that I had to get Sam and Dean back to the motel before we got kicked out. It wasn’t that hard to find Sam, he had refused to leave his seat at the table the entire night. Trying to find Dean, on the other hand, reminded me of reading those ‘Where’s Waldo?’ books in the school library when I was younger. 

Let me tell you when I did find him…

Oh boy. 

(Y/N) sighed as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes drooped and he felt as if his body weighed a thousand pounds. After scouring the entire bar to find his brother for the past thirty minutes, he concluded that he deserved a bed for himself when they got back to the motel. Sam and Dean could share a bed, or sleep on the floor. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get back and go to sleep. 

(Y/N) walked back up to the table that the three brothers had shared. Sam sat in his seat, back slouched over, his head laid on the wooden surface. His mop of hair was brushed carelessly over his face. (Y/N) placed a hand on his back, leaning close to him. 

“Sammy,” he said, his voice low. Sam visibly jumped as he looked up at him with tired, glazed eyes. “Have you seen Dean?” 

“Um…” Sam trailed, voice slurred, and pursed his lips. “Dean…Dean…” Before he could continue, Sam broke into a weak fit of laughter, his shoulders shaking. “Dean sounds a lot like ‘bean’. He looks like a bean because he’s short.”  

(Y/N) pressed his lips together and patted Sam’s back. “He sure does, buddy. Thanks for the help.” He spoke sarcastically. 

He stood up straight and turned around, his back now facing Sam. He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the almost empty bar. There were still a couple of regulars scattered around here and there, but most of them were clearing out. No sign of Dean, though. (Y/N) had to wonder how his brother could get lost in such a small place, but Dean had managed to do the impossible. Again. 

In front of him, (Y/N) could see the bartender from earlier. She had walked around the small U-shaped bar and was making her way towards him. Before she could get closer, (Y/N) shook his head. He held his hands up slightly. 

“I know you made 'last call' a while ago, and I’m sorry for staying, ma’am. I’m just trying to find my idiot brother.” He said with an apologetic tone. 

“Well, that was actually why I was coming over here.” She said and placed her hands on her hips. “There’s some guy in the back and I was wondering if he belonged to you.” 

(Y/N)’s shoulders slouched as he let out a sigh. “I am so sorry. I’ll pay for anything he broke or stole.” 

“No, he didn’t break or steal anything. He’s doing…something else.” 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as an uneasy feeling began to make its way to his stomach. “What is he doing?” 

She gestured back towards the bar. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

Hesitantly, he gave a nod and followed the bartender. She took him around the bar and to the back. Past the saloon-style swinging doors, a couple of feet into the supply room, (Y/N) came face to face with a sight he would never be able to forget. 

Dean leaned against one of the many metal shelves. Even with something to lean on, his body swayed back and forth, indicating just how intoxicated he was. A goofy grin was present on his red face. One hand was balled into a fist and placed on his hip while the other one hung casually off of the shelf he leaned on. Beside him stood a mannequin, clad in an aged Colorado Rockies uniform paired with a baseball cap featuring the same team’s logo. (Y/N)’s jaw dropped. 

Dean was flirting with a mannequin. 

The bartender smirked. “He’s been back here for the last hour. I was going to kick him out, but I listened to how sweet he was being to Manny and I felt bad for him, so I just let him stay.” She nodded and leaned against the door, propping it open. 

“Manny?” (Y/N) questioned, not taking his eyes off of his brother. 

“Yeah. Manny the Mannequin. It’s this damn mannequin that the owner bought for twenty bucks when the local Sears closed down. He needed to put his stupid baseball outfit somewhere and he thought the best thing to do would be to put it on Manny and leave it in a bar. The regulars weren’t too nice to Manny, so we had to put him in the back here. It seems like your brother somehow snuck past me and found him.” 

“I…I am so sorry about this.” (Y/N) gestured to his brother, who had begun to fiddle with the hem of the Rockies shirt. 

The bartender snorted. “Trust me, this isn’t the worst thing a customer has done to poor Manny. Just get him out of here.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Right away,” (Y/N) mumbled. 

He stepped into the room just as the bartender turned and walked out. As he got closer, Dean began to giggle. 

“You know, you have the prettiest eyes. Has anyone ever told you that? Oh, come on, I bet a lot of people tell you that. They’re like…like, um…” Dean paused and stared down at the ground. 

(Y/N) quirked a brow and placed his hands on his hips. When he did, he felt the outline of his phone in his jeans pocket. A smirk made its way onto his face as he took out his phone. He knew that he could use this moment for entertainment purposes later. He began to record his brother as he cleared his throat. Dean jumped and turned to (Y/N), eyes wide.

“Hey, Dean. What’re you doing?” (Y/N) asked cautiously. 

A smile broke out on Dean’s face as soon as he recognized his brother’s voice. “Oh! (Y/N), I want you to meet someone,” he slurred as he wrapped an arm around Manny’s shoulders, pulling the mannequin closer to him. “This is Cozy. She’s…she’s the most beautiful woman here and we’re going to get married.” 

“Are you?” 

“Yeah! Isn’t that right, baby?” Dean giggled as he reached up and poked Manny’s nose. “She’s the love of my life.” 

“Well, I am so happy for you, Dean. She looks…beautiful.” (Y/N) was trying his hardest to keep from laughing. 

“Thank you.” Dean smiled proudly. 

“I think you’ve talked to Cozy enough for one day, though. I think we need to get back to the motel.” 

Dean frowned. “But I don’t wanna. I wanna stay with Cozy.” 

“I know, buddy,” (Y/N) walked over and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But Cozy has to go home, too. You can call her in the morning. Plus, we have pie back at the motel.” 

Dean gasped dramatically. “Pie?” 

“Yeah, pie,” (Y/N) pulled Dean away from the mannequin and wrapped an arm around his torso. 

“Pecan?” 

“Yes, Dean, pecan pie.” 

“Oh, (Y/N), you know, you’re the best brother a guy could have.” Dean leaned his head against (Y/N)’s shoulder as the two of them stumbled out of the back room and towards their table. Dean let out another gasp as soon as he saw Sam. He patted Sam sloppily on his shoulder. “Sammy! Sammy! I met a girl!” 

Sam groaned and lifted his head. He looked between (Y/N) and Dean, narrowing his eyes. “That’s not a girl! That’s your brother, stupid.” Sam grumbled. 

(Y/N) sighed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, guys. Let’s get back to the motel before you pass out on me.” 

There was no pie back at the motel. I just know that’s one of the only things that could get Dean’s attention. 

Thankfully, both of them waited until they were in the car to pass out. I had tried my hardest to wake them up, but they weren’t budging. In the end, they both slept in the backseat of the Impala while lying on top of one another. It seemed like it would be extremely uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t know. I was able to go back into the room and relax in my own bed, in a place that was peaceful and quiet. No snoring, no moving around, nothing. It was some of the best sleep I ever had. 

In the morning, when Dean and Sam woke up, they had to ruin my peaceful sleep by knocking on the door. They were a mess, both completely out of it and hungover. The smell of vomit stunk up the room so bad that I swear it’s still there if we were to go back and check. I got them painkillers, got them some water, and made sure they were nice and fed. When we were all sitting down and finally eating, I let them have it.

Oh, the teasing. 

So much teasing. 

I showed them both the video of Dean flirting with Manny. Dean grumbled and tried to get me to delete the video while Sam was trying his best not to laugh his ass off - he really couldn’t because of how bad his head probably hurt. Throughout our conversation, I swear, whenever I would look over at Dean, I could see his cheeks turn pink. I knew I had the perfect blackmail. 

I still have the video. 

You know, just in case. 

APRIL 2014

Everyone who knows Dean understands just how much of a serial flirt he is. If it breathes and if he finds it attractive, he will flirt with it (the story with Manny should make that pretty obvious). I, on the contrary, know how to flirt, but I don’t do it as often as he does. Sure, I flirt with people now and then to get my fix, but it’s not something that I do every time I go out. 

Sam, on the other hand, is the complete opposite of Dean. 

Sam was always the type to be awkward around people he found attractive, even when he was a kid. The number of times I would see him in the hallways of schools trying to talk to girls was hilarious, but he carried that awkwardness into adulthood. I admit, a couple of years ago, that boy had some moves. He knew all the right things to say and do to make anyone swoon for him. I was sort of jealous of him, and I could tell that Dean was proud of him, in a way. 

However, with how much has been going on the past couple of years, I’ve noticed that Sam has gotten a little rusty when it comes to flirting. There has been more than one occasion where he received a pretty nasty glare or a drink to the face followed by some rather colorful language. At first, I felt bad for him, but then it started getting funny. As he kept trying, the conversations he would have with people would last longer and longer than the last time. It still took him a while to leave with anyone, but baby steps. Baby steps. 

There was one time earlier this year when I thought he was going to get a happy ending. It was going so well! I had to admit that I had been spying on him throughout his interaction, just out of sheer curiosity. We were celebrating after a hunt in Arizona. Nothing too big, just a basic salt and burn with a basic bar afterward. It was Saturday and the bar seemed like it was packed. We were lucky to find a table. Thankfully we did because my feet had ached that night from all the digging. 

While I rested at the table, Dean went off to try and snag his own after-hunt reward while Sam walked over to the bar to chat up some cute brunette he had seen. The entire time, I entertained myself by watching him from a distance. Everything was going so well. 

Unfortunately, for Sam, he let his awkwardness get the best of him. 

“I swear, none of the good-lookin’ ones are single,” Dean grumbled as he took his seat back at the table, a defeated look on his face. 

“Maybe you should lower your standards?” (Y/N) shrugged as he took a sip of beer, his eyes glued to his younger brother across the bar. “I mean, they have to lower their standards to sleep with you, don’t they? It’s about time you do the same.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean scoffed a sipped his beer. 

“Sorry, not interested.” 

Dean rolled his eyes before he looked at (Y/N), noticing his gaze. He furrowed his brows. “The Hell are you looking at, anyway?” 

Dean turned his head to look in the same direction as (Y/N), shifting his head to look over people as he attempted to see what had grabbed his brother’s attention. (Y/N) licked his lips and smirked. 

“Looks like Sammy might get some tonight.” He said. 

“No shit? Where?” 

“At the far end of the bar. He’s talking to the babe in the blue dress.” 

Once Dean stopped moving his head, he was able to see Sam and the woman standing at the corner of the bar. Both of them were facing one another. The woman leaned up against the bar while Sam had his hands placed awkwardly in his pockets. Both of them had smiles on their faces as they talked. 

“Damn, she’s hot,” Dean mumbled. 

“I know, right? He needs to take his hands out of his pockets, though. He looks like a fucking shy middle-schooler asking his crush out to the dance.” 

“Eh,” Dean waved him off. “He always looks like that.” 

“Yeah, I know, and have you seen him leave with anyone recently?” 

“Point taken. So, what? You’ve just been watching this whole time?” 

“I need to keep myself entertained somehow. Not in the mood for a one-night-stand, so I have to make my own fun.” 

Dean gave a short nod before he continued to watch Sam. (Y/N) and Dean sat in silence as they watched Sam talk with the woman, mumbling back and forth to one another. As the two of them talked, Sam became visibly more comfortable. His movements became more animated and he pulled one of his hands out of his pockets. Both Dean and (Y/N) were practically sitting on the edge of their seats, their drinks completely forgotten about. 

After ten agonizing minutes of watching, it was clear that Sam had become completely relaxed. They continued to talk as the lively bar moved around them. It was almost as if no one existed but the two of them. They were so engrossed in their conversation that Sam neglected to see the serving tray full of beer that was sitting down on the bar next to them. Finally, Sam took his other hand out of his pocket. He moved to lean on the bar, but his elbow never touched the polished bartop. 

Instead, his elbow leaned against the edge of the serving tray, knocking it over. The tray and glasses clattered to the ground, sending glass particles across the floor. Beer splashed on himself and the woman he had been talking to, who had a look of horror across her face. 

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as he quickly reached over and grabbed Dean’s arm. His jaw dropped and he immediately felt the laughter bubble up inside of his chest. He covered his mouth with his other hand and turned towards Dean. Dean snorted and turned his body so that he was facing (Y/N), his own eyes wide and hand covering his mouth as well. Both Dean and (Y/N) shook as they tried to contain the laughter. 

They sat there, attempting to hide their amusement as Sam walked back over to the table, a defeated look on his face. He sat down, grabbed the beer that he had once forgotten about, and took a long swig. When he saw Dean and (Y/N) practically doubled over, he raised a brow. 

“What’re you two laughing at?” He asked as a small smirk played on the corner of his lips. 

(Y/N) turned away from Dean, pressing his lips together as he placed both of his hands on his beer. His gaze averted to the table, unable to look at Sam without laughing. He shook his head. 

“Nothing…” he spoke in a broken, high-pitched voice. “Nothing, nothing. You wouldn’t get it.” He waved off and took a drink. 

Sam looked towards Dean, who took a drink as well. “Yeah, you wouldn’t get it,” he paused. “Just like you didn’t get that chick’s number.” 

(Y/N) snorted as he let out a laugh, his shoulders bouncing. Sam’s smirk vanished and was replaced with a deep frown. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he slammed his cup down on the table and stood. 

“Real mature, you guys,” he grumbled, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. 

“Oh, come on, Sammy!” Dean exclaimed. “You almost had her!” 

Sam rolled his eyes as he put his arms into his jacket sleeves. “Hey, Sammy, look on the bright side!” (Y/N) began. “At least you were able to get her wet somehow.” 

(Y/N) howled and slapped his hand on the table, Dean following suit. One of (Y/N)'s arms was curled against his stomach as he leaned forward. Sam glared at him. 

“I’m going back to the motel.” He growled out before he turned sharply and walked away before Dean or (Y/N) could say anything. 

By the time (Y/N) and Dean were done laughing, tears were rolling down their faces and their cheeks were bright red. Dean used his thumb and index finger to wipe away the tears while (Y/N) used the collar of his shirt. Once they were both settled, they leaned back in their seats. Dean shook his head. 

“We really need to get that kid a hooker or something,” He finally said. 

“I second that,” (Y/N) nodded and raised his glass. 

Dean raised his glass as well before they both drank. 

Sam didn’t talk to us for the rest of the night. He didn’t talk to us for the next couple of days until we got back to the bunker. Dean and I would try to get him to talk to us about something, anything, even the nerdy shit that he’s into, but he wouldn’t budge. On the drive back, he was wearing his headphones the entire time, so that whenever Dean or I would try to talk to him, he had some type of excuse as to why he didn’t talk to us. 

Little asshole. 

Wish I had headphones that I could just pop in to ignore the two of them. 

Maybe I’ll pick some up? 

Of course, I felt bad for the kid. He looked like he was having a good time, but you should have seen the look on the woman’s face when the beer spilled all over her. It was priceless! I had wished I held it together long enough to be able to see what had happened afterward, but if the look on her face had any correlation with her reaction, it probably wasn’t a good one. 

Don’t feel too bad for the kid, though, he got laid a couple of months ago. He’s fine, basically back to normal. 

Still, Dean and I like to bring it up occasionally. Sam has stopped getting so angry about it and has just resorted to rolling his eyes and ignoring us. One of these days, he’s going to get the balls to use one of our embarrassing pick-up attempts against us to shut us up. 

God knows he probably has more instances of us than we do of him.

 

OCTOBER 2014

Jesus, my wrist hurts. Do people normally write this much in their journals? Certainly not at once, right? I have to be setting a new World Record. I wonder if there’s a world record for something like this? I’ll need to look it up later. 

Trust me, though, I have yet to scratch the surface of the embarrassing memories I have of my two brothers. These are just my favorite ones. If they decide to read this, I hope the two of you enjoyed going down memory lane! Maybe you’ll learn not to look at other people’s shit? 

Who am I kidding, of course you won’t. 

I’ll need to hide this somewhere else. Maybe my closet? Maybe in one of my bags? I can’t even think of a place where they won’t eventually find it. Whatever, I’ll hide it in the back of my closet and see where that gets me. 

The bunker door just opened. Sounds like Sam and Dean are back from the supply run. I’ll need to make this short and simple so I can help them put the groceries away before they start bitching at me. 

Until next time,

Stay safe. (That STILL sounds bad. God, I’m terrible at ending these things.)

[keirawantstocry]

HI IM BACK 💋anon. Ive come to sing your praises yet again youre so good at writing it just itches the right brain nooks. all the kisses for you once again.

So i wont lie, ive been continuing to think about the cannibalism stuff so uhhhhhh. After he gets revived, right, he's, fairly normal maybe apologetic to the eggs but normal. but Fit and Pac. Absolutely heartbroken all like, 'you were the one to leave us'. And tubbo not rlly knowing how to Fix this just 'how can i prove it to you' and uh Yeah :]

Hope youre having a good day :>

i'm having a great day! thank you <3 and gosh every compliment you give is inflating my sense of self worth. kissing you on the mouth very gently

“You left us,” Pac said in a broken voice. 

Tubbo shuddered as tears streamed down his face. “I didn't try Pac. Don't you know that?” 

Pac's head shook. “Do you know how hard it's been?” 

Tubbo shook his head slowly. “I've been dead.” He sighed deeply. “What can I do?” 

Pac just stared at him with wet eyes. 

 A memory pushed itself to the front of Tubbo's mind. How Pac's flesh tasted in his mouth. He took Pac's hand and pressed his dagger into it. 

Pac stared at him a long moment as Tubbo started to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt to bare his chest. He knew what mattered to Pac. He wanted to give it to him. 

“Take me,” he said in a strained voice. 

Pac's eyes had lightened up as Fit simply glanced between the two of them. 

“Go grab health potions,” Pac said, directed at Fit but his eyes were trained on Tubbo. 

The metal was cold against his skin. Pac pressed it hard against his collarbone as Fit rushed back over with health potions. 

As soon as he was close enough to intervene if needed, Pac sunk the knife into Tubbo's chest. It felt like a rush of cold water to every nerve in his body. He let himself sink forward, closer to Pac as the man's head dipped to lick up the blood spurting out. As Tubbo's head fell back, he knew it was going to be okay. 

[pink-november]

hey are you still doing the character ask game? because i would like to know your thoughts on the voice of the skeptic

i hope you're referring to this ask game or this is going to be really embarrassing /j

anyways, one voice of the skeptic coming right up!

First impression

Ugh, I don't remember if I saw him during the Eye of the Needle or during Den first but I do know I did Prisoner last during my gameplay. He didn't make that much of an impression on me at first, mostly because I went "Oh, he's the logical one. Got the big brother vibes. Neat. 6/10"

Impression now

Oh. He's heart-stopping. Literally. Wow, he's the only voice who did that to us because he wants the best for us and knows that the endless void The Narrator promised us is utter bullshit. He's such a calming presence to someone like Hunted in Den and would take on Stubborn's recklessness and guide that energy to something that can benefit them. He holds the braincell during The Prisoner and I love how he calmly handles the situation there and how much The Drowned Grey frazzled him out so badly. And now with the Pristine Cut looming in the corner, I'm so excited for what horrors Skeptic is gonna face with Prisoner's new Chapter III and his potential dynamics with the other Voices.

Favorite moment

The wink. Wink. This absolute goofball. He literally got that straight face while telling someone a funny joke. Just like me fr. Also love how he goes, "None of this is working! Think. Think!" in Razor cuz my man, you cannot possible hope to reason or outhink your way out of this absolutely normal princess. She skewers you.

Ah, but we can't forget his line in Moment of Clarity, "Can we love something that hates us? Can we love something that hurts us?" It hurts my heart so much to hear him say that ough TwT literally best line in the entire Moment of Clarity. There's just something about this question that makes me itch. Like it's on brand for him to sound skeptical and prod at Smitten's statement before this but I feel like there's some sort of a desperate hope to it too, like he wants to trust and love someone like the princess but had been broken down too much to even attempt trying at this point. And oof, this is gonna go to headcanon territory so I'll stop.

Idea for a story

Since the game hadn't explored much of Skeptic and Smitten's dynamic at this point (Pristine Cut prove me wrong), I think a simple story about them just talking out their feelings and perspectives on the Princess is something I want to do at some point. They're literally parallels in-game, two sides of the same coin, trust and skepticism is very prevalent in their routes, and even their Princess share the same Chapter Three (and Cold)! I want to write something that both questions their nature but at the same time proves them right about their relationships with the Princess and with each other.

Unpopular Opinion

I... don't think I've seen an unpopular opinion about Skeptic tbh... which is good I suppose 😅 (nor do I have one that might be considered unpopular)

Favorite relationship

Oh, definitely Opportunist. Or Contrarian. Either put Skeptic into a wringer trying to decipher and remove Opportunist's many masks or put him in a state of absolute befuddlement trying to understand Contrarian's cartoon logic. It sounds fun. Oh wait even better. He has two hands, he can hold both Oppy and Contra. Too bad he's the one being stringed alongside their shenanigans.

Also... guts trio. What can I say? You gotta love Skeptic and Stubborn and Hunted whenever they're together <333

Favorite headcanon

He's as much as a romantic as Smitten. Just goes about it logically. If there's one thing he never doubts, it's his feelings. He's loyal and his trust is one of the most precious thing you can receive because he will unfailingly stick by you no matter the odds or dangers. He can be a bit of a mess when things go unexpectedly and he might have a hard time navigating when his emotions overrides his reasoning and he might get decision paralysis when he knows he's not thinking clearly and can't bear the results of whatever choice he'll make because of it. He doesn't quite repress himself but it's more like he won't act upon them unless he's absolute certain he covered all his bases and knows all the possible causes to the effects he's feeling.

[astroluvr]

YES! Pls do a cheating fic! Lmaoooo my toxic ass loves those 😂😂 - 🙈

Capture Your Emotion

jack harlow x reader

summary: neelam hired you as jack's tour photographer to help you build up your portfolio, but you find jack much more captivating than any action shot- despite him being taken

warnings: 18+, reader and jack are on the tour bus, so it's a lil public (eek!), and cheating

a/n: now, y'all knooowww i don't write smut, so this is not going to be mind-blowing, but i am posting this as a thank you to y'all for being so patient with me! i've been m.i.a lowkey, but i've never not felt at home with y'all, so here's this! i hope you enjoy :) p.s- there is a possible pt 2, but let's see how this does first lol

***

You knew it was wrong from the moment you laid eyes on Jack. You knew that what you felt was wrong to the point where even thinking about how good Jack looked in his expensive hoodie and blue jeans that covered his long legs down to his New Balances felt like a sin, but you couldn’t help it.

Not even when his girlfriend- tall and gorgeous, sat next to him and smacked a kiss on his lips.

From that point on, you tried to continue doing your job without thinking too much about a taken man. Neelam, as a family friend, pulled off a huge favor to do some photography for Jack to build up your portfolio, and so far, it was going well. Urban became good friends with you, and even offered some tips- despite your styles being different, and Jack started to hang around you as a result.

When you met him the night before his tour started off, you thought that maybe the woman you saw was just a fling since you hadn’t seen her for a while, but it wasn’t long before she was standing right next to you behind stage and giving Jack good luck kisses and running off with his credit card in the early mornings of tour stops. It was then that you tried to contain some of your arousal for Jack, but it was hard to when you noticed the way he looked at you too.

Which is why you were sure the guilt wracked you every time you saw Marie, knowing what happened on a muggy night after a bad show. Being a photographer, you thought of your subjects as having a relationship with a camera, and trying to capture all the emotion, so it wasn’t hard to say that Jack was getting less motivated as the night went on. When Jack rushed off the stage with a ‘good night’, you tried to follow him, and couldn’t help but notice that you hadn’t seen Marie all day.

“Jack, are you alright?” You asked him, finding him in the back of the charter bus, abandoning your usual post at the front of the bus where you usually sat, hardly ever bothered by anyone besides Neelam and Urban.

It was dark out after a sweltering day, and needless to say that nobody was in the best mood after the long day. Even with the moon high in the sky, the air conditioning on the bus could still do very little to make a difference. Neelam was the one who made a joke that Marie left because her spray tan was melting off, and it was hard for you to stifle your laughter when Jack had stride pass.

He didn’t even take his headphones off to hear what you said, but you figured that being the star he was, he knew how to read lips well.

“I know you probably want to be alone. I just wanted to check on you. I noticed that Marie left.”

You weren’t sure why the last sentence came out, it was a slight overstep- you knew, but you were itching to see him twitch in any way that might allow you to tuck some of your guilt away.

“She had to go home. It was nothing.” He told you, his headphones were still on.

Due to the heat of the bus, you only wore a spaghetti strap tank and rather tiny shorts. It didn’t reveal much, but it was enough for Jack to bite his bottom lip when you hit a bump in the road and slid forward into the aisle he was sitting on to give him a glance at your breasts.

“You want to sit down?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, and finally pulling those headphones off.

You were slightly dejected by his confirmation that Marie was still in the picture, but couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to your seat after seeing him with his hair wild and legs spread and those slender fingers on his knees.

When you sat down, you realized that you had never been so close to Jack. Sure, you’d been shoulder to shoulder for a moment or so when discussing a couple of shots that you wanted to take of him onstage, but never several aisles behind the people you usually travelled with either asleep or too caught up in having a break to care about what was going on behind them.

Almost as soon as you sat down, the driver did a quick glance around the back and once he saw that there wasn’t much motion, he turned off the lights, and you continued down the long stretch of road that was hardly occupied by much else. You noticed that Jack had the shades down around him, and it made you feel much more comfortable. If anyone saw you, there’s no telling what rumors might come of it and nip your career in the bud before it even started.

When you got closer to Jack, you tried to remind yourself that nothing could happen if he didn’t let it, but you wished like Hell he’d do something with those pretty pink lips that were parted ever so slightly as he kept his gaze on you, or maybe even his fingers that were rubbing up and down his thighs.

“Hey, I meant to tell you earlier that I fuck with those pictures you took. I’m going to post them after this week, and I’ll tag you. Just promise me you won’t leave me for some big shot when they hit you up.”

You chuckled slightly and smiled big when he held out his pinky. You wrapped it around his finger, and almost shivered at how big his hand was. “I promise.”

“Can you promise me somethin’ else while we’re at it?” You swallowed and nodded, and Jack loosened his grip as he tried to gauge your expression. “That you won’t tell anyone else how cute I think you are. Even when I’m kissing Marie, it’s- you’re all I think about.”

“Jack-” You pulled back, and Jack didn’t hesitate.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, it’s just that I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around you. And if I did, then I’m sorry. You can walk away, and nothing ever happened, I swear.”

“That doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” You whispered, leaning towards him, and biting your own lip as your heart pounded, and you worried that you might find yourself shooting up in bed any minute with an embarrassing ache.

“You promise?” he nodded, curly hair casting a shadow over you as you looked into those blue eyes that were getting darker with every passing moment.

“I promise.”

As if both of you snapped at the same time, you met in the little bit of space between you and crashed into a kiss. Oddly enough, you seemed to care less about Marie than ever before, and you hoped that Jack would give you something to replace the guilt that would undoubtedly come back to life by morning.

Despite it all though, neither you nor Jack had it in you to stop. In the dark, your hands grabbed whatever they could of each other. It was like you were trying to mold each other’s bodies from the memory of fantasy, yet still created something better than your wildest dreams.

It didn’t take long for Jack to have your back against the seat in front of you, and your tank top pulled up over your chest. His cock was beneath you and it was so hard that you started to ache for him where you needed him most.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He groaned, palming himself as you panted while he played with one of your breasts, and suckled the other in a desperate alternation.

“Jack.” You mewled, your head falling forward, and your lips brushed the back of his head.

“What, baby?” He looked at you, and you were glad he couldn’t see how your face contorted into a medley of pleasure and desperation at the sight of him.

“Touch me.”

Without taking another moment of consideration, Jack leaned on your back again, and helped you to tug down your shorts. You pursed your lips to stay quiet to keep the rest of the bus from hearing you, but Jack seemed even more spurred on when he noticed the challenge you had given yourself.

Jack kissed you once, hard and long, even slipping his tongue into your mouth for a messier result, and slowly massaged his way into your cunt. You were embarrassingly wet, but you couldn’t do much more than stutter your hips against him and whine.

“Damn, Y/N. Getting fucked by a taken man gets you like this?” He tsked, and your cheeks warmed and your pussy clenched around his fingers. “I guess so, huh?”

“J-Jack, I know it’s bad.” You placed your hands on his shoulder and tried to give yourself what he wasn’t out of pure desperation.

“But you still want more.” He teased, and your eyes watered. “If that’s what you want, you can have it. I’ve wanted to give you what you asked for since the first time I saw you. Whatever it is, baby, you just ask me, and I got you, alright?”

“O-Okay.” You moaned, even though all his words sounded like he was talking to you from underwater.

He suckled on your neck, and if he wasn’t working your clit so well while he did it, you’d be swatting him away to keep the mark away, but now you could barely care. Your breathing became uneven, and your legs couldn’t decide whether to stay open or closed as he pulled you closer to edge.

“You want to cum?”

“Mmhmm! Yes.” You tried to keep yourself quiet, and you feared what your orgasm might bring.

“Then what’d I tell you to do?” He pulled away from your neck and looked you into your eyes that were wide as saucers. Jack took his free hand and held your face steady on his. “When you want to do something, you ask. Now, if you want to cum, you better ask.”

The question made you burn in embarrassment, but it was the only thing that was standing in your way, so you puffed up your chest, and asked. “Please can I cum, Jack? Please?”

“So sweet, Y/N.” He hummed, and he curled his fingers in a way that made you yelp.

You had no choice but to drop your mouth into Jack’s neck and moan there, letting him pet your G-spot, and circle your clit like he had touched you a million times before. The minute you thought of him teaching himself your body through his imagination, you could feel your body tensing for a moment before creating your release.

You laid there for a moment, letting your ears ring before you came back down to Earth, your legs trembling just enough for Jack to see as he pulled his fingers out of you, sliding the two fingers into his mouth and smirking at the way you panted in pleasure and disbelief.

“Jack, I-”

“Fuck are y’all doing back here?” Urban came down the aisle in a pair of shorts and a wife beater as he rubbed his eyes.

You stammered, but Jack was much quicker in gathering his composure than you were, and he had his hoodie over your lap before Urban could even glance, and you tried not to let a moan slip out when he pet your cunt on the sly.

“I had something in my eye, and I asked Y/N to help me.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sounded like you two were fucking.” You stayed quiet, but shook your head.

Jack and Urban shared a glance that didn’t even make their expressions change, but Urban’s face erupted in amusement, and Jack chuckled.

“You’re a damn dog, man, but I can't stand her ass anyway.” Urban said casually before walking off, and you slapped Jack’s shoulder when Urban disappeared.

“It’s alright, babe. It’s only Urban.”

“So, you do this a lot, then?” You scoffed, and all the satisfaction you received quickly became irritation. You reached for your shorts and tried to get them back on, but Jack was quick to pull you back to his lap when you had them on. “Don’t even.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. Like, literally.” He gestured to the bus, and you refused to meet his eyes. “But Marie is a gold digger, alright, and the only reason I haven’t broken up with her is because my label will freak if she decides to get back at me.”

“So, this is one and done?”

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, I meant that. If you don’t want to do this again, then I respect it, but I want you, Y/N. Not her.”

You were quiet for a moment, and looked at Jack once you registered the sincerity of his words. “When can you break up with her?”

“When tour’s over.” He answered, rubbing your hip and trying not to kiss you as hard as he wanted to. “And you don’t have to worry about Neelam doing anything about us either.”

“I forgot about her.” You muttered, and Jack laughed under his breath before pushing his forehead against yours.

“Look, let’s just see where this goes, you know? We obviously have something special, right?” His words brought a smile to your face, and you nodded. “Yeah, exactly, pretty girl. So, how about me and you in your hotel room tomorrow at one? We can do whatever you want.”

“Alright.” you nodded, and Jack gave a tongue-in-cheek smile before he pulled you against his chest.

“Alright.”

[roseytoesy]

vore ask cause im not sure if this was mentioned before, do your predcrushes stay strictly as pred or do you have moments of like wanting to make them prey so you can keep them safe and close too (vore is a comfort for me <3) -opossum anon

OH heck yea!

first off thank you so much for this ask opossum anon! I've been itching to write something for a while but had no set inspiration. also congrats on being my first real ask in like 4 months.

Anyway! onto your ask! warning it will be very long cause I went a bit crazy remembering all my pred crushes.

Also warning to start I start off on legend of zelda and don't stop for like 6 names... also sorry for the crazy comments im just letting my mind barf all over this post.

I have had pred crushes on just about every enemy in most legend of zelda games, but ill stick to ones that make the most sense for this ask otherwise this will take forever.

Ghirahim: sassy demon lord and sword to the demon king demise, very much a pred from how he likes to be above those around him. could I see him as prey? honestly no, especially not with that tongue. this man can summon daggers with a snap of his fingers, so unless he's somehow willing, there is no way you'll survive his onslaught to your insides.

Link: the hero of legend and owner of the triforce of courage. yes yes yes. Hes been hurt in many games, been saved by others many times too. so absolutly i can see him needing some rescue and rest inside an allies coughsidoncough stomach.

Midna: we meet her in her cursed imp form. She's bossy and mischievous, but not invincible. I have daydreamed many times about her when I played twilight princess. and yea I could see her needing to be eaten and kept safe from the harsh light of the day/light spirits. she wouldn't be happy but she would show appreciation for it once she realized why its happening. Her twilight form is much more powerful so I honestly don't believe that that form would need protection.

Sidon: BIG SHARK MAN. A favorite of many for his award winning smile and large stature and larger heart. I adore this Zora so much and many others agree that he is a kindhearted pred. Could he be prey? sure in dire circumstances but he would have to be shrunk in the first place for anyone to even have a chance of getting him down. he wouldn't mind as long as he was made aware that it was safe.

The imprisioned: A hulking beast that is the cursed form of the demon king. its literally a giant spiky egg with only 2 legs and a giant mouth. I have pred crushes on a lot of the boss monsters but this one is the most memorable cause duh. and no this is a monster with dark magic. no eating.

Ganondorf: specifically tears of the kingdom, man has a DILF body. his story is so cool and he takes great pleasure in the suffering of others, being above them. he is an amazing villainous pred, but never prey.

Abigale (from stardew valley): my crystal eating wife! a girl with sass and a kind adventurous heart, maybe some magic too. A gal who is fine being eaten or eating the farmer when either are in trouble. She adores the idea and its like a new adventure every time since everything is moving and stuff. She would be very thankful for the save even if it is a bit unconventional.

Reaper leviathan (subnautica): Giant monster everyone knows and fear. An apex predator of the sea. could it be eaten? maybe when shrunk, but good luck. Those teeth and pinchers are wicked sharp.

Emperor leviathan: A beautiful smart creature of the deep, who wanted nothing more than to ensure her children could go out into the world. a kind pred who has minor healing properties thanks to that special enzyme. Not one to be eaten though as one of the largest creatures in the entire game. even her babies are the size of an adult human.

Al-An: I totally haven't been making my own architect OC for this exact kind of thing noooo. in my heart I like to think that he would be a good protective if not a bit oblivious pred. if he were much smaller, maybe he could be eaten but the body shape and density would make things very difficult. also with his ability to just teleport out if he was unwilling.

John J Juniper (I expect you to die): HHHHHHhhhhhhhhh charismatic preds are a weakness dude. This amazing actor turned villain had some of the best lines and subtle hints for just about anything in this game. he would adore eating an unexperienced agent. He wouldn't take well to being eaten, especially by an agent, he would squirm and kick and make all kinds of comments. maybe he will eventually calm down but that's only if he knows he's stuck/safe and if he knows/trusts the person who ate him.

Doc Ock (marvel Spiderman villain): those arms make good restraints and the energy he gives off is just to perfect. he was a kind man before the implants. and with the no way home movie he was able to regain his senses. I love both corrupt or kind preds so this is amazing. You would have to make sure that he (and his arms) were comfortable with being eaten otherwise you could easily be skewered. in a dangerous situation when he would need help, yea he could understand. maybe study it himself later.

Remus (sanders sides): this guy is literally intrusive thoughts personified. he would happily eat or be eaten by anything/anybody. he finds it a crazy idea and adventure. really odd prey that asks some insane questions. he does get into trouble but since he's imaginary he can handle whatever happens. he appreciates that you care enough about him to eat him, like some crazed beloved animal.

Beel (obey me): The personification of gluttony. like come on. He already hints at eating the player so many times its just normal conversation with him. I think that if he was shrunk and some how satiated he would be ok being eaten, he understand what its like to be so hungry you could eat a person or 5. If he was in danger yet somehow you weren't then he would be ok with it, if you were both in danger he'd be more likely to eat you to protect you. he'd rather die protecting others, since he failed once before.

Floyd (twisted wonderland): This crazy eel twin loves to play and mess with other guppies around him, so of course he loves to scare people via vore. probably a more common occurrence for merfolk since swallowing things whole is a common thing fish do. he would not be happy in a stomach, mostly just because its so boring. he has quite a bit of power to him so be careful cause he could cause some damage if he decides to be violent.

jade: The more silent and deadly of the twins. he is a mastermind of mischief and manipulation, enjoying the torment of others. He only consumes others when truly hungry or he needs a special kind of power trip after some form of immense disappointment. he might not seem too upset about being eaten if he was in danger, but know that he is plotting to get you back in some way for this. even if its safe you gave him a decent scare, its only fair he returns the favor~

Azul: The caecilian business man himself. a sly pred who doesn't indulge on others very often, he likes to think he's above that compared to the twins habits. Nevertheless, when he gets a special opportunity he wont turn it down. he has been eaten in the past before. and he vowed it would never happen again, outside of Floyd and Jade. So you would have to be very close to him otherwise it's going to be very difficult and afterward your life will be hell from the Octavinelle group. if youre someone he trusts and he was truely in danger, he would curl up inside and shutter, its hard to admit he needed help, and in such a way as traumatic as this. poor dude will need some time to recover.

Sun/moon (security breach): the day care assistants have such an amazing personality to them! so many fun stories for them too out there. sun isn't much of a pred but will be in dire situations. meanwhile moon is very much a pred and will gobble up troublemakers to detain them more often than not. gives them a good scare too. both would hate being eaten, the wetness of insides doesn't mix well with an animatronic body. even if you ate sun they would change to moon in the darkness inside, unless provided with a light. sun is miffed and a bit more sassy about it, more upset at the cleaning he will have to do. and moon is similar but more dangerous. if unwilling he will rip apart soft insides.

Eye of Cthulhu (terraria): again I'm a sucker for monsters that are mostly mouth. fun monster pred. could you eat him, not really since it has the ability to phase through the ground and objects easy enough.

Leshy (inscryption): The scribe of beasts, who acts like one himself when in control of the game. the way he grabs the player and makes them go through hard animalistic trials and sacrifices, it only makes sense that he would make a good pred. likely describing everything like the DM that he is. He would not be happy about being eaten, even in a dire situation, he hates being overpowered, finding it unbelievable in many cases. would he be understanding, yes since of course his whole moto is "sacrifices must be made".

Extra!! my soul mate @abellyfulloffriends my beloved switch. he protects me and I protect him on hard days. and yes I would absolutely tuck him away and protect him when he needs it cause he would do the same for me. Its a wonderful thing we have. Just wanted to add this in cause I'm a sap.