#This probably has more inaccuracies than I really want to find out

[creationsabyss]

Glory To The Faithful (The World Screams In Its Anguish)

His hands twitched, his skin rubbed red and raw, his breaths escaping his chest with a rasping wheeze. Apologies carved into his chest as he claws at his arms, the stain of gold stark on his skin. He had not left the cell in days, scrubbing at the stone bricks in vain. Glowing faintly in the dark, he sobs tearless cries at the cruel reminder of his mistakes, as the waters bleed crimson. His blood over his God's, though now he began to doubt his claim of fervent devotion, he has no right, but he is far too greedy to offer its sacrifice just yet. Cradling his vision close, bloody streaks tracing the engraved constellation he knew was his, proof of his status even if he were to fall from grace. Memories with jagged edges that tear and spill open the truths he wished not to see. Iron to his eyes and thread through his lips, he can not hear and no longer can he feel, penance for his sins. A warden of a prison that holds only one. He burns alone, deep beneath the dark waters.

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 1 (kth)

banner credit goes to the absolutely incredible @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re so, SO stupid), slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 8.4k

series warnings: swearing, sexual themes, one instance of mild violence, alcohol use, infidelity, brief mentions of neglectful parents and alcoholism

chapter warnings: potty mouths, oc teasingly threatens her friends, art world inaccuracies (probably, idk how art shows work), fns music festival dynamite performance taehyung (BLESSED), friends who can’t mind their own business, quick backstory on the aforementioned shitty parenting, oc needs (and has) a drink

a/n: so here is my first foray back into writing after being out of the game for several years! big shout outs to @itaeewon​ / @jeonqkooks​ for the banner and encouragement as well as @taegularities​ for giving me writing advice and letting me cry in her inbox every time i got frustrated with this. they’re also both INCREDIBLE writers so go show them some love once you’re done here!

 SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

“She was checking you out.”

“She was not checking me out.”

“Kim Taehyung, she was so checking you out!”

“No.”

“She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave you the ‘come hither’ head tilt.”

Taehyung makes a face. “No one says that anymore, and that’s a perfectly normal gesture to make in everyday conversation.”

“When you want to get someone’s pants off.”

He shushes you, eyes flicking over to the nearby tables in the mostly-empty dining room with all of its dim lights and dark wood paneling. The bar had been a go-to for you and your friends in college, boasting a wide variety of burgers, sandwiches, and wraps that could even satisfy Jungkook and his bottomless appetite. Though your visits have become fewer and farther in between after graduation, nostalgia occasionally drags you back for a lunch or round of late-night drinks, which is how you’ve wound up here on a bright Saturday afternoon.

“You should ask for her number.”

“I am not asking her for her num—!”

“Can I get you anything?”

Taehyung’s face turns bright red as the waitress materializes at the side of your table as if on cue. It’s subtle, but she bats her eyelashes at him, body angled in his direction as if you’re not even there. You raise an eyebrow at him from across the table. See?

“I think we’re ready to order,” you say, mostly to put Taehyung out of his misery as he wordlessly stammers at the blonde.

You’d think he’s never seen a girl before in his life.

The waitress jots your orders down before strolling away in the direction of the kitchen, and you’d swear she’s swinging her hips a little more dramatically than before. You turn towards Taehyung.

“Told you.”

“I said no,” he says sheepishly, cheeks still brushed with pink. “Besides, she looks like she’s probably still in college.”

“You look like you’re probably still in college.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “And we’re not that old, Tae. You could date a college student.”

“Pass.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Fine, but we still need to find you a date to the wedding. Can’t let those youthful good looks go to waste.”

Taehyung huffs in faux annoyance, but his lips quirk up at the compliment. “I’m not bringing a date.”

“So you say, but I’m going to change your mind.”

His smile widens. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” You hold out a pinky, and he only hesitates a moment before linking his with yours.

“Okay, we’ll see.”

You fall into one of your usual conversation patterns as you ask about how his job is going. He tells you about the upcoming art show at the gallery where he works as a curator, doing some freelance photography as a side gig. He’d managed to snag Maya, one of the aforementioned friends, a spot in it, and he smiles as he gushes over how great her pieces turned out, cheeks lightly flushed with what you interpret as pride. The two of them met freshman year as photography majors and quickly developed into friends and partners, challenging each other artistically and now occasionally teaming up to shoot larger weddings and events.

It makes pride warm your own belly, seeing him flourish and succeed in the field he had always dreamed of. Photography had been an outlet for him throughout high school, a vital reprieve from the insulated struggles of your shared childhood. Taehyung has never been a negative person, never weighed down in spite of the home life which would have given him every justifiable reason to become jaded. Still, you’d watched a new light bloom in him after he discovered photography as if the camera lens truly gave him a fresh way of seeing the world.

And you’ve always loved seeing happiness spill from your best friend.

Your food is just being brought to the table when Jimin comes shuffling up in a zombie-like trance, eyes wide and mouth slack.

"Finally made i—woah, are you alright?"

Jimin drops into a seat, glazed eyes fixated on the window overlooking the street.

"Maya and Kook are hooking up."

Taehyung chokes on his drink, water spraying onto his plate, while your jaw hits the floor.

"They're what?!"

"What the fuck?!"

Jimin works his jaw before wiping his hands over his face, "Yup."

You and Taehyung gape at him.

"What in the name of God would make you say that?" you ask emphatically, just as Taehyung says, "They hate each other."

"I don't know. Probably because I just caught her straddling him on our couch half-naked. But it’s just a feeling."

"Oh my God, we don't need to know that!"

"Our couch?!"

Jimin scrubs a hand over his face again as if he could wipe the image from his brain. “Yeah, I…can’t say I’m entirely surprised, but, Jesus, I did not need to see that with my own two eyes.”

“Okay, wait, wait,” you say, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. “You’re sure it was Maya—not another one of his random hook-ups?”

“You think I don’t know what she looks like?” Jimin asks, pulling a face. “Look, she stopped by to grab some camera equipment Tae left for her and said she was going to hang around for a minute to wait for an Uber. I was already late for here so I left, but I forgot my wallet. When I went back they were…compromised. And I didn’t exactly stick around to interrogate them.” He frowns again, turning to Taehyung. “Speaking of, can you cover me for lunch?”

“This is unreal. Fucking unreal,” you fume. “I’m going to kill them.”

“Is it really all that surprising?” Jimin asks. “Somewhere in all of their bickering and nagging and constant frowning at each other was always some thinly-veiled sexual tension.” When you glare at him, he adds, “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“That’s not the problem, Chim. You know how this shit goes.” You rub a thumb between your eyes, trying to ease the sudden tension there. “They already fight all the time, and sex only ever complicates things. How long until this blows up and we’re forced to choose sides?”

And that’s the crux of your worry—a disaster seems inevitable. Maya and Jungkook have always been clear about their bare tolerance of each other, seeing it as a necessary evil for the benefit of the rest of your friendships. And while their arguments and bickering have been relatively muted in recent years after you, Taehyung, and Jimin had put down a collective foot and told them you were tired of hearing their shit, you are not eager to see them test the fragile thread that links all of you.

You’ve dealt with enough instability regarding the people in your life; the last thing you need is more.

The waitress comes up to take Jimin’s order while Taehyung studies you as you press the heels of your palms to your eyes.

“Hey,” he says as the waitress walks off again, a hand sliding across the table in your direction but not quite making it there. “No one is getting divorced or anything. Just talk to Maya first. We really don’t even know what’s going on here.”

Jimin lets out a puff of air. “I do. He had his hand up her—” He shuts his mouth as both you and Taehyung shoot daggers at him.

After a moment, your fingers tap absent-mindedly over your phone. “Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to her tonight. We’re supposed to go dress shopping for the art show.”

“Gotta get something nice for Jace?” Jimin asks, wiggling an eyebrow. You smirk back at him.

“No, he can’t make it. Work has him putting in overtime like crazy for their annual convention in a few weeks.”

“How is he doing—Jace?” Taehyung asks. His tone is light, but as Jimin turns to look at him, he notices his hand on the table had closed into a fist.

“He’s good,” you say, the tension finally melting out of your face as your eyes light up. “He’s been incredibly upbeat lately, actually—more romantic even.” There’s a pause as you hesitate. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was going to…you know.” You wave faintly with your left hand.

Jimin’s eyes go wide. “You think he’s planning to pro—” You quickly press a finger over your lips, and Jimin slaps a hand to his thigh. “Fuck yes! About damn time. Hey,” he settles his face in his palm and stares off dreamily. “Can I be your maid of honor?” Then, when you giggle, “Don’t laugh. I would look great in a dress.”

“I’ll put you on the short list,” you say, turning towards your food as Jimin pumps a fist. “But no more talk about that. I’ve waited damn long enough and do not want to jinx it.”

Taehyung’s knuckles had gone white.

“It’s really none of your business,” Maya says, picking up a bright purple, thigh-length dress off the rack and holding it up to her shoulders. “How about this one?”

“Too short.” She puts it back. “And I beg to differ. When something stands to get between two of my best friends who I care about deeply, I think that makes it my business.” When Maya doesn’t say anything, still nonchalantly flipping through dresses, you press on. “You know this can’t end well, right? You’re adding sex to an already volatile relationship, and I don’t like the idea of the friend group having to split if and when the two of you implode.”

“First of all, we’re not your damn parents. Kook may be a walking man child, but the rest of us are mature adults. We’d figure it out,” Maya says. She holds up a green gown, frowns, and returns it. Turning towards you, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second of all, who says that this morning was the first time?”

Your jaw drops. As you stand speechless, Maya resumes her dress perusal.

“Wha—how long?” you finally choke out.

“Ooh, this is pretty.” Maya pulls out a deep red cocktail dress, silver roses adorning the fabric. Catching the look on your face, she says, “Two years, give or take.”

“Two—!” you squeak before shaking your head. “No. No fucking way. You two can barely be in the same room for two minutes let alone sleep together for two years.”

Maya smirks. “Turns out he can do much better things with his mouth when he’s not using it to talk out of his ass.”

“Maya, oh my God!”

“What? You wanted to make it your business, right?”

You take a breath to steady yourself. “Look, I am just worried about you guys, okay? That’s it. You’re two of my best friends, and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. And I certainly don’t want to be put into a situation where I have to choose between you.”

“That won’t happen,” Maya says, trailing off towards a dressing room. “For someone to get hurt, there’d have to be actual feelings involved, and the only feeling he gives me is a migraine.” She slips into a changing stall while you lean against the wall, still trying to wrap your head around what you’re hearing.

“Besides,” Maya’s voice sounded from behind the curtain, “Jimin only found out because of his stupid wallet, and he notices everything. If we could fool him for that long with no problems…” She pulls the curtain back. The red fabric of the dress hugs her hips, her dark hair draped over one shoulder. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as usual,” you say. And then, because you can’t help it, “I’m sure Kook will love it.”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.” She steps back into the stall and yanks the curtain closed again. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Maya says over the shuffling of clothes. “Nothing changed during the two years when you guys didn’t know and nothing has to change now.”

Maybe she’s right, you think to yourself, resting your head back and closing your eyes to the bright fluorescents above you. Maybe everything would be fine. Jungkook, in spite of his cocky playboy persona, may be a big teddy bear at heart, but you’ve never known him to mix emotions with pleasure. And Maya is certainly capable of handling herself.

Still, the whole thing just reeks of disaster waiting to happen.

The sun has just started its descent when the two of you step out of the shop, Maya now carrying a long white bag along with her. You pause for a moment, taking a slow inhale of the soft spring air. This is probably your favorite time of day, when the whole city is tinted gold, the push of the foot traffic slowing to a lazier pace as college students and businessmen alike meander their way to dinners and evening plans.

“Do you want to do dinner at my place?” Maya asks, starting to move in the direction of her apartment as you trail at her side. “I was planning on trying this new pot roast recipe, and I’d rather not get stuck with too many leftovers.”

“Ooh, that sounds good,” you say. “I’m in.”

“You just have to promise to stop looking so constipated.”

You let out a puff of a laugh. “I’m sorry—I really don’t mean to meddle.” You purse your lips. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I know, you said that already,” Maya sighs. “But we’re all grown-ups, Y/N. I know you mean well, but you’ve gotta loosen up the reins a little bit.”

“Whatever. As long as I don’t have to walk in on you guys like Jimin did.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “And just…be careful.”

Maya rolls her eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She knows your heart is in a good place—the stereotypical “mom friend” just looking out for everyone—but your own blind spot drives her crazy.

You insist that you don’t truly mean to meddle. Maya, however, has no such qualms.

“You know,” she says, smirking at you with a sideways glance. “If you’re really worried about someone getting their heart broken, you should spend less time worrying about me and Kook and more time worrying about Tae.”

Your steps slow, frown lines gradually forming on your face. “Tae? What about Tae?” You pause. “He and Luna broke up months ago. He said he was over her.”

They were barely together a year, but the relationship had been the longest of Taehyung’s life. He’d spent the two weeks following the breakup locked in his room while you juggled both making sure he was alright and moving into a new apartment.

Maya gestures to the bag in her hands. “Don’t stop walking. This thing is a bitch to carry.”

As you jog a few steps to catch up, you ask, “Why? Did he say something to you?”

“Oh, please.” Another eyeroll. “He was never into Luna. It’s a wonder they even lasted as long as he did.”

“Then who?”

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Maya, I genuinely have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

It’s Maya’s turn to stop in her tracks this time, passerby giving the two of you dirty looks as they swerve around you. She pins you with a pointed expression that has you blinking back at her. “What?”

Maya only continues to stare, tilting her head and biting her tongue until you finally put the pieces together. Your eyes going wide before you shake your head vigorously.

“No. No. You’re wrong.”

Maya scoffs and continues walking. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ve told you this before. We’re just comfortable with each other. He’s my—”

“Best friend who has made heart eyes at you the entire time I’ve known you two.”

“He does not. He looks at me like he’s always looked at me.”

“Exactly.”

“I—need I remind you that I’m in a committed relationship?”

“So? That doesn’t affect his feelings.”

“Tae has dated plenty of girls.”

“And with much success, obviously.”

You hesitate. “It’s not his fault that they all—”

“See how he looks at you and decide not to waste their time?”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Sure it is.”

“You’re misreading it. It’s just that we have history.”

“And chemistry. And while we’re rattling off school subjects the two of you share, I’m sure he’d be willing to help you with your physical education.”

“Maya.”

“I’m just saying!” She adjusts the bag, the plastic rustling the air. “I just got this sense that something, I don’t know, broke after Luna. I figured he finally realized how hung up on you he is or something, and that’s why he hasn’t dated since.”

The idea of a broken Taehyung squeezes your heart as your frown impossibly deepens. “That’s not…no. That’s definitely not what it was. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“Okay. Fine. If you say so.”

The two of you fall into silence, the light crackle of Maya’s bag hanging delicately between you. The sun is starting to dip behind buildings now, stretching long shadows onto the ground in front of you as you turn onto her block. You inhale a long, shaky breath.

Yes, it’s been a while since Taehyung has dated, and yes, this is a little peculiar. He may be your best friend,  but part of that means you’ve watched him grow from awkward kid to gangly teenager to one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not blind—you’ve seen how it’s unsurprisingly garnered him a good deal of female attention throughout the years (Saturday afternoon was not the first time he’s been hit on by a waitress). And while he’s never been anywhere near Jungkook’s level of playboy, he’s definitely been on his fair share of dates.

You don’t doubt that Maya’s noticed something of a shift in him—after you, she’s probably the person who knows him best. But both you and Taehyung have always insisted that your platonic relationship is, well, entirely platonic. So even if something changed for him, she has to be off base as to the why.

Right?

“Maya—”

“Look, I’m not telling you to sleep with him or leave Jace or anything like that. Just…” Maya purses her lips together, blowing air out of her nose. “Step back and look at what you’re doing to him before you lecture the rest of us. The guy is crazy about you, and you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Well.

Shit.

She climbs the steps to her front door, slipping in the key and opening it before turning back to where you remain at the bottom of the stoop fiddling with your purse strap.

“You coming?”

“Um,” you hesitate. Your eyes drift off down the street, mind suddenly racing . “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Maya’s expression softens. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“No, no,” you say with another shake of your head.  “I’m not mad. I just think I want to go home, maybe take a bath.”

“Okay,” Maya slowly responds. “I’ll see you at the show Friday night?”

You smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Perhaps, Maya muses as she watches you saunter down the sidewalk, calling you out was not the right move. But the thought only lingers for a moment before she turns with a shrug and goes inside.

It’s Sunday night when you find yourself at the guys’ apartment for your and Taehyung’s weekly meal prep tradition. The ritual is the evolution of several years of having to care for yourselves—a need to eat turned into a sacred bonding activity for two people who had learned to rely on each other.

You and Taehyung met when you were eight-years-old after your teacher had fatefully situated your desks next to each other on the first day of school. A compliment from Taehyung on the color of your pencil case (a bright and bold turquoise) turned into a fast friendship that rapidly deepened as you realized just how similar you were: both only children living in homes with parents who were neglectful in their own ways.

In spite of growing up in a lavish, sparkling house with more rooms than you could count, your childhood was a struggle as your endlessly-busy, high-powered-lawyer parents virtually ignored your existence and left you to your own devices, working late hours every day and oftentimes not even ensuring that you had been properly fed. The mansion had felt like a prison, long hallways and tall ceilings devoid of life, filled with nothing but a terrible sense of loneliness.

That was, at least, until Taehyung showed up.

When either of you had a bad day (which was, admittedly, most days), he would slip away from the tiny, one-bedroom house on the poorer side of town, where his mother had abandoned him to an alcoholic father, and you'd sneak him in the back door (your parents either never noticed or simply didn't care). The two of you would raid the kitchen cabinets for snacks and lug your loot up to your bedroom, where you'd throw together a giant fort made of pillows and blankets with your prized possession at the center—a small globe light with tiny cut-out stars.

You never really talked about your respective situations—there was never really a need to. He saw your non-relationship with your parents firsthand, and you had heard the rumors about his family—whispers at school about the boy with secondhand clothes and a dad who often had to be dragged out of the local bars. The outside world may have been cruel, passing judgment on the both of you (and Taehyung especially) for circumstances outside of your control, but in the comfort of your room, even that fostered your kinship. It was like your own minuscule universe, belonging only to the two of you, and as you munched on your popcorn and watched the soft stars dance across the propped-up fabric, you'd talk and tell each other stories. Stories about anything from kings and queens to pirates to cowboys to astronauts. The only rule was that every tale had to have a happy ending.

As you got older, you traded your storytelling nights for evenings experimenting in the kitchen, sick of gorging yourselves on chips, pretzels, and sodas. Occasionally, once Taehyung purchased his first camera from a secondhand shop with money he saved delivering newspapers, he'd drag you around town for a photoshoot. You’d wander the streets together, helping him to scout out areas for inspiration, and he’d use you as his model to practice portraits and photographing human subjects. This tradition, too, had faded once the two of you escaped your hometown to go to college (you're not sure your parents even realized you had left), as Taehyung began working on class projects with Maya and you started spending more time with Jace. Only your weekly meal prep had persisted.

Your cooking had been a staple during college, you and Taehyung hosting “family dinners” for you and your friends on weekends (usually followed by a good few rounds of drinks), eventually shifting into you making batch meals on Sundays once you’d all graduated and begun working. That was when it had been you who’d lived in this apartment, back before you’d moved in with Jace and Jungkook had taken your place here. Still, even as lifestyles and living arrangements changed, you always wound up cooking with Taehyung on Sunday nights.

“What are mom and dad making tonight?” Jimin trills, reaching over the counter to take a swipe at a baby carrot. You shoo his hand away.

“Nothing, if you keep stealing our ingredients. Aren’t you supposed to be going to the gym?”

“I am, but someone,” he turns to yell over his shoulder, “is taking their sweet ass time getting ready!”

A door clicks open down the hall before Jungkook’s voice yells out, “Calm down, asshole, I’m almost done!” The door slams shut again.

“Such a diva,” Jimin huffs, gaining an edge to pop a carrot into his mouth. You let out a cry of protest.

“Chim, cut it out!” You turn to Taehyung who is at the opposite counter with his back to you, chopping more vegetables. “Tae, stop him.”

Taehyung snorts, not turning around. “That’s my job?”

“You have a knife.”

“Sorry, I’ve taken a vow of nonviolence.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter as Jimin tries to reach around you again. “Hands off, Park, or I swear to God I will kick you in the balls, and you will not see it coming.”

“Guy’s gotta get some action somehow, am I right?” Jungkook comes striding down the hallway in a tank top and shorts, looking more like he’s ready for a magazine cover shoot than a gym visit as he bounds up to where you and Jimin stand in the kitchen.

“Hey, I get plenty of action!”

“You were literally whining this morning that it’s been three months.”

Jimin flushes. “That’s because I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“Neither do I,” Jungkook says, throwing a wink in your direction as you roll your eyes back at him.

“You’re disgusting. It’s a wonder Maya puts up with you.”

“It’s definitely more of a puts out situation.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “And not really up? Contrary to what you might expect, she’s usually under—“

“Jeon Jungkook.” Then, when he makes a move to grab a carrot, you turn to Taehyung and snap, “Tae, give me a knife, I’ll stab them myself.”

Barely looking up, he reaches over to grab a knife out of the block, twisting it in his hands to hold it delicately by the blade and offer it to you handle-first. You grip it, only to slam the knife down firmly on its side in front of you, staring down Jimin and Jungkook in a silent challenge. But Jimin merely quirks an eyebrow in silent laughter, while Jungkook lets out a teasing, “Hot.”

You glare and raise the knife to chest level, pointing it at his sternum and trying to muster as much threatening energy as you possibly can in the face of a guy who could bench press you in his sleep. And while his facial expression remains one of passive amusement, he raises his hands in mock surrender and says, "Fine, fine, we're going."

With a sweep of their gym bags, they make their way out, and there's one last, "Save some for us!" from Jimin before the door swings shut behind them.

You sigh. "Idiots."

"But they're our idiots," Taehyung says, and a glance over your shoulder tells you that he's laughing at your frustration, a smile brightening his features and warming your chest.

"Remind me why we adopted them again?"

"You instantly fell for Jimin's puppy dog eyes when he was wandering around lost at orientation, and Kook..." He trails off. "Why did we adopt Kook?"

"School administration made you dorm with him, and we haven't been able to get rid of him since?"

"Oh yeah, that's right."

You fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound being that of your respective knives hitting the cutting board before Taehyung speaks up again.

"Speaking of Kook, you never told me how your conversation with Maya went."

You're thankful you have your back to him because you immediately feel yourself flush, heat shooting up your neck like an erupting volcano. You want to say, Yeah, it went great. She told me that you're desperately in love with me, and I'm the reason why none of your relationships have worked out. But that's ridiculous, right? Right?!

Instead, you do your best to mask your expression into one of relative impassivity and say, “Well, according to her, this isn’t new. They’ve been doing this for two years.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

Taehyung ignores that. “How did none of us ever notice?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. You’d think we would’ve noticed a change or something, right?”

He’s quiet, and you glance over to see him staring at a distant point out the window, lost in thought, the heel of the knife absentmindedly tapping a beat against the board. Taehyung’s always been introspective—content to sit in contemplation as he slowly works an idea through his mind. He’s thoughtful like that, ever the deliberator and rarely one to act on impulse. You balance each other out in this regard, with you having always been more inclined to break rules as you see fit and Taehyung being there to reel you in as needed.

“Maybe it works for them,” he finally says, and you feel your eyebrows shoot halfway up your forehead.

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea.”

He shrugs, attention drawn back to the vegetables in front of him. “It hasn’t caused a problem yet, right?”

“The operative word there being yet.”

He shrugs again, brows tilting together. “I’m just saying that they’re both consenting adults, and if it’s gone this long without any catastrophes, maybe it really is a good arrangement for both of them.”

“It’s Maya and Kook. They’re always a catastrophe.”

“Exactly. They’d probably have an eventual falling out even if they weren’t sleeping together, so who knows? Maybe it actually helps them work some of that tension off.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I didn’t say it was healthy.” He finishes chopping his last onion and sets his knife down, crossing the kitchen to check your own progress. Reaching over you, he grabs a piece of carrot and slips it into his mouth, grinning when you frown at him. “Really, Y/N, what can you do?”

“I know, but they’re…they’re the closest thing to family that we have. You know that.”

“Families can be dysfunctional. We both know that.” He munches on another carrot. “I’d still take them over my biological family any day.”

When that still doesn’t seem to entirely placate you, he reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of your neck and raising goosebumps there, before he slides his hand down to loop your pinkies together. “What will happen will happen. Don’t let it worry you unnecessarily.” Then he’s off heating up oil on the stove.

Normally, the brief touch would have barely registered in your mind—a simple gesture you had gotten into the habit of using when you were kids to provide reassurance. But it’s like your conversation with Maya has been inked under your skin, recoloring your perspective on the single-most steadfast relationship you’ve ever had in your life.

You hate it.

The oil begins to bubble on the stove, but Taehyung is distracted, rummaging around the refrigerator for something, so you take over, dumping in the beef that will help form the base for the soup. You throw in some seasoning, poking at the meat with a spoon and willing it to brown.

“So you’re really not interested in dating again?”

The words slip out, and the contents of the pot pop angrily at you.

Yeah, you might regret this later.

“Hmm?” Taehyung closes the fridge, cracking open the beer that’s now in his hand.

You curse your loose tongue under your breath. “Just…the other day at lunch. You were so against asking that waitress for her number.”

“She wasn’t my type.”

“And you don’t want to bring a date to the wedding.”

“I’d only bring a long-term girlfriend to a wedding. Less of a chance we’d have to edit her out of pictures later.”

“And how many dates have you been on since Luna? It’s been what, almost a full year?”

His brow scrunches, and the way he’s studying you makes you blush. “Why the sudden interest in my love life?”

You stare determinedly into the soup pot, trying to look nonchalant. “You’re my best friend, and I want to see you happy. Of course I’m interested.”

He props his hip against the counter in thought and takes a long drag of beer before he answers you. “I thought after Luna that it would be best if I take some time to focus on myself before diving back in. That’s all.”

“She really did a number on you, huh?”

“Something like that.”

You poke at the beginnings of your soup, memories of an absolutely miserable Taehyung surfacing in your mind. “It sucked, you know.”

“What?”

“Seeing your heart break.”

“Ah.” He takes another drink. “Right.”

“I swear, if I saw her again, I’d be tempted to kick her ass.”

He chuckles at that, and it rumbles his entire chest.

It might stir something in yours, too.

“I mean it, Tae.”

“Oh, trust me, I know you do.”

“Could be anywhere: club, grocery store. I’m not afraid to throw hands.”

He gives a tilt of his head. “She was a third degree black belt.”

“Well I kicked that Kenji kid in the groin during recess after he stole your backpack, and he cried for like twenty minutes. Remember that? He was practically six feet tall in the fifth grade, and that didn’t stop me. First degree black belt my ass.”

“Third degree.”

“Whatever.”

“Well as much as I appreciate your determined defense of my pride, I can assure you any emotional distress I suffered was minimal—“

“You haven’t dated since!”

“—and is definitely not worth putting yourself in the hospital over.”

“You don’t miss it though? What about like…” You trail off, cursing your stupid mouth getting ahead of your brain. You’ve never really talked about this before. Relationships, sure, but when it comes to the physical, along with your families, it’s one of the few subjects you avoid.

As your pause stretches on, he raises his eyebrows in question, and you decide to just come out with it.

“What about sex?”

Taehyung, to his credit, is unfazed by your sudden mention of the taboo. “I still have two hands, and they haven’t failed me so far.”

“Oh, Tae, ew.”

He grins devilishly at you, mischief brightening his eyes. It’s a look that he used to wear all the time when you were kids but which became rarer once he mellowed out with adulthood.

Seeing it on him now makes your heart jump.

“Point taken, forget I asked,” you say, and he laughs.

“Really, I’m fine with taking a break from dating for now. Isn’t that what that band you love is always preaching? Self-love and all that.”

You huff out a breath, nodding at his hands. “You don’t say.”

He laughs again, grinning down at you, and the uncertainty you’ve been feeling bubbles up again, your nerves sparking in time with a particularly loud crackle from the pot on the stove.

“Ah, geez, don’t let it burn,” he says, nudging you out of the way to take over. You take the opportunity to wander over to the fridge for a water bottle, feeling the need to cool yourself down. Honestly, what is wrong with you?

Taehyung, in sync with your moods by now, reads you like a book. “I feel like I should be asking you if you’re okay.” He says as he sets the meat aside and begins simmering the mirepoix in the fat. “You seem distracted.”

The conversation has become too much for you to wrestle with at this point, and you feel the need to shut it down before it gets out of control entirely. So you swallow down your anxieties like a pill without water and deflect.

“There’s just…a lot going on right now.”

It’s almost imperceptible, possibly a trick of the light, but his back stiffens ever so slightly. “Hmm, I’m sure.” He looks up at you from the stove, eyes pinning you where you stand. “But you’d tell me if there were something?”

You swallow. “Of course. You?”

“Of course.”

And that has to be enough for now.

The glow of the sunset creeps into your room as you put the finishing touches on your make-up for the night. You're running later than anticipated as you had hoped to catch Jace before you left—you know he has a virtual client meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes that he had planned to attend from home, but he texted you a half-hour ago saying that he got caught up at the office and might just take it there.

With your make-up done, you can't justify lingering any longer and decide to just leave him a note letting him know when you'll be back. Jace's desk is an absolute mess, but you're thankfully able to locate a notepad easily. A pen, however, is a different matter, and it's not long before you're rummaging through the drawers trying to find anything to write with. For a man who keeps his appearance so well-groomed, he has a true affinity for clutter, and you roll your eyes at the junk you have to sift through in search of a simple writing utensil: a hammer, old movie tickets, a broken picture frame, a ring box...

A ring box?

You pause, fingers hovering over the black velvet. Surely, you shouldn't look, right? You already feel like you're crossing some line by discovering the small box—you should preserve some element of surprise for both of your sakes.

Still, the devil on your shoulder whispers to sneak a peek...

Your decision is made for you as you hear the front door click open and shut, and you hastily close the drawer and try to school your features into something casual.

"Hey, gorgeous."

Jace leans in the doorway grinning, not a single sandy brown hair out of place and his impeccably-ironed dress shirt pulled tight across his toned chest. In a fraction of a second, you see his eyes flick from his desk drawer to where you stand stiffly in front of it.

"Hey!" The word comes out a little too loudly, and you rush to cover up the blunder. "I thought I wouldn't see you."

"Wanted to surprise my girl," he says, smile brightening as he swings a hand from behind his back to offer you a single red rose. You feel your cheeks heating up as you take it from him, marveling at how—even four years down the line—he can still manage to charm you.

He presses a kiss to your mouth, hands trailing down the back of your dress to palm your ass with a groan. "Fuck. Can't believe I have this work meeting when you look like this."

"And unfortunately, I need to get going, too, or Maya will have my head." You lean in for another quick peck. "Rain check for later?"

He chuckles, letting you go with one final squeeze. "I'll hold you to that."

"Look who finally showed up!" is what you're greeted with when you locate your friends in the gallery atrium, dodging the other patrons milling about.

"Sorry, got caught up with Jace," you say, shrugging at Maya's teasing glare.

Jungkook winks at you. "I'm sure you did."

"Yah, Kook, don't be gross," Jimin complains, slapping him on the arm.

"What?! She looks great! Right, Tae? Tell her she looks great."

You meet Taehyung's eyes for the first time since you walked up, and he shifts on his feet, gaze darting down to the accentuated curve of your hips. Clearing his throat, he smiles and says, "You look beautiful."

Cheeks hot, you murmur a quiet, "Thanks," so distracted by the awkwardness of the moment that you don't notice the look exchanged by Jimin and Maya between you.

Friends can call friends beautiful and not have it mean anything beyond that, right? You told Maya she looked gorgeous when she bought her dress with you last weekend, and you’d definitely be willing to admit that Taehyung looks incredible tonight. His navy blue suit hugs the lines of his body perfectly—highlighting his tall, lithe form—while his hair is combed up and off his forehead in a style that projects both professionalism and approachability. Combine that with the easy smile he keeps on his face, and he’s basically in male model territory.

You’ll be stunned if he doesn’t get hit on again tonight.

You make some idle small talk with your friends for a few minutes (Jungkook is trying to convince the others to head over to the bar where he works after the reception) before Maya gently nudges you with an elbow.

"Go and have a look around. Mine are back there," she declares, nodding her head towards the right hand corner of the exhibit, "but you should really check out all of the work—there's some good stuff. Hoseok and Sunny are around somewhere too."

You nod, welcoming the chance to see what it is your friends have been working so hard on, and excuse yourself to peruse the gallery. You may not be much of a creative mind yourself, but years of friendship with Taehyung and his infectious enthusiasm have at least helped you develop an appreciation for art. Weaving between the walls of frames and canvases, you stop here and there as a piece catches your eye: dark bars slashed across a messy outline of a heart titled Fake Love; a small boy offering up a waffle cone that holds a rose instead of ice cream—For You.

However, you find yourself slowing down entirely when you get to Maya's collection of photographs. They're mostly black and white candids of strangers. A woman shopping in an outdoor market. A girl chasing a dog in a park. Your friends pop up occasionally, and you smile at one of the memories you recognize: Jungkook pushing Jimin into the pool during your friendcation last year, bunny smile stretched wide across his face.

And suddenly you're frozen by a photo that's in full color.

It's Taehyung's face in close-up, his head turned to the side as he looks at something out of frame. His jaw strikes a downward line, mouth ever so slightly dipped open in something akin to wonder and tan cheeks curving with subtle delight. It's his eyes you can't look away from, though, opened wide enough to soak in whatever he's looking at that they reflect the golden lights around him, tiny galaxies swimming in his irises.

"Enjoying the view?" a deep voice teases at your shoulder, the man himself coming to stand at your side.

"That's an incredible picture of you," you tell him, still taking it in.

He hums in agreement. "I told you, she did a good job."

"Was that last summer?"

"Yeah." He nods his head at the picture of Jimin and Jungkook. "Same night as that, I think."

"What were you looking at?"

Taehyung is quiet as he thinks, scratching lightly at his nose. "I can't say I remember. Probably Hoseok walking out with that plate of pork belly. That was mouth-watering."

You laugh, and he smiles back at you before gesturing at the rows of artwork. "Can I show you some of my favorites?"

"I'd love that."

You let him drag you away, but not before glancing back to read the title card delicately placed next to Taehyung's image.

Your eyes tell.

Taehyung navigates you around the exhibit for a while, describing his role in organizing the gallery and stopping to gush about his favorite pieces. You've always loved hearing him talk about art, his passion for the subject illuminating his face as he enthuses about light and shadows and colors.

He's explaining the rule of thirds to you when Maya interrupts, telling Taehyung she has a potential client for him that she wants him to meet. He promises to find you later as she whisks him away, and, alone again, you decide to head to the adjoining reception area in search of your other friends.

You’re only a few steps into the room when you hear a voice call out your name, Jimin flagging you down from where he stands at a table with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Sunny, and you quickly slide up to hug the latter two.

“You guys made it! We’ve missed you. How’s wedding planning going?”

Hoseok groans into his champagne. “Please do not remind me,” he grumbles. “It makes med school feel like a cakewalk.”

“What my wonderful fiancé meant to say,” Sunny says, playfully elbowing Hoseok in the side and making him sputter on his drink, “is that it’s going fantastically, and we can’t wait to celebrate with you all.”

“Rumor is that it’s the can’t-miss event of the year,” Jimin singsongs. “And Kook and I are bringing the party!” He reaches over so he and Jungkook can share a short but excessively elaborate handshake.

Sunny looks on, amused. “Speaking of, do you two know if you’re bringing dates? We don’t have to finalize headcount quite yet, but knowing sooner rather than later would be appreciated.”

“I will definitely be going stag, but I think Kook might have one, yeah?” Jimin’s voice is teasing, but Jungkook doesn’t catch on, throwing him a quizzical look and causing Jimin to clarify with a smirk. “Maya.”

Jungkook scoffs, muttering, “Not a chance,” while Hoseok’s and Sunny’s eyebrows shoot up in sync.

“You and Maya are dating now?” Sunny asks, eyes wide.

Jungkook tosses Jimin a glare. “No, he’s being an ass.”

When Sunny and Hoseok continue to look confused, glancing back and forth between Jungkook and Jimin, Jimin explains, "We found out recently—and unpleasantly for me, might I add—that Maya and Kook here have been engaging in some activities with, ah, no strings?"

Hoseok's eyebrows go impossibly higher, threatening to meld with his hairline, as his mouth pops open in surprise. "Uhh...congrats?"

Jungkook shakes his head, bottom lip jutting out like a child. "Chim's just jealous because he's in a drought."

"Hey!"

"I, for one, don't see an issue," Sunny says, hopping in to play peacemaker before Jimin and Jungkook devolve into one of their notorious bickering sessions. "You're both adults. And don't sweat it, Jimin, any girl would be lucky to have you."

"What's that supposed to mea—" Hoseok starts to ask before Sunny shuts him up with a finger to his lips, subtly nodding her head at the clearly placated men.

"I just can't believe you two are finally getting married." You change the subject, snatching up a flute of champagne off a tray as a waiter walks by. "Been a long time coming."

Sunny hums. "To be honest, I'm surprised we're beating you and Jace to the alter," she says, and now it's your turn to cough on your drink. "When is that happening?"

"Oh, I, um—" you stutter, as you weigh how much you should say. You should keep what you saw earlier a secret, right? After all, what if you're wrong and you come out looking like a fool?

But four pairs of eyes are now fixed on you expectantly, and these are your friends so you cave.

"Okay, I am swearing all of you to secrecy," you say, making deliberate eye contact with each of them in turn to emphasize your point, "but I literally found a ring box in his desk earlier when I was getting ready to come here."

The table erupts in your friends' squeals and cheers, Jimin and Jungkook coming around to playfully shake your shoulders.

"Oh my gosh, I knew it!"

"That's amazing news!"

"I want to be man of honor!"

"I already called dibs!"

"What are we calling dibs on?"

Your heart skips as Taehyung joins your table, smiling at the five of you but obviously perplexed as to what the ruckus is about. And maybe you're imagining it, but your friends all seem to quiet down at his appearance as well, causing Maya's words to once again echo in your mind. The guy is crazy about you, and you're the only one who doesn't see it.

An awkward silence drapes itself over the table, Jimin being the one to pipe up when Taehyung's expression begins to morph from curious to concerned. "Y/N, tell him the good news!"

At that, Taehyung's brown eyes settle on you, and so you take a deep breath and spill. "I found a ring box in Jace's desk."

You're looking at him intently, and it's only the tiniest sliver of a second, but you see it. Unmistakably.

His face drops.

If Maya's photo captured stars in his eyes, you watch each go out one-by-one, his lips pressing together like he's trying not to be sick. A heaviness hits his shoulders that has his chest curling inwards and you almost reaching out to him...

And just like that—all at once—he's gathered his features into a smile and beams at you.

"That's fantastic, Y/N. I'm so incredibly happy for you."

His voice sounds genuine, dripping in the baritone honey that is so warm and so him, but you know what you saw—you're sure of it—and it has your mind spinning.

Shit, shit, shit, she was right.

You down your champagne in one gulp, oblivious to the shocked faces around you as you throw it back and thump the glass harshly on the table. "I'm going for a drink. Anyone want anything?"

You barely give them time to shake their heads before you're scurrying away to the bar and ordering a cosmopolitan—strong. Thoughts whirring, you try to make sense of Taehyung’s crestfallen expression as the bartender mixes your drink. There surely must be an alternate explanation, right? Until now, Taehyung has never, ever given any indication that he has feelings for you. This must be a mistake; you must be seeing things…

But just as the bartender slides your glass across the countertop, you glance back at the table, blood running cold as you find Taehyung already looking at you. He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes before turning back to listen to whatever Jimin is currently saying.

You quickly down your second drink of the night and order a third.

NEXT

a/n: and we’re off! likes, reblogs, comments, asks, feedback, constructive criticism, and carrier pigeons are all appreciated! this started off as a story with all OCs, and the first drafts of some of these scenes were originally written in third person omniscient so please forgive me if the POVs are a little all over the place in this chapter. it’ll be rectified moving forward!

taglist open: just message or reply 😊

[linomilkers]

Minho x Reader [Warnings: dry humping, a filthy blow job, probably some medical inaccuracies, Minho calls Felix Yongbok bc canon and that's his Yongbokkie]

Note: Helloooo, this is my first time writing in this style! Just trying something different for this particular piece. Also, I started writing this before we found out about Minho's hand, so I promise I wasn't making light of his injury! Just a coincidence!

Let me know if you like it!!

Minho who hurt both of his wrists somehow, maybe it was a misstep in dance practice that sent him to the floor, or a stumble at the airport. His wrists are sprained, he's in two clunky arm braces to keep them still, and he's not meant to participate in any strenuous exercise that would involve movement of them. It sucked, being hurt, and he was missing schedules, he would fall behind in learning the new choreography, and he was setting the comeback back by a couple of weeks -- but it wasn't the worst thing. He could use a small break, even if it's just a week or two, of resting and taking it easy after nonstop months of producing content.

Minho who enjoys the break for about a week before he started getting a little stir crazy. Eating was a chore, a true test to his patience instead of being something gratifying and he couldn't cook much. He could move his wrists a little so that the muscles wouldn't weaken from not using them, but barely enough to eat, let alone prepare a full meal. Everyone else in the dorm was so busy that nobody was really cooking, so living off take out has made his face swollen and a bit puffy. Which he wouldn't mind as much, if not for how annoying Seungmin's been with pinching his cheeks and cooing at him for it. He can't even properly exact revenge and the creatine is taking full advantage of that.

Minho who can't touch himself properly and is starting to go crazy because of that too. He doesn't have to do it every day like some (namely Jisung, the little pervert), but he does it often enough that a week and a half in he's starting to feel it. Every morning he's waking up with something stiff between his legs, and he's helpless to it. Minho believes he has enough mental fortitude to look past his horniness, because no orgasm would be satisfying if he couldn't properly use his hands. He could wait it out, the braces would be off within two more weeks, he'd be fine.

Minho who breaks the day after he'd made a pact with himself to hold out. In the daze of his morning wood and being two seconds from sleep again, he rolled onto his front on his bed. Minho bunches his blankets up into a wad, then presses into it, a reedy sound leaving his mouth, unfamiliar to his own ears. It feels good, really, really fucking good, but it isn't enough. Still, it doesn't stop him from trying. He ruts pitifully into the blankets, chasing after a release he knew he wouldn't find, leaking precum in his briefs. It's embarrassing, how badly he needs it, how desperately he's trying for it -- but there's nobody home. Everyone left early this morning, so he was safe to do this for a little while, until he gets frustrated and takes a cold shower instead.

Minho, who forgot Yongbok's friend had spent the night and had promised to wait around for him to get back from schedules so they could go shopping, or out to eat, or whatever. The friend who Yongbok had made promise she would bring Minho breakfast in the morning, so that he wasn't fumbling around the kitchen himself. Minho had told him that he didn't need that, that he wouldn't want his friend going out of her way for him, but he refused to listen, and so did she. Which was surprising, she's usually pretty quiet, but the sudden headstrong attitude started him into silence and acceptance. "No earlier than 7AM," he told her, "I'll at least try to sleep in."

Minho, who doesn't hear the perfunctory knock on the door before it opens at 7:05 (of course she is close with Yongbok, because he barely waits half a second before opening the door after a halfhearted knock as well -- he doesn't care what he sees when he ambles in, usually caught in his own head about whatever he'd come for in the first place), and only realizes that Y/N is standing there with a bowl steaming in her hands when she says, "Oh, shit, sorry," as if this wasn't embarrassing enough, Minho has to let go of the pillow he'd caught between his teeth, "I should've waited for you to reply."

Minho, who knocks his head against the mattress and gives a disbelieving laugh, because of course this would happen to him. He's at the edge of his rope, he just wants to cum, and he can't even do that without being caught humping the bed like a desperate dog. He's caught between wanting to apologize to her for seeing him like this and wanting to scold her for walking in, in the first place. He doesn't get a chance to do either because Y/N offers her help instead, gentle and not in the least bit suggestive sounding, despite what she was suggesting, "I can help you out, if you want," she told him, "Yongbokkie thinks my mouth is really good."

Minho, who really doesn't have a chance to consider what that means, because since when was Yongbok getting his dick wet? Is that why he's always so calm? How long had she been doing that? And would he be okay with her offering that to Minho? Wouldn't he be upset? Or were they not together like that? He makes a confused sound in his throat, nervous to turn around where he knew she'd be able to see how hard he was, but too mortified to stay in the position he's in. So he flipped onto his back, and tries not to wince when her gaze zeros in on his cock -- so fierce, he's sure that he could feel it burning him, "I told him to ask if you needed help, but he didn't listen to me," Y/N continued to say, "Swore up and down about how you don't like asking for help, that you'd have to really need it to accept it, and I think humping your blankets is really needing it, right?" It was a fair assessment, and he feels his ears get hot, "I'll help."

Minho, who agrees because. . .well, why shouldn't he? She's offering, and he's hard and horny and wet, and he probably isn't thinking the clearest. He'd never thought of Y/N in that way, she's always just been Yongbokkie's sweet friend and that's it, but now he can't get the image of her with his cock in his mouth (or Yongbok's cock, for that matter) out of his head. With great effort, he scoots himself up the bed, among his pillows with his back against the headboard while Y/N got herself comfortable between his spread legs. She doesn't bother to take his briefs off at first, burying her nose against the hard swell beneath the fabric and breathing in deep. His face feels like its on fire, because who just does that? And why is he so turned on by it?

Minho, whose mind is spinning because this sweet girl's mouth is made for more than gentle compliments and clunky sentences in a language Yongbok is working hard to help her with. It's made for wetting the thin fabric of his light colored briefs, sucking opened mouth kisses that add to the growing wet spot on him. He has a hard time figuring out what was from him and what was from her, but it hardly matters. He throbs and twitches with every suckle and lick while she saturates the cotton. And when he is about to start whining at her for teasing him, her fingers dip beneath the elastic and fish his cock out from the briefs. A small, contented sigh leaves her mouth, like she'd been waiting all day to get her mouth on him. The head is flushed ruddy and dripping, shiny with his own slick and she shows her tongue to wet her lips, and he's throbbing again.

Minho, who can only gasp when she says, "You really needed this, right? I would have helped sooner. I like drinking cum from pretty boys," because what is Yongbok teaching her? But before he can ask, she's swallowing his cock down in one go and he cries out like he'd never been touched in his life. It sure feels like that right now, and the tight, wet heat of her mouth makes his brain melt, and any hope for thoughts that surpass, this is good, this is good, this is good leave his head. His brain to mouth filter evaporates, he spreads his legs further, "Fuck," his eyes roll back, because if he looks at her then he'll cum and he wanted to enjoy this for a little while at least, "Who taught you to be this naughty?"

Minho, who wasn't really looking for an answer, but Y/N slips off to tongue at his slit any way, then drools a glob of spit on his shaft and fucks him with her hand, "Yongbokkie," she replied without thought, "He trained my throat really well, now I can take all of you pretty deep." All of them? He can't clarify because she's sucking his balls into her mouth and soaking them with her tongue and his mind fizzles out again. It's too much, all of it, and she does it with a practiced ease of someone who is taking a lot of cocks in her mouth and his mind is reeling with it. She slobbers and drools and sucks until she's licking back up to the tip, taking him down, down, down, until the head nudges at the back of her constricting throat.

Minho, who comes with barely a warning scraping away from his tongue but Y/N doesn't mind. She withdraws just enough so it fills up the pocket of her cheek, squeezing the base, working him through it. He thinks his vision whites out for a second, he's almost positive he might have momentarily blacked out from the intensity of it. It burns from his fingertips up through his chest, spiraling through his whole body like summer storm lightening. It's a lot, his muscles lock up, he thinks if there were any time to understand the universe it would be now after he just flooded her mouth.

Minho, who isn't sure what to expect exactly, but certainly didn't expect her to crawl back up his body, tilt his chin toward her mouth and fix their lips together. He didn't expect her to push his cum into his mouth either, in a kiss so filthy and gross he knows he's going to be touching himself to it for months to come. At least he doesn't taste all that bad, as she makes him share, and he moans pretty pitifully against her tongue.

Minho, who finally opens his eyes after some time and is greeted with a smile, "Good news is, we were quick about it so your food is still warm," she tells him, "Should I feed it to you? I don't mind." And who would have thought that, with his softening cock against his thigh, and his wrists in braces, that Y/N would offer him something like that too? She'd already done too much, hasn't she? More than she'd been requested to, should he really let her feed him? Or was she joking?

Minho, who quickly finds that she isn't joking at all actually. She doesn't wait for him to answer before she's offering him rice and a sliver of egg from his bowl, holding it out toward his mouth. Minho parts his lips, she presses it inside, then gives an even bigger, triumphant smile when he hums at the taste, "It's good, hm? I made it myself."

Minho, who decides that he needs to know more about her, needs to implant himself deeper into her life, needs to ask Yongbok where he found her and if he's willing to share.

[melodygatesauthor]

Not a Doctor

Jake Lockley X f!Reader (Patient X Therapist)

*skin tone of model in banner does not represent skin tone of reader. Reader is not race-coded.

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

AO3 LINK

Summary:

You're a therapist who works at a medium security mental facility. One of your patients, diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, has an undocumented alter that starts showing himself to you. When you learn what it is he wants, you find it difficult to resist.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, power imbalance, p in v creampie, cum eating, spit kink, obsession, Jake in lust, medical inaccuracies, I probably made mistakes about DID but I tried, no powers/no MK/no marvel, rough sex, inappropriate sex, semi-public sex, patient/doctor relationship, dacryphilia, mild blood, biting/marking, reader is kinda mean to Steven (I'm really sorry), mental manipulation, praise kink, refractory period? What refractory period, Marc and Steven make minor appearances. Jake-centric fic.

Word Count: 12.6k (*cough* don't look at me, I'm but a simple hor)

The first time you met Jake Lockley, he was sitting across your desk in a wheelchair. He was mildly sedated, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know it was Jake yet, you assumed the original, Marc, was fronting, as he normally was. The manila file rested in front of you untouched, reading Marc Spector on the label. You didn’t even need to open it anymore, unless you were adding notes, as you’d been working with him long enough by now to know the file inside and out.

You asked Marc the same thing you asked at the beginning of every session.

“How are you doing today, Marc?”

A smirk spread over his face, something wicked, a little cocky, and it sent a chill racing down your spine. He looked at you with a face you didn’t recognize.

“I’m not Marc.” He said firmly, dark eyes burning into yours.

You were surprised; the British accent that normally accompanied Marc’s only known alter, Steven Grant, wasn’t there. You opened the file quickly, scouring through, shuffling papers around and trying to stay calm, looking for any indication of a third alter. 

But you came up with nothing during your quick glance. 

You took a deep breath to steady your racing mind.

“You’re not Steven.” You said it as more of a statement than a question.

You crossed your legs and put your hands in your lap, trying to show this new and unpredictable person that you weren’t a threat. You let your facial expression soften. In cases like Marc’s, if there was an undocumented alter, there was no telling if they were friend or foe.

“You’re not a doctor.” He muttered, shaking his head slowly. He had a slight twang to his words.

You gulped uncomfortably. He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t, in fact, have your PhD. You were a licensed therapist, but that was irrelevant information, and there was no way he could really know that. You could see that he was very quickly becoming agitated by the way his breath was coming out faster and his hands were clenching the armrests of his wheelchair. You felt your own anxiety pooling in your chest.

There was training you had undergone specifically for these types of situations. You tried to recall your safety training, remembering the importance of diffusing a situation with your words first, with calling security being a final resort, reserved only for when a patient was beyond reasoning with. The man in front of you wasn’t quite there yet from what you could tell.

The two of you were at a stand still, his chest was heaving and his eyes stayed narrowed on you. After working with Marc and Steven all this time and having no documentation of this alter, you felt at a loss for words. He could be the kindest person you’d ever met, or he could be extremely violent, there really was no telling what he was capable of.

“That’s irrelevant,” you said. “I’m here to help you, Marc and Steven, that’s all that matters.” You paused to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, you asked, “What’s your name?” You decided to keep things simple for now.

He leaned forward. Your hand involuntarily reached for the alert button around your neck slowly.

“Don’t you push that fucking button, puta.” He warned, you watched his hand slide forward on the wheelchair arm menacingly.

Your fingers froze over the button, holding there while you determined if this was something you could handle yourself or not. The two of you were at another impasse. If you pushed that button, he was going to lunge, and if you didn’t push it in time in the event he was violent, he could really hurt you, or worse…

“I won’t push the button as long as you and I can have a civil conversation.” You spoke calmly despite the terror building within you.

The man appeared to consider this before he leaned back in his chair. You slowly dropped your arm to show compliance. If he was going to back off, then you could safely let down your guard. A thick silence split through the room, save for the ticking clock above the door.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just here to help. You can call me…” You told him your name. You’d found in your time as a therapist it helped your patients immensely when they felt like you were a peer, not a superior figure. “Alright, do you want to tell me why you’re here?” You asked, trying to keep your shaking voice as light as possible.

“Well…” he let out a snicker, “hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but if I’m here, that’s a bad sign.”

You were supposed to correct patients when they called you names like that, even they were expected to act more respectfully, but you didn’t want to agitate him further. If the worst thing he did right now was call you sweetheart, you’d consider that a win.

He scoffed, “tell me something…why do you smell like nuestra madre, hm?” He was clenching his jaw as he spoke.

You inhaled sharply, realizing you’d made a huge mistake. Your birthday was yesterday, and a friend bought you a new perfume. During one of the many trainings you’d done for your position, you’d been cautioned that certain scents could trigger some patients. Marc’s mother, Wendy…she must’ve worn something with similar notes. That’s why this alter was here. He was protecting the other two from the emotional pain that he thought you might cause. He’d pegged you as a threat.

You furrowed your brow and picked your pen up off the desk. You clicked it and started writing what he said on your legal pad. 

“What are you writing? Huh? You taking little notes about how crazy I am? Telling everyone how fucked up Marc is that he’s got three psychos in the same skull?” This new alter was intense, ready for a fight at every turn. You made a mental note never to wear that perfume again, and started scribbling more about the agitated man in front of you.

“I’m just taking simple notes. All the therapists do it. We have to.” You thought of something that might help him feel safer, “would you like to see them? We don’t typically show patients their notes, but if you ask for them I’m obligated to show them to you.”

It turned out that Jake Lockley did not, in fact, want to see the notes. 

The visit ended shortly after with security intervention. His smile turned manic as he got up from his chair and grabbed a pyramid shaped paperweight from your desk. He turned it around in his hand, the pointed edge facing you and you quickly pressed your emergency button with a look of terror in your eyes. Marc had never done anything like that, especially not to you. He knew you were there to help. This alter clearly didn’t trust you, and it was going to be a struggle to get him to come around.

Security sedated and removed him from your office. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that interaction. The way his eyes looked, so dark and different, eyebrows scrunched together in nothing but disdain. He looked feral, like a wild animal. As if given the opportunity, he might devour you whole. You’d decided to avoid making any official documentation about him. Marc was so close to moving to a less restrictive program, you didn’t want to ruin that for them until you knew more.

----

The second time you met Jake Lockley was a week later. You were in the middle of a conversation with Steven. Marc would sometimes dissociate when the conversation got too difficult, and you’d just finished talking about Marc’s time in the military. You were trying to figure out more about this other alter. You had a suspicion that he had been around for a while, and that last week wasn’t the first appearance he’d ever made.

You weren’t even sure if Marc knew about him. You cared for Marc and Steven. They’d made so much progress since first coming in, and you didn’t want to see them end up back in a maximum security mental facility. According to their chart, it took months before they finally stopped going on about the Egyptian moon god and being his ‘Moon Knight’. Not that Steven believed in it anyway, that was mostly Marc’s delusion. By the time they’d become your patient, those days were long behind them.

The purpose of Marc being there with you, in that facility, wasn’t to get rid of his dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d made it very clear that wasn’t something he intended to do. “Steven’s a part of me, we’re a package deal,” he’d said. He needed to learn to live with it, and function in society in order to be discharged, and that was his goal here. It was just within reach, too. If there was a third alter though, that would be a major setback for them. There was just no telling what kind of man he was.

You supposed that was why you’d broken protocol and kept the new alter out of your chart notes. It was completely unethical to do that, but you wanted to know if this was something worth keeping them in there for any longer. You saw no sense in extending his stay if this alter was just reacting violently to you out of fear.

“Steven, can you tell me something?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee between your hands.

“Sure, yeah.”

He always seemed happy to talk to you. You wondered if you were the only one there that treated him like he actually existed, and not like he was some imaginary friend of a mentally ill man. People could be so cruel, even in your field.

“I’ve been looking through your chart more recently, and one very typical symptom of DID is loss of time. Marc said he experienced it quite a bit when you would front, and you mentioned it happening during the last few weeks of you having your job while Marc had control of the body. You know…before the bathroom incident in London.” You strummed your fingers against the cup nervously, unsure if this line of questioning might help or hurt them further. “Have you or Marc…lost any time recently?”

Steven furrowed his brow, his mouth went a little slack while he tried to recall. He shook his head slowly. You could see him trying to think, to a point that his face dropped and he looked almost disappointed. A smirk curled at the side of his lip. Your blood went cold; it was him. The switch happened so fast.

“Hola, puta.” He said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You reached for the button quickly, but hesitated again. It was as if his eyes darkened, and his entire body changed. He wiped some spit from his bottom lip and tousled his hair a bit, straightening his posture.

“Marc must be sick of not having hair gel.” The unknown man commented.

You nodded, “he’s mentioned it once or twice.” You took a deep breath, “do I need this thing? Or are we going to talk like civilized human beings?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “that’s up to you. Last time I had a conversation with someone, they weren’t making cute little notes to share with their friends later.”

“Why do the notes bother you?” You asked softly, lowering your arm to the desk.

He looked at the floor for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to hang in the air. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated. His lips were pressed together tightly and he leaned forward. You shifted uncomfortably, but kept your hands from pressing the panic button.

“I don’t think those notes are particularly honest. Do you?” He tilted his head to the side. “What did you write about me after our little incident last week, huh?”

You were surprised at his ability to recall the time. You began to wonder if he’d been hiding in plain sight and if anyone else had noticed the changes in Marc’s behavior. What you still weren’t sure about, was what seemed to trigger this new alter. You’d been sure not to wear that perfume again. How long has this alter been around? 

“I didn’t write about your incident. The psychiatrist was surprised to hear that Marc had an unusual outburst during our session.” You laced your fingers over your knee. “I’d like to know more about you before I condemn Marc and Steven to more time here.”

You watched his entire body relax at that sentence. His purpose, as it would seem, was to protect the system. When things got scary, physically or otherwise, he would come out. He was in no danger now though, so why he was there now was a mystery to you.

“No notes.” He said firmly, stating his conditions.

“Fine.” You said, pushing the notepad to the other end of the desk. “Let’s just chat then.”

The sound of the clock ticking was deafening. A smirk played over his face again as he grunted and stood from his wheelchair. Your fingers twitched, but you were going to do everything you could not to touch that damn button. Ever since they’d been transferred to this facility, you wanted to help Marc and Steven so badly, and you still meant to do that. He walked up to the desk and held his hand out to you.

Despite your attempt at bravery, your body was trembling as you went to shake his hand. His handshake was firm, and surprisingly his skin was soft. Neither Steven nor Marc had ever touched you before, they just sat in the wheelchair like patients were supposed to. Something told you that this one didn’t care much for the rules or protocol. He turned and went back to his seat.

That was when you learned his name was Jake Lockley.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know, sweetheart?” 

His New York accent was much clearer now. He wasn’t unhinged by nature, in fact, he was quite calmly mannered, however he seemed easy to trigger. It was also hard to tell when he was upset. He seemed to mask his feelings behind a sly grin, brushing off any and every word with a sense of grit. It was like the man you’d met the week before, the one who looked like he might stab you, wasn’t the same one you were talking to now.

Steven had taken a while to sort out, getting him to understand and step into his role in Marc’s life. Steven would come out when Marc was experiencing something triggering, or generally upsetting. If the topic turned to their mother, Marc could talk for a little while before Steven would take his place. Steven had also struggled with understanding his existence. What did it mean to be an alter for a man with DID? The existential questions were still a struggle for even you to comprehend.

“Jake, tell me about what you think is going on here?” You were trying to be friendly, but you could tell he was a no bullshit kind of guy. If you could match his energy, you might be able to get some answers out of him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about you, and then I’ll tell you more about me.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against his knee.

You interlinked your fingers over the desk and sighed. It was against protocol to tell patients about your personal life. It could create a dangerous situation for you, and potentially trigger a patient. You wanted to get Jake to talk though, so you decided to play along.

“Fine…” you felt tense. No one had made you feel this way during your entire career as a therapist. “You start.”

He seemed amused. His face was cocky, as if he’d won a prize at the end of a game, and perhaps to him this was a game. You leaned back and tapped the arm of your chair anxiously, trying to keep yourself calm despite the weight crushing your chest.

“You married? No, I don’t see a ring.”

So he’s observant, you noted.

“Got a boyfriend then?” He asked, still looking smug.

“No.” You answered bluntly. The important thing with difficult patients like him was to hold your ground, and don’t give them any information they can use against you later.

“Okay, Jake, when Marc was in the Lennox maximum security facility he started some trouble with other patients. It’s also reported that he had no recollection of said events. I guess they should’ve spotted you then.” You looked at him, feeling a little cocky yourself after having done your research since your last session with Marc.

“That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“Was that you?”

“Si.”

Another pause. Jake rested his chin on his fist. His eyes narrowed, but his brows seemed to soften. He was relaxing, easing into the space. This was good, maybe you could get him to talk more freely.

“Do you wear pretty red lipstick for all of your patients or just for me?”

The heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it sounded ragged and shallow despite your best efforts to stay calm. He was being so bold. None of your patients had ever spoken to you like that, so flirtatiously. It still surprised you how different he was from Marc and Steven, despite sharing a body with them.

“That’s inappropriate.” You cleared your throat stiffly.

“Answer the question, bebita.” He demanded coldly. “Answer…or I guess we’re done here.”

“No, I wear this color often.” You answered in an equally cool tone.

“Looks good.” His eyelids lowered seductively. The heat in your cheeks was still burning.

“Uh…thanks.” Your nerves were breaking through the barrier you normally had in place with patients.

“Your turn.”

It was hard to think of another question. He’d rendered you speechless, which you supposed was probably his goal. He was sly, this one, crafty with how he played the game. Suddenly you felt like this was his office, and you were the one under the magnifying glass.

“When did you come about, at what point in Marc’s life?”

You really needed to take these notes, but you decided that it would get you nowhere with him.

“Some time when he was in the service. I don’t remember the exact year.” He cleared his throat now, he seemed to get uncomfortable at the mention of the traumatic event that led to his creation.

“You don’t like to think about that, do you?”

“You already asked your question.” His tone was no longer amused, and you sensed the game was over.

“I know you care about Marc, I do too. If you don’t cooperate with me then he’s never going to leave here.” You tried to play to his weakness, Marc, the only reason he existed. “I want to help him. Please.”

“I think we’re done here sweetheart, but I’ll see you again next time. Maybe wear something nice and we’ll see if I feel more talkative.”

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your appearance. When you got home you stood in front of your full length mirror, turning from side to side. You’d worn what you always wore to work: your white coat, with a solid colored shirt underneath, today you’d worn the blue one, and black slacks. Jewelry was something you were instructed to keep to a minimum given the nature of your profession.

What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought I looked nice enough, you thought.

You caught your own eye in the reflection and chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. Why did you care what your patient thought of your outfit? Your appearance had nothing to do with your ability to do your job. In a frustrated huff you fell into your evening routine, showering, brushing your teeth, changing into sweats and a comfy shirt before crawling into bed.

For the following week you hardly slept. This alter, this…Jake Lockley…he had a hold on you that you couldn’t explain. You started mulling over Marc’s notes in between patients, questioning all the incident reports that appeared exceptionally violent. There weren’t many, otherwise he would’ve remained in maximum security, but there were a few notable incidents.

When you saw Marc again, he had a broken nose. You’d received word earlier that morning that he’d had an incident overnight.

Patient Name: Marc Spector

DOB: 03/09/1987

Date of incident: ———

Date of report: ———

Incident Details: Patient exhibited hostility toward staff. Staff observed as patient seemed to become severely agitated by the sound of gunshots in a movie playing in the common area.

Patient began yelling nonsensically. Staff observed patient grab a pen and attempt to use it as a weapon to stab another patient. Staff intervened and sedated patient. Patient has no recollection of the incident.

No patients or staff sustained physical injury. Patient will be kept under sedation until further evaluation. It’s recommended that patient be evaluated for potential transfer back to the Lennox Facility.

You looked up from the paper and gave Marc a kind smile. He looked a little afraid, confused, and most of all he looked tired. That’s what got him here in the first place. The DID was minor, he had that handled all on his own, well before he was institutionalized. The insomnia is what caused Steven’s hallucinations, and that’s what caused his mental break that put him in front of you.

“Marc, the sheet here says–”

“I know what the sheet says.” He was embarrassed, that much was evident by his lack of eye contact and the way his lips were pressed together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah sure, I’d love to talk about it.” He said sarcastically. “Problem is, I don’t remember anything, but you should already know that, right? You read the papers.”

“You know that I care a lot about you and Steven, right? I need you to work with me. I want you out of here too. You’re not…insane like some of the other people I’ve seen.” You were speaking low. You weren’t supposed to talk like that about your patients, no matter how true it may be.

“I know…I know.” Marc’s eyes started glistening. “I think there’s another one… a third.”

You gulped, unsure if you should tell him about this new alter he knew nothing about. Marc was smart, smarter than you sometimes gave him credit for. He knew without you saying anything that there was something you were hiding.

“Doc.” Marc always called you that, no matter how many times you told him to call you by your first name. “What’s going on, what do you know?”

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…I’ve met another one, and I’m still figuring him out. I was waiting to learn more before I told you…or anyone else.” You realized you were squeezing your pen in your fist.

“What do you mean?” Marc was panicking, you could see his bottom lip quivering in his frustration. “There’s another one? How? When?”

He started to stand, his legs shook. You’d never seen Marc so upset before. He walked closer and pressed both hands on your desk, leaning forward.

“Who is he? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want…”

The shift in expression was subtle, but you could see it plain as day. The anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a suave smirk and furrowed brows.

“Hi sweetheart, nice outfit.” He said, tone much calmer than Marc’s was seconds ago.

“Jake.”

“Si, bebita.” His eyes crawled over you slowly, he even bit his bottom lip.

“Sit down.” You said firmly, pulling your white coat over your chest.

He shook his head, “no, I don’t think I will. Been a while since I’ve really been able to stretch my legs.”

He started to pace, stopping to look at some of the artwork and photos in your office. You remained silent, unsure of his next move, and not wanting to give him any fuel to add to the fire. He stopped in front of one photo. They were all generic, stock images that meant nothing, just random and placed there for decorative purposes. The photo he pointed to was of an old cab in a silver frame on the top shelf of your bookcase.

“You know I used to drive a cab. Years ago in New York.” He chuckled like he recalled something funny, “did you always do this…” he gestured around the room, “this therapy thing? Or did you have a different job before?”

“Jake, you know we need to talk about the incident, right? From yesterday?” You were trying to speak gently, hoping he would return the favor, but he was so unpredictable.

“I thought we had a deal, bebita. I ask, then you get to ask.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting a stray clump of curls fall over his forehead. He brushed his broken nose with his hand and winced.

“Fuck.” He touched the wound with his fingertip before looking at you, eyes cold.

“Jake, I know you care about them too, why are you hiding yourself from them?”

“No no no, I go first.”

He walked over to the wheelchair, released the brake, brought it closer to your desk, and then set it once again. You watched as he walked over and plopped down in front of you.

“You wore a nicer shirt than the last time I saw you. Did you dress up for me? I like that little skirt too.” 

A big smile spread over his face. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to pull it down as far as you could. Your cheeks burned, of course you didn’t wear that outfit for him…right? 

You recalled your morning. There were butterflies in your gut at the realization that it was Marc’s therapy day. That wasn’t the most unusual thing, you looked forward to working with some of the patients that you enjoyed talking to, and Marc was one of them.

What was different though, was the conscious effort to make sure your red lipstick was perfect, not one bit smeared or out of place. You’d worn a blouse that showed a tasteful bit of cleavage and in a color that complimented your skin tone. You even broke the rules a little and wore some earrings that dangled just a tiny bit…but of course you weren’t dressing up for the alter of a mentally ill man. That would be…crazy.

“I didn’t dress up for you.”

“Oh? So are you dressing up for Marc then? Does he know you–”

“My turn.” You saw his lip twitch. He seemed to like you snapping back at him. “Why are you hiding yourself from Marc and Steven?”

“They wouldn’t like me very much, sweetheart, I’m not a nice guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My turn.” He leaned back, spreading his legs out.

That’s when you noticed…the unmistakable shadow of arousal in his cloth pants. You gulped, eyes widening as you brought your gaze back to his quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just looking between his legs. He noticed though, without a doubt, Jake Lockley noticed you staring at his erection.

“See something you like?” His eyes were half hooded, a cocky smile spread over his soft lips.

“No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back, angling yourself so the desk was covering his bottom half from your line of sight.

“What did you do before you were…whatever you are?” He asked.

“My turn.” You said.

It was your coy way of reminding him that he had already asked you a question in an attempt to draw the attention to what was between his legs. He was amused with this game, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were too. If this was the only way to get information out of him, then you were happy to oblige.

“You said you’re not a nice guy. What are you then?” You narrowed your eyes at him. In anticipation of his quick witted remark you added, “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer. Honest answers only.”

He waved a finger at you, “I’ll start being honest the moment you do the same, sweetheart.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“No, no you’re not.”

Jake was gone after that, leaving you with a rambling British man who, ‘didn’t know how he got there’.” Steven cried when you told him that you were going to start seeing them twice a week. It was understandable, since he and Marc had been so close to moving down to a less strict facility just a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t have the heart to bring up Jake to Steven. Your obligation wasn’t to Steven anyway, it was to Marc.

You saw him again. Marc, that is, two days later. He scowled at you for a good five minutes before he finally started speaking.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth unless it’s about what’s going on in my head, doc.” Marc was mildly sedated again. 

His nose was healing, but it still looked raw and painful. You needed to help him. You needed to keep your interest in his alter at bay in order to assist Marc through this. That was your job. It was hard to understand what it was that made you nearly forget that. You were a therapist, your job was to help Marc Spector rehabilitate into society, and you were failing him by not being honest.

“Last time I tried to talk about him with you, he made an appearance.” You clicked your pen over and over anxiously, unsure how the rest of this could possibly go.

Marc was clearly agitated, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. You often tried to put yourself in the shoes of your patients and thought about how you would feel if you’d just heard someone was taking over your body to do as they wished without your knowledge. Especially if it seemed like that person was doing nothing but harm to you.

“I think he cares about you, that much I can tell.” You tried to give him some sense of comfort with that one thing you had figured out about Jake. “Typically in cases of DID, the alters play a role in protecting the mind of the original in some way. Typically.”

“How is starting fights and nearly getting us sent back to max supposed to help? Huh?” You could see his chest heaving the more upset he got.

“You need to stay calm, you becoming agitated seems to be a trigger for him.” You warned, holding up your hand and lowering it slowly, as though that was supposed to help Marc in any way. “Remember? We talked about this. Deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Then again.

“There you go.”

“C-can you, can you help me with this damn…” Marc reached behind his back, “my tag is just…it’s itching and…”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, standing up and walking over to him.

You leaned over him, reaching behind his neck and gently tucking in his tag. Marc, being one of the more hygienic patients you worked with, smelled nice, like fresh linen. You caught yourself with your face a little too close to his dark curls before you broke yourself from your trance. By the time you leaned back, you weren’t looking at Marc anymore. Jake.

For your own safety, you should’ve run back to your desk immediately, but you didn’t. He reached out quickly, grabbing the badge and security button around your neck. Jake tugged quickly. The straps had safety-release buckles on them, in case a patient tried to choke you, and the lanyard was pulled from your neck. He tossed it to the side carelessly.

“Jake, be careful, if you hurt me-”

“Bebita, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jake said, grabbing your jacket collar.

He pulled you close, leaning up to kiss your crimson painted lips. For a split second, you rested there, enjoying the feeling of his exceptionally soft lips against yours, but only for a split second. You pushed him back and gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You were flustered, scrambling to go grab the items Jake had thrown, but you made the grave mistake of turning your back to a patient. Another thing you’d seemed to forget about your safety training in your flustered state. He was behind you faster than you could think, right hand snaking down to pull up your skirt and feel around for your cunt, the other was wrapped around your throat, pulling you against him tightly. You stiffened, but you were ashamed to say that you didn’t struggle very hard.

“Got you right where I want you, sweetheart.” He said between heavy breaths.

“L-let me go.” You said, feeling terror, mixed with excitement, trickling down your spine. “If you do something stupid, you’re only going to hurt Marc and you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you until you want me…and you will want me.”

His middle finger grazed over your pussy lips through your cloth panties. You were wet, you could feel it when he pressed them against your skin further. You gulped against his thick fingers, still wrapped around your throat, before wriggling against his chest, a feeble attempt to get away.

“You sure you don’t want me already?” He kissed your neck softly, and a single damned moan escaped from you before you could stop it. He chuckled, “course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jake dropped his hand out from under your skirt. A sigh of relief left you, but he kept his other hand firmly against your throat. He reached into his pocket and held out on his fingertips a single paper flower. You furrowed your brow in confusion. Finally he released you, to which you reached your own hand up to rub where he’d held pressure over your neck. You turned to him, but you never took your eyes off the little flower. 

“What is this?” You asked.

“Can’t exactly run out to the store and buy you flowers now, can I?”

Now you looked at him, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Was he…was he seriously trying to court you? Your breath caught in your throat. He had looked at you with clear attraction on several occasions. Him acting this way shouldn’t be overly surprising, and yet you were left speechless.

“You…I don’t understand.” You were scrambling to find the words to say.

“I think you do, you’re a smart girl.” He flicked the flower. You watched as it landed perfectly on the corner of your desk. “When you’ve changed your mind…you just say the word. I know how to keep a secret, bet you can too.”

He was close to you again. This time you didn’t even try to stop him when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Were you leaning in or was he? You were close, ready to taste him again.

“Erm, what the…”

Steven. Oh shit, STEVEN.

“Steven!” You jumped back in a panic, feeling your cheeks light on fire.

“Sorry! I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hands on you. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole thing of me not being…well…me all the time. I still lose time and I don’t know what’s happenin’. Oh god, was it Marc? Did Marc touch you?” Steven was panicking, his eyes were blown wide and his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

“No, Steven, it’s alright, I’m fine. I just…I dropped something and…um…today’s session is over you can go.” You started walking over to grab the lanyard Jake had thrown earlier from your neck.

“Are you sure? It’s only half past I don’t want to-”

“Go!” You yelled, leaning over to grab the lanyard from the floor.

----

By the time you saw Marc again, you felt like you were the one that needed to be mildly sedated and institutionalized. You couldn’t get Jake out of your head. Was it the kiss? You could still feel his phantom lips on yours. Was it the way he brushed his fingers against your soaking panties? The moment Steven left after your meeting with them last week, you plunged your fingers two knuckles deep into your drenched cunt until you achieved release.

You still didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

Your license was on the line. The responsible thing to do would be to insist that Marc start seeing a new therapist for his condition. You clearly were unfit to help him at that point, far too affected by his alter’s presence. The thought upset you though, that you might never see this mystery man again. You had to at least try to get through one more session, to prove to yourself that you could handle it…to prove that you were a good therapist.

Marc was wheeled in and put in front of you by security. He looked upset, like he had last week when you finally told him the truth about the gaps in his and Steven’s memories. You supposed you owed him some sort of explanation now. You only hoped you could get through it this time without interruption. If you could get through this one last appointment with Marc, you’d follow through with getting him to another therapist.

“I expect that you and Steven understand why I had to keep him from you…right?” You asked softly.

Looking at him was difficult. When you looked into his eyes, you had a hard time not thinking about Jake, and the way he made you feel. It didn’t make sense how he captivated you that way. He was interesting, mysterious, and dangerous. Was that it? Was he a reprieve from your otherwise boring and mundane life? Was it the way he clearly wanted you? He was so cocky, so confident. He quite literally took your breath away.

“Yeah, I know.” Marc said finally. You watched his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do.”

He was crying. Marc didn’t cry often, and usually when he did, Steven would take over immediately, but the alter didn’t seem like he was working his way out. You wondered if Steven was still upset at you for yelling at him the other day.

“I can help you, but…we need to keep this a secret.” You were speaking in a hushed tone. “If your psychiatrist finds out about him…you’ll never get out of…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. A dark thought crossed your mind.

“Doc?”

You froze in thought. A smirk crept over your lips. If Marc’s psychiatrist thought he had another alter…then they’d be there…well…forever. There was no reason you couldn’t get yourself transferred to maximum and do your work there if worst came to worst, but you suspected Jake was crafty enough to keep them right here. He could keep them insane enough to still need your care, but too sane for a place like Lennox.

If you managed to keep them there, you and Jake could see each other whenever you decided Marc needed an extra session. It would be so easy for you to make sure Jake could take you whenever he wanted, fucking you until you screamed his name while he filled you over and over. It was too much, the need overcoming you with every second that ticked by.

“I’m ready.” You looked deep into Marc’s eyes. “Jake.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell is wrong with you? Is that his name? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You caught your reflection in the desk, you looked fucking crazed. Your eyes were widened, hungry, and full of need. Who was this woman staring back at you? You hardly recognized her. You touched your cheek, feeling the heat at your fingertips. When you shifted in your seat you could feel the slick permeating your panties.

Clammy sweat stuck to your fingers, and your mouth felt dry. You were breathing heavily. Was it hot in there? Taking off your jacket didn’t help. Marc was talking to you, checking in on you so kindly, but you didn’t care. You felt feral, like you were reverting back several steps in evolution and you only wanted one thing, to fu–

“Doc?!” He yelled, breaking you free from your plaguing thoughts.

Your insanity riddled eyes shot up to look at him. He looked afraid. Not afraid of you, but for you. You gulped and took in a deep breath before finding the words to say.

“I-I’m sorry Marc, I haven’t been feeling like myself.” You took another deep breath, trying to shake the crazed thoughts out of your mind. “I think I’m going to be sick, we have to reschedule.”

----

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a new therapist. You know you have that right.” You sighed, “I’m also surprised you didn’t report me for keeping things from you.”

It had been two weeks since you saw Marc last. After your episode, you canceled all appointments for the next couple of weeks so you could reset. It had taken the first couple days of your break for you to recenter yourself and feel more like…you. After that you’d started to feel better, but you needed to keep yourself separated from them for just a little while longer.

“You stuck your neck out for Steven and myself more times than I can count. Figured I could do the same for you.” He gave you a comforting smirk. “I know you want to help…but I can tell that this…Jake guy…he’s got you riled up.”

You breathed deeply, “yeah, he really…really got into my head. He seems to be triggered by things like certain smells, colors, and sounds. He says his first memories come from your time in the marines.”

Marc clenched his jaw and looked down. You wondered how hard that must’ve been for him, being discharged from the marines and never really knowing why until now, many years later. He looked back up at you. He really was handsome, despite your best efforts not to look at them that way, but he would never compare to Jake, even if they shared the same face.

“Tell me more about him.” Marc demanded.

“He’s…” you thought for a moment, “he’s harsh, rough around the edges, you know? Doesn’t like your hair gel.” You had to stop yourself from smiling like a fool at the thought. “He knows how to make origami flowers.”

You gestured to the flower that still sat on your desk, right where you’d left it before your break. Marc leaned forward on his elbows.

“What else? Steven said he was very…very close to you when he started fronting a couple of weeks ago.” Marc was pressing.

“He…he kissed me.” You hadn’t wanted to admit that to anyone, especially not Marc. “I think he was going to kiss me again but then Steven came in.”

He stood and walked over to your desk. He was looking at you with such intensity. His brows were turned up and drawn in together. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“What else did he do?” Marc’s voice was low, and that was when you realized that something was off.

You were being played with.

Your lips parted, and you stood up suddenly. It was like the entire mental health break you took meant nothing the moment you saw that face. You had a one track mind around him. You could only think about one thing. You took your lanyard off slowly and placed it on the desk softly. Your heels clacked as you stepped around the corner and stopped at the edge, keeping a respectable distance between you and your patient. Every nerve ending in your body was coming alive.

“He touched me.” You said just over a whisper.

Jake stepped closer to you, just one step.

“Where?” You both stepped closer to each other. “Show me.”

You paused, feeling that weight on your chest once again. You were shaking with anticipation. He was terrible, taunting you like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeding into it. Despite taking the time off to reset, and move on from this mental dilemma, the second you realized you were talking to him, and not Marc, you were excited beyond words. He had such a strong hold on you, and you were quickly realizing that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. His skin was so soft. You lifted your skirt up over your hips, never letting your eyes leave his, and then you pulled his hand to your already soaked panties. Jake’s face finally broke, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He lowered his lids to gaze at you.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I told you I was ready?” You looked between his eyes rapidly. “I thought, maybe I’d made you up or…that you’d forgotten about me.”

Jake grabbed the back of your neck quickly and pulled you in tight. His fingers slid under the waistband of your panties and slipped over your clit. When you gasped at the sensation, Jake closed his mouth on yours. There wasn’t a single thought other than Jake occupying every bit of your mind while he melted himself into you and started swirling his finger around your swollen nub.

“I couldn’t forget you, sweetheart, not when watching you get all flustered over me has been so entertaining.”

“I’m not…not flustered.” You sounded like you had no air left in your lungs. Your hips slid forward over his fingers involuntarily.

“You’re not?” He leaned closer, lips brushing yours just barely.

Something inside you broke through the fog of your arousal, reminding you how wrong this was. As if you’d been awoken from a deep trance, your eyes shot open, glaring at his.

“No…no!” You pulled back, the waistband of your underwear snapped against your skin as you stepped away from him. “I could lose my license…I could go to prison.”

Jake kept his eyes on you while he stuck the two fingers he’d slipped into your panties into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Tan buena, bebita.”

You ran your hands down your face while looking him over. There was a prominent peak formed in his pants, testing the strength of the seam. You felt your core flutter at the sight. You’d never struggled with shortness of breath, but he had you pressing a hand to your chest, desperate for more oxygen.

“Thought you said you were ready.” Jake still held a sly smirk on his face. “That’s alright, I can be patient, you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t, no. Stop doing this to me.” You walked back around and sat at your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you get that wet for all your patients?”

You picked a spot on the white-washed wall and stared at it. Your jaw was clenched, and you started tapping your finger against your arm nervously. You couldn’t ignore him, he wasn’t just going to leave, and you still needed to find a way to help Marc and Steven.

“Do you at least want to know what I think about when I’m fronting at night when Steven and Marc think we’re asleep?” You saw him shift in his seat out of your peripheral, but you kept your eyes on the wall.

“No.”

He chuckled. Jake certainly loved to toy with you. He also didn’t seem interested in the fact that you declined to hear his thoughts.

“I think about how good those delicious red lips will look when I stretch them out. I don’t even know if you could fit all of this in your mouth, what do you think?” He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them down under his balls.

Your eyes shifted, for only a second, and you found yourself staring wide. He had his cock caged in his fingers. It was big, bigger than any you’d seen before. You gulped. This was the point that you were instructed by your training to call for security to get him out of there, but instead you just kept your arms crossed firmly and watched.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He repeated a question he’d asked you once before.

“Stop this.” You said with little conviction.

“You’ll have to call security if you want me to do that.” He dragged his fist upward over his length, “so if you want Marc to get in even more hot water, go for it.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down while he worked on himself and biting his bottom lip with another firm stroke. He looked up at you, smiling when his eyes locked on to yours. You averted your gaze to your spot on the wall once again. 

“Thought a lot about how wet you get, bebita.” He groaned while he stroked. “How wet you are right now.”

You clenched your thighs together tightly to ease the ache between your legs. All you could feel was the wet slick of your panties sliding around. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to openly admit it, or to act on it. Your career, and perhaps your life, would be over. 

“Could be our little secret.”

You looked at him again. He moaned, letting his jaw go slack. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. You watched, shamefully, entranced by the way his hand would glide lazily over his thick cock. His free hand grabbed the arm of the wheelchair tightly, knuckles turning white. You were shocked to feel a trickle of drool crawling down your chin. You quickly wiped it away.

What’s happening to me, you thought, you’re his therapist, this is unethical, you should call security right-

“You know sweetheart…” Jake dropped his gaze back on you, and you stared back, “my favorite thing to think about is how good that tight little pussy will look around me, swallowing me whole.”

The lightest exhale left your mouth, and of course he heard it.

“I’m only tolerating this for Marc’s sake.” You reminded him.

“Is that what you’re going to say when I’ve got you bent over that desk?”

He stood and walked over to the desk, dropping his cock with a thud on the smooth white surface. You looked away quickly, but through your peripheral you could see him place his palm firmly over his length and start rutting against the desk.

“Just think about…fuck….how hard I’m gonna fuck you.” The desk scraped over the floor with the thrust of his hips. You braced your hands against it and looked up at him again. “Still not too late, I can take you right now. Just come around here and bend over for me. Lift up that pretty little skirt. It’ll be quick.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head slowly. This was against everything you thought you knew. No patient ever had this effect on you. Why him? Sure, Marc was attractive, but you’d never felt like this. You were staring again, looking up at the harsh faced man and then tracing your eyes down to his cock while he fucked his palm against the desk.

“There you go, bebita, you thinking about how good it’s gonna feel too?”

You were thinking about how good it would feel, to have him bending you over the desk. You hoped he could fuck you so hard your hips bruised. He was so big, he was sure to stretch you beyond your limit. He’d fill you so full his cum would be dripping out of you for days. The thought alone was enough to make the arousal pool in your core.

You looked away from him again, focusing on the wall, but that didn’t stop the breathy and hardly audible moan that left you. This was out of control, you were out of control. He groaned again, forcing your gaze to return to him. He started moving faster. You noticed precum leaking from the head, glistening over the desk.

“M’bout to come, you sure you don’t want this load? Worked it up just-for-you.” He grunted with each thrust. “Fuck.”

He stopped moving, but his cock throbbed, gushing ropes of cum all over the surface of your desk. A small glob dropped right in front of you. Your jaw dropped, and you rolled back in your chair, staring down at the mess he’d made. He tucked his cock back into his pants once he was sufficiently spent. When you looked up at him you noticed the proud expression on his face.

“Better clean that up before anyone sees it and thinks Marc’s gone insane, jerking off in front of his therapist.” You scowled at him before grabbing some tissues out of the box on your desk and starting to clean up the mess with a clear air of aggravation around you.

“You’re disgusting.” You muttered.

Your body was betraying you though. No matter how disgusting you insisted he was, you wanted him more than you ever recalled wanting anything before. It made no sense. You cleaned up the mess, trying to keep your fingers from touching the sticky cum spread all over. You felt the heat in your cheeks burning you alive, knowing he was watching you. When you finally cleaned up the last bit, under his watchful gaze, you looked back up at him, tossing the last tissue in the waste bin.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to yours. You thought he might try and kiss you, his lips were right there. You even saw his eyes dip to look at your mouth before going back up to look at you. You leaned in a little too.

“That’s a good girl.”

----

You were a mess.

He’d left your mind in complete disarray and he hadn’t even really touched you. After telling you that you were a good girl, he vanished, leaving Steven standing there in a state of confusion. You craved those words again…

Good girl.

I’m a good girl, you told yourself in the mirror before you left on the day you’d be seeing Marc again. You were wearing everything Jake ever said he liked on you. The striking red lipstick, the shirt that had a little cleavage, and a short skirt. The panties were unnecessary, and would only serve to get in the way. You were ready for him…truly ready this time.

You tried to give all of your patients the attention they deserved leading up to your appointment with Marc, but you didn’t care to hear anything they had to say. When you finally saw Marc again, you weren’t sure how you would react. Normally only Jake made you feel like you wanted to crawl out of your clothes and spread yourself on the desk like a buffet for his pleasure, but the line between him, Marc and Steven was getting blurrier by the minute. Even when it was sweet and innocent Steven fronting, you were struggling to keep yourself from soaking through your skirt.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of sorts.” Steven mentioned, looking at you with a concerned and furrowed brow.

“M-me?” You gave him a reassuring grin, “yes Steven, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. You were saying you and Marc have been feeling down lately?”

Steven shrugged, “yeah, been trying to figure out what’s going on. Marc says there’s another one…he’s like me but scarier. He’s mean.”

You nodded gently, “he’s terrible, yeah…” You had to catch yourself before you bit your lip. “You know he came up during Marc’s time in the marines?”

You stood up and started pacing, noticing the slick way your thighs slid against each other with each step. Nothing could be heard except for the clicking of your heels across the floor as you got closer to Steven. Normally a filter would stop you from antagonizing Steven and trying to mentally cripple him so the protective alter would come out, but your care for their safety had left with Jake the last time you saw him.

“I think I remember Marc mentioning that, yeah.” Steven looked nervous as you got closer to him. “S’not like you to get up and start roaming about, you feelin’ alright today?”

“I feel fine.”

You walked to Steven’s right, touching his shoulder and looking down at him. His eyes peered into yours. He still looked too soft and sweet to be the man you craved. You needed to push a little harder. You needed to scare Jake out, because it was clear that he wasn’t coming out on his own.

“It was probably scary, wasn’t it? Finding out that you were responsible for killing so many people?” Your voice was low while you spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember a lot of it, but just think about it.”

“What are you–”

“Come on Steven, that’s gotta be scary, right? Thinking about how scared those people must’ve been?”

“That wasn’t me though, that was Marc, I didn’t do that I didn–”

“But you did.” You were smiling like you were enjoying this. You weren’t, but you were excited for Jake, you needed him. “What about your mother? Hm? Remember how sad you were when you realized you were talking to no one for months?”

“Why are you saying these things? What’s gotten into you?” There were the tears you wanted, starting to glisten in Steven’s eyes.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, peering deep into his eyes. If Jake was there, he’d see you. Surely, he’d come out. You wondered why he was still hiding from you.

“Jake, I’m ready, please, I mean it this time.” You felt your own eyes starting to water with desperation. “Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Steven looked at you, confusion splayed over his face, “have you gone completely mad?”

“Shut up, Steven.” You shook him, “bring out Jake, now!”

Steven grabbed your arms, “what are you doing?”

You shocked yourself when you pulled your hand back and struck him across the cheek. There was silence after that, Steven just stared at you incredulously. Something so out of character for you should’ve snapped you from your Jake induced trance but it didn’t. You were in too deep. Mentally torturing and striking a patient was grounds for, at a minimum, being fired.

When his eyes darkened and his lips curled up into a confident smirk, you knew you’d succeeded. There was no time to waste, you couldn’t risk him leaving you again. You grabbed his face on either side and desperately pressed your lips to his. Jake moaned into you, standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you in close and entangled his tongue with yours. He tasted so delicious you could hardly stand it.

“You sure you’re ready, bebita?” He said while you both separated for a second to catch your breath.

“Yeah, yes please, can’t get you out of my head.” You tasted something salty when you went back in for more kisses. You were crying, tears of a needy desperation you thought you were above…until you’d met Jake.

“Good, gonna give you exactly what you need sweetheart, bend over for me.”

You looked at him. He was so fucking handsome, looking back at you with those inexplicably dilated eyes that were akin to the hungry eyes of a predator looking at his prey.

“Anything for you, Jake, I’ll do anything. I need you so bad.” An audibly shameful sob left your throat.

“I know, cause you’re a good girl, si?” He had that cocky smirk splayed over his face.

Your mind stopped working when he said that. A slow nod of affirmation was all you could afford him in response. Jake spun you around and placed a firm hand over your back to slam you onto the desk. He teased you first, trekking a single finger up your skirt and gently tugging it up over your bare ass. You heard a dark snicker leave his lips.

“You are ready, aren’t you sweetheart? Look at that.” His finger touched between your pussy lips, rubbing over your folds and brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck, been ready for a long time, please don’t tease me, fuck me please.” You begged. Any bit of dignity you had left went out the window when Jake had taken Steven’s place.

“Not yet…” He groaned as he continued to play with you.

Everything seemed to be a game to Jake, even this incessant teasing that drove you closer and closer to insanity. You shifted your hips, desperate for him to touch that burning bundle of nerves that he somehow managed to keep ignoring. It was right there. Maybe he didn’t know where it was.

“Right there!” You shouted when he brushed over it again.

“I know exactly where it is, sweetheart, but I need you to be a good girl for me and let me have my fun, okay? Been waiting a long time. Can you be good for me?” He asked in that suave tone that you couldn’t resist.

“Yes, yes I can be good for you.” You grabbed the other side of the desk and held on tight. When you squeezed your eyes shut you felt even more tears falling down your cheeks. You were such a pathetic mess for him.

“You’re so wet, been thinking about me all day?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you.” You admitted, pressing your lips together tightly to ease the ache in your cunt. Your body was so hot, all you needed was a release that only he could give you.

“Been a while since I’ve felt a nice warm cunt, but I’ve never seen someone so needy like you before.” His voice was gravelly.

You heard him fumbling with the waist of his pants followed by the prodding of his warm cock against your slick thighs. His finger was still toying with your crevices, teasing you to tears. You didn’t dare beg again, you didn’t want to make the torture last longer just for the sake of his own amusement. Jake slipped his finger inside of you. An aroused exhale left his lips at the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his digit.

“You’re tight, sweetheart, not sure you can handle what I’ve got for you.” He churned his hip forward, brushing his cock against the back of your leg.

“I can, I promise I can handle it.” Your voice was shaking, you were so distressed. “Please, I can do it.”

“Might hurt a little, I don’t know…” His tone was still teasing.

“I’ll do anything for it, please, Jake.”

He took out his finger, leaving you empty. The air was cool against the slick of your cunt. You felt as he grabbed his cock in his fist and dragged the fat tip between your pussy lips. You gasped, so close to getting the thing you’d been begging him for all this time. It was right fucking there.

“P-please.” You sobbed. Your knuckles ached from how hard you gripped the other side of the desk in anticipation.

Jake thrust forward suddenly, and you were full, stretched out over his cock beyond your threshold. You gasped followed by an agonizing whine. Jake moaned loudly behind you while he started thrusting slowly, resizing your walls to fit his wide girth. Both of his hands landed on your hips in a bruising grip.

“This what you wanted, bebita? Fuck, it’s good…tell me. Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s good, Jake, better than…mmmJake-”

You couldn’t speak properly, even to tell him that the way his cock felt splitting you open was better than any of the daydreams you’d had over the last several weeks. Jake’s hand was heavily pressing against your back, pushing you harder into the desk. Your cries grew until they were filling the office. You were thankful for the white-noise machine outside of the door that muffled them.

“Tell-me-how-good,” he demanded between thrusts.

“Best…best I’ve ever–Jake I can’t.”

“Come on, I know you can do it. You’re a good girl, right?”

“It feels so good,” you said in a primal growl. Drool slipped out of your mouth and onto the desk. “It’s so…so good I can’t…fuck…I can’t stand it!”

Jake pulled out of you, and for a moment you felt disappointed. You turned around to see why he’d do that, but he just looked at you, scanning your body with his lust ridden eyes.

“Get that shirt off, take it all off.” He demanded.

You were too quick to comply, moving so fast that under normal circumstances it would’ve been embarrassing. This wasn’t normal though. The way you felt wasn’t normal. Jake watched you every step of the way while you undressed, ripping off your clothes like they’d wronged you and throwing them aside quickly. 

He pulled you in once you were done and told you, once again, that you were such a good girl. Your body tingled with his words. He lifted you, setting your bare ass on the cold surface of your desk. He used a firm hand to force you onto your back. Jake put one leg up on either shoulder while he lined himself up with you.

He thrust into you again, and immediately both of your hands gripped the edge of the desk for stability. One of Jake’s hands, the one that wasn’t squeezing your hip for leverage, reached around your leg and he started rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around him in response and you tossed your head back.

“Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart, love seeing the way you look at me.” He urged, smirking at you when your eyes met with his once more.

You bit your lip so tight you thought it might bleed. Tears ran down your cheeks in streams that you weren’t even trying to control anymore.

“So pretty when you cry.” He commented.

Jake continued to circle his thumb over your clit while he fucked you faster. You felt your body trembling with your impending orgasm. You were so close to feeling that sweet release you craved at his hands. You’d been so good trying to resist him all this time, you deserved this moment. At least that’s the delusion that had overcome you.

“No holding back now, gonna fill you up sweetheart. Is that what you wanted? Me to fuck you full of my cum?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes glistening while you gripped the desk with all your strength. His thumb kept rotating over you, drawing whining gasps from your lips with every pass. You felt your cunt flutter around him as you got closer. Your mind started to go white, no thoughts other than Jake’s cock fucking you relentlessly.

“Fuck…hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart, cause I’m gonna…gonna-fill-you-right-up…ahhh!”

Jake’s cock gushed inside of you, stretching you further with every strong throb. You lost it, becoming a drooling and crying mess while your thoughts ceased. You came in crushing waves over his length, draining him of every last drop you could. He noisily kept fucking you through your orgasm until his pace slowed to a stop. The room became quiet again, except for your heavy breathing and the clock ticking.

“I need…tissues.” You could hardly speak but you managed to get that out.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Jake pulled out of you and quickly dropped to his knees.

You gasped when his mouth closed over your cunt. He was slurping, collecting both your juices and his own in his mouth. When he stood back up, you didn’t know what he had planned. He hadn’t swallowed yet. He leaned over, dropping the mess on your chest. You thought he was done, but he knelt back down for more. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, but he went in again. You felt his finger slip into your hole, hooking and dragging along your walls to bring anything in there into his mouth. Again, he stood up and deposited the mixture onto your breasts.

“Ready for more, bebita?” He pressed a hand to your chest, smearing the combined liquids over your skin.

You stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded slowly. It would seem he had an unusually short refractory period. Jake was pressing his cock against your hole once again. He thrust himself into you, stretching you out once more. It felt just as good, if not better, the second time.

“Gonna cover you in my cum, sweetheart, make you all mine.” He said hungrily, spreading the mixture over your tits one at a time.

He gave extra attention to your nipples, brushing them with his thumb. He continued fucking you while he did, commenting on your sweet whines and how much he adored them. Jake never stopped surprising you with the way his mind worked. Your entire torso was coated in his cum, your cum, and copious amounts of spit. He never slowed his pace, but he leaned forward and dragged his tongue from as low down on your stomach as he could reach, all the way up to your mouth.

The combination tasted sweet, salty, and like something that only you and Jake could make. His tongue tangled with yours in desperate sloppy kisses. When the taste was gone, you craved more, you begged for it.

“More Jake…give-me-more,” you said between breaths.

He gave you a borderline evil smirk when he looked down at you.

“Anything for you, bebita.”

Jake went back down to your side with his tongue, dragging it up your torso and stopping over your cum coated nipple. He got stuck there, sucking deeply and moaning. Drool trickled down the side of your breast. You arched into his mouth, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud scream that nearly left you. You looked down, Jake peered at you from under his lashes while he slammed into you harder.

“Feed me, Jake.” You begged, wanting to feel his lips on you again. “Give me more.” Your eyes were still watering.

He complied, bringing what was left in his mouth to yours in a flurry of passionate kisses. That sweet taste was there again, making your mind go blank with a feeling of ecstasy and comfort all blended into one. You felt like you belonged to him, like he was your everything, and the connection had been sealed in your combined body fluids and a kiss.

“Jake.” You said softly as he pulled back from you, “bite me. I want everyone to know that I’m yours. I want Marc and Steven to know that I’m yours.”

“That’s twisted, bebita. You want to scare them that bad?” He kissed down your jawline, working his way to your neck.

“I can’t let you go anywhere now, I can’t let them leave.” You explained, letting go of the desk to entangle your fingers in his dark locks.

“Wouldn’t leave you, even if they took me away.”

A sharp pain seared through your shoulder as you felt Jake’s teeth break through your skin. You winced and hissed, trying not to let your body shy away involuntarily. Even if your body did try to move against your will, Jake kept you close. You were still amazed at his ability to keep his hips rolling into you no matter what the top half of his body was doing.

You whined at the agonizing burn of his bite while he continued clamping his teeth into you harder. When he finally stopped, you looked at his face. His lips were glossy with spit and blood. You leaned up, kissing him, letting him make a mess of you even further. All you could taste was Jake and the metallic taste of iron. He pressed his forehead against yours and increased the pace of his hips.

“Gonna fill you up again. I don’t want you to be able to walk right.”

With a firm hand against your chest, he pushed you back onto the desk with a thud. You gasped as he fucked you harder than before. He reached his fingers up to your mouth, sticking two of them in there.

“Suck.”

You made Jake whine when your tongue started dancing over his digits. He tossed his head back for a second before looking back into your eyes with a dark and hooded gaze. His brow furrowed and his moaning changed to something more animalistic, less controlled. You looked up at him from under your lashes while making your muffled moans over his fingers.

“Hold-on-tight,” he said with each thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the desk with everything you could, feeling the white hot ropes filling you again with every throb of his thick cock inside of you. Once again, your eyes were rolling back, obscuring your vision while your body trembled from your orgasm over him. Your screams were still loud, though stifled by his fingers against your tongue. You were both a mess of heavy breathing while his thrusting slowed to a halt.

When he pulled himself out of you this time, you felt empty. You peered at the clock, it was nearly the end of Marc’s session. Jake stepped back, holding out a hand to you. He helped you off the desk before leaning his face into yours. He kissed you softly and then looked at you with a gentle expression.

“Will you come back?” You asked, feeling suddenly terrified that you may never see him again. You were sure you’d rather die than live in that reality.

“You keep me a secret and out of your little notes, and I’ll keep the boys crazy enough to stick around.” He winked at you, “I’ll be back in a couple days, try not to miss me too much.”

You were dressed before Steven was fronting again. He was sitting in the chair and grabbed his head the moment Jake went to the headspace. The last thing he must’ve remembered was you grabbing his shirt and slapping him. You’d fixed yourself up in the mirror as best as you could. You wiped the smeared makeup from your face, and what was left of Jake’s cum from your torso.

Steven touched his cheek, “you…you hit me.”

“Steven, bring Marc out. Things are going to be changing around here, and we need to have a chat.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!):

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @ninebluehearts, @burnincrown

[may-jailers-version]

The untold tale - a Lara Croft fanfic

So this is supposed to evolve into a Lara Croft x (fem) reader thing but I pumped this sort of intro (in the middle of the night instead of sleeping lol) and I want to see if ppl are actually interested in knowing more about this fanfic idea I’ve been having for months. As you’ll understand it’s also a lot about Lara’s mother (bc let’s be honest this woman is so fine and deserves some fine ass story of her own) and it is set shortly after the shadow events, so don’t expect lots of adventure at least in the beginning of the story. Pardon me if there is some inaccuracies regarding the video game I watched the play through a lil while ago (yes “watched”, I don’t have the money to play the games, sorry, I’m a poor student leave me alone 😭).

Even though the following text isn’t really “mature” rated, if I continue the story there will be prob adult themes so I’ll kindly ask minors not to interact with this post :)

Enjoy now I guess, and please keep in mind that English isn’t my first language (+ I wrote this sleep deprived) ; if you notice any spelling or grammar mistake, you’re welcome to let me know in an indulgent way in the comments. Any other kind of criticism, as long as worded kindly, is also very much welcomed!

TW : mention of death and loosing a relative

Lara Croft finds out about the passionate but gut wrenching love story her mother had with another woman in her youth : in her quest for informations, she confronts herself to what remains of this love story, and what could ensue of it. 

Or

What happens when the girl who wants to know more meets the girl who wants to forget ? 

Lara pushed the wooden panel still decorated by her own mother’s hand. The intricate scrolls of vegetation were faded in some places, the colours used had lost a bit of their brightness, but the spirit of Amelia Croft’s creativity and skills was still present. In fact, the whole room Lara was about to enter was still and always impregnated with the aura of the mourned and regretted mother and artist. That is probably why it was one of the first rooms the archaeologist was inclined to check after her return to the Croft Manor. 

3 weeks ago, she was done helping the people of Paititi in the Peruvian jungle rebuild and comfort their community. After days upon days  of giving more than a hand to the Mayan inhabitants, making amend, no, begging for salvation after all the wrongs she had caused, the call to home had finally hailed her. She had found her peace, somehow, seeing as the people of Paititi weren’t as resorting towards her as she was towards her own self. It had always been a wonder, how the people around her were not absolutely despising her after all the bad omens that had followed after her person. 

How could Jonah still be an infallible friend and partner after everything he has had to face because of her ? How could Joslin still speak to her after her daughter’s dad had been killed trying to protect her ? How had Sofia not shot an arrow between her eyes after witnessing her father die and the blood of so many of her people being spilled ? How could Unuratu’s people be so subservient towards her after what she had done ? 

The only time when shit seemed to have come back at her was when she had at last been forbidden from seeing Sam. There was not a week during which she didn’t think about her, about the brightness she brought to any room she entered, about the glow that used to dance in her eyes, about the softness that would envelop her skin, about the feeling of her arms wrapped around Lara’s waist. The vivid memories of times spent with what had probably been her first love, was probably the punition Lara was seeking every moment of her cursed life. The sinfulness of her existence could be purified by the aching provoked by her lover’s souvenir, and the feeling she had lost forever a part of herself. 

But today, Lara had decided to torture herself with the souvenir of another person. As she took some steps into the sunlit room, the wood under her life long partner rider boots cracked, and the floating dust twirled around her figure. Nothing had moved since the last time she had come here. This part of the house, much like the rest in fact, had been stilled, frozen into time, not as if its objects and furniture were waiting for their users to return, much like if the whole setting constituted some sort of mausoleum to the deceased that were once owners of this place. 

In this mausoleum of the matriarch, Lara was ready to bend and bow at the relics, reminders of the past, beholders of present nostalgia. So she stepped further, and let her eyes glide over the surface of the walls, of the tables, over the dryness of the paint buckets, the stillness of the brushes neatly stacked in clear goblets, or negligently sprawled on the floor. Her heart squeezed tightly when her gaze fell onto the unfinished canvas throning on its easel. A scenery, a lavender field in the french Provence, in the middle of which the faint silhouette of a woman holding down her hat could be deciphered, had been left incomplete by Amelia. 

Lara remembered what had pushed her mother to depict this specific landscape. It was some days after her mom and dad’s dispute, to which, unbeknownst to them, she had assisted, hiding behind the door of the office. Her mother needed to decompress, and found herself in her shed to practice her art in its most meditating form. But here she had been struggling to find inspiration, the conflict with her husband clouding her mind. That is when Lara had mentioned missing the sights of the southeastern french region of Provence, to which she wished to return soon. 

After her mother’s death, Lara never returned to Provence. She never got to see once again the azur blue sky, feel the wind as it brushes under a woman’s hat, smell the lavender fields her mom had been trying to captivate in her last moments. 

After some time freezing on the spot at the sight of the canvas, Lara decided to redirect her attention towards something else. The wardrobe. The same pastel green patterns of the room’s door were adorning the wooden structure of the piece of furniture. Lara pushed the clappers open, her eyes roaming its interior ; various objects were sitting on the different shelves, mainly paint brushes in other glass goblets, boxes full of paint tubes, argile statues deprived of any polychromy, some créations little Lara had made on her own. Her eyes settled for a wooden box littered with childlike drawings made of striking colours and her hand reached for the top shelf on which it had been sitting for years. 

After sitting legs crossed on the floor in front of the wardrobe, she opened the box delicately and instantly started smiling. In there were preciously conserved sketches, simple drawings that yet held bits of the Croft family’s intimacy. Pencil drawings of a chubby baby Lara smiling ear to ear, Richard reading a book to his daughter sitting on his knees, Amelia teaching her little girl how to paint… A time in which comfort seemed granted. A time in which emptiness and longing were unknown feelings to Lara. 

As her mind and heart yet again mingled with sorrow, her ruffling stopped at the drawing of a singular person. Her hand held onto the paper displaying the traits of a woman in her early 20s, a beautiful woman at that, but that she failed to recall. She must have missed the drawing during her precedent scorching, because such beauty in a woman’s face would have easily been remembered by the archaeologist. After some more contemplating, she flipped through the rest of the drawings, stumbling in the same time upon some of her own attempts of creation that her mother had kept as treasures. She finally put everything back in the box before closing it and getting up to stack it back right where she had lifted it. 

But when trying to push it in the back of the shelf in order to ensure its safety, she felt the box bumping against something hard. Intrigued, she tried to check what was constituting the obstacle, but found herself not tall enough to get a good view. Placing the drawing box upon a nearby table, she took a chair and climbed on it. Now she could see that there was nothing else than an other box sitting in the back, one she had never seen before. 

Gliding the box over to herself, she then picked it up to get a better look at it. Upon sitting it on the table, she noticed there was a lock to it, but unfortunately, no key in sight. She quickly looked around, scanning the room for any object that would be of help in her situation. She finally settled for some sculpting tool, a steel linear object with a pointing end that could easily be inserted in the little hole. After some seconds of struggle, Lara could hear the clicking sound of the interior mechanism giving up, granting her access to the content of this mysterious box. 

The felted inside revealed itself to be full of letters, written in a style that she didn’t recognise as her mother’s or father’s handwriting. She picked up the first paper, and unfolding it, started reading. 

“My dear Amelia, 

I saw you at the bar the other night. I saw you sitting right in the middle, legs crossed, chest proud, eyes piercing but oh so charming. There was only you for me, in this room, and I like to believe there was only me, too, in your own irises. My voice that evening, I hope, carried itself to your ear in order to let it hear the whisper of affection and longing. My melody, I wish, wrapped your heart in the most tender embrace. My words, I pray, have led your soul into a waltz into which each step is the remembrance of a dead poet. 

After the show, that night, your face has filled my dreams the same way my voice had filled the room. But I did not remember the clapping, the applauding, the whistling. All I could recall was how your eyes held onto my lips like the roses hold onto that morning mist. And what a rose you are to the world, what a bloom you are to me. 

Your last letter has lingered on me like a winter fur. Warm and reassuring, it’s all that keeps me from deflating by your absence on my side. Because you are like the sun to my harsh winter, only your rays can melt away the frost that the world impend on me every day. I get weary of anything foreigner to your sensuality. 

You can join me in my dorm by 9pm this Friday, where my eyes will survey the movement of the  clock sting, waiting for time to bring your physical envelope to my arms, as you know how your heart already and forever lies in mine. 

With deep and devouring love, Gabrielle.” 

Lara stayed still, frozen for the third time in a single hour. Her brain was processing what she had just read, her psyche fighting to accept the words that had been put under her eyes. Gabrielle… who was this Gabrielle ? When had she written and sent that ? Why was there so much passion in the way she spoke to her mother ? Clearly if the letter had been kept so meticulously in such a box, it must have meant a lot for the latter. 

Lara’s heart race fastened at those thoughts, her mind racing, questions fusing. Frantically she grabbed handfuls of letters and sprawled them onto the table surface, her eyes feverishly jumping from one piece of paper to the other, not knowing which one to pick next. There must have been at least 3 dozens of letters in this box, but upon emptying it, Lara’s eyes stopped on pictures stacked at the bottom. 

The first few ones were of a woman singing in a café displaying a 1920s look, a “année folle” aesthetic. Despite the picture’s quality not being the best, Lara could clearly spot a striking resemblance with the woman in the sketching. She flipped through the other pictures, where she could observe the woman’s trait more clearly, the latter being shot in different settings, at different moments, in different lights and angles. All of those pictures were showing a beautiful woman in her 20s, a captivating look in her eyes, and an almost bewitching smile adorning her face from time to time. 

And then, a vision that made Lara’s heart skip a beat. A picture of the same woman laying on her mother’s thighs in a minimalistic bedroom, the first looking up to the other looking down at her, both holding hands, both adorning a tender full and fiery expression for the other.  

Lara spent minutes observing the picture, her brows lightly furrowed, her stomach in knots, a strange sensation in her chest. She took the chair, put it back before the table and sat on it. She rested her back onto it, flipped the glossy paper to read at its back “I wish this moment had last forever, just you and me in this room, without the struggles of the outside” which was, this time, of her mother’s writing. Lara straightened her back and starting flipping the other pictures to spot any other indications and left messages. Behind one of the pictures of the woman singing in the bar, there was written “her voice like silk, her movement like water, her body like a dancing flame. She’s my angel.” 

A tear rolled down Lara’s cheek. What was all this about ? Why hasn’t she never heard of this ? How come her mother had experienced the same thing Lara had felt so shameful of in all her teenage years ? Had her father known about this ? And who was this woman her mother had loved so fiercely ? 

The curious spirit of Lara and her palpable need to know more about her lost mother drove her to spend the rest of the day into reading more of the letters, decipher all the pictures and try to find hints of this past love story in her mother’s art laying around the shed, attempting to reconstitute a puzzle to which half of the pieces were missing… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I need to find my ao3 password and stuff back so I can publish it on there. In the meantime, here some kind reminders :

🍉Keep getting informed on the situation in Gaza (Palestinian genocide) and share the story of unfortunate endangered families. 

🇨🇩If you can, donate to charities for Congo so that shelters can be built for families and especially women and children fleeing exploitation, mass murder, and SA.

🕊️Keep your eyes on countries which are currently suffering from imperialism such as Ukraine, Georgia, Armenia, Kanaky (New-Caledonia).

💙Boycott fast fashion brands like Shein (just one example) to protest against the exploitation of endangered ethnic groups in China. 🌧️Last but not least, stay HYDRATED, the world needs healthy activists ! ♥️

Happy pride to all also :)

[im-not-corrupted]

I was consumed by the idea of Merman!Hob in the last few days and now I'm writing a Dreamling fic about it so have a small, 1.7k snippet from the much larger fic :)

Includes: near-drowning, near death experiences, perhaps many medical inaccuracies because I am not a doctor and haven't edited yet, Merman!Hob, Prince!Dream and some light angst.

---------

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up at all.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped onto the ship. His mind had been occupied, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird. “Who are you?” he asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall having seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it made his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving the Prince's life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him blankly as though expecting something a little more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares at all in the moment—and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but seemingly unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who had a fish's tail.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and aching, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not. "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression entirely serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does.

Whatever energy let him carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearned for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever came first. He didn’t mind either way.

Then the merman spoke again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It took a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thought—and is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he said slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is, truly, an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from drowning.

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: HP Halloween Fest (Twitter) (Part 2)

HP Halloween Fest 2024:

Dia de los Muertos by RavenclawViking - M, 4 chapters - Three pages of notes, three nights, three rituals. Three chances to say goodbye to her parents. That was all she wanted to do. That was all she had left. The one where Hermione goes into the Forbidden Forest to summon spirits and Draco is the only one how notices

Where Wolves Fear to Prey by Motherofdogs18 - E, WIP - Hermione Granger is no stranger to hardship. But after more than two years of persistent, inexplicable symptoms, she is at her wits' end - no one believes her, and even her loved ones think it might all be in her head. When Hermione finally discovers what has been wrong with her, the truth is worse than she could possibly have imagined.

The Wonder of Wilful Witches by magicalsydney (magicandmanuscripts) - E, one-shot - On a night of trick-or-treating, Lyra Malfoy reveals her father’s appreciation for a certain curly-haired witch's yabbos. Hermione finds a new found confidence in Lyra’s confession and goes after what she wants– Draco Malfoy.

Snakes & Skulls by grangermalfoy07 - T, one-shot - As Hermione and her friends continue their eighth year at Hogwarts and a halloween party is planned! What could possibly go wrong? Relationships are no longer secret or are they?

REDACTED by ellieauthor - M, WIP - Welcome to REDACTED, the podcast about a podcast. This is my attempt to tell a story about the story that’s been told for us, the story we’d tried to tell originally. I'm not proud of how it was all handled, and I can't undo the harm caused. But this project is my second chance. An opportunity to get it right this time. This is Hermione Granger. As always, I am so, so sorry. //or: the dramione mystery podcast au

staked through the heart, and you're to blame by llcooljones - E, one-shot - “Why’d we stop?” panted out, on the last breath in her lungs. “Because, if we keep going like this, I’m gonna end up fucking you in front of all these people. And I figure, you probably don’t want that.” His words were rough as he kept eye contact with Hermione, his fingers stroking at her. or, a really, really sappy one-night stand between a shy girl and a kind frat boy that probably won't stay a one-night stand.

Skeletal Inaccuracies by slytherinsprincess02 - M, one-shot - Draco, Theo, and Hermione visit the US and take a trip to Spirit Halloween. While there, Hermione is faced with inaccuracy upon inaccuracy in the skeleton section, leading to a very annoyed witch, and two scheming wizards. [Draco x Hermione x Theo]

bitter devotion by pixydustworld - E, WIP - “Run.” Malfoy said slowly. She felt the weight of his voice in her bones, the bitter devotion to foreign obedience, the undying need to listen with paralyzing intention, “Don’t come back until I call you.” Hermione blinked and she was somewhere else entirely. A different clearing. A stitch in her side, her wellies caked in mud, a scratch on her arm, as if she’d been running through brambles without any intention of stopping — and distantly, she felt a pull. 

Soul Stealer by sodamnrad - M, one-shot - Trapped together in the Malfoy Manor greenhouse, Hermione is dying and Draco will do anything to rescue her.

Astronomy In Reverse by ohthedrarry - E, one-shot - Presenting as a Veela has, all things considered, been the icing on the metaphorical cake that has been Draco’s life. Not only has his family fallen from grace in every aspect that matters, but this new secret is more dangerous than the last had been. What is a potential life sentence in Azkaban when the alternative is a life as a registered creature, deemed second-rate and unable to make a life for oneself in any capacity? In an effort to pretend everything is just fine, his parents thought it best that he return to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year. And everything goes according to plan – until the Halloween Dance.

it’s a scream, baby by riddikulus_puff - E, one-shot - When Hermione Granger receives a mysterious phone call and finds that her friends are being killed, she suspects that a serial killer may be on the prowl, who is also linked to her mother's murder.

La Tua Cantante by elcieford - M, one-shot - During the war, while trying to heal Ron's splinching injury, Hermione was bitten by a vampire. With the venom slowly spreading through her body, she needs to make a choice - bite another human and drink their blood to complete the transformation, or die. Coming back to Hogwarts unveils a lot - she's not as alone as she thought & there's more at stake than just her growing hunger for blood.

The Taste of Her by slytherindiaries - M, one-shot - “Right. Well, I am a vampire.” He grins wickedly, showing off his own fangs. Hermione rolls her eyes. “And you thought my costume was ridiculous? You’re in trousers and an Oxford shirt.” “I’m in my human form.” “Vampires don’t have a human form,” she huffs. “Vampires aren’t real.” “You don’t think so?” “I know so.” She suddenly feels off-kilter, something in his tone or the way he’s looking at her makes her waver. “I’m afraid you don’t know everything after all, Granger.” He winks at her and heads over to join Zabini and Nott at the refreshments table, licking his lips as he goes, putting on a show at cleaning off the fake blood.

On Cherry Use & Pumpkin Juice by nissasxnotes - E, WIP - Hermione is tired of watching her friends pine for one another. With the annual Halloween party coming up, she hatches a plan to make her friends realize they have feelings for each other. She decides to craft an experimental love potion to give her friends a little push towards each other. However, when she accidentally adds too much of one key ingredient, something causes the intended effects of the potion to go very, very awry.

Tame the Beast by elliemess - M, one-shot - What happens when Pansy gives Hermione a Golden Goddess makeover and Theodore Nott creates an unregistered elixir that awakes the beasts within people? Welcome to a night of madness during Halloween Party at Nott Estate.

The Time Batshanks Walked Through Walls by telltale_signs - E, one-shot - Crookshanks sat on a chair near the buffet, wearily watching over the sweaty hustle and bustle on the dance floor. They looked pathetic in their costumes. Humans and their weird mating rituals. Why go through all this trouble, if a short serenade could get the job done way more efficiently. When he had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror besides Hermione’s wardrobe back in the room, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked ridiculous. Crookshanks has to wear a Halloween costume. He hates it. All the eighth-years are doing it.

Season of the Witch by its_nott_me - E, one-shot - Draco is a Prince. Far too easily, he is drawn in to the *dangerous* Forbidden Forest by a beautiful woman with some wild curls and a witchy temperament. And like Draco tends to do with Hermione Granger, he falls under her spell.

Monster Mash by DaddyDLM - E, one-shot - Samhain, All Hallows Eve, Halloween—no matter what it was called, the meaning remained the same to those who cared to learn. It was the night the veil between the living and the dead thinned and magic became its most potent. Or, the one where they all participate in Samhain sex magic.

This fest is ongoing.

[eating-plastic]

Headcanons: Maison Talo x Fem!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw, smut (minors and ageless blogs do not touch please and thanks), AFAB!reader, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), tentacles, overstimulation, light bondage, a bunch of other dirty stuff, lots of inaccuracies about Maison's anatomy (because with all due respects, I don't really care), probably some grammatical errors

A/N: So I've become super obsessed with Maison lately, so expect another headcanon (or fic) coming up. Besides, I gotta start pumping out some stuff while I still can since college starts up again for me in less than a month. Also, just a heads up, I take the easy way out when it comes to writing nsfw stuff with this old man. Soooo yeah, insert "let's just enjoy fiction warning" here because I really don't care lol. Anyways, that's all. Enjoy!

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

🏠-So here's the thing about Maison: Until you guys actually do the deed, his lust is kinda nonexistent

🏠-If you're someone that kinda just wants to dive head first into the topic, you're gonna have to talk about it with him

🏠-The other option is he catches you in the middle of giving yourself some "self love." To be quite honest tho, you should've known better. After all, if he tastes the food you drop and the drinks you spill, then you really should've known he was gonna taste the mess you were making

🏠-He quickly becomes addicted to your arousal btw. You're gonna get overstimulated to hell and back with each orgasm he pulls from you. If you let him, he'll make you cum multiple times on his fingers, tongue, and cock

🏠-Maison knows that humans have their limits and sex with him pushes you to those limits

🏠-He also quickly establishes himself as dominant in the bedroom. He absolutely loves the control he has over your body

🏠-Speaking of which, your body is like a work of perfection in Maison's eyes. You're his precious little tenant, he thinks you're flawless. He wants to see all of you, so you're often completely bare for him

🏠-Seriously, if you are insecure about any part of your body, he'll do everything in his power to quell those nasty thoughts of yours

🏠-He honestly doesn't think much about undressing himself, but he does find it amusing if you try to strip him. After all, he has such a handsome lure, it's only natural that you'd want to see more of it

🏠-Besides, he does think that the skin-to-skin contact is nice

🏠-Loves restraining you and having you at his mercy. Sometimes he simply does this by pinning your hands above your head with his own. But sometimes he likes to actually get his house form involved if you catch my drift ...😏

🏠-I'm talking about tentacles btw. Red, fleshy tentacles that bind your wrists, hold your legs apart, and manipulate you into any position that Maison wants

🏠-And I know what you're thinking: Can you get fucked by them? Absolutely! If you're into that, then of course they can fuck you in any hole you want

🏠-Besides, Maison likes getting a little show before he actually shoves his cock inside of you. Maybe he can see just how many tentacles can fit in that tight pussy of yours. One, two...maybe three

🏠-He's torn between which he likes more: when you're a brat so he can put you back in your place or when you're a good, obedient girl for him. I suppose it's just a matter of what mood the both of you are in

🏠-He doesn't really "get" you wanting to blow him. When he eats you out, it's a mutual thing; you get pleasure and he gets to taste your delicious slick. He doesn't really see what you get out of oral sex when the roles are reversed...not saying that he'll say no to head tho

🏠-I'm not sure where to put this so I'll just leave you with this idea: Maison likes to use sex as a means to help you unwind after a shitty day. You know, after gifts, cuddles, a massage, and an expensive dinner. If all of those don't seem to work, then why don't you just ride him til your little heart's content and you forget all thoughts about the nasty day you had

🏠-Whenever Maison finishes it's pretty intense, and I'm not talking about the feeling of his cum actually filling your cunt up (although that is amazing too). I'm talking about the fact that the fucking house literally shakes as if a small Earthquake just happened. Depending on how fucked out you are tho, you might not even notice it

🏠-When you two are finally done going at it (i.e. you probably tapped out if we're being for real), your body's gonna be sticky with sweat, your throat horse, and your clit so sensitive that anything lightly brushing against it hurts. If you think that Maison's just gonna leave you like that, then you are sorely mistaken. What do you take him for? He is a gentleman (...gentlehouse?), he's not gonna just leave his darling tenant like that

🏠-While he may be dominant in bed, this REALTOR's wrapped around your finger after the deed. Anything you want, you'll get. A bath, some water, some snacks, a massage, or maybe you just simply wanna cuddle. It doesn't matter what you need, he'll get it for you in a heartbeat

🏠-what can he say? He loves to take care of you ❤️

[yanderewritingdump]

I've read too many COD fics, and now I'm stuck on scary military dudes who use their skills/resources inappropriately to keep an eye on you.

AFAB reader, female pronouns/gender language used, MDNI.

AN: I would like to share that I know squat about the military/guns/technology, but I think they're neat in certain fictional setting. Most of my information on the world of COD/military on has come from either watching my brother play it more than a decade ago, unwillingly listening to various people rant, and social media thirst traps. Please suspend your disbelief and forgive any inaccuracies you may find.

It was too much of a habit to pull up the camera feed of your back porch, watching you rock gently as you diligently worked at what must be your latest project. Something was taking shape in your hands, but his knowledge of things outside of war and death tended to be a bit spotty. He thought it looked vaguely like a thin, holey scarf. It was the third color he’d seen you use in the last two weeks as you tried to teach yourself from the book next to your rocking chair. He wasn’t exactly sure what you were doing with the ball of twine and weird plastic tool, and he was pretty sure you were terrible at it from the way you grumbled and picked it. The breeze rustled some of the pages, lifting stray strands of hair into your eyes, before picking up and shutting the book gently on the delicate beaded chain that you had put together. That really got you muttering, and he huffed a soft laugh.

Your hair caught the light of the afternoon sun, shining and soft looking. The desire to run his fingers through it, to grip a fistful at the back of your head and pull you into his kiss thrummed through him. He wanted to suck your lip into his mouth for his teeth instead as you chewed on it in thought.

That was too common of a thought. You were always focusing intently on something, a million miles away as you gnawed on your poor lip and thumbs.

He shouldn’t watch you enough to know all these little details, to have all these little fantasies that are ingrained in him with simple habits of yours. But some nights it was the only thing to ease his troubled thoughts half a world away. He was just as addicted to you as his captain was to his cigars, and he was even less to give you up even if the others managed to find out about you.

It's hard not to notice a hulking man sitting in the far corner, no matter how much he blends in to the shadows. At least, it was hard for you and your friend where you were propped up on the bar with your drinks and dinner. When Caden spotted him, he nudged you in the ribs, not so subtly nodding at him as the normal Thursday night crowd milled around you. "Aren’t you in the market for a fun time?" he teased, “because that looks like a fun time.”

You elbowed him back harder in an attempt to hide how flustered you were. "Shut up," you hissed. You risked a glance towards the far corner table, the second of what would probably be at least a dozen more as the night went on. Even in the dimmest part of the bar, he seemed massive, sprawled out with his arm slung over the back of the chair and his legs spread wide into the aisle as he slowly sipped his liquor. The fuck-off vibes radiating off of him were clear even from this distance. “I don’t think he’s looking for company tonight anyway,” you said with a little disappointment. Caden rolled his eyes at you, and it devolved into your familiar bickering as he tried to convince you to approach him and you grumbled at him for trying to live vicariously through you.

He rarely indulged himself in these little trips to see you in person when he wasn’t on a mission. It felt too risky. He shouldn't be seen frequenting the same places as you, staring at you for hours on end. Normally, he wouldn’t even let himself be seen, but something was making him either bolder or stupider when it came to decisions about you. How was he supposed to resist pressing you into the cheap lacquered wood of the bar and leaning down to breathe in the smell of your hair and perfume? How could he not see if your hips felt as good in his hands as he imagined they would? It would be impossible not to press against you and see what sort of sounds you'd make with his lips pressed against your throat.

But he liked catching you looking at him, lip caught between your teeth for a brief moment as you flushed and looked away. Maybe if he were a different person, a more normal person, he could buy you a drink and flirt with you. Instead, he had camera covering every inch of your home and more than one pair of your underwear hidden away in his belongings.

The others would laugh at him if they saw how he was almost drooling over you.

You were in a heated conversation with your friend, heads close together as you whispered intently back and forth before he seemed to have to last word at the way you angrily got off your stool. From his spot, it was easy to tell which profanities you were hissing at him as you grabbed your drink. He was amused by it all for a moment until he realized you were tentatively approaching him instead of finding a different chair for your friend's partner, as was generally expected of this frequent ritual.

He knew what he looked like. A giant of a man drinking alone in a dingy, poorly lit bar did not generally get any positive interest. Apparently, you were braver than he gave you credit for. As badly as he wanted to actually interact with you, he wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to reign himself in if you tried to flirt with him. He really didn’t want to have to turn you down. If his pretty girl wanted him, he would let you have him because he had no self-control when it came to you.

Maybe that’s why he ended up letting you flirt with him and buying you another drink. It was definitely why he let you lead him to your home, pretty, soft hands occasionally reaching back for him in the cool winter air as you giggled at his terrible jokes.

It made you seem even more like a dream than you already did.

He let you hook your finger around his, leading him into your cozy, two-bedroom home. He knew all about it, had access to all the cameras that your parents and family friend insisted you setup around the older home, and had even set up other cameras to cover the blind spots you had missed. Knowing all of that was different than you leading him by the hand inside.

Not that you knew what you were inviting inside your sanctuary.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to press you against your front door, letting his fingers dig into your waist to finally, finally let himself know what it felt like as he presses his mouth to yours. The soft, sweet noise of surprise that fades into a pleased hum satisfies something inside him. He would take care of you tonight, and he’d make sure to ruin every other man for you while he did it.

The gentle way you lace your fingers through his hair and crane up to meet him while he dominates your mouth was adorable. You were pliant against him, letting him drag you that much closer to his body with more soft, pleased noises. How could you be so soft and yielding to a man like him?

You make him crazy, he decides, letting his hands slide down to your thighs. The way you cling to his biceps, nails digging into his hoodie and as he yanks your thighs up around his waist make him smirk against your throat. “Which door?” he murmured against you instead of sucking bruises into the thin, delicate skin like he wanted to.

Fuck, it was hot how strong he was, you thought, locking your ankles around him. He hadn’t even made that discouraging grunt as he just wrapped you around his waist. Only one arm was supporting you as his other hand crept under your shirt to rest on the small of your back. Your back arched, pressing more firmly into him and the kisses he was lavishing on your throat. Each step he took made him grind against you, and you dug your nails in harder at the sheet size of the bulge against you. “Fuck,” you hiccupped when he nipped your throat.

“Which door, sweet girl?”

Surely there was a bruise forming now from his incessant, sucking kisses. “Left door. Kind of a mess. Sorry.”

He shrugged as he set you on a clear area of the bed, laying you back and caging you in for a moment with his body as he devoured your mouth. One of his hands was keeping your hips firmly anchored to his, grinding you against him while the other worked under your top to unhook your bra. When your hands tug at his hoodie, he sat back and yanked it off, letting your ass rest against his firm thighs for a just moment. You didn’t get to enjoy the view of his well-muscled chest for long before he was leaning over you again to divest you of your own top.

Propping himself on his elbow above you, he takes a moment to enjoy the view. You were flustered and flushed, lips plush and shiny from his rough kissing. You looked like you wanted to cover yourself and hide from his scrutiny, but you settled your hands on his sides, biting your lip and looking at him shyly. “So pretty,” he rumbled appreciatively before he was diving down to drown himself in you again. He nipped down your throat to your breasts, gently biting and licking one nipple as he worked your pants open and slipped his hand inside.

He wanted to skip ahead, throw your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until both of you were puddles on the bed. He couldn’t let himself see you against after this, though, and he knew that you wouldn’t be able to take that kind of treatment.

You were impatient to be kissed again. Hand tugging at his hair as you urged him back up your body. He let himself be tugged until his face was even with yours but just out of reach. “Patience, pretty girl,” he scolded smugly. That smugness turned into a groan with him dropping his head into the crook of your neck when he felt how wet you were for him. His fingers were practical dripping as he tried to mimic how he’d see you touch yourself. “Fuck, did you like my kisses that much, sweetheart?” he asked.

You whined, arching into the touch as best as you could under his body. His voice was sinful, low and gruff with a certainty that told you he was used to being listened to. Between that, the confident manhandling, and the way he kissed you like he couldn’t live without you, how were you supposed to stand a chance. “I want more,” you moaned instead of answering. “Vince, please.”

He huffed a laugh that registered as a little dark and sinister to some distant part of your brain as you tried to rock against his finger faster. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he rumbled, dragging you to the edge of the bed. Before the surprise had worn off, your pants were gone and he was on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His arm was like an iron band across your hips, preventing you from jolting away at the first hot swipe of his tongue. Both of you moaned.

It seemed to set off something animalistic in him. The low grunt and groans rumbled through you as he sucked and licked at your clit with a single-minded determination. You were lost in the sensation, trying to grind against his face despite the way he held you down, and your hands fluttered between gripping his hair, his arm, and the bedding.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he was in heaven. How else could he explain how it felt to hear you moan and chant his name like a pray as your thighs clenched around his head? The noise you made when he sank his fingers into you must have been the sweetest thing he’d ever hear. He was glad the camera he’d set up in the bedroom had good audio.

Your nails were digging into his arm, leaving pretty little marks that he wanted to tattoo into his skin. Your walls were fluttering around his fingers, thighs trembling against his ears as you tried to stutter out a warning that’s cut off by every muscle in your body clenching. He loved the way your body tries to pull his fingers deeper and the way your clit pulses against his tongue as he sucks on it. He only let up when you whine his name, trying to wiggle away from his grip.

He let you, taking mercy on you just this once. He couldn’t have his pretty girl tap out before the fun even started when she had begged him for more could he?

You were panting, arm thrown over your eyes to block out the light of the room. “Fuck. I didn’t know I could come that hard.”

The bed creaked as he climbed back on, manhandling you on to your stomach and shoving pillows under your hips until he deemed them in the correct spot. “Oh, darling,” he rumbled against the back of your neck, ignoring your yelp of surprise, “that sounds like a challenge to me.” Something in you clenches at the dark promise in his voice.

The bed creaked as he climbed back on, manhandling you on to your stomach and shoving pillows under your hips until he deemed them in the correct spot. “Oh, darling,” he rumbled against the back of your neck, ignoring your yelp of surprise, “that sounds like a challenge to me.” Something in you clenched at the dark promise in his voice.

His forearm was planted on the bed beside your head, supporting him as he ground his cock through the mess between your thighs. “Do you have a condom?” you manage to ask. “I’m not on anything, and I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone home with me.”

There’s a bit of panic bubbling in you, ruining the nice little high you were coasting on before he flashed a small foil packet at you. “Wasn’t exactly planning on going home with anyone myself, but how was I supposed to say no to such a pretty girl flirting with me? Just want to enjoy feeling how wet I’ve got you before I put it on.”

He didn’t like the panic in your eyes when you asked, but something in him preened at the implication that you couldn’t help but want to take him home with you. You knew he’d take care of you, didn’t you? He tore the packet open with his teeth, trying to memorize the way you looked under him even as he mourned not being able to have the full sensation of fucking you.

It was a tight fit despite how wet he had gotten you, and he held your hip to keep you in place as he eased inside you. Your soft, pretty noises as you tried to rock back into him were not helping him stay in control. “Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart.” He was breathing deeply, head pressed between your shoulders as he reigned in the wild urge to pound you into the mattress and the clench of his balls.

“Fuck me, Vince,” you whined, struggling to push back against him. None of your toys had filled you quite like he did, and you clenched around him in an effort to get him to move.

He growled something against your shoulder, forcing your knees to open more with his own before he was plowing into you. His grip on your hip and the weight of his body pressing into you kept you pinned in place as he started up a steady, hard rhythm that had his balls tapping your sensitive clit with each thrust. It had you moaning curses as your hands wrapped around his wrists in a vain attempt to do something. “You wanted me to fuck you, sweetheart. Now be a good girl for me and take it,” he said, hot breath ghosting across your overheated skin before he was sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder.

His firm hold hadn’t relented, forcing you to take what he gave you and scramble to hold on to something. There was already a tightness building in your abdomen, and it only grew faster as he found the perfect angle. “Please don’t stop. Shit. Please, please, please,” you hissed, eyes squeezed shut tight as you chased your orgasm. As if solely to be cruel to you, he pulled away. “No, no, no, no. Fuck. Please, Vince!” You looked over your shoulder at him to try to see why he was leaving you high and dry just in time for him to flip you on to your back and sink into you again.

He looked smug and rumpled in the best way as he found his rhythm again. His dark eyes smirked down at you while that thick, calloused thumb found your clit. You wrapped around him, trying to make sure he couldn’t do that again. He kissed you for a moment, and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “Hush, pretty girl. I’m going to take care of you. I just want to look at you when you cum.” His shot straight through you, and it was just enough to send you over the over the edge.

Your thighs clamped around his sides, nails scratching down his back. He watched you throw back your head, whispering a choked off version of his name as he tried to keep his rhythm steady. It was hard with you clenched around him so tight and the feeling of finally having you under him. “That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he murmured, petting your waist gently. He managed to keep it together until your thighs relaxed against him and you started making that needy overstimulated noise even as you arched into his touch and rocked up to meet him.  

He wasn’t sure that he had ever cum that hard or that much. It seemed to go on forever as you kept grinding on his ridged body.

He managed to roll off of you before he collapsed, taking a moment to let his bones solidify again before he got to work cleaning both of you up.

[petrichor-idyllic]

Hello! I am obsessed w ur Maze runner fics omgggg. could I request a Gally x female reader where shes autistic and the gladers think shes just a little strange but he thinks her quirkiness is cute!! love you 😇

FINALLY I get to write for my boy Gally.

I'd like to preface this by saying I am probably neurodivergent myself, but I am not diagnosed or an expert and I have researched into autistic traits in girls for this piece. I am sorry for any inaccuracies.

A BIT DIFFERENT PT. 1

MASTERLIST | GALLY MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2

SUMMARY: See above. Track-hoe! Fem! Autistic! Reader x Gally. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, some of the Gladers acting like dicks, my potentially slightly inaccurate depiction of autism. That's it.

You aren't quite like the other Gladers.

Well, the obvious is that you're a girl- a very rare occurrence in the Glade since you're the only one.

Though, you're not the kind of girl the Gladers expected (*cough* wanted *cough*). Based off of their very limited and slightly stereotypical knowledge of women.

Obviously.

When you came up in the Box, you panicked more than most. Which can easily be because you were a girl surrounded by a dozen boys. Which is terrifying.

But then you didn't speak.

The emotions and stress of it all led to you becoming completely non-verbal. It wasn't that you didn't want to speak, but it was like every time you tried, no words came out.

Most of the boys tried talking to you at least once, but they have no understanding of personal space and you hated how loud they spoke all the time.

A lot of them gave up after a while.

They thought you were weird. You avoided eye contact, weren't really sure how to read their emotions and hated the boisterous nature of the majority of the population.

Even when you did regain your voice, you took little interest in their conversations and they took your blank state as being rude. But you weren't being rude; you would listen and nod but you didn't take interest in them, so you didn't act like you did.

Things got better when you got a job as a Track-hoe. You found an affinity for plants and very quickly gave Zart a run for his money in the Gardens. Through experience and writing down all your findings in a small notebook Minho gave you during your first week or so when you wouldn't speak- you now know everything about the Gardens.

All of the plants name, their ideal growing conditions, all the uses they possess and even how to cook them properly. Frypan's veg stew has greatly improved since your arrival.

You could spend hours talking about the Gardens, though most of the boys don't really care about that.

A lot of the boys find you strange, like I previously said. There are a few that keep an eye on you and extend their kindness. Newt and Frypan amongst that crowd with Minho turning a blind eye to the robbery of his Map supplies so you can use them for your notes. It keeps your interactions brief and it means he doesn't have to endorce your plant rambles. The man is far too busy.

Though, not all the Gladers are simply being polite.

The first time you met Gally was when one of the boys stole your book and was teasing you about it. He punched him squared in the jaw, scaring the shit out of you and landing Gally a twenty-four hour hold in the Slammer.

You decided to approach him at his work after that, thanking him for looking out for you.

And you actually kind of became friends after that.

You held back at first, but when Gally started asking you about your job, you started telling him everything.

He actually genuinely enjoys hearing what you have to say. And he finds your blunt and occasionally out of pocket comments amusing.

He thinks it's cute. He doesn't really know when he started crushing on you. But your quirks and mannerisms always bring a smile to his face.

He also becomes your guard dog. Absolutely no one is going to mess with you, especially when the machine that is Gally is glaring at them from a few feet away.

You don't like Bonfire nights. Sure, it's great that you have another boy to add to the population, but you don't enjoy the celebrations. They're loud and the fires burn bright and everyone is touching or fighting. It makes your chest feel tight and you can hear the blood pumping around your skull. You hate it.

So, you sit away from the commotion, your legs crossed as you doodle another sketch of a plant, labelling the different parts.

"Yo, Green-thumb," you look up to find Gally approaching, two glasses of his suspicious liquid in hand. "Fancy a drink?"

Green-thumb is something he called you jokingly once, and now it's kind of stuck.

"Sure," you smile at him as he sits down next to you, passing you a drink. "Wouldn't you rather be enjoying the Bonfire?"

"Nah, I've kicked enough Greenie butt for one day." You scoff, putting your book down for a second to take a sip.

You visibly cringe at the harsh taste. You don't like the drink, but Gally's made it, so some small part of you is determined to drink it.

"Whatcha writing about today?" He picks up your book, admiring your handwork. "Yarrow, eh?"

"Mhm," you nod, fiddling with your pencil. "It's good for headaches and sickness. It's a wildflower I found in the Deadheads and moved some here so the Medjacks have easy access to it. It'll probably be useful in the morning if everything keeps drinking this klunk." You swill the drink around the jar and Gally chuckles.

"You don't have to drink it."

"I know," you unintentionally snap, "I want to. You made it."

Gally's heart flutters at this comment, even if it is just plain honesty to you. He looks away, blinking as he looks at your perfectly organised Gardens.

"What?" You ask.

"What what?"

"You look flustered."

"I'm not."

"Okay."

He hesitates, deciding to finally ask a question he's been meaning to ask. He clears his throat. "Would you, uh, would you ever consider dating someone?"

You tilt you head, looking at him whilst he avoids eye contact. "In the Glade?"

"Uh, yeah, if someone's caught your eye?"

You shrug. "Maybe. But you're the only person here I like."

There's a pause as Gally processes that. He knows you well enough by now that you don't mean it that way; you're just blunt.

"Yeah, but you like me as a friend, right?"

Now, you pause. Honestly, you're not really sure. You think Gally is attractive, but it's not like you're friends with many people to compare how you feel about Gally to how you feel about other friends.

So, you shrug.

The line of questioning is starting to make you panic, though.

Gally raises his eyebrow. "You... don't know?"

"Yeah, I don't know." He doesn't know what to say to this. "But it doesn't really matter, right?"

Friendships and relationships aren't that different. It's just a close friendship with some physical attributes.

That's it, really.

Gally knows you. But he's still learning to see things how you see them.

"Yeah, I guess."

This is the conversation that plagued Gally's mind for a long time.

He didn't mean to start acting like a dick. But Gally is Gally, and he isn't the best at expressing his emotions in a healthy way.

So, he unintentionally starts avoiding you.

Somehow, saying you don't know if you like him is worse than flat out rejecting him. And he'd rather go without.

You, however, are taking this horrendously.

It's been days now and safe far you've thrown a trowel at someone and ripped some fiddly vines off of one of the support growers.

The Glade is starting to notice your rise in temper, which ends up resulting in a confrontation.

You don't like confrontation, but it's been a week and you don't know what you've done wrong.

"Did I do something?" You ask Gally.

He's in the middle of his work, fixing one off the old shacks with a couple of other boys.

They all freeze.

It's rare for you to be away from the Gardens in the middle of the day, and they don't want to see why.

"Uh, give us a moment," Gally instructs his colleagues and they don't hesitate to listen. "Look, (Y/N)-"

"What did I do? Are you mad at me?"

"Wha- no." He sighs. "I'm not mad at you."

"Then what's wrong? Why are you avoiding me?" He goes silent for a moment. "Gally, what did I do? Do you not like me, anymore? Did I-"

"I like you."

You're perplexed. "I like you, too? So, why are you being a dick?"

"No," he scoffs, throwing his head back. "I like like you. Like, I wanna go on dates and klunk. A-and you said you didn't know how you felt about me and it was like you didn't even care."

You stand there, blinking at him.

In his absence, you realised that you do like Gally. You didn't think you'd miss talking to someone, you definitely don't care when don't hear from Newt or Frypan for weeks.

But you missed Gally.

He opens his mouth again to speak, but he doesn't get the chance when you rush towards him. Throwing your arms around him, you hug him, which completely startles him and knocks him backwards.

You've never hugged him before.

"I think I like you, too," you mumble as his arms come to loosely hang around your waist. You pull back slightly, looking at him.

He grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod.

His eyes flicker to your lips and you do the same before meeting his gaze again. "Can I kiss you?" You ask, forward as always.

He chuckles. "Please."

You lean forward, not quite sure what you're doing but it's a peck that sparks a fire inside you.

You pull away, resting your foreheads against each other, enjoying the peaceful moment.

"Oi," Alby makes you both jump from a few feet away, "get back to work, shanks. The shuck are you doing?"

You awkwardly step back, feeling heat rush to your face as you sheepishly look at the floor.

Gally, however, is grinning from ear to ear.

You like him.

And that's more than enough for him.

First Gally fic done. A bit shorter than some others but I wasn't quite sure what else to do with this.

I hope you enjoyed anyway :))

[animasolaoriginal]

(3) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

Chapter 3: The Promise

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.5k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl meets a bunch of outsiders

Chapter 2 -- Chapter 4

3

Wow.

When the girl returns from Ginny's wagon, she looks like a completely different person. A young woman. Long brown hair in a messy side braid, hanging over her shoulder. She's wearing a dark green skirt with a white underskirt peeking past the hem, reaching her calves, made of stiff cotton, hitched up at one side to reveal a pale knee clad in the ruffled fabric of a pair of long bloomers. Frilly white socks in dark ankle boots. Her torso is covered in a loose violet linen blouse, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hugging her soft chest, hinting at the small mounds beyond, buttoned up high enough to hide any sign of cleavage or too much skin.

He's almost a little disappointed.

But in his mind he still sees the naked girl as she steps out of the tub, water running down her pale skin, along the gentle curves of her body and the harsher edges of her hipbones, her hands outstretched as she offers him support to get out as well, her arms squishing those soft little breasts together. His large hands close around her wrists, and he gets up with a groan, his body heavy from the warm water, the rest of the alcohol, the comfort of being with her.

She leads him to the bed, his eyes roam her small frame, the way her hips sway, her rear, those small but plump cheeks, how her thighs move when she walks, the muscles in her calves. He barely registers how she grabs a towel, how she dries his large body, then hers, all he sees and smells and wants is her. Her big green eyes look up at him, and it might have been a trick of the light, but he sees hunger in them, her pupils slightly dilated.

He watches her as she crawls onto the bed, on all fours, then spins around and lies down on her back, legs pressed together, a little stiff, before she settles on the sheets, hair splayed out around her head as she sinks onto the pillow, a slight jiggle to her small breasts, her arms resting above her head in a submissive sort of gesture.

His body moves on its own, his mind spinning, the weight of his cock a constant reminder what he really wants, but when he climbs onto the bed, over her, he takes a deep breath, his eyes roaming her frame, every inch of her pale, slender body, and then he simply lies down on her, focused on not squishing her, his heavy head resting right in the valley between her breasts, his arms snaking around her small body, so tiny, so frail, so vulnerable, and he still wants to press his broader frame to her soft skin, feel her warmth.

His hips encircle her pelvis, her upper thighs, he feels the slight throbbing of his cock as it's squished between his lower stomach and her leg, and then... he just fell asleep. Too comfortable to follow the images in his head of doing things to her he probably shouldn't be doing, no matter how much he wants to. (Keira's kid.) Before he drifts off into blissful unconsciousness, he feels her small hands on his back, sliding into his hair, holding him like he's holding her.

And now she's here, in his camp, away from the grueling life of servicing random men. She looks different, she walks differently. More timid, as if the world is too big for her, the sky too blue, the sun too warm, too many unknowns around her. But he'll help her adjust, he'll take care of her, he's promised himself this the moment he has seen Keira in her, heard of her story.

He still can't believe the woman he once loved would leave her own daughter like this, destined to be degraded every night, to be just a body, a mouth, a throat, to be used. There has to be more to that story.

Like there is more to the establishment she has worked in. He had no idea about the strings attached to a simple brothel in a small town, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, whose hands are pulling them, who he has made very mad probably. But then again he doesn't care. She's safe now. She was one of many girls, why would they come after her specifically?

He sighs the many thoughts away and walks towards her, watches Ginny tug on her blouse, fluffing it up a little, making it more airy, loosen a few buttons. The girl blushes when he approaches them, meeting his eyes with a shy smile.

“Beautiful,” he says in a low hum, tilting his head. She blushes even more (or is that rouge on her cheeks?) and looks away, a soft little giggle falling over her full lips.

“Functional,” Ginny exclaims with a laugh and pats the girl on the back a little too hard, causing her to stumble a bit. “This weather can be brutal in too many layers. I'll pick up some more clothes for you later, dearie,” she tells Nebbia with a motherly smile, and she nods at the red-haired woman, muttering a soft: “Thank you.”

Ginny laughs and walks to stand next to Ben, looking back over her shoulder. “She may look like Keira, but she is so much more polite,” she whispers at him, and he huffs a chuckle and nods. “Be good to her, huh?” she adds and pokes her finger into his side playfully before she keeps walking.

“Of course,” he growls, his eyes still fixed on the brunette in front of him.

Then they are alone, and she looks so small and helpless, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her wide skirt. He takes a step closer, looking down at her. She tilts her chin up and meets his gaze. There's more than shyness to her expression now, there's curiosity, expectation. Like she's waiting for him to take her hand and show her this new world he's brought her to.

And so he does, his long fingers close around her wrist, move down until he envelops her small hand in his, and with a crooked smirk, he tilts his head to her and nudges her onward, pulling her along towards where the horses graze in the bright sun, their coats shimmering in the light, their manes and tails moving slightly in the warm breeze.

She squeezes his hand gently when she follows him. “They're so pretty,” she whispers as he watches how her eyes wander over the various horses until she spots the large black stallion, bigger than all the others, on the other side of the meadow, grazing in the shadows near the trees. “Hey, is that the horse that carried us last night? The black one?” she asks quietly, looking up at him with her big green eyes. Like deep water pierced by the rays of the sun, shifting, glowing.

He's lost in those eyes for a moment, but nods nonetheless. “Come on, let me properly introduce you to Thunder,” he says with a smile and leads her along the edge of the field towards his horse.

“Thunder?” Her voice sounds almost mocking.

He scoffs. “Yes. You don't think that's a good name for a big black Friesian?”

She mouths something he can't understand, as if repeating a word she's never heard before. “Why Thunder?” she then asks with childlike curiosity.

“Well, I've won him in a round of poker, and it was a stormy night... and I was drunk out of my mind, so...” he explains with a shrug, giving her a smirk. She replies it in earnest.

“I guess it's better than Lightning Bolt or something,” she muses.

He laughs, stopping and raising their joined hands to point towards a large gray Mustang with a black mane. She frowns at him, then looks that way. “Let me introduce you to Lightning Bolt,” he chuckles. “Mitch's horse. Won the same night.”

“Oh,” she makes and stifles a snicker. “You are very creative men...” she says before she looks up at him. “Who's Mitch?”

“The man at the table who's been smoking,” he says and keeps walking, squeezing her hand. “The man you probably heard this morning. We are a tight-knit, more or less democratic community, but he runs things around here. He might look and sound stern, but he'll warm up to you, don't worry.”

She gives a doubtful humming sound, falling silent then. He throws her a side-glance and continues on their way along the meadow until they reach the large black horse. Thunder snorts in greeting, bowing his large head towards them.

Ben lets go of Nebbia's hand and pats the animal heartily. “Hello, old boy. Well rested, huh?” With one hand on his strong neck, slipping his fingers through his long mane, he reaches the other out towards the girl who keeps a respectful distance. She looks particularly small next to the giant steed. “Come on, don't be afraid, he's mild as a dove,” he chuckles.

She raises an eyebrow but cautiously puts her hand on his large palm. He pulls her closer, then places her hand onto Thunder's shiny black coat. He's warm to the touch, muscles twitching beneath their hands. She gasps slightly as Ben moves her hand along the back, letting her feel the strong muscles and warmth of his skin. He stands right behind her, caging her in between his body and the horse.

Thunder's withers stands at proud five foot six, probably six inches taller than the girl trying to look over his massive body. She is still petting the patient animal, when he leans back a little, about to slip his hands into his pockets, but then he has the urge to grab her waist and lift her up. And he does. She yelps and squeals, but doesn't kick him, luckily, until he's sat her sideways on the horse, her eyes wide, her lips trembling, her hands trying to grab his wrists in support.

“Still afraid of heights, hm?” he muses, looking up at her, his hands resting on her hips.

She nods. “Please set me down,” she whispers. “It's even worse when I can actually see the ground...”

“Don't look down then,” he laughs, holding her in place. Thunder snorts but doesn't move.

“Will you hold me?” she asks, her voice a breathy whisper, shaking slightly.

“Of course.”

He sees her swallowing before she dares to look around, her breath slowly easing as she focuses on the forest and the meadow and the house in the distance. She even looks up into the blue sky and inhales deeply, her chest rising under her blouse. But as soon as he lets go of her, she gasps and stares at him.

“Calm down,” he chuckles, remaining close to the horse, her shoes brushing against his arm. “Maybe you'll like it more if you'd sit like a man,” he then tells her.

“Like a –”

“With one leg on either side.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “But my skirt –”

“Lift it up a little, I'll hold you,” he says and puts his hands back on her waist while she fidgets with the hem of her long skirt. She hitches it up to her knees, revealing more of the long bloomers beneath it. “Now try to throw one leg over his neck.”

She leans into his hold (the trust she has in him is both impressive and a little concerning) and does as he's suggested. He helps her by lifting her slightly, allowing her skirt to ride up more as she moves her leg over the horse's body. The thick fabric is gathered in her lap now, her bare shins hanging off either side.

“Grab his mane,” he instructs, gently nudging her elbow to make her do it. She is a little stiff on the horse's back (such a tiny girl on this giant animal), her hands shaking, but eventually she digs her fingers through the thick black hair and grabs a tuft of it in each hand. “You're doing great, sweetheart,” he praises, and she turns her head to him and smiles timidly.

He keeps one hand on her lower back, showing her he's there, but lowers his other hand to grab a hold of Thunder's halter, then nudges the reins free from where they're tugged to a post. Taking a step forwards, he sees the horse following his movements, slowly starting to bring his large body into motion, and Nebbia yelps in surprise, gripping the mane tighter when she sways slightly backwards.

“It's alright, relax, I got you,” he tells her, but her body is tense under his hand. “You won't fall. Trust me.”

He feels her taking a shuddering breath as she white-knuckles the tufts of hair in her small hands. A sigh of his own escapes him as his hand wanders towards her tight fists, gently easing her grip. She looks at him, pressing her lips together. He keeps his hand there and leads the large Friesian in a half-circle across the meadow, his heavy hooves stomping loudly over the grass.

“He moves so gracefully,” he hears her whisper, and smiles up at her. “Despite his build.”

He laughs at that. “Never judge a large guy by his build alone, eh?” he muses, throwing her a wink. A few red spots move onto her pale cheeks and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. He gently squeezes her hands.

“Can I get down now? I should probably be more... productive,” she whispers, and he remembers Mitch's words. No slacking. He nods with a sigh and turns Thunder around, bringing him back to his spot in the shade. By the end of the round, she sits much more relaxed on top of the large animal.

He puts the reins back around the post, patting the horse's neck gently. “Well done, boy.” Then he turns to the girl on his back, tilting his head with a smirk. “So, you think you can get down yourself?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips, shifting his belt slightly.

The tiny girl looks down at him with a fearful pout, hands still gripping the mane tightly. “Please help me,” she mouths barely audible.

“Try to put your leg over his neck again,” he says, dropping his arms and stepping closer. “Don't worry, I'll catch you if you slip.”

She holds his gaze, then focuses on what he's told her. She's still stiff, very tense in her movements, but somehow she manages to pull her leg towards him, sitting sideways again now. He smiles up at her and reaches his arms out, beckoning her closer. This trust in him... what does she see in him that makes her so trusting?

Suddenly she leans forwards, her hands finding his forearms, then his shoulders, while his hands scrape along her sides, trying to grip her waist, and with a slight “Oof” from him and a tiny yelp from her, she falls into his arms, wraps hers around his neck and slumps against his chest as she slips off the horse's back. He holds her, arms tightly around her small body, pressing her against him.

He can't help but inhale deeply, take in her scent, remember last night.

Her cheek moves over his, soft skin against the roughness of his beard. She holds onto him, relaxing in his hold, the tension falling off her. Thunder gives off a loud whinny and breaks through his thoughts, his memories of her naked body beneath his, of his wants, of her lips around –

With a deep sigh, he loosens his grip and lets her slip down his body until her feet meet the ground, her arms outstretched, hands gripping the back of his neck as she looks up at him. Hopeful, intrigued, a little flustered and confused. Her cheeks are reddened. His hands rest on her waist, thumbs rubbing over her stomach, fingers tracing the curve of her spine. He wants to rip off that violet blouse, expose her, really feel her...

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he doesn't know what exactly she's thanking him for, but he takes it, nods with a soft smile, watches her, awfully aware that he shouldn't look at her like this. Not in broad daylight, not here with everyone watching him like he's gone mad for bringing this girl to their camp.

But he had to. And when push comes to shove, he will go with her, if they don't want him, he will not leave her to her own devices. Not now that he knows that she exists.

He takes a deep breath, and she sees it as a sign to let go of him. Her hands move slowly down along his chest before she drops them, the same moment he drops his, and she takes a step back, almost bumping into the large black horse behind her.

“Alright,” he sighs and puts his hands into his pockets. “Lemme show you what you can do around here to get on Mitch's good side,” he tells her with a wink and tilts his head to the side to show her to follow him. She nods eagerly and walks with him.

Nebbia is surprisingly enthusiastic about the various chores they have around the camp. He shows her the laundry buckets near the back of the house where a small creek bubbles along the line of the trees, the clothing lines spanned between them, drying clothes already on them. They meet Milly, the oldest of the women, her toothless smile full of joy at the sight of the much younger girl.

The next station he brings her to is the cooking wagon. The cart is full of supplies, mostly tin cans, but there's fresh meat hanging outside the tent erected next to it, drying in the sun. The smell is mouthwatering already. A large pot rests on a stand above a fire-pit, a big ladle inside, bowls of various shapes and sizes piled up around it. Soup of the day, or of most days. They don't get too much variation around here. But it's a belly filling meal, warm and tasty, so he doesn't complain.

On their way to the supply tent, they walk past a group of men lounging around a smaller fire, sitting on the dirt, backs against the logs around them, smoking and drinking already, laughing at their own jokes. It's Bob, Bill and Joe, their best shooters, fastest riders, but also their most degenerate. They're good on a job, but bad among people. He's tempted to avoid them by taking the girl in a wide circle around them, but despite their mid-day buzz, they spot her immediately. Bob's whistle cuts the air.

“Boys, behave,” Ben tells them sternly, holding onto Nebbia's hand a little tighter as he pulls her towards him.

“Ah, c'mon, Ben!” Joe slurs, raising his beer bottle. “I thought you brought her here to share!”

His jaw clenches, as does his hand around hers. A little gasp escapes her, but instead of squirming away, she presses closer to his side, away from the leering men. “She's the newest member of our camp, an equal, Joe. If you wanna keep the ability to drink with that dirty mouth of yours, I'd say you shut it right now.”

Joe waves it off and scoffs, but remains silent. All of them do, actually, so he pulls her along, trying to ignore them for now. He eases the tension in his hand and takes a look at the girl next to him, ready to round the corner of the house, when Bill's voice wafts over to them.

“I wish I could take my whores back to camp, that would spare me the ride to –“

A rush of air. A loud crack. A grunt. A fist hitting the middle of his ugly face without hesitation, a deep growl rumbling from Ben's throat. He's left her standing at the corner, having witnessed the trembling of her small body at those words, and with only a few long strides he has reached the men and let his anger out. His hand is throbbing, blood (not his) running down his knuckles. The other man writhes in pain, holding his broken nose.

“What the fuck, Ben?” Bob calls out, attempting to rise from where he sits.

He takes a menacing step towards him, raising his fist. “I dare you,” he hisses through his teeth, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, fury boiling beneath his skin.

Bob raises his hands and slumps back down. “Alright, alright,” he mumbles.

Joe just stares at him. He throws them each one more dark glare, then turns around, inhaling deeply, his fist clenched by his side. Nebbia waits for him with wide eyes, trembling lips, and as soon as he reaches her, her small hands grab his bloody fist and pull it up for her to look at.

“I'm not hurt,” he growls, but she only looks up at him, cradling his bloody hand between her fingers, her skin so soft and delicate, pale in comparison to his tan.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, lowering her gaze, her fingertips gently caressing his throbbing knuckles.

He frees his hand from her hold and uses it to grab her chin, making her look up. Her gasp is both scared and surprised. “Do not apologize! Those bastards deserve every punching they get if they call you... if they talk about you like that,” he mutters darkly.

She swallows hard, unable to move away as she stares at him, her body shivering despite the heat around them. He watches her for a moment longer, then lets go of her chin and sighs, wiping his hand on his jeans to get rid of the blood that isn't his. Then he offers the same hand back to her, palm up. She puts her delicate hand onto it, and he closes his fingers gently around it before he pulls her further through the camp.

They reach the large supply tent where the Stacys try to bring order into the chaos of last night's haul. There are shelves stacked with ammunition, medical supplies, match boxes, candles, blankets, other useful things they snatch up whenever they head out. A makeshift wall in the far back holds additional weapons, shotguns, pistols, rifles, cleaning supplies. The two women who look alike except for the hue of their skin and the size of their noses look up, eyes hard, lips pressed together.

“Ladies,” he greets with a bow of his head. They share a look before their eyes move over the girl, up and down, almost as bad as the men have looked at her, but at least the women know when to shut up – but to be fair, both of them are missing parts of their tongues, another similarity they share, so he shouldn't be so quick to judge. If they could talk, they'd call her the same name. Whore. Unwanted. Doesn't belong here.

Ben clears his throat and nods again, always slightly intimidated by their muteness. He pulls the quiet girl along, who seems to shrink even more beside him the more he shows her of the camp and the people inhabiting it. Once they're out of earshot, he leans down to her.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

She chews on her bottom lip. “They all don't want me here, huh?” she whispers.

He sighs and straightens, pushing his free hand through his messy hair. “They all started out as outsiders. Hell, we are all a bunch of outsiders, people pushed out of society, left behind, forgotten, trying to find their place. We came together like this, each of us with a stranger backstory. So once they remember that, they'll welcome you in their midst, too. You are one of us now, do you understand?” he adds and looks at her, squeezing her hand, tempted to grab her face and stroke her cheek, wipe his thumb under her watering eyes.

Her gaze is wide, green orbs shimmering in the dazzling sunlight. A tiny smile grazes her lips, before a frown settles between her brows. “But... you said you're a sort of... democratic bunch, but then you just brought me here without them knowing, without them agreeing, how is that okay?” she whispers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

He just shakes his head, inhaling deeply. “You're special, sweetheart,” he says, and she frowns deeper. He doesn't say anything more, and she doesn't press him, just looks away, looking more confused than before, with her cheeks a little bit more red.

They continue their way through the camp, the clanging and shuffling of the Stacys organizing stuff in the supply tent echoing after them.

“Also don't take anything the twins do personally. They're... very strange women, sharing the same name, almost the same looks, the same fate. They used to be performers in a traveling circus until the ringmaster decided he had enough of their blabbering and cut their tongues out.”

Nebbia's eyes grow wider when she looks back at him, a shocked tremble rushing through her. He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

“We call them the Stacys, by the way,” he says nonchalantly and leads her past the line of tents, nestled against the side of the house. She follows slowly, still battling her reaction. “Those bastards by the fire were Bob, Bill and Joe. Mitch and Ginny you've already met, Milly was the lady by the creek,” he lists, trying to remember who else he should introduce her to. He also doesn't want to overwhelm her with names and people too much.

“Who was the other man at the table? The one next to Mitch?” she asks quietly, looking up at him, seemingly not as overwhelmed as he has thought.

“Mitch's right hand, Steve,” he answers quietly, his eyes wandering ahead in search of the man. Luckily he can't see him. “You should stay clear of him, though.”

“Why?” she asks innocently.

“You know, we're all people trying to start new lives here, forget the past. Well, some of us, him included, have a rather dark past... darker than any of us combined,” he tells her in a hushed voice, leaning a little closer. She holds his gaze curiously, but he can see goosebumps on her bare forearms. “He was a very disturbed fella, might still be, no matter how helpful he's been recently. Just... stay away from him, it'll be fine.” He hopes.

She stops walking, squeezing his hand. “What did he do?” she breathes.

Ben shakes his head, straightening up again. “A story for another time,” he says, his gaze stern.

She bites her lip, but nods, looking down at the ground. He starts moving again, dragging her gently after him. Curious little kitten, you know what curiosity did to you, hm? he thinks, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

They reach the large table again, and it's only Mitch, who sits in the bright sun, still smoking, flicking through a book. Ben has to admit that he owes him, his life, his will to keep going, him being here, but the older man doesn't always make it easy to be around him. His dark mustache twitches when he looks up at them with narrowed eyes.

“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair, staring at Nebbia. “Do you think you can work, girl? Make yourself useful?” he asks her, and Ben feels her flinching slightly at the deep, demanding tone of the other man.

“Yes, sir,” she replies timidly, not meeting Mitch's eyes. “I... I've worked before,” she whispers. “I... did the laundry, I cleaned, I repaired clothes and sheets, I –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mitch cuts her off with a wave of his hand, the golden rings on his fingers gleaming in the sunlight. “Just do your part, and keep your head down. No trips into town for a while,” he adds, looking up at Ben, his gaze stern.

He suppresses a sigh. “Yes, Mitch,” he grumbles, working his jaw. Next to him, Nebbia squeezes his hand. He looks down at her.

“Does she need a room or a tent?” the older man asks after taking a drag from his cigarette.

“We'll figure it out,” Ben replies, both to him and to her as he meets her curious gaze.

“Ben?” Mitch's voice is a deep gruff grunt, hoarse around the smoke he's exhaling. He meets his eyes. It's just a look they share, but he knows what he's trying to tell him. Keep your head down. Be careful. I know who she is and who you think she is. But she is not her. Words they've shared before. Clenching his jaw, he gives a short nod, then turns away and pulls the girl after him.

Nebbia stumbles slightly, but catches herself before she follows him to the front of the house. There he stops, letting go of her hand to put his own into his pockets. She looks up at him with a frown. “So, where do you wanna start?”

She tilts her head. “Start?”

“Working. Laundry with Milly? Organizing with the Stacys? Cooking with Ginny?” he lists, watching her closely.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, meeting his gaze with a somewhat mischievous glint in her green eyes.

“Tending to the horses,” he says, looking her over with a smirk. “What? You wanna get dirty too?”

“You didn't say that was part of the chores here as well.” She sounds almost pouty.

“I thought you didn't like horses.”

“No, I'm terrified of their heights, but feeding and brushing them or cleaning their saddles doesn't require me to sit on their backs, right?” She takes a step closer to him, despite her very small stature building herself up in front of him. It's adorable. “And I like them. I find them really beautiful. Also, I... hmm, maybe I should stay clear of your people for today, until they get used to my presence...”

He's surprised by her change in demeanor. She was so timid and shy when he showed her around, introduced her to the others, a shrunken little girl too afraid to lift her eyes. But now she stares at him, challenging him, giving him cheek, and it feels refreshing. It reminds him of her.

“Oh and what did you mean by I'll make some money, but not how I think?” she asks, clearly on a roll now.

He raises an eyebrow. “All in due time,” he sighs and turns away, taking a step towards the meadow. She turns too. “You're motivated, huh? I like that, but don't overdo it.” He can see her frown as he looks over his shoulder at her. “Well, come on then, we got a lot of horses to brush!”

Her face lights up immediately as she staggers to follow him, taking quick small steps to catch up to him, a happy smile grazing her full lips. Lips around – He groans, pushing a hand through his hair, then over his eyes as they walk together. His head is spinning, be it from the hangover, the post-heist-high, or from meeting this little gem of a girl.

He's promised her a better life, and he's glad she's away from the brothel, but what if all of that will come around to bite him in the ass? Mitch seems to see where this will go, his words of warning still echoing in his mind. Ginny's also had the same idea. Be good to her. And he wonders who she should stay clear of the most? The three leering degenerates? Steve? Or himself?

Last night he's told himself he wouldn't soil her, keep her innocence, make her feel safe. Treat her like a proper lady. But every time he looks at her flushed cheeks, at those ocean-green eyes, her beautiful lips, he remembers the rest of her, the alabaster skin, the slender body, lean limbs, small breasts, the hint of hair between her legs. The trust she is giving him.

He knows he doesn't deserve it. Because all he wants is to grab her, rip her clothes off and look at her again, bring his lips to hers, to her neck, to her breasts, down her stomach, force her legs open and taste her, feel her, soil her.

She's Keira's kid.

She looks like Keira. Is that why he feels so attracted to her? Despite her age? Despite it all? Is that enough to justify the throbbing of his cock? Or is he just as fucked-up as he's always feared to be?

He has no idea. But what he does know is that he will protect this girl, keep his promises, allow her to have a better life. And maybe, somehow, she feels grateful enough to allow him something else in return. Who knows.

Chapter 2 -- Chapter 4

End notes: A little bit more world building and somewhat vague character introductions, but don't worry, there'll be a lot more plot in the next chapter. A lot more! Get ready!

(Also I apologize for my incredibly creative naming skills... Bob, Bill and Joe, and Steve, yup, and Mitch really has nothing to do with RDR2's Dutch, nope, not at all... at least it wasn't intentional, my mind works in strange ways. But don't worry, these characters don't play that big a role anyway, it's about Ben and Nebbia, remember?)

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading!

Next chapter on Tuesday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 18: "La rumeur"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: It has been two years since your secret was exposed and you had to leave London. Two years with deep buried misery and in which you missed everything you used to have. However, neglect, novelties, and letters made sure to give you more than one reason to return to claim someone who is as rightfully yours as your estate and your people: Benedict Bridgerton.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, mutual pining, (kinda???) enemies (fake, this is just pride) to lovers (surely), bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: The news of your 'secret engagement' was the protagonist of Lady Whistledown's most recent issue. It might have been easy to spread them, but it would certainly not be easy to face the consequences.

Word count: 1.5K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

"I knew it! I knew there was something between you and her!"

Benedict sighed. "I guarantee you that what Lady Whistledown said is utter nonsense, I don't even know how on Earth anyone could have thought that."

"Mr. Bridgerton, how could you court me for so many weeks and then be engaged to be married to her?!"

"I am not engaged to be married to her or to anyone for that matter!"

Miss Prince groaned. "Then, what?! There is obviously something going on between you and Lady Y/N, I have seen the way you look at each other for God's sake!"

"How do we look at each other, according to you?" he questioned, a tired look in his eyes. Benedict knew well enough that you were behind all of that, there was no way that you were not behind the spread of this ridiculous rumor.

"You look at her like she is… everything; and she… Lady Y/N looks at you as if she would die for you, Mr. Bridgerton, and either you are blind to it, or you are making a fool of me."

He shook his head. "That is not true."

"It most certainly is."

"Just… forgive me for this absurd rumor, I swear it is not true. I will fix this."

"Mr. Bridgerton, I hope you are well aware of the humiliation this signifies for me."

"I am sorry, Miss Prince. I- I will repair all this awful situation."

"Pen, where did you get that rumor from?! Of course, Y/N and Benedict are not engaged!"

"Madame Delacroix told me!"

Eloise shook her head. "No! How could you do something like that to her again?! Is it because she danced with Colin?"

"No, no! Of course not, Eloise, I… I had to, I couldn't not."

"You are not seriously telling me that, Penelope. You could have said it was not true!"

"But Madame Delacroix told me that Y/N had told her herself about the engagement, I assumed she wanted it to be known."

"You could have asked me first, Pen. I knew they were not engaged, they are certainly not."

"She said it was a secret."

"Do you really think she would have kept that a secret? After everything she has done to get my brother back?"

Penelope sighed. "I am sorry, Eloise."

"Do not apologize to me, Penelope, you- you should tell her the truth."

"Oh, no, I cannot!" she exclaimed. "She will hate me."

"She will find out sooner or later, Pen," Eloise warned. "You probably did not consider how badly that issue of Lady Whistledown would affect her, did you? Because if word of it reaches the King of France, she will be executed. If you tell her the truth, she will forgive you, I am sure."

"How are you so sure?"

Eloise exhaled deeply. "Because she is kind and she appreciates you. If you apologize and tell her the truth, she will help you."

"Are you certain?"

"I am, Pen."

Benedict left the home of the Cowper family, sponsors of Miss Prince, making his way to Danbury House to speak to you.

Curious glances tried to burn him alive meanwhile, but he couldn't care less. Not until you were in front of him and gave him an explanation.

"There is no point in denying, I know full well that you are behind all of this," he stated once you were in front of him, a sheepish grin on your face. "Your mess, so you might as well fix it."

You pursed your lips. "I do not know how could I fix it, Benedict, I do not recall telling Lady Whistledown that you and I are engaged. If you find her, let me know and I will do as you please! Let me know once you do."

"Don't you put this on me, Y/N."

"Whatever do you mean, Benedict?! I will not try to prove myself to you as I am aware you will not believe me regardless of what I have to say. Why bother, huh? Why bother explaining myself or repairing a situation that does not affect me at all?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because it affects me! Not to mention that Miss Prince is-"

"I could not care less about Miss Prince, Benedict," you reminded him. "In fact, if she loathes me for any reason whatsoever, I will be most proud! If my alleged actions affected her somehow, do not even suggest I will regret them."

"How could you be so inconsiderate? This isn't you!"

"Of course it is me," you said, approaching him. "Remember everything I went through before believing I am incapable of something. Do not underestimate the things that I can do, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Is that a threat?"

You looked into his eyes, determination and passion in yours. "A promise."

"A promise?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"A promise," you confirmed. "I give you my word, Benedict, that I would do everything humanly possible to retrieve your affections."

He exhaled with difficulty, getting closer. Inappropriately closer. "What is it that I have, my Lady, that has you so determined to have me?"

"You chose me," you replied, whimpering at the heat of his body against yours. "I fear I have fallen from grace, Benedict, and I did not care about having lost everything. I only cared about you. You are the one whose loathe I mourned the most."

Benedict put his forehead against yours, and you thought that this war was finally over. "I could never feel that way about you, those were just words…"

"I never wanted you to hate me, my heart."

"I do not hate you," He stroked your hair. "I couldn't, not even if I tried for a century, not even after what you did… We both made mistakes, Y/N, and I most certainly do not hate you."

"What are we doing, Benedict?"

"I cannot take you back, Y/N… No matter what you do, I will not fall again."

You shook your head. "No."

He chuckled with pity. "You must say that it is not true that we are engaged, Y/N. This humiliated Miss Prince and you should leave her out of whatever you are trying."

"What about me, Benedict? Have I not been humiliated enough?"

"Nothing you did not bring upon yourself, Y/N," he replied. "Why do you keep fighting?"

"I do not know."

"You do not need a man, Y/N. You do not need me," Benedict noted. "You have come far enough, and you do not need a man to tell you what you are worth."

"I know that."

"Perhaps you should return to France."

You nodded. "Perhaps I should."

What surprised you, however, was the unexpected kiss he gave you. It was tender and loving, and it made you hate yourself.

"My affections will remain yours until the end of time." Benedict left Lady Danbury's home, and you sat down on the couch.

You were unchaperoned, just like every time either of you requested to speak in private.

It pained you that this was the last time you would be in private.

"Lady Y/N?" the voice of Antoinette interrupted your pondering minutes after Benedict left. "Miss Penelope Featherington wishes to speak to you."

You nodded. "Of course, Antoinette. Let her in."

She left and seconds later Penelope joined you. "Good afternoon, Y/N."

"Hello, Pen," You smiled weakly. "What brings you here?"

"I, uh… must speak to you about something quite important."

"Of course, do tell."

She stood in silence for what felt like centuries, and you understood she would tell you something that is not at all easy to say.

"I am Lady Whistledown."

You gasped at her confession.

Never in your wildest dreams, you could've imagined she, of all people, would be Lady Whistledown. Perhaps not because she was incapable of something big, but because she used her platform to hurt you. You were supposed to be friends.

"Did I hear that right, Penelope? That you are Lady Whistledown?"

She pursed her lips. "It is true."

"Get out of here." you commanded with tears in your eyes.

"But-"

"Get out of here, Miss Featherington, or I swear by my parents' graves that you will regret ever being born." you ordered one last time, covering your mouth with your right hand before sitting on the couch in disbelief.

Penelope nodded and left immediately.

Your Majesty,

I am afraid I could not give you this news personally, but under the latest circumstances, I am obliged to return home once again.

I, however, could not leave without bidding my farewell to you, and thank you for your support. To do that, I must inform you of something the both of us have been wanting to know for a while now: the identity of Lady Whistledown.

The person behind the gossip pages is Penelope Featherington.

With this revelation, do as you please. I consider it an act of treason from her, as I told her in confidence about my secret and she decided to expose it, even after having called each other friends. One cannot trust anyone these days.

I look forward to receiving your visit sometime,

Lady Y/N of Burgundy.

taglist: @yentroucnagol @crimsonincursive @czarinera @uwumd @omgnctchina

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S04E11 - Capital Punishment - Part C

I will finish this. One way or another. I promise.

It took this smooth operator five seconds of standing like an idiot to tell Trina that she looks great.

Rex is watching carefully.

He does.

"But I want him with Sarah."

What did she do to that poor bowtie?

"Where would I be hiding weapons, moron?"

Only internally.

The bowtie has magically fixed itself. Not that I'm paying close attention or anything.

I'm sorry but what use are internet cafes in 2022 when most actual cafes have a decent internet connection?

I'm sure everyone opens doors that way. If he wanted to not get fingerprints on it, he could have used his elbow.

"[...] showed Canadians that extremism isn't just something our southern neighbors have to contend with." Yes, only the US has terrorism. What? Even my country has had a quite deadly terrorist organization.

Well, they usually give awards to the least deserving people. We are the exception, of course.

Tell him, Joe!

"If no one's going to do anything about this, I'll do it myself."

Well, there's no plan for "my dog took off with a bomb in his mouth."

Okay, first of all, this is the funniest way to say "I'll blow up Rex". Second, I think we should be more concerned about the fact that Rex might be anywhere, including (as we saw later) running next to dozens of people. Generally, it's not a great situation, even though Rex ultimately did save the day.

Uh-oh, Charlie has an idea.

"Rex does this all the time, how difficult can it be?"

I think I actually made a Geralt joke (from the Witcher, I mean he'd have been killed from that height) somewhere on this blog the first time.

Okay, Hamilton, how much did you guys pay for that slow-mo? This is embarrassing. And Rex looks like he's lost.

Damn, he has a strong head.

Wow, dude hates us.

That's a nice shot. I'm not particularly fond of the slow-mo on Charlie's expression in the next shot because he has to also hold his fist up and it kind looks weird in my opinion but this one's a nice shot.

This. I mean, I did what to see his expression, I just don't find the pose particularly great.

This I love, though. The music stopping, the sound coming like he's underwater, the sound of his breaths... And then as he punches Houle, there's nothing but the sound of his rage and his punches until he hears Rex barking.

For the record, I believe you should be allowed to punch the guy who you think killed your dog, cop or no cop. John Wick that motherfucker.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm here, man, I'm okay."

He was so worried.

"You did fuck him up a bit, though, right?"

I was very normal about this all the 1564 times I watched it between January 21, 2022 and Mar 23, 2022. The first 1200 times were all on the first week because we were snowed in. I'm not crazy.

"Let me give you a proper lick-up, it lowers the stress level. You silly goose, you really thought I can die?"

Stop it! I'm serious, I don't want to have to open a new post for the remaining 3 minutes!

Jesse: "Charlie is getting an extended vacation?" Sarah: "Jesse, I wouldn't really call it a vacation." Jesse, let the man fuck.

That Iris Cross report must be important. I'm kidding, I know that Jesse is probably trying to find a way to not mention the countless moments of negligence in that report.

Don't read that, there's probably tons of inaccuracies in there.

You can mention the word teamwork a million times, it still seems like nothing.

Yes, yes, we're all Charah shippers. Anyway, I'm into multi-shipping lol. But I mostly wanted to screenshot this to showcase that Rex seems kinda left out, which is not how the moments with Charlie, Sarah and Rex are shot. The latter ones always seem to include Rex, showcasing that they're family. So, yeah, for more reasons than one, I am glad to have this.

Rex: "Oh, fine, I'll allow it. Just because we're leaving tomorrow."

I definitely liked Trina, I'd love for her to come back to the show, obviously not as a romantic interest for Charlie anymore.

I'm a basic bitch, so Charlie became 50% hotter when he punched Houle. I'm unapologetic about it, and I 100% believe that dogs are worth killing for. Also, as an off-duty cop, Charlie did not act as a cop but as a person who loved Rex. If he was on duty, he'd have taken out his gun and shot him, and I would have cheered. Okay, maybe not cheered because there are real consequences from shooting a rat bastard terrorist person but I wouldn't have cared about Houle. This reaction humanizes Charlie, and I'd like for him to lose it a bit every season lol. He doesn't have to beat up people every time, we'll find other outlets.

Furthermore, I think that reaction, should it have ever been reported back to the SJPD, would have carried zero blowback. Subduing a terrorist after his bomb has blown up, and using excessive force off-duty, while saving dozens of lives? They'd have given him another medal. But the most likely scenario is that it would have prompted Joe to keep a closer eye on Charlie, because while warranted, Charlie as a more put-together cop in another time would have tried to restrain himself. My main issue with this is it wouldn't have been reported back to Joe so he wouldn't have had that information, otherwise I'd have liked it to be referenced in the season finale.

Finally, I consider part of S4 as Charlie's slut era, and I think the last time I intimated that, someone blocked me lol. At the time, it might have sounded like I was judging Charlie. But it's not really a bad thing. He's an adult, Trina is an adult, they both know that they'll only have that night and they're okay with it. Sarah is with another guy (I'm assuming they're having sex), was either of them meant to be celibate until they figured their shit out? Plus, I think it re-enforced how much in love with Sarah he was because in the next episode he got back and tried to kiss her.

[crushsblogstories]

Camping Trip - Part 3

WARNING(S)!

None of these are my characters!

I came up with the plot.

Mention of washing up and changing! (NOT s3xually)

Mention of AND kissing!

Suggestive themes?! ('Questionable' speaking of Gilbert & jokes + hinting towards intimate acts + 'sensual?' touching) MDNI

Pronouns! Not specified (Dress is worn)

Long-ish?! Incase you're looking for something short.

Note! George is a name I gave a random background character. His name is only mentioned once but I wanted to clarify.

Potential Inaccuracy! Zippers were in fact used at this time for clothing but there is no specific year (that I could find) where it states they were used for tents. I also referenced a spider found in Canada, but I'm not sure if they are found on Prince Edward Island (Where Avonlea is).

NOT PROOF READ

REQUEST/CREDIT! @isa172736637 asked for more and has received!

||Wordbank:|| Knickers - Shorts || Trousers - Pants || Fawn - Baby Deer || Nert - 1940s term for stupid or crazy person || Dunce - Someone who is 'slow at learning' and/or stupid || Courting - an older form of dating (at the time you could court more than one person and it was moreso 'competative dating' but I used the word for the sake of emersion and in the sense and term of dating) || Bbak - Random sound effect...

PART 1 [] PART 2 [] Current: PART 3

Thank you all so much for reading ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

I will say, I don't really like this.. I worked on it for wayyy too long and even tried restarting but I hope you like it anyways.

The silence of the night is so tranquil and quiet, sometimes with an ominous undertone but tonight was scerene. The soft blowing of the wind, the faint flow of the river, the leaves-

*Rustle Rustle*

Rustling?

I toss a little in my sleep. *Rustle Rustle*

My brows furrow at the increasingly louder noise. *Rustle..*

My brows unfurrow as I get comfortable again, the sound now gone. The quiet of the night seeps in again and-

*Rustle*

'OK! I'm up!' I groan and rub my eyes as I sit up, taking in my surroundings. I'm in my tent, so the noise is coming from outside, right?

I toss my blanket to the side and zip a little hole inbetween my tents curtains too peek through. I look around... Nothing is there, I close the curtain and just as I'm about to lay down,

*Rustle Rustle*

At this point I'm awake and decided to look for the sound again. I peek out - nothing. I wait - nothing. I'm not dumb, I'm not going to leave my tent when theres a weird reoccuring noise outside. So instead, I grab a rock (more like a pebble) that was on the grass outside my tent and throw it towards Gilbert's. The rock flies through his curtains and makes a thunk sound. 'Did he not close his curtains?' I wonder.

Soon, a groggy looking Gilbert pokes his head out of the tent and looks around before spotting me. I point to my ear then point outwards and we both pause for a moment, listening. It's quiet.. Still quiet.. Gilbert looks at me confused before,

*Rustle Rustle*

He looks around, most likely for the source of the sound then looks back to me with an even more confused look. He looks as though he's about to get up and make his way over, and before he does, as well as before I stop him a figure walks, almost leaps partily inbetween us. I look up and see a- a fawn? It has long legs for its tiny body, a pretty brown coat with speckles of white and wide glossy black eyes.

Another deer, seemingly it's mother, waltzes up behind it before continuing to walk through the campsite. The fawn looks around and makes eye-contact with me. 'Do I look away? Would that scare it?' are probably the questions I should be asking but my mind goes blank, seeping in all of the moment, remembering each small detail. Then, the fawn prances up to it's waiting mother and they walk away into the night. Just as my brain finishes processing I look back to Gilbert who looks at me and smiles. I'm not entirely sure if it was a returned one, I couldn't tell if I was smiling or my brain was. Gilbert ducks back into his tent, zipping it behind him, and I do the same.

-In The Morning- I wake up, I hear birds chirping and no chatter so I assume I'm one of the first up. I make my way to the river with a large cup-like container in hand, hoping to not get seen in my nightgown. I grab a scoop of water and head back to my tent. Closing the curtains I grab a cloth from my suitcase and set it beside the container before undressing and begining to wash up. I ring out the cloth, and grab another to dry myself off before changing. (White knickers are underneath)

I brush my hair, style it, and smooth out any wrinkles in my dress before pouring the water from my container out onto the grass putting it, along with my cloths and nightgown in my suitcase. I take a deep breath, savouring the clean air before heading outside my tent seeing Ms.Stacy up and ready for the day. "Good morning Ms." I smile, earning one back. "Good morning, mind stacking some wood closer to the fire pit so I can start breakfast?" Ms.Stacy asks, I nod and head over to the pile of wood that was collected yesterday and begin moving some little my little to the firepit until I think there's enough to keep a fire going. Everyone slowly starts waking up and getting ready just as Ms.Stacy starts breakfast with ingredients she packed. I spot Gilbert leaving his tent from the corner of my eye and walk over. "Good morning." I say a bit too cheerfully for such an early hour. "Good morning, love." Gilbert smiles. 'WOAH. It wasn't just me who heard that right?' I ask the internal me's. 'No, we alllllll heard it.' An internal me squeels. Gilbert morning voice? DAMN. I swear to every single cloud in the sky that if we weren't together now I would get down on one knee and confess right then and there sloley for the chance of hearing that voice everytime I wake up beside him, doesn't matter to me if that means during marriage or after s- "Last night.." Gilbert speaks, he snapped me out of my him-induced trance. Last night? I'm thinking about the nights to come. Get it? To c- "The deer we seen were so cute." Yet again he intercepts my thoughts. "Oh my gosh yes! They scared me at first, that's why I woke you up. All I could hear was random rustling but when I seen them I was at a complete loss for words. I mean, have you ever seen a prettier sight?" Gilbert stares at me after my rant. Did I rant for too long? No, wait. He's smiling at me? Now he's laughing? "I refuse to believe you are this pretty everyday without looking into a mirror. You're the prettiest sight I've ever seen." I can't help but smile like a giddy child. Maybe it was his morning voice or how the sentiment seemed almost poetic - like Romeo and Juliet without the creepy age gap, but I swear I was falling for this guy all over again.

"Breakfast is ready!" Ms.Stacy shouts. I notice a couple of boys dash out of their tents, some still in their sleepwear, to get some food. I grab Gilberts hand and start speed-walking my way over smelling pancakes, sausage, eggs, and bacon on my way over. Breakfast was fairly uneventful aside from Tily and Moody's profuce blushing towards one another, Josie gawking and praising Billy for practically breathing, and the flirtatious glances Tillie and Charlie shared. I wouldn't have noticed the glances if Gilbert hadn't pointed them out by nudging me with his elbow, nodding towards the two, then wiggling his eyebrows causing me to laugh. "Alright, listen up!" Everyones attention turns to Ms.Stacy. "You will be splitting off into groups of four to explore the forest. I will be giving four of you papers with your group members names and the direction you will be traveling on it. You are to be back before lunch, and must stay a reasonable distance from camp, understood?" Nods and reluctent 'yes'' were given. I got a paper, Diana got a paper, Anne got a paper, and George got a paper. 'Uh oh.' I thought. Anne and Dianna got papers, they aren't together. 'Hope they do ok without one another. What if I'm not with Gilbert?'

I look to my paper reading out the first name on my list. "Gilbert?" I call, registering the name only after having spoken it. I turn to him with a smile, greeted with one in return. "Who else are we with?" He asks. I read the second name, "Josie," and look up to beckon her over. Billy was the last person standing alone. 'Great... That means-' "Billy! You're in my group!" Josie just about squeels, grabbing the paper from me and waving it in the air on her tippy-toes as if he wasn't a meter or so away. "So, which way are we heading?" I ask, trying to peek at the paper. "Um.. West." She reads, continuing with a question "Which way is that..?" Billy smirks cockily pointing past me, "That way obviously!" Me and Gilbert share a glance but I speak up first. "The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It's still rising so east is actually that way." I point in the complete opposite direction and begin walking, everyone catching up and following suit.

We're about two miles away from camp and have two hours or so until lunch. "Ugh, can we take a break? My feet hurt." Josie stops in her tracks. "You've made us stop like fifteen times already." Now it's my turn to complain. Josie rolls her eyes and sits down on a rock. "How about we just sit around here for a bit then head back?" Gilbert rests a comforting hand on my lower back. It's not like there's much to see besides plants, squirrels, and the occassional bird so I sigh and give in, sitting on a large stump. I pat the area beside me for Gilbert to sit and Billy just leans against a tree near Josie, arms crossed. Conversations begin, topics changing here and there. Then,

Josie giggles.

She giggles again,

"Oh, stop." She says flirtatiously, meaning 'keep going', who is she talking to though?

(A/N: NOT HOW IT WORKS IRL. CONSENT IS A MUST IN ANY SITUATION! Even if it's 'obvious' ALWAYS ASK ANYWAY-unless they aren't in their right mind).

Another giggle.

"Oh Billy, stop it~" She laughs.

"Stop what?" Billy asks, his tone slightly defensive. "Stop tickling me silly!" Josie giggles again.

A pause.

"Josie.." I start, slowly standing, "His arms are crossed..." Gilbert finishes. "Wha.." Josie looks over to Billy, his arms now raised by his head. Her breath hitches, she swallows hard. "Then what, is touching, my.." She slowly turns her body,

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Josie lets out a shrilling screech, like nails on a chalkboard, a screem so high pitched yet vile as if she was disgusted, offended, and scared all at once. Josie attempted to shake a spider off, it was a big hairy wolf spider, she shakes her arm agressively and slaps it away, then shaks the hand she slapped it woth, probably having felt it's fuzziness. Josie runs into a random direction yelling. "EW EW! Get it off! HELP! EWWWW!"

"Josie! Wait!" I yell, running after her. I stop when there are two distinct openings in the tree's to walk. "Which way did she go?" Billy asks, catching up along with Gilbert. "I-I dont know.."

The next I don't know how long was spent yelling Josie's name, looking for her to no avail.

"Josie!?" "Josie?!" "Josie!?"

We'd yell after one another.

It'd been getting late, the sun was setting and it would be about dinner time now. We wandered farther and farther from the camp, remembering our way as best we could, but we were getting hungry..

"Why don't we head back? It's getting late and we can look for her better in the morning." Billy stops as he speaks, me and Gil doing the same.

"I agree," Gilbert turns to me specifically.

"We should head back, but to tell Ms.Stacy what happened and come back to look with flashlights."

"Tell the teacher? Really? We'd get in trouble! Are you stupid or something?" Billy combats. Gilbert scowls, eyebrows clenched, "If we head back without her and it'd be obvious something happened and we'd get in even more trouble for not saying anything." It wasn't a yell, but it was close.

"Oh! Really?" Billy scoffs, "I didn't know Mr.Know-it-all had it all planned out!" And here starts the yelling..

"It's not my fault you're a nert! Maybe pay attention in class once and a while and you wouldn't be a complete dunce!"

'Well that was definitely pent up.'

Billy's gaze flickered to me for a second, he looked embarassed. "Oh shut up Blythe! Half the time you're chatting about Y/N! We get it, you've been courting her for ages! If you're not gonna do it, why not let someone else give 'em a spin?" Billy smiles slyly, like he did something other than make this unnecissary agrument detour worse.

BBAK

No blood, but a big red spot on Billys face, it would form into a black eye for sure. I look at Girlbert, ok, time to stop this. I grab Gilbert's arm, trying to drag him away a bit when Billy left hooks him. 'Greattt.' I think. "Ok, you both got your hits it, you both said some words, now stop-"

"Hello?! Is-is some one there?!"

It was faint, but I heard it.

"Josie?" I breath the name, not sure if it's her.

"What?" Gil asks, his tone more mad than he probably meant.

"H-hello? Please! Help!"

The two boys look over, they heard it too.

"Josie!?" I begin again, walking faster and yelling louder than I had before. Finally.

"Y/N?! Y/N!?" She's louder, I walk closer to the sound, Gilbert and Billy behind me. There's a small clearing, "Y/N!"

I look, up?

"Jos-ie..?" A tree, she's in a tree.. "Why are you-"

"I ran from the spider, then I heard something in the bushes and climbed up here. Get me down please. My dress is dirty, it's ripped, and- I think I have twig in my hairrrr." She was near to tears, being lost, alone in the woods, probably a traumatizing experience.

"We can't climb up and bring you back down with us, you're going to have to jump." Gilbert states blanantly, he had the habit of doing so when assesing situations while he spoke. "Jump? No. Not happening."

I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm sorta annoyed, I'm not doing this.

"Billy, you catch Josie when she falls." I say, hiking up my dress' skirt.

"Falls?"Josie just about squeeks. I climb up the tree and sit on the same branch as Josie. "Gil, you catch me."

"Now we're both stuck, what are you gonna d-"

Wooshhh

Theres a faint sound of wind as I shove Josie off. Maybe that was my pent-up fight. I jump down after her, aiming for Gilbert and he catches me.

"Hi." He smiles.

"Hey." I smile back.

It's quiet for a second before his stomach growls. "We should head back. I'm hungry too" I laugh.

☆~☆~Back at camp cause as I'm writing it is exactly 3:51 AM~☆~☆

As we return to the campsite, everyone is around huddled in one area, Ms.Stacy speaking, and everyone looking concerned. Anne notices us and runs over, Diane following behind as everyone turns to look at where they're headed. There is a look of relief of everyones faces as worry slowly disperses.

Anne nearly tackles me and Josie with a group hug as Diane joins.

"Where were you!? Everyone was so worried!" Diane releases from the hug as she lets out a seemingly held breath.

"Yeah, when you guys didn't come back I-" Anne is cut off by a hand on her shoulder.

It's Ms.Stacy...

"Where were you four? I had very clear instructions and you disobeyed them, missed lunch because of it, and had the whole class worrying."

We were all silent. We didn't want to say it was Josie's fault.

"We're sorry Ms." Gilbert steps up, the rest of our heads hung low. There was no excuse for this one, none I could think of in the moment at least..

"It was my fault Ms.Stacy, I'm sorry. There was a spider, and it was on me, and I got scared and ran off without the group. I made it even harder to find me because I ran up a tree when I heard rustling in the bushes.. It is completely my fault." Josie confesses, she stands tall but lowers her head when she apologises and admits her fault.

Ms.Stacy sighs and theres a pause. She analizes all four of us and I assume she sees Josies ripped dress and believes the story just as she speaks again,

"I can't fault you for that but next time don't run off, and if one of you do, come back and get me. Understood?"

We all nodded and gave a quick "Yes Ms." before we were dismissed.

We all cleaned up and got ready for the campfire and dinner.

Tonights mood was much less lively than the last because of what had happened, but we still had all of tommorow.

I sigh, "One more day here, then we go home first thing in the morning.."

Gilbert, still eating, swallows before replying. "Hopefuly it's better than the last two." He laughs.

"And if not?"

"If not.." One of his hands rub up and down my thigh, "We can go to my tent and-"

I stiffle a small laugh but can't help the smile creeping up my face.

"What?" Now Gil is laughing.

"Nothing." I bite my lower lip in another attempt to hold back my laugh.

He just stares at me with a smile. There's a shine of longing in his eyes, not desire - it's the look you'd imagine when reading forbiden-love and the main character thinks they'll never have the love in the way they so dearly wish. The same look they have when their so close in proximity but so far in every other aspect so they're scared to touch them, or even talk to them and just, admire from afar. And the same look I imagine they have when they finally have the love interest all to themselves.

I'm lost in thought just admiring Gilbert's features and almost miss him whisper, "I want to kiss you so bad right now.." He's still just admiringing me, in his own world as I register what he said.

I stand up and drag him along, finding my way to a tree behind my tent.

"What are we doing back here?" He looks confused but goes to hold my waist.

"To fufill your intrusive thoughts." I smile but his face looks concerned.

"In the woods? Not a tent? Kind of unsanitary, no?" As I realize what he means I smack his arm, causing him to pull it back from my waist, the other stil on it. "Gilbert!"

"What? It was your idea!"

"I meant kissing. You said you wanted to kiss me."

A pause.

"I-..."

Another pause.

NOTE: Kissing scene ends at the next orange line

I cup his face and go in for a kiss, a hand immediately drifts to his fuffy hair. He cups my cheek to deepen the kiss and pushes me up against the tree, pressing a leg between mine. Gilbert's hand trails up my torso, lingers on my thigh, and goes back up. He trails kisses down my neck, to my collarbone, and goes to trail lower before I catch his head.

"Gil.." I breath, just above a whisper.

He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it, working his way up my arm. "When I said kiss, did I not mention all over?" He smiles as he reaches back to my neck.

"Gil..." I repeat.

"I know, I know love. I'm sorry." He kisses my forehead and gives me a quick hug.

I press my head to his and smile, "I'm gonna head to bed, don't stay up too late alright?" I stroke his cheek with my thumb as I wait for a response.

He has the look in his eyes again. After a moment he nods and presses another short, but lingering kiss to my lips. "Goodnight beautiful/handsome/lovely." He smiles as he walks in the direction of his tent.

I round the tree and make my way to the front of my tent with a smile. I get in, zipping the door behind me, wash up and change into my pyjamas, tucking my clothes back into my suitcase, and get ready to sleep.

I close my eyes and slowly begin to drift off,

.

.

☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

˙܀𖥔˚☽˚˙⊹☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Want more? (Let me know!)

I feel like I'm hating on Josie but this is how she was portrayed.. :(

Thank you for reading! Feedback is much appreciated though you are not obligated!

Requests are open here

[courtney-deserved-better]

💥 for the ask game

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

short answer:

i invite you to:

ask me about my writing choices (i don't understand why courtney betrayed gwen in this chapter, can you explain?)

point out factual inaccuracies (the canadian school system usually starts in september, not august)

point out inappropriate representation (you've written dj, a black character, to be a lot more aggressive than he is in canon)

point out typos (you forgot an apostrophe here)

i will get irritated if you:

tell me what i should've done instead (why did courtney betray gwen in this chapter when they should've teamed up against alejandro?)

treat your personal preference as criticism (this would be better if it was fluff instead of angst)

give unasked for criticism (i'm going to explain everything you did wrong and what you can do to make it better even though you have not said anywhere that you are okay with that)

long answer:

unless i explicitly ask for it, i don't want to hear it. this isn't because i can't take criticism—i'm enrolled in a specialized writing program in my university that means my work is critiqued on a weekly basis and has been for a few years now—but because this is my hobby. it's what i do for fun.

if you spent your free time knitting a scarf, and you show it to someone, and their response is "that color combination doesn't work" or "you can clearly see these rows are uneven" or "why did you choose that pattern when this one is so much better?" you're probably gonna be pretty disappointed and upset. if you showed it to them and asked "what can i do better?", that's a different story, but if all you said was "hey, look at this scarf i just made!" and you're met with criticism, that's gonna bum you out. and it's gonna make you not want to show that person the next scarf you make.

i am absolutely open to questions about my fics! if you don't understand a writing/character/plot choice i made, please ask! but again, there's a difference between asking to understand, and asking because i didn't do what you wanted. "why did noah lie in this scene, can you explain your reasoning?" is a different question than "why did noah lie in this scene when he should've told alejandro the truth and kissed him?" (random example)

thankfully, i don't receive much unwarranted criticism on my fics, but when i do, it's really just a matter of personal preference. like what ship i should write (instead of what i'm writing), what genre of song i should adapt (instead of what i'm adapting), etc. and that ticks me off! it's like saying "hey, look at this scarf i just made!" and someone responding with "i don't like knitting, you should sew a tote bag instead." that's straight up rude! there are sooo many fics out there, it's a much better use of your time to find ones you like (or writing ones you like!) than complaining in the comments about why you don't like a fic.

my exception to "please don't give me unwanted criticism" is if you notice any factual inaccuracies ("hey, the canadian school system doesn't work like that") or inappropriate representation ("hey, you've completely reduced leshawna into the black best friend stereotype"). i try to do my best when writing geography/cultures and especially marginalized characters, but i'm not perfect, and am entirely capable of doing inaccurate/insufficient research and not being aware of my own ignorance. if that is the case, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

also typos. please let me know if you spot a typo.

thanks for the ask!

[slythereen]

apologies if you’ve answered this before or if there’s not really a specific gathered resource, but you seem knowledgeable about such things!— i am interested in learning more about f1 racing, do you have any recommendation for where to find a beginners guide/‘f1 for dummies’/place to begin learning more?

hello!!! i am also rather new to the sport and had to consume massive amounts of content from all over the place and frankly am still learning a lot all the time, so i'm not exactly an expert. what i can share are resources i relied on in my own ✨ descent into madness ✨ though !

so, my incomplete and questionable guide to selling your soul to f1:

it's all about how you like to learn and consume media tbh. i tried to watch a race initially, was confused, regrouped and started exploring. personally i watched all of dts up to the current season and then watched the first few races that i had missed while obsessively trawling twitter to learn more and waiting for my first live race (aka australia this year — massive rip). but it's up to you how you dive in!!

drive to survive

don’t get me wrong, dts has its issues — they invent drama, have some misleading portrayals, like to splice together clips from different race weekends together. it’s definitely more of a creative project than a straight up documentary. 

that being said, it also explains a lot of the lore and history behind the sport, teams, and drivers in an entertaining fashion. it’s newcomer friendly so it explains the rules. yes, will buxton gets a lot of heat for stating the obvious, but some of those obvious explanations are helpful for the clueless. 

there are also a lot of very cool shots and some good exclusive interviews that they get. sure, you can probably find them clipped on youtube, but may as well just watch dts. the first season is a little slow if you’re like me and want to see charles immediately (worth noting not all teams had agreed to participate s1), but that’s just me. 

(plus: it’s entertaining. i live for drama. just take said drama with a grain of salt and assume it’s probably invented or blown out of proportion.) 

the tiktok girlies 

again: tiktok can be a bit hit or miss. you’ll see a lot of bad takes and pure cringe if you linger too long on f1 tiktok. but i started watching content from a few f1 girlies who seems reliable and had friendly introductory content. they’re generally very nice and happy to answer questions. 

after a while i stopped watching them just because i no longer needed the intro information or explanations, but they did help fill in gaps and point out some of the inaccuracies of dts. 

some who helped me learn more:

@/lissiemackintosh (okay she's an f1 presenter but she's cool as shit i love her queen of the paddock etc etc)

@casxf1 (intro content is sort of her Thing)

@formula_dev (she was my go-to girlie for learning)

@f1toni

f1tv content 

i am pretty sure f1tv isn’t available in all countries, but i have always watched races through f1tv. there are a lot of ways to watch races live illicitly if that’s what you prefer, and other countries have sky or other channels they can watch on (USA also has espn), but i prefer f1tv because i’m too lazy to find streams and don’t want to worry about stream issues mid race. 

plus: f1tv comes with a whole archive of past seasons and a host of other media content during race weekends (ie, the fia press conferences on thursday, post-quali and post-race). they have a tech talk series that explains some of the technical aspects, do weekend warm-ups each race weekend that gives an update/context, and have been adding more intro content on the platform. there’s an app, which is convenient. 

the f1tv stream also allows you to use the channel switcher to choose between your commentary options (f1tv or sky’s commentators), or to see the live timing data, or to see any of the driver onboards. it’s quick and you can switch back and forth easily. (if your computer can handle it — my mac often can’t — you can use multiviewer with your f1tv subscription to set up a bunch of different screens and panels to watch, for example, the main stream and a driver’s onboard. or multiple onboards. or whatever you want basically. personally i usually put the race on my ipad and the onboard on my phone, because that streams perfectly and multiviewer likes to kill my laptop.) 

the downfall of f1tv is that they don’t have a smart tv app yet. idk why. it’s very irritating. it also might be a bit expensive to some, but i think it’s worth it. 

f1 twitter (hell)

it’s a minefield out there. truly. BUT my next big question, after starting to get into watching races live and watching some old seasons and learning how it works, is how people seemed to always be in the know about paddock gossip. i wanted to know about it as it was happening and see the ~drama~ unfold live and feel like i was part of the season actually occurring. 

so: twitter. follow your teams, follow your drivers, the for you tab is actually your friend here because it’ll bring new journalists and f1 commentators into your orbit as you learn who is who. some of the big driver fan pages operate as sources of information and updates with relative stealth if not immediate updating. 

at this point i follow enough people (and have infected my algorithm enough) that i tend to see gossip and updates across most of the teams. big news tends to get shared by everyone anyway. 

if you prefer tumblr, you can still get A Lot of updates on drama and gossip pretty quickly. there is a bit of a delay between information hitting twitter and information hitting tumblr (partially because none of the official teams or drivers have accounts on tumblr; partially because of the amount of people on f1twt versus f1blr). BUT, a lot of us tumblr girlies liveblog during the races and sessions and bring any crucial content over from twitter to share here, so the info will probably be here eventually/soonish. (following the race tags each weekend will prob give you a lot of the quick updates live.) 

some great charles specific update accounts

@leclercsletters

@leclercdata

@/charlsleclerc

@cleclercfansuk

others i follow for the 🍵 (not necessarily CL fans/i follow some ppl i disagree with for the intel) 

@fiadocsbot (😭) / @f1 / other official accounts press etc. 

@_allthatglitz

@maranellosaint

@scuderiafemboy (actually also has tumblr)

@fm1_3316

@/lecstappens

@candeleclerc16

@/elpredestinato

@formuleo_

@pikaclerc

@leclerqz

@fottitiferrari

@/f1tami

@/htrs4piastri

@estestroll

@fanaticsferrari

there are certainly more i see on my timeline all the time !!! this is just skimming through my following on the train 😭

tbh if i started trying to list tumblrs with hot takes that i follow we might be here all day. note to self: make my following list public lmfao

introductory posts & masterlists & others

full disclosure: these are resources i went hunting for out of curiosity and never actually used myself, but they looked fun and funky so yaknow. if there are iconic masterlists that i am missing, rip, someone please feel free to add or correct me. some of these are definitely seasons of old (aka like last year) but you get the point.

f1chronicle has this guide!

f1 put out their own beginner's guide to f1 video but it's like......5 minutes (and here is their longer intro video for 2023)

this much longer intro to the rules video by school of sports looks promising

apparent f1 also has a whole category of articles in their beginner's guide series

@babssionate's ppt guide to f1 and drivers intro

@shuntedmate's (sister's) ppt beginner's guide to f1

pitwall's beginner guide to f1 ppt

@race-week's guide to getting into the technical side of f1 (and whole blog appears to be some cool info on drivers and histories etc)

here is @lestappenforever's glorious guide to charles' driving style that i re-found while trying to figure out if i have a reference list tag (i dont)