#and I remember turning to my dad when I was looking at it and going 'damn. joaquin was a damn good cast for this'. SERIOUSLY. LOOKED SO

[hedwig221b]

You are amazing ✨✨✨

Do you have any feral Derek fic recs?? Especially if he’s stuck as a wolf?? Bonus points if Stiles thinks he’s just a big friendly dog 🥹

Hi, love! Thank uuu! I absolutely love feral wolf Derek, it always delivers. Here's a very long rec list, enjoy!

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

Stuck in This in Between by calrissian18

“You’re not getting better, Derek.” And it was the first time he’d called him that since he’d realized he wasn’t really.

The Feral Alpha by halcyon1993

Derek has lived in a half-feral state in the wilderness ever since hunters killed his family. When the hunters return years later, he gets his revenge and finds his true mate in one of the boys they were holding captive. He claims him immediately.

Safe Mind by LadyDrace

Derek goes missing for a while and comes back full wolf. Only problem is that his mind has gone wolf too, and for some reason the only one he'll allow near him… is Stiles.

Of Blood and Feral Wolves by Flicker_Ash

After Stiles is hurt in a surprise attack, Derek's wolf takes over and won't let anyone near him. Doesn't matter if it's Scott or a paramedic, when there's blood and no sarcasm, no-one's touching Stiles.

Light at the end of the tunnel by Lesatha

“Careful, Stilinski. Don’t think you can go around telling me what to do, or coddling the werewolf.” “What does it matter to you?” “If the feral alpha kills you, it will be my fault, as your supervisor.” Stiles’ head whipped towards the werewolf. He couldn’t see much of him apart from his red eyes, always following Stiles. Crazy as it might sound, it comforted him. The werewolf wasn’t the rabid animal Elis seemed to picture. He was just… hurt.

Feral by melofttroll

Scott’s yelling now as the Jeep comes to a halt, and Stiles ignores him as he clambers from the seat. The skid turned the Jeep completely around, and his headlights are pointed at something that is decidedly not dog-ish, or bear-ish, but very, very human. And by the shuddering breaths coming from the man’s chest, very much alive. Feral!Derek, Sterek AU

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human… and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Throw Away the Key by mommymuffin

Stiles knew it was stupid to go to the hunters’ headquarters all by himself, so when he finds himself caught, he can really only blame himself. It shouldn't surprise Stiles when the situation quickly goes from bad to worse as the hunters throw him to a feral werewolf waiting to tear him apart. Sucks that it's Derek, though.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college. Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him. Oh, and the murders, of course. But other than that stuff… totally the same old BH.

There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other Hand…) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox

“I’m not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!” “There are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,” the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time she’d said it to him. “Well clearly there are!” he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. “Perhaps you were mistaken,” she said calmly. “No I wasn’t fucking mistaken,” Matt insisted, sounding incensed. “No way these were dogs, they were massive!” For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Because—he knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, he’d also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. But… what if there were? Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar. Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ "Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

Rabbit Hearted by secondstar, Tsuminoaru

Storytellers were known for their talented tongues, their ability to weave tales and enthrall the listener. Their stories held weight, taken as truth as they were passed down from generation to generation. A tale of a cursed pack of wolves was one such story that Stiles had known since he was a child. Never did he think that he would become part of that tale, or that its weight would be up upon his shoulders. A tale of curses, sacrifices, and acceptance of one's inner self.

Being Close to You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Realization dawned and Derek cursed himself viciously. How could he be stupid enough to forget Scott was a Werewolf? He could fucking smell him! Scott knew it was him! “Stiles?” Scott asked uncertainly while Stiles started opening and closing various cabinets, looking for who knew what. “That’s not a d—” Derek snarled and let out a loud bark, eyes glowing blue in Scott’s direction since Stiles couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Scott scowled at him, moving closer to him and inhaling pointedly. “What are you doing here, Derek?” Scott asked, voice low enough that Stiles wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t listening anyway, still panicking and randomly opening things.

(You) Bring Out the Beast (In Me) by Ember

“Should I make out the wedding invitations?” Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.”What?” Lydia smirked. “Well, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.” “Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.” He rolled his eyes. “Beastiality jokes.” +++ Aka the one where Derek is a wolf and Stiles is his trainer, and then magic and transformations and feelings happen.

A Boy’s Best Friend by KnottheWolf

Stiles was just having some ‘me time’ when things escalated with his dog, Wolf. Or at least, he thinks it’s a dog.

"good boy" by quackquackcey

Stiles doesn’t think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesn’t even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so there’s still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isn’t a complete lost cause…right? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ 🐺🍕

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 3 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Australia, sir."

Bucky froze in place when he heard that. Australia? It was so unlike you. In all the time you spent together, you always talked about visiting Europe. That was your dream—to save enough money to open a café there, buy a boat, and travel around the continent.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter now. At least he finally knew where you were.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded.

After his security team gave him the location, Bucky immediately called his pilot to prepare the plane. Within minutes, he was on his private jet, accompanied by his assistant, who sat nervously across from him.

The assistant hesitated before asking, “Sir, when do you want to reschedule the meeting?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his phone. “If I’m not in the company, there’s a vice president. Let him attend the meeting instead. The company pays him a high salary for a reason. If he makes the wrong agreement at the meeting, I’ll fire him.”

The assistant swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the pen in his lap. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the cushion as silence settled between them. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin. His gaze drifted to the window, the clouds blurring past.

The matter of this marriage was far more complicated than any company matter.

He broke the silence. “Do you ever have marriage trouble?”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question. “Uh… yes, sir.”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward him. “Have you ever argued to the point where your wife left the house?”

The assistant hesitated, his hands stilling. “That’s… no, sir. We argue sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I see.”

His situation wasn’t like those couples who separated after endless fights. This marriage was different—it was based on a contract. There was no need for messy legal proceedings or divorce lawyers. No drawn-out drama. It was supposed to be simple, painless.

But it wasn’t.

He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pressing against his temple as memories of his parents’ divorce flashed through his mind. He’d witnessed it all—the yelling, the accusations, the blame. He could still remember the cold, suffocating atmosphere in the negotiation room as both sides tore each other apart. And they’d forced him, a child, to sit there and watch.

They called it love once, but what he saw was anything but. His parents acted like children while he was expected to be the adult.

Marriage was supposed to be a union between two mature individuals who respected its meaning. His parents may have loved each other once, but they destroyed that love with betrayal and adultery.

It was full of lies and deception. For young Bucky, hearing the arguments was painful. Even now, he still feels a lingering resentment toward his parents.

Bucky shook his head, clearing the bitter thoughts. He’d never wanted a traditional marriage because of them. When his grandfather, Paul, had told him he needed to marry to inherit the company, Bucky had been clueless about what to do.

That’s when he remembered a friend mentioning a matchmaking agency. “It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” his friend had said.

And it was expensive—but it was worth it. With you, he’d fulfilled his grandfather’s condition and taken over the company. You were his perfect partner.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He rubbed his chin as he rewound every moment he’d spent with you, searching for something he might have missed. He couldn’t think of a single instance where he had disrespected you. Both of you respected each other’s personal space and schedules. He knew you had a close relationship with Grace, your best friend.

Friends.

Friends?

His brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, Grace was the only friend of yours he really knew. While you had met most of his circle, he knew almost nothing about yours.

Bucky leaned forward, clasping his hands together tightly. After giving it more thought, he realized the imbalance in your marriage. He was the dominant one, the one whose needs and routines shaped the relationship.

And he had barely noticed.

His jaw tightened, the weight of his ignorance sinking in. For the first time, he wondered if that was why you left.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After a long flight, Bucky’s plane finally touched down at the destination. He had managed to close his eyes during the journey, but rest was impossible—his thoughts were consumed by you. Memories, questions, and unspoken words replayed endlessly in his mind.

As he stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit his face, bringing a brief sense of clarity. The head of his security team approached him immediately.

"Sir, we’ve found her location," the man reported.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The security detail led Bucky toward the docks, their hurried footsteps crunching against the gravel. His heart was pounding, each step feeling heavier as the weight of anticipation bore down on him. He scanned the area, his sharp eyes searching frantically for any sign of you.

And then, he saw you.

There you were, standing near the edge of the dock, the soft breeze tugging at your hair as you stared out at the endless horizon. The setting sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look almost ethereal, like a mirage he’d conjured in his desperation.

His breath hitched. Relief washed over him first, flooding his chest so quickly that it nearly brought him to his knees. After days of relentless searching, and agonizing over where you could be, there you were—within reach.

But then came the ache. A sharp, searing pain in his chest that he hadn’t expected. Seeing you standing so calmly as if the world hadn’t turned upside down for him, struck a chord deep within. You looked so at peace, so distant, and he couldn’t understand it.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He closed the distance between you in long, determined strides, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. Relief, anger, confusion, longing—it all melded together as his voice broke through the silence.

He called your name, loud and raw, the sound carrying across the water.

You turned, startled, your wide eyes locking with his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He saw the flicker of surprise on your face, the way your lips parted slightly as if you were about to say something. But what shook him most was what he didn’t see.

There was no regret in your eyes.

Bucky’s chest tightened, his fists clenching instinctively at his sides. How could you look at him like that—so calm, so unaffected—when he’d been unraveling without you? He reached you in a few quick strides, his hand shooting out to grab yours before you could move another step.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he called out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. You turned, visibly startled but composed, no trace of regret on your face.

He didn’t stop running until he reached you, grabbing your hand before you could step onto the yacht. "Why did you leave?" he demanded, his tone raw with frustration. "Didn’t I say we’d talk this through?"

You look at him, your eyes steady but filled with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to continue the marriage contract."

“I know.” He fell silent, his gaze locking onto yours. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

"No," you replied, shaking your head with a soft smile. "Didn’t you get the letter I left for you?"

Bucky frowned, the words unsettling him. The letter? What could it possibly say that justified this?

"It’s not you," you said, your tone steady. "It’s me."

"Lies," he shot back, his voice clipped with disbelief.

"It’s not," you insisted firmly.

"Explain it to me like I’m five years old," he demanded, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "In the contract, we promised no lies, no deception. We even agreed that if one of us developed feelings, the marriage would end before things got messy."

Your gaze softened as you added, "Bucky, I love you."

The confession hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him stunned and speechless. He had braced himself for accusations, for anger, but not this.

You took advantage of his silence, gently pulling your hand free from his grasp. You turned to the captain of the yacht and gave a subtle nod, signaling him to start the engine.

As the boat began to drift away from the dock, Bucky’s senses returned. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Anywhere," you replied, your words floating back to him.

Standing at the edge of the dock, he could only watch as the boat carried you farther away.

From your place on the yacht, you glanced back at him. “What a fool,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I told everyone not to let you find me.”

The captain, standing at the helm, turned to you and asked, “How far do you want to go?”

"Keep sailing until I say stop," you said, your tone resolute.

"Alright," the captain replied, steering the yacht into the open sea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The yacht moved steadily through the endless expanse of blue, its wake cutting a gentle path through the water. You stood at the edge of the deck, the wind brushing against your face, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. The horizon stretched infinitely, meeting the sky in a blur of hazy gold and blue. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze tangle your hair and the sun warm your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you thought. The kind of beauty that felt untouched, unclaimed—exactly what you were searching for.

“This is it,” you murmured, barely audible to yourself.

With steady steps, you approached the captain’s cabin. He glanced at you briefly, his expression questioning.

“Stop here,” you said.

“Are you sure?” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes.” Your answer was firm, final.

He nodded and went to work, releasing the anchor with a heavy clunk as it descended into the ocean’s depths. The yacht slowed to a gentle halt, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the waves.

Without hesitation, you peeled off your clothes, revealing the simple swimsuit underneath. The air felt cool against your skin, but it didn’t matter. You stepped to the edge of the deck, your toes curling over the rim. For a brief second, you inhaled deeply, and then you leaped.

The water embraced you like an old friend. It was cold but refreshing, its weight washing over you, pulling you into its quiet, endless depths. You swam, letting your body move freely, unbound by the constraints of gravity or obligation.

You dove deeper, the light above you diffusing into shimmering rays that danced like silver ribbons. Down here, there were no walls to confine you, no contracts to dictate your actions. It was just you and the ocean—an infinite space where you could finally breathe.

For the first time in years, you felt free.

You floated on your back, staring up at the vast sky. The sun cast a golden glow across the water’s surface, making it sparkle like liquid diamonds. You let out a long breath, your body rising and falling with the gentle waves. This was what you had been looking for—a release from the weight of expectations and the burden of feeling tethered to things you didn’t truly want.

You didn’t understand why, but in this moment of letting go—of money, of love, of the life you’d meticulously built—you felt alive.

All your life, it had been about money. Growing up with a father whose high income only highlighted what was still lacking, you learned early that nothing was ever enough. There was always another competition to win, another prize to chase. Independence wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.

Money became your anchor, the thing that kept you afloat. You thrived on it, obsessed over it. You checked your bank accounts daily, reveling in the sight of green numbers climbing higher and higher. It was intoxicating, the sense of control and success that came with it.

Each time you earned more money, it was a step closer to impressing your parents. Impressing them became a lifelong goal—one that would finally make them say, “We’re proud of you.” But no matter how much you earned, it was never enough.

And then there was love—a concept you understood in theory but never cared to possess. Money filled the void better than any romantic notion ever could. Love was messy, complicated, and it demanded sacrifices you weren’t willing to make. Money didn’t ask for your vulnerability; it only required your focus, your ambition, your endless thirst for more.

The two were the same, you realized. Money and love—they both left you parched, chasing something that always seemed just out of reach.

Then what were the other things that made you confront money and love at the same time?

When you joined the matchmaking agency to find a wealthy partner, you hadn’t really thought it through. There wasn’t a grand plan, just the vague hope of finding someone who could meet your terms. Honestly, you expected the candidates to be older men—someone seeking a companion to attend events with, nothing more. You had even specified one unique condition in your profile: no intimacy.

So, it came as a shock when the person who agreed to your circumstances turned out to be Bucky Barnes—a man only two years older than you. Not only that, but he was willing to pay an impressive amount to seal the deal.

When it was Bucky’s turn to lay out his requirements, everything seemed to align perfectly. He needed a partner who could convincingly play the role of a devoted spouse, just long enough for him to inherit his family’s company. You knew you could handle that. Pretending to be his loving wife? It felt like an easy role to play.

His parents were simple to fool, far less intimidating than your own strict, demanding family. The real challenge, however, was his grandfather, Paul. With his sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, Paul had a knack for spotting liars. Yet, even he couldn’t see through you. You gave him exactly what he longed for—a granddaughter-in-law who treated him with genuine care. That part was easy because you understood what it felt like to crave love and approval.

The first year flew by without a hitch. You and Bucky played your roles to perfection. The arrangement opened doors for both of you—financially and socially. When the time came to discuss extending the contract for another year, you agreed without hesitation. The benefits far outweighed any drawbacks.

But then, somewhere in the second year, things began to shift. You started to feel something for Bucky—something dangerous. It wasn’t part of the deal, and you hated yourself for it. From the start, Bucky had been upfront about his feelings—or lack thereof. For him, love was a waste of time. He had no use for romance, and you had respected that. Until now.

You couldn’t stop it, though. No matter how hard you tried to suppress your emotions, they crept in, uninvited. It was written clearly in your agreement: no feelings, no complications. If either party broke that rule, the contract would be terminated immediately.

So, you buried your feelings as best you could. Love was messy, unpredictable, and it made you want things you couldn’t have. It filled your mind with fantasies, leaving you restless and craving more. And you despised it.

You just needed to hold on a little longer.

But then, everything changed.

Two days before the marriage contract was set to end, something happened—something you hadn’t anticipated.

And in that moment, you realized nothing would ever be the same again.

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[t1red-twilight]

you remembered?

summary: dean isn’t used to celebrating his birthday.

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, some angst, allusions to abuse/neglect, john winchester when i catch you john winchester

notes: happy birthday dean!

word count: 1.1k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

there were a few things that you knew about dean. one, he was a night owl. two, he preferred pancakes over waffles. and three, he was not used to his birthday being remembered, let alone celebrated.

in all the time that you had known him you weren’t even told when his birthday was, at least for a while. given the constant life or death circumstances, it hadn’t crossed your mind to ask when it was or why you didn’t celebrate it. about six months ago you and sam were alone, and you remembered to ask.

sam told you what the date of his birthday was (january twenty-fourth), and the next thing he said just about made your jaw go slack. “we never really celebrated it,” he stated.

“what do you mean, you never celebrated it?”

sam pondered for a moment. “well, our dad always said that we didn’t have time for birthdays or christmas. it just wasn’t something we ever did, i guess.” you swallowed the words you wished to say. lord knows that if you spoke what you were thinking, you might get in trouble.

but sam continued. “dean celebrated my birthday with me a couple times, but our dad didn’t…take that too well. i think after a while he just forgot our birthdays.” your heart sunk. everything you learned about that man made you lean towards violence just a little bit more.

so, you took everything sam had said and you stored it in your brain for later use. eventually, his birthday approached. you figured he wouldn’t be into something super loud and big, considering that he hadn’t had a birthday celebration in what seemed to be quite a while.

two weeks before his birthday, you sat down and planned what you were going to do. you wanted something small, but nonetheless something that at least would make him feel recognized.

-

when dean woke up, he noticed that you weren’t in the bed next to him. he sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around the room. you were nowhere to be seen.

he did notice, however, that the door to your shared bedroom was slightly ajar. and faintly he could hear the noise of pots and pan gently clanking in the kitchen.

he meandered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. and there you stood, making breakfast. now you didn’t really have designated meal times; the two of you just ate whenever it seemed necessary. so the oddity of this current situation was not lost to him. “what are you doing?” he questioned.

turning, you saw him standing in the entrance in the kitchen. his shirt was ruffled and you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. smiling, you answered. “i’m making breakfast.” his eye eyebrows slightly raised, and it seemed as if he looked a little bit shocked.

“why, though?” he followed through with his questioning. “you know, we don’t usually do stuff like this.” nothing in his tone was accusatory. if anything, the volume of his voice lowered in an unusual manner.

you turned back around to face the bacon that you were currently frying. hopefully you weren’t overstepping. maybe he just didn’t like his birthday? perhaps you shouldn’t have done anything at all.

you heard soft footsteps approach you from behind. dean’s hands moved to rest up upon your hips. slowly, he turned you around to look at him. his eyes, they looked…glassy? your brow knit together and your hands went up to hold his cheeks. his bottom lip began to quiver almost imperceptibly.

a silence filled the room. you could only hear the soft splattering of the bacon from behind you, and maybe even the soft hums of his breath as he looked at you. when you spoke, you made sure that your voice was lowered. you didn’t know if sam was here, and it was likely that dean would not want sam to overhear what was going on. “well, it’s kind of an important day. it’s pretty special.“

at this, you saw him look away briefly and blink rapidly. was he trying not to cry? you used your hands and moved his face back to face yours. “are you okay?“ you asked. oh god, you overstepped. and now, he was upset.

surprisingly, he nodded. “yes. i’m great,” he replied. you didn’t push him any further than he wanted to go.

a small, singular tear escaped from the corner of his eye. your thumb rose off his cheek and swiped it away. dean lowered his head into the crook of your shoulder, and pulled you close to him. his hands were sprawled across your back and held you ever so tightly. it looked as though his shoulders were shaking slightly, he was crying. you didn’t say anything.

you mirrored his motions, and pulled him close to you as well. you scratched his back lightly, and ran one hand through his hair. you reached behind yourself and turned the stove off to avoid any accidents. the embrace might have lasted for a few minutes or even longer, but you didn’t really know or care.

then, he spoke. his voice, though muffled, still communicated what he wanted to say clearly. “thank you for remembering,” he said. the quiver in his voice was not lost to you. how could it be that some cheap, overcooked bacon was eliciting such a response?

you kissed the part of his head that was most accessible to you and whispered back to him. “of course. it’s a special day, and you’re special to me.” he pulled away and looked at you. dean’s cheeks were damp and his lips were swollen from crying.

“no one’s ever done something like this for me i-“ a sob wracked his body and cut him off. you pulled him down to kiss you.

you hadn’t known dean for that long, one and a half, maybe two years. but in that time you really gotten close. and while you never verbally defined anything you both knew where the two of you stood.

dean kissed you back instantaneously and with such a fervor that sent a chill up your spine. you could feel the tears that slipped down his face, but didn’t mind in the slightest.

you pulled away and he kissed you once more in a pecking motion. your thumbs wiped away the tears that remained. “and i was thinking,” you started, “that we could go to the diner in town later. get some dinner and pie?”

“just you and me?” he asked, his face lighting up gently.

“yeah. just you and me.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Study Buddy 5

Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Despite feeling entirely out of place, you can’t resist the draw of sleep. Nestled on the couch beneath a blanket, a soft pillow under your head, you drift away from the tension rippling off your study buddy. Even in the next room, you sense the density in the air. 

You’re so tired, you hear yourself snoring from the depths of your unconscious. Your brain is sludge and your dreams are murky. You only wake up as you sense the murmur of voices. 

You open your eyes to the glare of the TV in the pale light of day. You rub your cheek as your vision clears. You blink at the screen as the teen drama plays out. 

“You snore louder than my dad,” Faye snorts. “Morning, sunshine.” 

You lurch up, almost top-turning from the suddenness of it all. You remember where you are in an instant. You knead your temple as you try to sort yourself out. 

“Um, good morning,” you croak through your dry throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” she grins, still in her pajamas as she drapes her legs over the armrest of the chair. “How about you?” 

“Urgh, tired,” you drop your hand as the blanket falls to your lap. “Sorry, I should go--” 

“Daaaad,” Faye hollers over you. 

You flinch and turn as you hear footsteps. As you glance over, Walter emerges in a bathroom. You can tell by the glimpse of his furry chest and the glisten in his curls that he just got out of the shower. 

“Your friend’s awake.” She chirps. 

He looks at you and his shoulders square. He really doesn’t like you. You can’t help but wonder why he insisted you stay. 

“It’s alright, I’m just about to head out,” you stand and fold the blanket and set it neatly on the cushion. “Thanks, again.” 

“You should at least have breakfast. Dad made waffles.” 

“Waffles? Oh,” you glance at him. “I wouldn’t want to... impose.” 

“No big deal, I saved some batter. Iron heats up in a snap,” he shrugs. 

You face him as you cross the room. You stop by the doorway into the entry, “it’s very nice of you but I’m okay. I really should try to catch a bus.” 

“Gimme a few and I’ll drive you.” He offers. 

“Really, it’s...” 

He’s already stalking away before you can finish your protest. You sigh and grimace at his back. He really doesn’t give you a chance to argue. With anything. Would it be easier to just have him look at the paper before you go and tell you everything that’s wrong? 

“My dad likes you,” Faye giggles. “He doesn’t like anyone.” 

“Um, I don’t think so,” you lean on the doorframe and stare at the TV, trying to make sense of the snarky conversation. 

“He does,” she insists. “I know, I’m the only other person he likes.” 

“Sure,” you tut. “Does it matter? I just need to get this project done.” 

“Don’t you think it’s funny? My dad taking a writing course? He doesn’t really seem like the creative type. More the bashing skulls type,” she cackles. 

“I don’t really know... him.” 

“What did you think when he showed up? I’d be pissing my pants,” she doesn’t look away from the TV as she speaks. 

“I don’t know, I thought someone named Walter would be skinnier... maybe have glasses and a pension?” 

She laughs even louder, “oof, don’t say that too loud.” 

You let yourself smile. She’s not a bad kid. If you were her age, you might be friends. 

“I’m just going to get my stuff together,” you say, “uh, Faye, it was nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Nice to have someone around to keep the wolf from coming out in the full moon,” she snipes. 

You snicker softly and leave her. The analogy isn’t far off. Walter does fit the type. He’s a bit furry after all. 

You check that everything’s in your bag and ben to put on your shoes. You pull on your jacket and Walter appears; he wears a black hoodie and dark jeans. He pulls on a jacket and leaves it undone before he grabs his boots. 

You zip up your coat and hook your bag on your shoulder, “thanks, again. You know, I have a bus pass.” 

He grumbles and you quiet. Don’t push your luck. Hopefully he only needs to revise a little and you can be done with all this. 

You flinch as he suddenly moves toward you. Your eyes round and you hit the door with your back. He tilts his head as he reaches past you for the handle. You look down and cringe. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t... paying attention.” 

He hums and you shift out of his way. He opens the door and lets you out first. You step into the sunshine, a deceptive beacon as your breath puffs out visibly. You cross your arms as he locks the door. 

He gestures you ahead of him to his truck. You go down the walk and to the driveway. You wait on the passenger side until the locks click. You open the door and climb in. He has a much easier time stepping into the high vehicle. 

He pulls his seatbelt down as you do the same. He turns the engine and lets it rumble as he turns the dials for the vent. He checks the mirrors and grips the wheel in one hand. He leans his elbow on the arm rest as he backs out. 

“You know,” he says as he rights the tires. “I got eye surgery so I don’t need the glasses anymore.” 

You squint at his remark. What? It takes a moment before you realise. Shoot. 

“It was a joke,” you say. “Obviously...” 

“No pension for another fifteen years at least and, well, helps to have a bit of bulk in my line of work.” 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You really didn’t mean anything. 

“I’m sorry, I... yeah, I say stupid things.” 

He’s quiet as he steers. He sucks his teeth as he stops at a sign, “it was a good joke. Better than Faye’s werewolf schtick.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” you flick your thumb nervously. 

“You seem like the werewolf type. Know any good books?” He asks. 

“Werewolf type? Um, didn’t think I put out that vibe but... maybe Mongrels? I don’t read a lot about that stuff actually.” 

“Mongrels,” he nods. “I’ll check it out.” 

You’re almost flattered that he’d take your recommendation, less so that he thinks you’re a Twilight girlie. You stare through the windshield and take the victory for what it is. You don’t think you’ll be getting any more than that. 

[winchesterwild78]

Daddy’s Girl pt 1

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (wife), Dean and Reader’s daughter, other characters from Supernatural

Warnings: None yet, just some fluff. Talks of monsters and nightmares

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about Dean and his wife and how Dean is a total girl dad. The reader and Dean are married and their daughter is 4.

This is a work of fiction and does not follow the Supernatural storyline. I do not own the rights to the characters used.

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

“Delilah Rose, get in here and pick up this mess.” I stood in the Dean cave and saw her dolls all over the floor. My four year old came bounding in and looked up at me with her father’s green eyes and gave me the best puppy dog eyes she could muster. “I see Uncle Sammy is teaching you puppy dog eyes.”

I heard a deep chuckle behind me and felt my husband’s arms wrap around my waist. “Or was it you, Dean Winchester? Teaching our toddler how to get out of trouble?” 

He laughed, “Nope, because my little pumpkin pie could never be in trouble.” I rolled my eyes, “Well your little pumpkin pie has been told five times to clean up her mess and she still hasn’t done it.” 

Dean spun me around to face him, “We were still playing.” He chuckled and kissed my lips. “Sure you were. Any excuse to keep her out of trouble. You two are insufferable.” “Yeah, but you love us.” I playfully rolled my eyes, “I guess I do. You're lucky you’re cute, Winchester.” 

He pulled me close and kissed my lips. Delilah was watching from the floor and giggled. “Daddy, can we play now?” He pulled away and smirked, “Duty calls.”

Dean let go of me and got on the floor with Delilah. I loved watching them together. From the moment he found out I was pregnant he was over the moon. When we found out we were having a girl his whole demeanor shifted. 

I thought he was protective of me or Sammy, but nothing prepared me for the level of protection for Delilah. I still remember late night conversations with him about her future.

“She will never hunt and I’m cutting back on it. I refuse to have her grow up the way Sammy and I did. She will learn to protect herself, but I won’t let her live her life in fear. Oh, and no boys until she’s thirty, and they will be put through all the tests; holy water, silver, borax, background checks.” 

I just laughed. She wasn’t born yet and he was already so protective of her. 

When she was born it was a chilly day in late November. She was born a few days before Thanksgiving and Dean nicknamed her “pumpkin pie” because of it. He even bought her a onesie that had a slice of pumpkin pie on it and it said, “Sweet as (picture of the pie)”. 

The nurses took turns holding her. Delilah had everyone, especially Dean wrapped around her finger from the moment she was born. 

When we came home from the hospital my recovery was hard. There were some complications with me during birth, so the doctor told us to expect some difficulties after. 

The first few nights home I cried every time Delilah cried. Dean was by my side, taking care of her and me. As I healed, Dean insisted on doing the late night feedings and changes. “It will help us bond better. Please, baby let me do this. You can rest.” He kissed my lips and shooed me to bed.

I would sneak out and watch him from the doorway of the nursery. Dean would feed her, change her and sing her to sleep while he rocked her. 

I loved watching him with her. Dean Winchester was born to be a father, especially to a little girl. 

Now here we were four years later and Delilah, or “pumpkin pie” as Dean called her, was growing into a spunky child. 

“Daddy, play dress up with me. Please.” Her big green eyes fluttered and her lip poked out. I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “You two have fun, I’m going to make some lunch for us. Any requests?” 

Dean and Delilah looked at each other and then at me with big grins, “Grilled cheese and tomato soup.” “Of course, why did I even ask?” I chuckled as I left the room. 

The halls of the bunker filled with laughter coming from Delilah’s room. “Daddy, now I have to paint your nails.” “Pumpkin I don’t want my nails painted. Maybe you can paint mommy’s or Uncle Sammy’s.” “Noooo daddy, I want to paint yours so we can match.” 

I laughed because I knew when I saw them he would have painted nails. I poured the soup in bowls and cut their grilled cheeses. Four little triangles with apple slices in the middle of the plate. Just the way they both like it. 

“Lunch is ready for you two. Wash up and come on.” I called from the kitchen. 

I heard giggles coming down the hallway and a few minutes later Dean and Delilah came into the kitchen. When I turned around I laughed loudly. Dean’s hair was full of bows and barrettes and his nails were painted.

He cut his eyes at me as I stifled the giggle. “Mommy isn’t daddy pretty?” “Yes he is baby girl, you did a great job.” “See daddy, I told you that you were pretty.”

I walked over to Dean and kissed his lips softly, “Daddy is very pretty.” He smirked, “She better be glad she’s cute.” I placed my hands on his chest, “She has you wrapped so tight around her finger she could shave your head and you’d love it.” He smirked because he knew I was right.

Dean Winchester, badass hunter, stopped the apocalypse, got rid of demons, vampires, and God himself, but would crumble and bend to the will of his four year old daughter. 

The three of us sat at the table to eat lunch. Dean and Delilah sat across from each other and I sat beside Delilah. I stood up to grab napkins and when I turned around I saw Dean making silly faces and Delilah giggling. She started making them back and he laughed. “Dean Winchester! Teaching her how to make faces like that. You’re going to get her in trouble when she starts school.” 

Delilah and Dean both laughed, but I noticed his jaw clench a little when I mentioned school. I knew he wasn’t looking forward to her going to school. He was scared and nervous about her being away from him. He has been by her side since the day she was born, never being apart from her. 

After lunch it was time for Delilah to take a nap. Dean cleaned her up and carried her to bed. 

“But daddy, I don’t want to take a nap. I want to stay with you and mommy.” “Sweetheart, you need to take a nap. Mommy and daddy will be here when you wake up. Want me to sing to you?” 

Delilah climbed in Dean’s lap and nodded. Dean began singing a Metallica song to her, but in a softer tone. I loved hearing him sing songs to her and changing their tune to fit the situation. Before too long she was fast asleep. Soft snores coming from her slightly parted lips. 

Dean laid her down, kissed her forehead, and left her room, closing her door slightly. I was in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch when he came back in. 

He snaked his arms around my waist and kissed my neck, “She’s fast asleep. Nothing a little Metallica couldn’t fix.” I chuckled. After drying my hands I turned to face him. He pulled me close to him and kissed my lips softly. “Dean, honey, why did you get upset when I mentioned school? You know she has to start school next year.” 

Dean let out a deep sigh, “I know. I just don’t like the idea of her being away from us. We both know what’s out there and I have to protect her. That’s my number one job and I refuse to let her down.”

I looked at Dean and smiled, I placed my hands on his chest, “Dean, you will never let that little girl down. You are her world and I know you would literally go to hell for the people you love so I can’t imagine what you would do for her. If you think we can do it, let’s look into homeschooling her. We can tag team it between work.” 

Dean’s eyes went wide and he smiled, “Really? You would consider that?” I nodded yes, “Dean I would do whatever I could to keep you both safe and happy. If that means we homeschool our little girl, then we homeschool our little girl. Uncle Sammy is smart enough he can help us too. Besides, I don’t want to get a phone call from the school telling me you’re standing outside armed to the teeth on ‘protection duty’.” 

Dean laughed, “You really think I’d stand outside the school every day with weapons?” I laughed, “Dean, baby, I don’t think it, I know it.” 

We walked into the Dean cave and sat on the couch. Dean grabbed a blanket and draped it over the two of us. He pulled me closer to him and I snuggled to his side. 

“It’s been awhile since we’ve just relaxed here. This is nice. Being in your arms, snuggled together, just the two of us.” Dean looked down at me and lifted my chin up and placed a soft kiss on my lips. 

“Yeah, I miss my other girl. It’s been too long since we’ve just relaxed together.” “Yeah, you usually have a tiny human crawling in your lap. I love being in your arms, Dean, and as much as I love you, these bows and barrettes have to go.” I laughed as I started to take his hair down. 

He pulled me on his lap and I giggled. I kissed his lips, “You’re an amazing daddy, you know that? Not many men would let their daughter put bows in their hair or paint their nails. We are so lucky to have you.” 

I kissed him again. This time his hands pulled me closer and held tightly on my hips. I moaned into his mouth. 

I felt him smirk, “What do you say about us taking a nap too?” He winked as he asked me. 

“I think we won’t be doing a lot of sleeping, Mr Winchester.” “Is that a no, Mrs Winchester?” 

“Oh absolutely not, let’s go.” I stood up and took his hands pulling him off the couch. 

We walked into our room and Dean closed the door softly, locking it. I smirked. His lips were on mine again as he pulled me flush to his chest. His hands tangled in my hair, deepening the kiss. 

“I’ve missed you, Dean, missed this.” “Me too sweetheart, it’s been too long.” 

I smirked, “Dean, it’s only been two days.” He chuckled, “I know, but I miss my wife.” His hand slipped down and under the hem of my shirt. His calloused fingertips brushing my skin lightly and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Dean walked us back to the bed and laid me down. He hovered over me, kissing me from my lips, down my neck and to my collarbone. Pulling a moan from my lips. 

Dean pulled his shirt off over his head, and I leaned up letting him take off mine too. As he unhooked my bra I thought I heard something so I froze.

“What is it baby?” “I think I heard Delilah.” We stopped and listened carefully. 

Sure enough we heard her whimpers and cries from her room. Dean grabbed his shirt and headed towards her room. I put my clothes back on and followed. 

When I got to her door, Dean had her in his arms drying her tears. 

“Daddy the monster got me and took me away from you and mommy.” Her green eyes were full of tears that spilled over onto her little pink cheeks.

Dean held her to his chest and rubbed her back, “Shhh, baby. I promise you nothing will ever hurt you or take you away from Mommy and me. I will always keep you safe. Mommy and Uncle Sammy will always keep you safe too. Remember Uncle Cas and Uncle Jack are always watching over you. They have since before you were born.” 

I smiled thinking about the day Cas and Jack came to visit us and told me I was pregnant. 

*Flashback*

“Dean, I’m not feeling well. I think you and Sammy should go without me this time. You said it yourself, it’s a simple salt and burn.” Dean stepped closer to me and kissed my lips, “If you’re sure. I’ll be back before you know it.” I nodded. 

“Dean, Y/N. How are you?” We both jumped, “Jesus Cas. You scared the heck out of me.” Dean laughed, “Yeah Cas, what if we were having sex?” I playfully slapped his arm, “Dean!” 

Cas looked at Dean and then at me, “I knew you weren't. I always listen in before we come in.” I looked at Dean and he looked at me, “That’s kind of creepy, Cas.” He shrugged. Jack appeared next, “Hello.” He smiled.

“Hey Jack, how are you?” “I am well, Y/N. How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m okay. Just feeling a little sick. Probably caught a little cold.” 

Jack stepped closer to me, “No, you have a baby in your stomach.” My eyes went wide and I looked at Dean. Dean’s jaw hit the floor. “Wait, what?” 

Jack stepped even closer, “Yes, a baby. It’s going to be a girl. She’s going to look like Y/N, but have Dean’s green eyes.” 

I gasped and touched my belly. Cas looked at Dean and I. Dean looked over at Cas, “Is he telling the truth? Is Y/N pregnant?” Cas shook his head yes.

Dean pulled me into his arms and kissed my lips, “We’re having a baby?” Tears filled our eyes and I nodded, “I guess so.” He kissed me again, “I love you so much, Y/N.” “I love you too, Dean.” 

*End of Flashback*

Dean held Delilah in his arms until she fell back to sleep. Her tiny hands gripped his shirt and wouldn’t let go. I smiled as he laid her down and he laid beside her. 

I walked over and kissed him and then her. “I told you, best daddy ever.” He smiled, “I try.” He grabbed my hand as I started to leave the room. I turned and looked at him, “What’s wrong Dean?” 

“Nothing, I just want you to know I fully intend on finishing what I started.” I bent down, kissed his lips and said, “I’m counting on it.” 

He chuckled softly, “Good.” I turned on my heels and walked out the door. 

I busied myself with cleaning, organizing and reading while Dean and Delilah took a nap.

I had walked to her door a few times to check on them and the last time I saw Dean laying on his back, one arm under his head and the other holding Delilah close to him. She was laying in his arms with her arm and a leg flung over him. Both of their mouths were slightly parted and soft snores filled the room. Delilah was definitely a carbon copy of Dean, and I loved every second of it. 

About an hour later I was sitting in the library reading when I heard Dean and Delilah talking. Dean walked out of her room covered in sweat. It puzzled me because it wasn’t that hot in her room.

“Dean, is everything okay?” He nodded and went into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I had a gut feeling something was wrong.

I got up and walked in the kitchen. I saw Dean standing at the sink, his back to me, and his t-shirt was soaked. 

I walked over to him and touched his arm and he jumped. “Whoa, I’m sorry. It’s just me. Dean, are you sure you’re okay? You’re soaked and jumpy.”

He moved slightly away from me. My brows furrowed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Guess I got hot in pumpkin’s room.” 

I wasn’t convinced. Dean grabbed his water and left the room, heading towards our bedroom. 

I hesitated, not sure if I should follow him or not. I ultimately decided to follow him. I’ve known him for years and I know he keeps things to himself. It’s really one of the only things we argue about. 

I walked into our bedroom and found him sitting at the desk, writing. Standing at the door I watched him for a few minutes. Dean was focused on writing and I noticed he had tears falling down his face. A few falling and landing on the paper. 

I gasped softly and walked over to him putting my arms around his neck. “Dean, baby. Please talk to me. You can’t keep whatever this is inside. I’m your wife, your partner. The one person you’re supposed to share your burdens, your fears, your love with. Please let me help you. Please.” Tears filled my eyes as I pleaded with him. I hated seeing him like this. 

All those years of being mom and dad to Sam, being so brave and stoic for his father taught him how to push his emotions down and not show his vulnerable side. Since we got married and even more so after Delilah was born, Dean is learning how to embrace and show his emotions. 

He sometimes needs to be reminded that I’m there to help him. 

I felt his hands on my arms and his body shaking as he cried. One hand slipping down and picking up the picture he took of Delilah and I at the park. 

My heart was breaking as his whole body shook. “Dean, honey, please talk to me. Whatever it is we will figure it out. I promise.” 

Dean sat the picture down and stood up. He turned and faced me and pulled me in his arms. 

“I just don’t want to lose you or Delilah. I couldn’t survive that. You two are my world and I can’t lose you too.” I placed my hands on his chest, “Hey, look at me. You’re not going to lose either of us. You’re stuck with us Dean. Forever. Remember what we said when we got married? It’s you and me until the last star falls. I meant it, Dean. Now where is this coming from?”

He took in a deep shaky breath and let it out, “Just a bad dream. You and pumpkin were gone and I couldn’t find you or get to you. The two of you just vanished.” 

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, “Well I’m right here, and she’s in there playing. We aren’t going anywhere. Remember what you told her, we’ve got Cas and Jack looking out for us. Not to mention a dad who would go to hell and back for us. We are two very lucky girls.” 

He nodded, kissed my lips and let out a little bit more of the breath he was holding. 

“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry.” “Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. You’re entitled to your feelings and fears. That’s what makes you human. I love you, Dean.” “I love you too, Y/N.”

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[yoonjae20]

Ric(hard) Fenton; Part 1

(Once again slightly inspired by @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.)

Read on ao3.

Masterpost.

“B, didn’t you promise us as you’d tell if there was a possibility of another secret child?” Tim asks as he stares at the black haired boy, who looks like he had been to hell and back to get here, with blue eyes — because of course, they are blue —  in front of the Manor’s door. 

He can’t help but feel unnerved by the way the boy evaded their security measures and how he hasn’t said a single word since Tim opened the door even when he can see the boy’s hands tremble.

“Yes?” Bruce's voice floats from further in the Manor, his barely audible gaunt drawing near.

“Then who the hell is this?” he asks just as the man turns the corner. He freezes at the sight of the kid, literally blue screening as he takes him in. 

“Actually he’s mine,” a too chipper voice announces and Tim nearly jumps out of skin as he turns to Dick.

The young man must see both Tim and Bruce doing the mental calculations in their heads because he interrupts before they can draw the wrong conclusions.

“If Bruce can go around adopting children, I can do the same.” Then he turns to the boy. “You can come in, Danny.” 

Tim is eerily reminded of a wary, frightened cat as the boy — Danny moves inside. His steps are too silent for a mere civilian. 

Bruce and Tim share a look and Tim knows that they are both asking themselves when Dick met the boy and why he never mentioned him with how familiar he acts around him as he easily tucks him into his side. 

Although neither of them wants to accept it, Dick has changed since the one year where he disappeared without a trace. He’d told them that he was shot leading to him to lose his memories and that he only retained his memories a few days before he came back, but Tim always had a feeling the older man was not telling the whole truth, hiding it behind an easy-going smile. He didn’t speak a single word about what happened during that year, claiming he didn’t remember much of it ever since his memories returned.

Not only that, but it had become even rarer than before that any of them would meet Dick at the manor (even Jason was at the Manor more often) — and when he was present he was always studying them with an intense stare as if he was searching for something in their expressions.

“Dick,” Bruce starts but the man waves him off.

“Later,” he says. “I need to see if I have any fresh clothes for Danny.”

Dick pulls the boy away and they head up the stairs. Tim gives it a minute before he follows, nodding at Bruce, who does the same. He hears them stop in the hallway and he pauses in his steps.

“What’s going on?” Tim hears the man's question and he sneaks closer when he can’t hear the boy’s response. He subtly uses his phone’s camera to peek around the corner. 

“What about Mom and Dad?” Dick asks in a hushed whisper and Tim knits his eyebrows together — confused about who his brother is talking about.

Danny winces with a pained expression.

“The GIW got them in custody for affiliating with and aiding an ectoplasmic entity,” he explains. “You are my only chance.”

“Jazz, Sam, Tucker?” Dick almost seems desperate and when the boy just shakes his head after each name, he runs a hand through his hair and curses. 

“And you are sure we can’t go to them?”

Tim can’t help but ask himself who they are talking about that Dick’s voice is so full of disdain. Danny vehemently shakes his head, eyes squeezed together like he is remembering something painful and when he speaks his voice is shaky.

“I don’t know what to do, Ric,” he says, clutching the top of his shirt like his heart is hurting and Tim’s eyebrows climb to the top of his hairline at the unusual nickname. “I can’t- I can’t do this alone…” 

“Fuck.” Dick takes a deep breath as he hugs Danny. “Okay. Yes, of course I’m coming with you, baby ghost. Just let me grab my things and then we’ll go on our way.” 

“You will not go anywhere.” 

Bruce steps in Dick’s path before Tim can stop him and he narrows his eyes at the pair. Danny flinches away from the man and Dick steps protectively in front of the boy.

Tim knows Bruce and Dick had their rough patches in the past but never like this. Never had Dick looked at Bruce like he was a threat. 

“I’m not in the mood, B,” Dick warns sharply. 

“And I’m not about to let you go off with someone that I haven’t vetted.”

Dick lets out a bitter huff of a laugh.

“Of course that’s the only thing you would focus on.” His voice is cold. “You’ll bulldoze your way through, and prod and condemn, not caring if you hurt someone innocent in the process as long as you can justify your actions. I don’t even know why I’m surprised at this point. It’s what happened to Jason after all.”

Bruce reels back like he’s been punched. 

“Now if that is all, I have to go save the people who actually treat me like family.”

This time nobody stops Dick as he leaves the house, Danny in tow. 

“Master Bruce, Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice tears Tim out of his trance and startles Bruce who froze in his spot. “Where is Master Dick?”

Dick trembles with barely suppressed fury as he leads Danny to his car.

He wanted to believe that Bruce was better — that he wouldn’t have led the Justice League on a hunt after a child, but the longer he is back in Gotham as Richard Grayson — the longer he is around who were supposed to be his “actual” family, the more he grows unsure about that fact. There is no easy trust between them — not the steadfast determination that no matter what happens, they’ll take his side. Not like the Fentons have. (It’s been barely 2 months and he misses being Ric Fenton — misses being Jack and Maddie’s son and Jazz and Danny’s older brother.)

Bruce has contingency plans about them for fuck’s sake. And while he understands that there might be situations where they would be on other sides — the time where he and the Teen Titans had to fight their mind controlled mentors comes to mind — it’s a scary thought. For the first time since ages — since Bruce had taken Robin away from him — he feels like he is on his own. 

Back then he had turned to Clark — to Superman. He was the one who gave him the name Nightwing but Dick is plagued by the nightmares he witnessed Danny having. He doesn’t think he can look at his uncle ever the same again. 

At the same time, he doesn’t know if Danny and him can do this alone. He glances at the boy as he drives out the gates to the manor — he looks incredibly drained. He’s even paler than usual and there’s a sheen of sweat over his whole body as he leans back in his seat, breaths shallow. 

As he drives through the streets of the Bowery a sudden thought comes to his mind. He tears the steering wheel around, tearing Danny out of his doze. He blinks at Dick, eyebrows knitted together when he sees that they are still in Gotham.

“Where are we going?” he asks and Dick gives him a smile that is all teeth.

“Just a little pit stop.”

Jason and Dick don’t talk much — or to be more precise they don’t talk about the important stuff. Not about the — ‘I broke down when I heard about your death and I blame myself for not being there’ or ‘I was sure you hated me and you were glad I was gone’. They barge into each other's apartments, spar or get drunk together and cling to each other when they are sure the other isn’t awake to witness it. It’s not quite healthy — but it’s something better than when Jason was still Robin.

So when the door to one of his safe houses gets slammed open, Jason isn’t concerned. He knows Dick had been off the past few weeks and had been expecting his visit for quite a while now. 

The look in Dick’s eyes is different this time around though. It’s not quite the mix of depression coupled with anger he normally expects — it’s something stronger — righteous fury.

“I need your help,” Dick demands before Jason can question what’s going on.

Jason knits his eyebrows together. 

“What about Bruce?”

There’s a dark look in the man’s eyes for a moment before it passes and that’s the moment Jason realizes that this something more serious than the usual spats he normally has with B. 

“You are the only one I can trust with this.”

He spins around on his heels and is out of the safe house before Jason can blink. Getting a bit impatient and angry about Dick not getting straight to the point and still expecting him to follow — Jason storms out. What he doesn’t expect is the passed out half-dead kid in the passenger seat. A tinge of green enters his vision as he glares at Dick.

“What the hell is going on?”

The story Dick tells as they speed on the highway leaves Jason reeling. If the man’s tone wasn’t carefully monotone as he spoke about Ghosts and an entire town being shifted to a different dimension, Jason would have already declared that Dick finally snapped. He wants to question why he lied to the rest about losing his memories about the year he went missing, but the desperate look he sends him and the way his hands shake on the steering wheel hold him back. It’s only the boy’s quiet snores that have Jason’s volume not climbing above a hiss.

“Are you sure this all happened? That this is real?”

“I was there, Jay,” Dick’s tone leaves no arguments. “I almost watched Danny die, again — fighting Pariah Dark. I would have never forgiven myself if another of my brothers…” He gulps and shakes his head. “I was there this time. I should have made a difference and once again I was helpless”. He slams a fist against the radio, cursing when it turns on, blaring loud music. 

He quickly turns the volume down and both of them wait with bated breath as Danny stirs in his seat, before he goes limp again. Dick lets out a deep sigh.

“How do you think I felt once I realized the situation?” Dick questions. “I was in the middle of nowhere with no recollection of who I was. If the Fentons hadn’t found me-” He shakes his head. “Next I know I’m watching a kid fight fucking Ghosts twice his side and getting thrown around like a ragdoll like it’s a normal Tuesday. That shouldn’t happen Jay, it just shouldn’t.”

Jason stays silent.

“And worst of all, I still knew how to fight,” Dick barrels on. “But no matter how much I tried to help Danny and teach him, it was useless because it wasn’t humans or even metas he was up against. How could my moves counter beings that can fly and go intangible and invisible at will?”

Jason still can’t fathom why Dick hid this from them all — but he knows enough to understand why he needs his help. 

“So what’s the plan?”

Dick shoots him a relieved smile.

“We still have 12 hours of driving ahead of us,” Dick glances at Danny. “I’m reckoning he’s gonna be out cold for at least half of it if not more. I need you to switch with me after half of the drive so I can get a power nap in, then I’ll take over again.”

“Not trusting me with the car?” Jason teases.

“Show me your drivers license and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

They start bickering, and for a moment Jason can convince himself that this is a normal road trip.

Jason’s at the wheel when the boy wakes up. Dick is out cold and despite the man’s protests Jason can drive normally if he wants to. There’s no reason the man has to over exhaust himself.

They had tossed their phones once they crossed the border to Illinois and Dick had withdrawn a couple of thousand bucks. Jason had questioned why they hadn’t done sooner if they wanted to keep Bruce off their trail, but the man told him he’s not the one he is worried about. Considering what Dick told him about the elusive GIW, Jason can harbor a guess on who he is talking about. It’s after that, that Jason wrangled him into another nap — Dick was in no condition to drive any further. 

“Ric?” Danny questions sleepily as he sits up and Jason keeps an eye on him out of the corner of his eyes.

“He’s asleep,” Jason answers and it’s only because he’s used to Damian that he blocks the instinctual kick as the boy realizes he’s not alone. 

“I can see that Dick kept you sharp” Jason huffs out a laugh. “I’m Jason, in case he didn’t mention me.”

Danny blinks at him and shifts so he is sitting cross legged. He knits his eyebrows together, clearly thinking.

“You were the pit stop?” he questions.

“Apparently.” Jason shrugs. “Great work, by the way. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dick this pissed.”

The boy frowns, gnawing at his lips as he stares out the window.

“You’ve died too, haven't you?”

Jason suppresses his initial reaction to snap at the boy. Instead he grits his teeth as he stares straight ahead, the road blurring together. 

“And?”

“Ric shouldn’t have let you come.”

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are deadly white, green hazing his vision. 

“They’ll cut you open too.”

It takes the wind out of his anger and he lets out a curse. The brakes screech as he stops at the side of the road, nearly catapulting them forward with the force of it. Jason finally turns to look at Danny properly. The boy peels down his t-shirt to reveal a gnarly, ugly red Y-shaped scar as he gulps.

“Ric doesn’t know,” he says as he releases the hem of his shirt, covering the scar once more. “I haven’t told him.”

“Then why me?” Jason’s voice rises without his consent.

“Because you’ll get it,” the boy murmurs. “How it feels to die.”

The boy leans back, turning away from Jason to look at the corn field.

“How it haunts you.”

Jason wants to puke and he lets his forehead fall onto the steering wheel.

“Fuck,” he says emotionally and the boy laughs — broken and hysterical. Jason doesn’t comment on the tears streaming down Danny’s face.

Jason starts up the car again, leading the car back on the road.

“Next time Dick asks for my help, I’ll send him to hell.”

Jason hides a smile when the boy snorts at that. 

Dick comes to himself as they are about to cross the border into Amity Park. Jason and Danny are quietly talking and he wipes away a little bit of drool as he sits up. It’s dark outside and Danny directs Jason as they enter the city. He leans forward as he enters the conversation.

“You’ll think the GIW’s detectors will sense us?”

Danny glances at Jason, before he turns his attention to Dick.

“We should be fine for a few hours at least as long as I don’t have to turn ghost,” he says. “Half of the town is liminal at this point so you and Jason shouldn’t raise any alarms either. They had too many false alarms in the months since you left.”

Jason looks at Dick strangely once they park where they can hide for the night.

“Since when did you have contact with Lazarus Pits?”

“Never,” Dick retorts. “But living above a portal to the Infinite Realms for a year will do the trick.”

Jason's face scrunches up.

“Who the hell builds a portal in their own basement?” 

Both Dick and Danny snort. 

“Gotta love Mom and Dad,” the boy says as Dick nods in agreement. “Only they are insane enough.”

Dick makes a face.

“I could do without reanimated meatloaf for the rest of my life though.”

“Don’t remind me,” Danny shudders.

Jason stares at them in bafflement. 

“You do know how crazy that sounds?”

“Crazier than Ghosts?” Danny questions with a smirk and Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head

“To give it to Mom and Dad they did stop storing samples in the fridge after we lectured them about it,” Dick adds. At Jason's aghast face he just shrugs. “They are passionate about their work.” 

“Insane, absolutely insane,” the man mutters and Dick suppresses a smile.

It had taken him a bit to get used to the Fenton's and their flavor of insanity and chaos. At first he had been worried about them being neglectful at best, but it turns out that they just needed someone to remind them when they got into “hyperfixation” mode. He and Jazz had to stage an intervention and both Maddie and Jack were embarrassed once they realized they took it too far. Dick doesn’t know who is worse — them or Tim when he’s awake for more than three days. 

He was very relieved when his initial hunch didn’t turn out to be true after Danny revealed himself as Phantom to his parents. They did a whole 180 on their research, focusing on learning about the intricacies of the Infinite Realms, their culture and even politics instead — resigning from their high positions in the GIW. That’s when the trouble really started. 

Dick hadn’t lied about getting amnesia after he was shot and it was also true that his memories had only returned — thanks to Frostbite — two months ago. But the only reason he went back to Gotham had been to get Danny help (the longer they waited the worse the situation with the GIW became) — to find out if the Justice League could be trusted. Once he heard what happened with Freakshow and the Reality Gauntlet (and had the memories to properly realize what that meant) he had been horrified. He had given himself a deadline to — if need be, confront the Justice League by the time Danny’s birthday came around and find out the truth. (He had desperately hoped that this was all a misunderstanding, but Bruce’s words still taste bitter on his tongue.)

Dick knows bringing Jason along was a risk — considering Danny’s theory that the Lazarus Pit were corrupted ectoplasm, but they need the manpower to get through the GIW’s defenses. Even if he’s scared shitless about what they’ll do to Jason when they find out just how liminal he is. He knows this is a death mission. But it doesn’t have to be for Jason.

“We need to establish some ground rules,” Dick says reluctantly and Jason narrows his eyes at the wording.

“If we get captured, I want you to save yourself, Jason.” Jason scoffs and Dick raises a hand, silencing his retort before it can come. “I’m the sole reason you got involved in the first place. Me and Danny may be willing to die for them, but I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for something that isn’t even your problem to deal with.”

“If you think I’m gonna agree to those, you are more than stupid than I thought Dick,” Jason’s voice is scathing. “It started being my problem when you came to me for help and we drove for 12 straight hours to get there. If you say those people are your family — then they are mine as well.”

His lips perk into a smirk.

“Besides, I want to meet the people that might be even more batshit insane than B and got you to call them Mom and Dad.”

Dick flushes slightly — the Fenton’s had always insisted on him calling them Mom and Dad and he doesn’t know when the titles became genuine. Even with his memories restored, Ric Fenton feels more alive  — more loved — than Richard Grayson ever did. 

Danny just shrugs as he leans back, arms crossed behind his neck and feet rested on top of the glove box. 

“I guess I have not only two sisters but two older brothers now,” he adds cheekily. 

“Brat.” 

Jason playfully shoves Danny and Dick gapes at the fond tone in his voice. 

“How?” he stammers — they should barely know each other. “When?”

Jason tucks Danny into his side, angle a bit awkward, but grinning as he ruffles his hair.

“You missed a lot, sleeping beauty,” Jason jests and Dick groans.

“I was only asleep for 1 hour!” he bemoans. 

“Two,” Danny corrects and Dick glares at him, raising a finger.

“Don’t you two dare gang up on me!”

“This is sweet revenge for when you and Jazz teamed up against me,” Danny grins.

“We were literally trying to help you!” Dick complains, shoving Danny’s face away as the boy cackles, Jason watching on with amusement.

Dick might have to leave Ric Fenton behind for good now that his two worlds have collided, but maybe he can still be Richard “Dick” Grayson-Fenton instead.  

[venuslarkspur]

Could we get one explanation on how batsis charmed her Flings and how long they lasted or is she like Bruce. Like she can look at them and they fold

Okay I love this question and I’m here to explain 🫶

How Batsis charms her flings and how long her situationship lasted with some of them 💗

Warning: Paparazzi are low-key kind of crazy in this, mild nsfw, panic attacks, some insecurity for some characters, mentions of addiction.

Characters (paired with Batsis): Wally West, Roy Harper, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Diana Prince, Hal Jordan, John Stewart.

Note: MY EXAMS ARE OVER I CAN FINALLY POST AGAIN <3 NOT PROOF READ

The Batsis Charm

- Okay so I always pictured Batsis as taking after Bruce, she turns on the Wayne family charm and deadly assassins fold. She adds some flirting and keeps up appearance, she isn’t afraid to dress alternatively either her style is ever changing.

- When Bruce first introduced her to the Justice League she was fresh out of university (pretty and clever!), she immediately enchants most of them in more ways than one.

Wally West

- These two together are a bit different, I think they both dated when they very young; teenagers. Very much puppy love.

- very healthy relationship despite how random it was, you only met through Dick. He had trouble accepting you both but did accept it.

- Very typical teenage dates like: the movies, the park, bowling etc.

- Batsis had faceless pics of them posted all over her socials.

- More Batsis coming round his for dinner then him coming to her.

- The relationship neves goes past kissing, had lots good times together though.

- The only way I see this ending is Wally struggles to be in the public eye so much with his gf, he wonders how Batsis has handled it.

- Everyone and their grandma know about this breakup when it happened, but overall ended on a good note.

Roy Harper

- These two are “she fell first but he fell harder” coded, they meet when they are both teenagers. Roy is a tiny bit older (1-2 years), starts off as unrequited love but also not really?! Batsis always loved him, these two faced the most challenges out of any of her relationships. 

- These two get more romantic as they get older (roy realising he’s got something good with this girl), Roy gets plenty threats from Jason on the daily.

- When it comes to Lian, Batsis went from dad’s friend to babysitter to stepmom to just mom. Roy remembers when Lian was very young and you just left after babysitting and he just tucked her in; he’s ready to leave for bed before Lian asks “is mommy coming again tomorrow?” His heart breaks when he realises she sees you as her mom.

- right people wrong time coded.

- Talks of giving Lian a sibling one day 💕🫶

Zatanna Zatara

- these two are the besties and or gfs forever!!

- Batsis attends all her magic shows, sometimes even becomes her assistant.

- Lots of pda, you smother her and she smothers you a lot as well.

- The media know all about you two, it’s a challenge to get away from them for a day.

- Slightly jealous type but won’t admit it, especially if one of your exes message you while you’re having one of your dates with her.

- Everyone at the JL knows they are together, whether they knew batsis liked girls or not they are surprised when you guys go public.

- Lots of Halloween couple costumes together, like magician + bunny, matching witch costumes, princess + genie, etc..

- Watch each other do your makeup, sometimes she does yours and you do hers. You brush her hair after all her magic shows.

- I love these two <3

John Constantine

- These two met by mistake, it started off as a random hookup; John didn’t even know you were the Batman’s daughter.

- When it gets revealed he makes so many comments, like “don’t want me to be your future son in law Batsy?” Shit like that.

- If you do start dating everyone would be shocked, let’s be honest these two were the most random couple ever.

- He just enjoys his time with you because he knows the day will come when you two break up so he’s just making the most of it.

- Rlly insecure no matter how serious you two get, you could be moved in together with a pet and he’d still ask “so you like me?”

- you cook him breakfast tbh, sometimes he cooks for you but you prefer to do it.

- These two are freaky asf. No more words necessary.

- You try and compare hand sizes and take pictures of you together.

- Not my favourite pairing but I still love them.

Diana Prince

- You’ve always admired her since Bruce first introduced you.

- She was the most radiant woman you’d ever seen, you fell HARD.

- Definitely Batsis’s bi/pan awakening, you’ve been chasing after her since your first day at the JL headquarters, everyone knows it.

- You’ve been on a few dates and you two regularly flirt.

- Lots of jokes (or not) about her whisking you away to Themyscira and staying there <3

- Media loves you both as well, despite the debate on whether or not you’re dating.

- The definition of “what are we?” You wonder if she’s just playing with you sometimes.

- You still respond to all her calls even if you’re on a date with someone else, she was literally all you ever wanted in your early days.

- The batfam approves of you two together 🫶

Hal Jordan

- Oh boy..these two are one of my faves.

- This relationship starts off sort of toxic?? You only hooked up with him the first time because you were mad at Bruce, AND YOUR FATHER WAS MAD.

- After he does his slut walk out of Wayne manor (in front of your brothers, sister, dad, and grandfather figure mind you) he asks when you two can meet again.

- You don’t keep things professional at headquarters so why should he? So there’s plenty of instances where his eyes wander too long over you, or when you undress him with your eyes at a meeting.

- Bruce doesn’t like it one bit, it’s actually a pregnancy scare that brings you and him together. Even though you found out your period was just late you could still be was slightly disappointed in you not being pregnant. You notice this and don’t bring it up, just invite him out for dinner sometime.

- Batsis the type of woman to pay the bill after he insists “he’s got this.”, yeah he left his wallet at home.

- If you’re moody at headquarters, he would definitely ask you if you’ve “had your period yet?” And he’s met with a firm slap on the head, from you and Dinah.

- These two are such sillies, Bruce isn’t happy, your brothers aren’t happy, but you’re happy. So who even really cares?

John Stewart

- This is the ex bf Batsis still cries over, I don’t wanna spoil anything for my newest fic but these two nearly got married definitely. And Batsis left him at the altar.

- You two end because he decided he can’t be with someone who doesn’t know what they want. Yeah he is the one who made you realise you need to take some to reflect. You just wanted him.

- Hal Jordan literally cried when he found out you two were now a thing.

- Nobody made you feel loved, if you had a spending addiction, HE got you through it.

- Bruce trusts him, his “no dating my colleagues” rule, doesn’t apply to this man because he’s witnessed how much happier you were.

- The only mildly concerning thing was the fact you could NOT shut up about him, it’s always “John” this and “John!” That, your family are genuinely sick of hearing about your amazing love life.

- Keeps you out the media’s eye if you’re not feeling up to any paparazzi that day. He just holds your hand and keeps you next to him.

- If you ever have a panic attack because of any of the paparazzi, he will take you into a secluded spot and just place kisses on top of your head and keep you firmly pressed against him, whilst reminding you “you’re safe.”

- You had no idea what you lost. And that’s why you still cry over him.

[milla-frenchy]

I didn't expect to get hit in the face by the first sentence but here we are (and I'm here for it anyway😌)

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

omg oh no. Don't touch her you fuck

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

shit. shit

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

(I'm so fn nervous Toni, hold my hand 😭😭😭)

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

I hate him. I fn hate him so fn much. I'm gonna be so fn GLAD when Joel's gonna rip him in two

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast.  There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

jfc YES!!!!

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

Damn I wanna cry. I was so scared for her, I'm so relieved Joel's here, but seeing that he tries to heal her and then realizes that the wound is inside is so hard to read 😥

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

I hate what that guy did to her. I hate it so much

“My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious.  “My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

Oh wow... Oh, Joel... 🫂

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

This is so beautiful

“Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening.  “Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent.

Damn I love them so much

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell.

I don't have the reference 🥲 Which song is it?

What a chapter Toni!!! The emotions, omg. This series is so so good 🖤🖤🖤

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong. 

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night. 

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit. 

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication. 

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move. 

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life. 

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes. 

You really, truly are in some deep shit. 

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this? 

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared. 

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips. 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears. 

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this. 

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run. 

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive. 

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss. 

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

 

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know. 

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek. 

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really. 

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag. 

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect. 

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns. 

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.” 

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open. 

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor. 

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum. 

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned. 

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell. 

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins. 

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast. 

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood. 

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper. 

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed. 

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in. 

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt. 

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat. 

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell. 

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him. 

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt. 

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs. 

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him. 

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper. 

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.” 

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.” 

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who. 

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you. 

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you. 

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness. 

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again. 

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying. 

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust. 

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been. 

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe. 

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again. 

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close. 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there. 

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word. 

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious. 

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle. 

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in. 

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead. 

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.” 

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.” 

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening. 

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes. 

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek. 

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen. 

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie. 

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?” 

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. 

And yours. 

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s the matter?” He barks. 

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through. 

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

[strang3lov3]

Heyyyy!! My daddy issues are going crazy tonite. Sooooo what do we think about Step!dad Rome brushing the reader’s hair?? Like his parental instincts are kicking in but he’s also sooo turned on. I feel like he would just melt completely.

- 🧌 (Hopefully this emoji isn’t taken)

I don’t usually write things like this - I’ve intentionally left reader a blank slate in my stories so anyone can read and enjoy. I realize that not all of my readers have long hair, or have hair that can be brushed, so I’m not considering this…idk. Canon to their story I guess. It’s just a little what if.

You’re sitting between Roman’s legs, and the carpet is a little itchy on your skin. You’re watching TV, resting the side of your face on his knee, hands wrapped around his shin and playing with the fabric of his pants, trailing your fingers underneath to feel his warm skin.

Roman’s a fidgeter - always has been. Always toying with something. Clicking a pen, spinning his ring, taking his watch on and off, whatever. Tonight, he’s been absentmindedly playing with your hair. Scratching your scalp with his neatly trimmed fingernails, trailing those fingers down the length of your strands. He admires the texture, how soft your hair feels between his fingertips. The color, how the highlights shift in the light. He braids your hair, then takes it out and starts the process over again.

Wordlessly, Roman reaches into the drawer of the end table. There’s a wide tooth comb that’s been sitting in there for god knows how long, wasn’t ever supposed to be there. It seems that it’s just where the comb lives now. A permanent fixture amongst other odds and ends - buttons, a remote to a sound bar Roman no longer has, expired hand cream.

He takes the comb and begins working it through the ends of your hair, enjoying the sounds of the plastic rubbing against your soft strands. Roman’s always loved doing your hair - he used to do it a lot when you were younger, gently brushing out the tangles before tying your hair into a ponytail, a bun. Maybe a pretty braid, if time allowed. Quieting your whines when he’d tug on a particularly stubborn knot.

Roman pulls your hair now. Hard. Intentionally. Late at night, when he’s pounding into you from behind. Those same strands he used to brush and braid with that gentle, fatherly affection, he now grips in his fingers. Fingers that are soaked in your arousal, as he tells you to fucking take it. “Be a good girl for daddy, now. This is what you wanted, right? Don’t lie. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Or when you’re on your knees, taking him in your mouth. When you gag while he fucks your throat, he feels it close around his length. With a fucked out look in your eyes and tears running down your cheeks he tells you to breathe. “Br- hey - breathe. Breathe for me. You remember how to do that, honey? Or does daddy’s cock make you too stupid? Ohh, fuck. You poor thing.”

When your hair is brushed through, Roman runs his hands through it. He wraps his fingers around the strands and tugs, feeling his cock harden and his balls tighten when you moan.

[cherrydipp]

hi guys heres my melvin dipp headcanons cuz i cant remember if i ever posted them. been accumulating them for a while now so ignore the poor quality its normally just me ranting whenever i had a thought

- originally tried out for the football but didn’t make it. instead, he joined the track team hence why ponyboy is his number 1 opp.

- brings up sergei whenever he can. “nobody even likes you melvin 😒😒” “SERGEI DOES. 😡” whenever he isn’t around he also accidentally mentions their inside jokes only to be met with pure silence while he laughs by himself… “ts wasnt even funny” “SERGEI IS THE ONYL 1 WHO GETS IT 😡😡😡😡”

- in modern day would be an ipad kid. blockblast brainrotted. bullies kids on fortnite squads gamechat. he tried to play COD but ended up crying when all the grown male adults bullied him in gamechat

- light freckles around his nose and cheeks (very few and VERY light)

- was gifted a pickup line book as a gag gift one year for his birthday… would use the cheesy lines on ace but SERIOUSLY. like hes leaning against the wall and mewwing just to say “if you were a fart, i’d clench you so hard to never let you go 😏” she stared at him in disgust.

- tagteams chet with sergei.

- more outgoing/extroverted but this isn’t necessarily a good thing.

- nevel papperman coded…

- MELVIN DIPP. i whole heartedly stand by melvin being trips younger brother. it’s the reason he tags along every now and then with the socs. seen by them sort of how steve sees ponyboy i’d assume like a tag-a-long. (Brie Leftwich is diaBOLICAL for leading people to believe melvin is chet’s little brother. that’s his OPP!)

- seth from superbad variant

- would have some weird fuck ass pet because his grandma doesn’t want fur everywhere. probably a bird or a gecko.

- melvin is actually dying to be like trip and his friends. he acts annoyed when his grandma makes him go out with trip (hands in pockets puffing out his cheeks WHY) but in reality he’s secretly excited. even if that means he’s just going to be either picked on or ignored the entire time.

- gumball waterson scream: full of voice cracks and high pitched yet hitting puberty scream

- trip when all he can see when he looks melvin is himself despite them being from different dads and looking nothijg alike. its his mannerisms and the way hes become to dependent on cigarettes to get him buzzed reminds trip of himself and alcohol 😴😴😴😴 sinilar bruises blooming over his ribs and cheeks a tell tale sign that hes been getting into fights he cant win 😴😴😴 worrying that the younger is gonna end up in the newspaper the next morning cuz hes digging himself a grave

- melvin has a lisp. he was born with it and did the public school speech classes which somewhat worked but his progress all went to waste cuz of his teeth. he had originally messed up teeth — not to bad but it was bad enough where he had to get it fixed. so when he got braces they literally FUCKED him over. being teased left and right by bob and the others, making fun of his mouth full of metal. not to mention his lisp was still lingering so it just added on. when he finally got them off, he thought he was free at last… little did he know he would have to wear a retainers at night so his teeth don’t revert back. HOWEVER. his grandma FORCES him to wear it ALL THE TIME cuz she’s so worried about all the money she put into those “pearly whites” going to waste. so he has a more noticeable lisp (than he already did because he had one growing up) because of the metal retainer. which, of course, the socs all poke fun at him for. especially when hes pissing them off.

chet: “melvin ‘thut’ the fuck up you ‘thupid’ bitch”

melvin: “😥”

- most definitely one of his weak points. he shuts up as soon as it’s mentioned and his ears/face turn red. FURROWING HIS EYEBROWS. this guy mad ash!!!

- alvin chipmunk variant

- kevin g variant

- gumball waterson variant

- xyler (cosmic earth trip) variant

- sergei and melvin = kurt and ram

- slightly fraser wrwwr coded… very very very slightly……..

- GREG HEFFLEY VARIANT.

- prefers math over reading. he doesn’t really have the attention span to sit around and read a whole novel or scan articles to find evidence. plus, the teacher’s lessons go by soooo slow. math just comes easy to him to the point where he doesn’t need to study and can still achieve a passing grade.

- his eyebrows are permanently furrowed. its so bad boy why do you always look mad as HELL. most of the time it’s pretty subtle but his go to reaction face is DISGUSTED. why are you so judgeMENTAL BOY.

- he would be team logan paul

- tends to jump/threaten greasers who are bigger than him. he thinks he’s tough — thinks he can take them all on his own without anyone’s help, but of course in the end he’s wrong. trip ends up searching around town to find him lying in the lot or in some dingey alley bruised with dried blood on his face. he doesn’t know exactly the reason why he always needs to fight. he just does. it’s an urge that he can’t sustain. maybe it’s to prove something about himself, or to relieve some stress, but glory even Melvin doesn’t know why he’s so reckless. doesn’t know why he ignored Trip’s stern demand to stay home, or why he runs into the rumble. afterward, however, trip checking on melvin after the rumble as he sleeps like peaking his head in and stuff too make sure hes alright 😴😴😴 he was the one to fix him up and tend to his wounds and had been not so silently freaking out the entire time, guilt for the situation coming out in his frustration as melvin continues to tell him he doesnt need help 😴😴😴

- sergei and melvin bromosexual they joke around like regular highschool boys.

- personally, i don’t think ace likes melvin back especially with the way tilly and melody make it out to be. it’s just like a teen boy crush (celebrity crush almost really in a sense), so he’s trying to hit her up and she just glares at him before turning away. he would definitely tell sergei about her though and how he finds her attractive.

- very set on ponyboy and melvin parallels. both on the track team, both strained relationship with their older brother, both no parents, etcetc. also both are CHRONIC smokers. but for different reasons. MELVIN IS NOT THE END OF THE CYCLE. (read dipp brothers lore in case you don’t know). sergei HATES when he smokes strictly because of the smell. it’s terrible and it always lingers on the blond’s clothing.

[boytearscore]

she's my coach's daughter. — chris sturniolo.

summary: christopher sturniolo, the star of your father’s hockey team, the white tigers, makes your life as the coach’s daughter a nightmare. he constantly mocks, flirts, and rolls his eyes at you, while other players secretly hit on you behind your dad’s back. adding to the chaos, your father insists on dragging you to the rink, especially since your strategies proved effective, earning you a say in guiding the team. this infuriates chris, who sees you as nothing more than a lucky pretty face. after a frustrating match filled with unfair play leads to the team’s first loss under his watch, chris storms off, and when your father goes to follow him, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

warnings: swearing, enemies to lovers, comedy, action, drama, smut, hacker au, chris hockey player au, mention of past traumas and sensitive topics lightly, and as always strong female lead.

author’s note: this isn’t the first solo story of the sturniolo triplets i wrote, ‘tears’ was my first fanfiction posted here also with chris as the main role hehe. but this is kinda different? it’s the first one with a deeper and more elaborated plot. after seeing the idea somewhere, i had the urge to write about chris being a hockey player facing unfair situations and his anger issues. anyway, don’t forget to comment your thoughts and if you wanna be added on the tag list, i’ll make sure to on the next chapter. see you, xoxo.

CHAPTER ONE.

chris throws his helmet against the locker room wall before even getting inside, he lets a loud grow leave his lips while sitting on the bench, chest moving up and down fast with anger burning inside him.

‘’fuck!’’ he runs his fingers through his hair damped by the sweat. he couldn’t believe how the referee just handed the game so shamelessly when cleared the white tigers played way better. if it wasn’t for the unfair penalties, they would’ve have won.

meanwhile still on the rink, your father rubs a hand on the back of his neck. he knew how irrational chris could be when moved by anger and all sorts of things started going through his mind: a possible expulsion for provoking a fight with the other team leading to ruin his best player reputation and chances of getting into the country’s team. he could also violate moral codes and rules, and as soon as he realizes how chris could lose everything, he begins to walks towards the locker room.

but you stop him, placing a gentle hand over his arm. ‘’take care of the team, i’ll handle chris.’’ 

your father frowns, not sure how you could help since you and chris are constantly getting on each other's throats every practice and game. but then he glances at his team, how frustrated and upset the boys looked, they needed him more than chris right now, so he just nods before rushing to them. 

as you get closer and closer to the locker room, the sound of chris’ voice cursing and hitting things got louder.

‘’not now, couch.’’ he groans, resting his elbows on his knees while letting his head sink between his legs but your steps get closer making him turn with darkneed eyes. ‘’I said not now, coa-’’

“damn, you really can’t handle your emotions, can you?” you cut him off, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, your usual nonchalant tone making him clench his jaw.

his eyes widen briefly before narrowing again, a flash of something - anger, surprise, relief? - crossing his face. he runs a hand through his long hair falling over his eyes, still breathing heavily from the game and his outburst.

‘’did you see that shitshow out there? he gestures vaguely towards the rink, voice rising with renewed indignation. ‘’they fucked us!! that ref had it out for us from the start-’’

he cuts himself off, seeming to remember himself who he was talking to. his shoulders slump slightly as he takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. 

you walk towards him, getting closer but respecting his space. “i know, i saw.” you sigh, looking at the his broad shoulders. “but as a player you cannot let your emotions get the best of you. they’re gonna think you’re easy to mess with.”

chris gives you a death glare, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘’easy to mess with? is that what you think of me?’’ his gaze intensifies on yours. “i’ve worked my ass off for this team, given everything i have out on that ice. and for what? to be screwed over by some biased ref?’’ he looks away, staring at the floor as he struggles to control his frustration, feeling his chest tightening with rage, he takes big steps, getting closer to you after getting up from the bench, unconsciously invading your personal space as his passion overrides his usual restraint. “so no, i won’t control how i feel about caring for the white tigers, about wanting to win fair and square. if that makes me 'easy to mess with', then so be it.’’

you scoff, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him against the wall, a smirk on your lips. “i didn't say i think you’re easy to mess with. i just said they’re gonna assume that based on your reaction.” you grip his uniform, restraining him from moving. he was not calming down with racional words, so you make up your mind by using physical tactics. “close your eyes.” you tell him quietly, sliding the hand up to his neck slowly.

chris’ breath hitches with your touch, his heart pounding beneath your palm while his eyes widen at your command, a flicker of confusion and anticipation crossing his face. slowly, hesitantly, he closes his eyes, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

‘’what are you- ‘’ his question is cut off as your fingers wrap around his throat, digits detecting his racing pulse. a shudder runs through him at your touch, his body tensing and then relaxing into the contact.

when he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher with barely contained emotion he couldn’t quite describe. ‘this isn't... we shouldn't…’’ even as he protests weakly, he tilts his head slightly, exposing more of his throat to your exploring hand.

“shut up.” you command, loosening the grip to reach his cheek. “take a deep breath now.” you bring the other hand to his back, caressing it soflty. he frowns but obeys, chest slowly inflating before melting back down. ‘’again.’’  you bring him closer, his body brushing against yours while caressing his cheek and back at the same time. “don’t stop until i say so.”

your gentle caress on his cheek and firm grip on his back send sparks of peace through him, momentarily overriding the lingering anger and frustration from the game. he leans into your touch almost unconsciously, his eyes remaining closed as you commanded.

as instructed, he continues to take deep, shuddering breaths, his broad chest expanding against yours over and over in a slow pace. he brings a hand up to rest on your hips, gripping lightly as if anchoring himself.

the heat of your body pressed against his is intoxicating, making it difficult for him to focus on anything else and confused with how relaxed and nervous he was. his mind races with thoughts he knows he shouldn't be having, especially not here where anyone could catch you two. but god, the way you're touching him, the authority in your voice...

“open your eyes now.” you whisper into his ear making him snap from his unwanted thoughts. your hand slowly pulling away from his body to stare at him. “better?”

chris’ eyes flutter open at your whispered command, his gaze immediately locking with yours. there’s a new intensity in his blue orbes, a swirling mix of desire, gratitude, and lingering tension from earlier. he takes a moment to collect himself, adam‘s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

‘’sort of.’’ his voice is low and husky, he tries to hide it but fails making you chuckle with the attempt. ‘’thanks, i guess.’’ 

‘’don’t even know how to say thank you properly, do you?’’ you roll your eyes while grabbing something from the pocket of your miniskirt. “now that you’re not acting like a lunatic, i have the solution everyone’s problems including dad's and yours.” you smile with a tiny usb in hand, shaking it playfully.

chris’ eyebrows raise curiously, his interest piqued despite himself.

‘’how is a dumb usb gonna help us?’’ he asks crossing his arms with eyebrows still raised. ‘’look, i dont have time for this. i need to get back there and break that ref’s teeth to knock some sense on him.’’ chris began to walk but you push him against the wall again making him gasp with your strength.

‘’can you shut up and not let your stupid temper ruin everything?’’ your faces are close now, the seriousness on your gaze unintentionally making him freeze, you smirk, noticing how he’s finally listening. “i may or may not have recorded the conversation between their coach and mr. stephenson.” she shrugs with a nonchalant tone, releasing the grip on his uniform.

chris’ eyes widen in shock, his mouth falling open slightly as he processes your revelation. he glances around furtively once more before leaning in even closer, voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

‘’what does the university president has to do with anything?’’ he frowns his eyebrows before slowly coming to realization and placing a hand over his mouth. ‘’that dirty old man, he got something in return after letting those bastards win, didn’t he?’’ he clenches his jaw again, but suddenly turns to you, tilting his head. ‘’wait, you said you recorded them. how?”

‘’you dont need to know that.’’ you hide the usb on your pockets before turning to him again. ‘’i have a plan in mind, you're in?’’ 

he looks at you for a second, thinking about his team mates and his coach. most of all, his own future and how the dirty hands of the president could ruin everything. sure, he hated you and did not want to follow your bossy ass around, but he had everything to gain and nothing to lose. 

with a determined look, he nods but feels uneasy. ‘’are you sure about this?’’

“about what?” you ask, raising a brow. “about saving my dad’s career and possibly the whole university's pride?’’ what a stupid question, chris.” you turn your back to him with arms crossed. “now listen carefully so you dont mess anything up by being stupid.” he looks at you attentively, face getting closer to yours. “you cannot go out there and throw this on their faces.’’ you tell him pointing to the usb inside your pocket. ‘’or tell someone about it. not even my dad.”

chris’ expression softens as he realizes the gravity of the situation and the trust you're placing in him. he nods solemnly, holding your gaze with unwavering intensity.

‘’you’re right.’’ he murmurs in understandment. ‘’i won’t let my emotions ruin everything.’’

there's a beat of charged silence between you, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. the intense stare of eyes, almost as for a second both of you forgot the whole purpose of that conversation.

then, you clean your throat, taking a step back from him and biting your lips while crossing your arms, mentally placing the pieces of your plan together. 

“i need you to get back there now and act crazy.” you say and chris frowns. “tell my dad you’re getting off the team.”

he blinks in surprise at your sudden directive and mixed words, his brows furrowed in confusion. ‘’what? didn't you just say i’m not supposed to let my emotions ruin everything?” he almost yells. ‘’and telling your dad i’m off the team? are you crazy? that would provoke a huge mess on the rink and…’’ he leaves his mouth open processing his own words, but catches himself, realizing the strategic brilliance behind your plan. a slow, impressed grin spreads across his face. “which gives you enough time to deal with mr. stephenson.’’

you smirk at him. ‘’guess you’re not that dumb, just a little slow.” you shrug and he can’t help but smirk, looking at your figure with hidden admiration instead of annoyance at your teasing.

he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the performance ahead. when he meets your gaze again, there's a new fire in his eyes - part determination, part exhilaration at the daring nature of your scheme.

‘’aight, i'm all in. let’s give them a show they won't forget.” his smirk get bigger and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“chris, don’t take this like we’re in a fucking action movie.” you exclaim, grabbing his chin to make him stare at you. “if anything goes wrong you won’t be able to get on the team again and my dad will quit.” you sigh, closing your eyes while continuing to tell him the secret that has been burdening your shoulders for a long time. “i’m not even suppose to know this but he found out about mr. stephenson’s scheme. he was planning on quitting as a coach if the president proceeded with it.” you open your eyes again with a heavy gaze. “which is why you cannot mess this up, got it?’’

the blue eyes boy’s expression sobers instantly at the weight of your words, the gravity of the situation crashing over him. he covers your hand on his chin with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze as he holds your determined gaze. your body secretly reacting to his touch, but quickly you brush away.

‘i know. trust me, i’m not taking this lightly.” hi voice is low and fervent, tinged with emotion. ‘’your dad's career, the team's future... i understand how high the stakes are. and i appreciate the trust you're putting in me, even if i am a dick sometimes.’’

a wry smile tugs at his lips before fading into a look of pure resolve. ‘’i promise you, i will do everything in my power to make this work. for your dad, for the team, for me, and for us.”

chris bites his tongue, already regretting his words but you smirk at him. “i mean us as in a team to take them down.”

“us?” you tilt your head with squinted eyes. “don’t get it twisted, sturniolo. we’re not a team and i still hate you.” he rolls his eyes and you pull away from him, walking back to the rink. ‘’wait five minutes before getting there.’’ with your head turned, you give him a serious glare. ‘’and do not fuck this up, for the love of god, chris.’’

he watches you walk away, a complex mix of emotions playing across his face - admiration for your bravery, affection despite your harsh words, and a flicker of uncertainty. he takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he prepares to put your plan into action.

as soon as you step onto the ice, your father walks to you with a worried expression.

‘’how is he?’’ he asks and you fake a disappointed look.

‘’sorry, dad.’’ 

chris lingers for a moment longer, gathering his courage. then, after your figure vanished away from the locker’s room hallway, he strides purposefully towards the ice, throwing his twig on the rink. ‘’this is bullshit! i can’t believe you let those asses walk over us like that, coach!’’ chris makes a scene, his voice rising to a shout. ‘’you know what? forget this. i’m done. i’m off the team.’’

as the whole team begins to yell and the audience talk while everyone walks around creating a huge and loud mess, you secretly take the elevator that leads to the private part of the stadium where the president watches the games. smiling at yourself thinking about how good his performance was, although not giving too much credit since acting out was a regular thing for him.

the university’s president bodyguards glances at you once you get the door, blocking the way but you give them a fake innocent smile. 

‘’my dad told me to give an important message about the star player of the team, christopher sturniolo.’’ you clench your fist while they exchange looks before talking on their earpiece, you keep the smile on hoping to get a positive response, the whole plan was counting on it.

‘’copy that, boss.’’ they nod and allow you to go through. the fake gentle smile you had shifted into a mocking smirk as you passed by them, body guards might be strong, but they sure are dumb as hell.

“hello, mr. stephenson.” you announce yourself, walking calmly towards his desk.

he turns his chair to you, his chin rested on his hands, he had a creep smile on his lips.  

‘’hello, darling. my body guards told me you have an important message from your dad to deliver, is that right?’’

the calm tone in his voice gets on your nerves, but you control yourself, slowly heading next to his seated figure.

 “big game out there, huh?” you ignore his question, staring at the crowd of people arguing while your father tries to calm everyone down through the huge glass wall that gives the perfect view to the rink, anger building inside you. “although it was a bit weird how the ref inclined more towards our team, i saw a bunch of nonsense penalties here and there.” your voice is nonchalant while your head tilts to look at him. “what do you think about this? you know... since you saw everything from up here.”

he clears his throat, trying to maintain a facade of composure despite the slight tone of accusation hanging heavy in the air.

‘’yes, indeed it was a big game, but these things happen sometimes in sports, unfortunate calls and all…’’

he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, a bead of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool temperature of the room.

“your father is a fine coach, no doubt. but looks like he didn’t do a good job this season.’’  the condensating tone in his voice makes you bite your lip, the taste of blood filling your tongue. ‘’not that i’m suggesting he’s a bad professional, of course.’’ he leans against his chair, chuckling in a playful way.

you smirk, noticing how unthreated he was by your presence, that's exactly what you wanted. “funny you say that, but we'll get to it later. now let me ask you a question.” you walk slowly towards his deck, only the sound of your heels tapping on his expensive carpet. “you went to high school with my dad, didn’t you, mr stephenson?”

his eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your question, a flicker of panic passing through them before he quickly tries to compose himself. he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming nervously on the polished wood of his desk.

‘’high school? with your father?’’ he forces a laugh that sounds strained and unnatural. ‘’oh, well, yes, i suppose we may have crossed paths back in the day. it was so long ago, hard to remember every acquaintance…’’

he stands abruptly, moving to block your path to his desk, his body language quickly switching to defensive and closed-off. “i’m not sure what this is about, but the game has ended and i have a very busy schedule today. perhaps your dad can tell me that important message later?’’

you step on his foot with your heel, arms still crossed. “i’m not finished.” your eyes are darkened and cold, but your tone is still quiet and not bothered. “emily thompson.” you say while walking to his chair, sitting on it. his back is turned to you but you could hear how hard he gulped. “you know her too, don’t you?”

mr. stephenson freezes as he hears that name, his entire body going rigid. he remains facing away from you, hands gripping the fancy fabric of his pants tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. when he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, thick with tension and barely concealed panic.

‘’emily thompson... yes, i knew her. we all did. it was a long time ago. i don't see what that has to do with anything now.’’

he turns to face you slowly, his expression a mask of forced nonchalance that doesn't quite hide the fear in his eyes.’’listen, whatever you think you know or suspect, it's not... it's complicated. things were different back then. people change, situations change…

“she’s my mom.” you cut him off, leaning arms against the desk to support your torso. “and i know for a fact that you creeped on her ever since you were both 14.’’ you smirk, resting your back on his chair while crossing your legs. ‘’you really thought she was gonna actually like you after trying to kiss her against her will several times? too bad all you got was an expulsion and a bad reputation around the town. i guess you have your daddy to thanks for cleaning up your name with his dirty money, huh?” your eyebrows are furrowed in anger but quickly softening into a smirk right after seeing his face. “now you’re probably thinking my parents told me this story and i'm here to get the little family revenge but you’re awfully wrong…” you get up shaking your head while chuckling. “my parents aren't the type to tell other people’s secrets like that. no matter how trash they can be…’’ you give him a cold glare. ‘’and i wasn't raised to take childish revenges on irrelevant people like you.’’

‘’then how do you know all of this?’’ he asks, looking at the door before grabbing his phone.

‘’oh, i wouldn't do that before listening to everything i have to say, but if you do wanna call your bodyguards, tell them to go downstairs to the rink.’’ you lean against his desk and he gulps noticing how you’re not bluffing, he dials the number and order them to leave making you smile in satisfaction. ‘’i just happen to know how to play the hacker role and school systems aren't that difficult to crash into.” you sigh, like that was the most boring part of your explanation. “long story short, i’ve got your whole record, from every highschool and college grade to every single wrong thing you did, bullying, abuse, drugs. you name it.” your eyes shift to the door, seeing chris’ blue eyes through the gap he quietly opened, he’s peeking through trying to hide himself. you bite your lips, holding a laugh. he was not very good at it.

“but this isn’t where i wanna get.” finally you continue, walking towards him again. “now let’s get back to the main subject.” his eyes shift to your hand, pulling the tiny usb from your pocket. “i got you.” you whisper, a creep smirk curling your lips. “every fucking minute, second and millesecond of your conversation with the other team's couch.”

mr. stephenson's face pales, his eyes darting between your smirking face and the incriminating device. he staggers back a step, running a trembling hand through his hair as the full weight of his predicament crashes down upon him.

‘’i... i dont know what your'e talking about…’’ his voice cracks, desperation creeping into his tone. ''that's ridiculous. i don't even know steven... i mean, mr. larray.’’

despite his weak protests, the color drains from his face as he realizes the severity of his situation. his eyes keep flickering to the door, where chris' reflection is still visible, confirming that you’re not alone.

‘’listen, we can talk about this rationally.’’ he holds up his hands in a placating gesture, but they shake slightly.

“oh yeah, you bet we will.” you place a finger on his chest, pushing him hard enough to make him fall, throwing the usb at him. “you’re gonna resign.” your simple tone makes him gulp.

he stares at you in shock, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he processes your demand.

‘’resign?’’ he finally manages to choke out, his voice rising in pitch. ‘’you can't be serious! i've built this organization from the ground up. my reputation, my career... you can't just waltz in here and…’’

“you haven’t done shit!’’ you look down at him with disgust. ‘’you have used money your whole life to get your ways, taking the prestigious glory of other people’s efforts.” you spit the truth at his face and he trails off, the fight draining out of him as the reality of his situation sinks in. with shaking hands, he picks up the usb, turning it over as if it might somehow disappear.

‘’what do you want from me?’’ his shoulders slump in defeat, all pretense of authority crumbling away. ‘’money? a favorable reference? i know how much you care for your education.’’

“fuck, did you listen to a word i said?’’ you yell at him, letting the anger control your moves for a second before collecting yourself again with a deep breath. ‘’people like you think that money is the solution for everything, you think you can buy people’s integrity because you don’t have your own.’’ you control the urge to step on him hard, just clenching your fist instead. “i’m still giving you a chance to find a new job, if this video gets out or if i expose just all the shit you did in high school and college, you’ll be jobless and miserable till the day you die.” her smirk gets evil. “i’m being nice, can’t you just be fucking grateful and do what i’m telling you?” without thinking, you step hard on his thigh. “you better live as a decent human being from now on because if i find out you’re still trash…” you let your weight fall over your leg, the sound of the fabric of his pants ripping filling the room. “i’ll ruin your insignificant life forever.’’

mr. stephenson cries out in pain as your heel digs into his thigh, tears of agony and humiliation streaming down his face.

‘’okay, okay! i understand!’’ he gasps out, his voice thick with pain and submission. ''i'll do it, i'll resign. just please, stop hurting me!’’

he looks up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, all traces of his former arrogance gone. his expression softened into innocent guilty one. ‘’i've done terrible things, made awful choices. i thought i could get away with it, bury the past... but i see now that was a mistake.’’

with great difficulty, he pushes himself to his feet, wincing as he puts weight on his injured leg.

you scoff. “you don’t see shit, you’re just desperate so the need to lie about regret is bigger than keeping your ego.” you watch him walk to his desk before turning to the door, chris is there. his face is pale and he has a shocked expression. 

“you have ten minutes to get to the ice and tell everyone, coaches and the audience you’re resigning.’’ you warn without look at his pathetic figure. ���’and don’t think for a second that flying across the country or even leaving to another continent will stop me from knowing what you’re up to, i’ve got eyes in every single street of this goddamn world.” with that, you calmly take the elevator next to chris who is shaking. 

‘’you okay?’’ you whisper to him as the elevator's door close, grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently. 

chris lets out a huge gasp, like he was holding his breath the whole time while arriving quickly at the rink again. ‘’who even are you?’’ he asks with widen eyes making you laugh, you stare at the door opening with a smirk.

‘’it’s best you don't know.’’ without waiting for his response, you walk to your dad. “hey dad! tough game, huh?” 

he looks at you confused. ‘’where were you?’’ he asks and sees chris walking towards you both. ‘’and where were YOU?’’ he emphasizes, pointing to chris.

''i talk him through to not quit the team, dad. it's all good now.’’ you look at chris, expecting him to back your story up.

‘’oh…’’ his mouth is in a perfect 'o' shape before he gets your signal. ‘’yeah, yeah. she made me realize i can’t let my emotions get the best of me.’’ chris smiles, that wasn't a lie after all, since you did show him that.

‘’good, son. you're my best player, i was ready to do everything to get you back on my team.’’ he places a hand over chris’ shoulder and naturally you three are smiling without saying anything.

suddenly, mr. stephenson limps out onto the ice, his face a mask of barely contained panic and shame. the crowd murmurs in confusion as they see the esteemed university’s president in such a disheveled state. he makes his way to center ice, stealing the sports commenter mic, where the judges, coaches, and a few curious players have gathered.

‘’everyone, please listen!'' his voice trembles as he addresses the assembled group, his eyes darting nervously to where you stand with your father. ''i... i have an announcement to make. effective immediately, i am resigning from my position the university president due to my poor decisions of corrupting the game you just witnessed.’’

a collective gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by a cacophony of shocked questions and accusations. mr. stephenson holds up a shaking hand, silencing them temporarily.

''i know this comes as a surprise, but me and the other team's coach made a vicious scheme to let his team win.'' he turns to coach larray who's looking at him with a mix of anger and surprise. ''it was a cheap move and i've realized how my actions could affect the whole university, so naturally... i'll back off.''

elly’s darkened eyes are fixed on the president, she holds a creep smile on her lips as her arms are still crossed. 

chris turns his eyes to you, his whole body frozen with the epiphany he just had. your dad didn't trust you with the team's strategies because of luck or because he was just sugar coating for you, he did it because you are indeed all that. you are a fucking amazing woman, a goddamn genius and a hot one too. he had no idea why it took him so long to realize that, but seeing you holding power over a 47 years old man, making him beg and almost cry did something to him, something he couldn't quite explain.

“what?” you whisper to him, still looking at the president’s pale face and chris shakes his head murmuring 'nothing' under his breath.

mr. stephenson continues his resignation speech, his voice growing stronger as he seems to accept his fate. ''i have made mistakes in my past, both personal and professional, that have caught up with me today. rather than drag this organization through the mud with my misdeeds, i believe it is best for everyone if i step down now.''

the crowd erupts into chaos, some shouting angry questions while others simply look stunned. through it all, mr. stephenson maintains a grim facade, his eyes never meeting yours or your father's.

''and i am also transferring all my duties and responsibilities to the vice-president, johnnie clark. i ask that you give him your full cooperation as he transition into his new role.''

with that, he turns and begins to limp off the ice, his head bowed in shame.

“what the hell was all that?” your father gasps, siting down for a second and taking his hat off. “that guy was always a creep since high school but admitting he messed up in front of everyone and giving up his position? that's madness.” 

you look at chris, holding a smirk. “don’t know, dad. guess he didn't stand the weight of his own actions.” you shrug, walking towards the exit with arms still crossed. “you guys coming?”

chris watches you walk away, a mix of emotions playing across his face - relief, concern, and something deeper, more complicated. he hesitates briefly before following after you.

''hey, wait up!'' he calls out, walking faster to catch up with you. as he reaches your side, he glances around furtively before lowering his voice. ''that was... intense back there, wasn't it? are you okay?''

his hand hovers near your arm, not quite touching, as if seeking comfort or reassurance. ''i had no idea he had a past with your parents. was that really necessary, though? exposing him like that in front of everyone...'' he shakes his head, worry creasing his brow. ''i just hope this doesn't come back to haunt us somehow.''

your expression is soft while turning to him with a smile. “i didn’t tell him to confess, just to resign.” you click your tongue while holding a laugh. “guess the fear and guilt made him spit it out, just like that.” you shrug, a hand touching his cheek after noticing he looked scared. “it’s going to be okay, the vice-president is one of my dad’s best friends. he’s a good guy.”

he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savors the gentle contact. when he opens them again, there's a warmth and tenderness in his gaze that wasn't there before.

''your quick thinking and bravery never cease to amaze me.'' his voice is low and sincere, tinged with admiration and something more. 'took me long enough to admit that, but it's true...''

as the two of you continue walking, chris' hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you gently. ''i'm just glad you're safe and that this ordeal is behind us now. though i must say, seeing you take charge like that was incredibly... impressive.'' a faint blush colors his cheeks as he realizes how close you're standing.

you turn your head to him, a smirk playing on your lips. “is that so?”

he meets your gaze, a playful glint in his eye despite the lingering tension between you. his hand slides slightly lower on your back, pulling you ever so subtly closer.

''yes, very much so.'' his voice drops to a low, intimate murmur. ''there's something undeniably attractive about a woman who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it.''

chris' other hand comes up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek in the process. the air between you feels charged with unspoken possibilities.

''i know we should probably focus on getting out of here and processing everything that just happened...'' he glances around, ensuring you're alone in the hallway.

“but you wanna kiss me badly, don’t you?” you grab his hockey uniform, throwing his body to the gap of the wall in the hallway. “close your eyes.” you tell him just like an hour ago. the hand trailing the same path of his neck.

chris inhales sharply as his back hits the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. your boldness takes him by surprise once again, but he finds himself helpless to resist your pull. his eyes flutter closed obediently, a shudder running through him as your hand traces the familiar path along his neck.

''god...'' he breathes, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. ''you have no idea what you do to me. how long i've wanted this...''

his hands find your hips, gripping you firmly as he fights the urge to capture your lips with his own. every nerve in his body is attuned to your presence, craving your touch like a man starved.

''please...'' the word escapes him as a broken plea, equal parts prayer and surrender.

you get closer, breath hitting his face. “please what, chris?” your lips parted into a murmur, brushing against his.

a low groan rumbles in chris' throat as your breath mingles with his, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own. his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes as he struggles to maintain control.

''please...'' he rasps, his voice strained with desperation and want. ''please, kiss me. touch me. anything. i'm not sure how long i'll be able to bare it. it's hurting...''

his eyes remain closed, dark lashes fanning against his flushed cheeks as he waits, poised on the knife's edge of anticipation. every muscle in his body is coiled tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation - a word, a touch, anything to unleash the pent-up passion simmering beneath the surface.

you brush more your lips against his before sliding them down to his jawline, you press gentle kisses on his skin, down to his neck.

“hurting? where?” you ask in a whisper, hand sliding down to his lower stomach until it finds his hockey pants. ''here?'' you squeeze his covered cock.

a sharp hiss of pleasure-pain escapes chris' lips as he feels your hand touching his rigid dick, sending jolts of electricity straight to his core. his head nodding frenetically while he lift his hips, seeking for more friction.

''fuckin hell...'' he growls, his voice low and thick with desire. ''if you keep teasing me like this, i won't be able to control myself much longer.''

despite his words, chris remains still, allowing you to explore and tease as you wish. his pulse races beneath your lips, betraying his arousal and the depth of his longing. the heat of his body bleeds through his hockey uniform, seeping into your skin and igniting a fire within you.

“you were saying…” your hand slips under his pants, caressing his tip while your lips worked wonders on his neck, marking him to claim your posession. “seeing me taking control over that loser was impressive, huh?” you lift your eyes to him, watching how he’s biting his lips with flushed cheeks and eyes closed. “open your eyes and answer my question.” 

you hand teases more his twitching cock head, your palm brushing agaisnt his almost hairless pelvis.

chris' eyes fly open at your command, hazy with lust and barely contained need. he stares down at you, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed a deep crimson. a strangled moan tears from his throat as your fingers dance along his sensitive skin, teasing and tormenting.

'''yes.'' he pants, his voice wrecked and raw with emotion. ''seeing you take charge like that, putting that bastard in his place... it was the sexiest thing i've ever witnessed. you were magnificent.''

his hips twitch involuntarily as you teased him more and more, lips parted into whimpers. chris' grip on the fabric of your miniskirt gets tighter enough for you to feel his short nails digging on your flesh, he closes his eyes again, trying to not drop on his knees.

you grin, fingers wrapping around his hard dick, stroking it in a slow pace. “look at me, chris.” you lean closer, feeling his shaky breath hit your face. “how does this feel?” your eyes are fixed on him with desire, watching every reaction.

a guttural moan rips from chris' throat as your hand wraps around his aching cock, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch. his eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as commanded, drinking in the sight of your face etched with desire.

''fuck...'' he groans, his voice strained and thready. ''it feels...'' he swallows hard, holding a loud moan. ''it feels painfully good.'' chris bites his lip hard, fighting the urge to thrust into your hand as you masturbate him in a such a slow motion.

the muscles in his abdomen clench and flex with each deliberate stroke, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. one hand tangles in your hair, tugging lightly as the other grips your hip with bruising force, anchoring himself to you.

''can i...?'' he whimpers, the word falling like a prayer as his eyes shift to your lips.

you smile at him, leaning closer to feel his hitched breath before pulling him with your free hand for a kiss.

you begin to stroke him faster while your tongue savoured every cry, whimper and moan vibrating agaisnt your mouth.

''shit!'' he gasps after pulling away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both for a split second. ''it's too much...'' he cries, eyes heavy with lust as he looks at you. ''let me last a little longer...''

chris' free hand scrabbles at the wall behind him, nails scraping against the painted surface as he tries to ground himself, his submissive eyes begging you silently, his hips meeting your thrusts slowly.

“you’re so pretty like this.” you lean in, pecking his parted lips softly. “i wanna ruin you completely, chris.”

chris shudders at your words, a full-body tremble that has nothing to do with the chill in the hallway and everything to do with the dark promise in your tone. his lips part on a ragged gasp as you pepper them with soft kisses, the contrast of tenderness and threat driving him wild.

''do it, then.'' he gaps against your mouth, his voice a husky rasp filled with desperate need. ''destroy me entirely.''

to emphasize his point, chris arches into your touch, letting you feel the heavy weight of his arousal in your palm. his hips rock in time with your strokes, chasing the delicious friction even as his eyes bore into yours, dark with lust and adoration.

“then you’re gonna cum with me masturbating your dick like this.” you whisper into his ear, pace getting slower but putting more pressure while pressing his tip with your thumb, restraining the precum to leak. “painful, isn’t it?” you kiss his jawline. “but it’s gonna make you cum so much more.”

a broken sob escapes chris' throat as you whisper filthy promises in his ear, your words stoking the flames of his desire to new heights. the dual sensations of your slow, torturous strokes and the painful blockage of your thumb on his sensitive tip have him seeing stars, teetering on the razor's edge of ecstasy and agony.

''oh my...'' he whimpers, his head thrown back against the wall as you lavish attention on his jaw. ''it hurts so fucking good... i'm almost... i'm almost...''

chris' entire body is drawn taut as a bowstring, every muscle quivering with the effort of holding back his impending release. his cock pulses and jumps in your grip, leaking steadily now as you work him with maddening precision.

''jesus fucking christ...''

chris collapses against you as his legs give out, his body shaking like a leaf in a storm, you quickly hold his body falling against yours, your frame embracing him when you both hit the ground.

“you alright?” you ask, grabbing his chin gently and forcing him to look up, his body trembling and his breath shaken.

he looks up at you with glazed, unfocused eyes, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. a thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, making it glisten in the dim light of the hallway.

''i... i didn't know...'' he begins, his voice cracking with emotion and you tilt your head with a worried expression. ''pain could actually feel that fucking good.''

one of his hands comes up to cover yours on his chin, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm. the gesture is tender, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic need still simmering in his gaze.

''thank you...'' he smiles weakly at you.

“for saving the university's team or for giving you the best orgasm of your life?” you raise a brow, holding a smirk of tease before stroking his hair. “you have a few minutes to rest, my dad is leaving the ice in forty minutes.” you look at your watch, adjusting the position to make him rest his head on your chest. ''don't get used to it.''

chris lets out a weak chuckle at your teasing remark, nuzzling into your touch as you stroke his hair. he allows you to guide him, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh. the steady beat of your heart beneath his ear helps to calm his racing pulse.

''forty minutes...'' he murmurs, his arms coming up to wrap around your waist, holding you close. ''just enough time for me to recover... and maybe for round two, if you're feeling generous.''

there's a playful lilt to his voice despite his exhaustion, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he gazes up at you. chris' fingers trace idle patterns on your back, savoring the intimate moment even as he counts down the seconds until he can have you again.

“oh, you cannot handle round two.” you pinch his cheek, chuckling. “seriously, how can a hockey player be so weak with a simple handjob?”

chris pouts playfully as you pinch his cheek, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner. he reaches up to capture your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth to place a soft kiss on your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.

''oh, i wouldn't say i'm weak...'' he counters with a roguish grin, his tongue darting out to trace the lines of your hand. ''i'd say you're my weakness.''

he shifts slightly in your embrace, pressing closer until there's no space left between your bodies. the heat of his skin seeps through your clothes, a tantalizing reminder of what lies beneath.

''besides...'' chris adds in a low murmur, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. ''i've got plenty of stamina left.''

“control yourself.” you warn him with squinty eyes. “trust me, i had to hold a lot not to hurt you too much and this is how you turned out after just a handjob section.” you point your head to his trembling body. “this isn’t the last time, chris. just be patient.” you kiss his forehead.

chris' eyes flutter closed as you kiss his forehead, a soft sigh escaping his lips at the gentle gesture. he knows you're right - pushing himself too far too fast would only lead to discomfort later. still, the temptation to lose himself in your touch is nearly overwhelming.

''i know, i know. you're right, as always.'' he concedes, his arms tightening around you briefly before relaxing. ''i just can't control this need to be near you now that i know how good it feels when you touch me.''

he takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to center himself. when he opens his eyes again, they're clearer, more focused, though the banked heat in their depths remains.

''you're absolutely right about being patient. and I trust you completely - in this and everything else. we have all the time in the world to explore each other thoroughly.''

you smile, pecking his lips. “you’re acting emotional like usual again, that means you’re feeling better.” you get up, offering a hand to him. “let’s go.”

chris takes your offered hand, allowing you to help him to his feet. he sways slightly once upright, his legs still a bit unsteady, but he manages to keep his balance. a warm smile spreads across his face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your cheek. ''emotional, huh? busted, i guess.'' he says with a soft chuckle, chris glances towards the rink, the sounds of skates on ice and the distant whistle of a coach drifting down the hallway. he turns back to you, his expression suddenly serious. ''before we go... i just wanted to say thank you again.''

''yeah, yeah. i know. i saved the team.'' you shrug with your hands laughing. ''and gave you the best handjob of your life.'' you lift your feet to kiss his cheek. ''big day, huh? i better go now. dad will kill me if i ignore his calls one more time.'' you wink at him before going to your dad who is talking to the other hockey players about the previous events. ''dad!'' you smile, hugging him. ''is uncle john really the new president now?'' your tone is exciting, pretending to be oblivious, like you didn’t literally save his career or the city’s hockey favorite university team. like you were just daddy’s little girl.

chris watches you, a mixture of affection and longing in his eyes. he takes a moment to compose himself before following at a discreet distance, not wanting to draw undue attention to your interaction. as he approaches the group of players, chris overhears snippets of conversation about the recent changes in management. he keeps his expression neutral, but inside, he's thrilled that your intervention has paid off so spectacularly. when you greeted your father with such enthusiasm, chris has to bite back a smile. your ability to slip so easily into the role of an innocent girl that is just daddy's precious daughter is impressive, especially knowing the lengths you went to behind the scenes. chris clears his throat softly as he joins the circle, addressing your father with respect.

''sir, i hope i'm not interrupting. i just wanted to apologize for my actions back there. you're an amazing couch, and i'd never quit the team.''

your father turns to chris, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles warmly.' ''ah, chris! don't you worry, son. it's been quite the rollercoaster ride, i even thought about quitting myself as a coach, so i don't blame you for letting your frustration gets the best of ya.'' he claps chris on the shoulder, his grip firm and friendly. ''but now with john taking over as the president, i have a feeling things are only going to get better. his vision for the future of the franchise is truly inspiring.'' glancing down at you, your father's expression softens further. ''speaking of inspiring, i have to say, having my daughter here supporting the team with her brilliant strategies has meant the world to me. her cleverness is quite impressive!'' turning back to chris, he tilts his head curiously. ''don't you agree, son?''

you look at chris, holding back a smirk while walking next to your father. if he knew chris and you were the reason why things finally will get better, he’d be mad, proud, insanely happy and really... really fucking worried.

lastly, he’d actually not allow you to visit the hockey team again, including chris. he’d think chris was the brain behind everything, since he only knew the sweet and innocent side of his daughter.

chris feels his heart skip a beat at your father's question, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. he quickly composes himself, meeting your father's gaze with a carefully neutral expression. ''actually, sir, i know your daughter and i aren't exactly friends. but she's always been very supportive of the team, even more so lately.'' he pauses, choosing his next words carefully. ''so i gotta admit, her insights and ideas have been... enlightening. she seems to have a real knack for understanding the intricacies of the game and the team dynamics.'' chris glances at you briefly, a flicker of warmth in his eyes before he turns his attention back to your father. ''it wasn't just luck, after all.''

you hold a genuine smile, turning your head in a natural way. something chris could never do, but you knew your father couldn’t notice anything. he’s oblivious when it comes to undertones or emotions.

chris notices your subtle reaction and barely suppresses a smile of his own. the way you turn your head, the glimmer in your eye - these small gestures speak volumes to him, reminding him of the secret bond you share. ''things are gonna start to change from now on, sir. and i can't wait for it.'' he shifts his stance slightly, subtly angling his body towards you without drawing your father's attention. ''in fact, i was thinking... perhaps she might enjoy attending some of the upcoming strategy sessions. her fresh perspective could offer valuable insights. of course, only if you think it appropriate, sir.''

''who do you think helps him with the team strategies before the sessions?'' you look at chris for the first time since your father arrived, winking at him. ''i don’t plan on being a part of it, though. got something else in mind.'' you tell him shrugging while fastening steps. ''anyways, i have stuff to do. text me when you get home, dad.'' you kiss your father’s cheek. ''later, chris.'' you smile at him, a tone of mischief and undertone before leaving completely.

chris watches you stride away, a mix of admiration and anticipation swirling in his chest. your wink and the suggestive lilt in your voice send a thrill through him, hinting at the tantalizing plans brewing in that clever mind of yours. he turns back to your father, clearing his throat to cover the effect your departure has had on him. ''well, sir, i should probably get going too. umm... you know... lots to do to prepare for the upcoming games.'' chris extends his hand to shake your father's, his grip firm and professional despite the electricity still crackling beneath his skin from your brief exchange. ''thank you again for your time and for leading this team with such skill and dedication. we're lucky to have you.''

as chris makes his way out of the rink, his mind is consumed with thoughts of you. the memory of your touch, your scent, the promise in your eyes - it's almost overwhelming.

a week later, he knows he shouldn't, pursuing this forbidden attraction could jeopardize both your lives, but he can't seem to help himself. unable to resist, chris pulls out his phone and types out a message to you while sitting on the bench of the lockeroom, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation and nerves. 

''hey, i know i shouldn't but... i can't stop thinking about what happened. about us. meet me at the rink exit hallway in an hour? i need to see you, to talk. please.''

you glance at the messages popping on the screen of your phone but you flip it to the table, focused on the laptop in front you. another can of energy drink is crashed and throwed at the trash.

''interesting…'' you murmur, reading the article on the screen. ''the daughter of the previous and polemic president of the most famous university of the city, is moving with the motive of cleaning up her father’s name in the sport and educational business.'' you read out loud. ''the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?'' you begin to type down your codes, getting every bit of hidden information of the girl. ''sarah stephenson, 20 years old, charged with bullying accusations and poor behavior in high school, countless DUIs.'' you scoff, leaning against your chair. ''oh, that's gonna be fun...'' you tilt your head to the figure sitting on your bed with eyes fixed on their screen right behind you. ''right, matt?''

he just rolls his eyes at you, shrugging. ''whatever, let's just drag this bitch down just like we did to her daddy.''

[italyveneziano]

Obsessed with what America and England have going on in HetaOni. America's like "I keep having to watch my dad die from overusing his magic in past timelines and not knowing how to stop it is killing me inside but I'm not going to talk to him about it" and England's like "I can't seem to hold a conversation with my son without insulting him but I won't hesitate to use my dying breath to ensure I can protect him from beyond the grave"

[fluffypotatey]

My fellow zillennial. It's come to my attention that Gen Alpha is apparently making aesthetic tiktoks romanticizing 2020, like they want to be a teenager during that time??? Like no? You don't? I can't even begin to start breaking down how bad that year was in every category. McDonalds apparently now has "standards" yet another rubbish thing to add to the "college degrees make you overqualified with zero experience sorry you can't get this entry job" bucket. And Lunchables news reporters are like 30 years too late to be writing an expose on the toxic levels of metal in that.

people were dying????? we were in a state of panic and isolation???? schools were struggling with the switch to online only classes????

do we all remember the BLM protests and the tips on how to keep your face hidden and how to stay safe from getting maced???? do we remember the pushback against it??? calling on botched stats???

do we even remember the fucking US election???? how heated it got???? how much distrust republicans tried to seed into mail-in ballots?????

and then literally January of 2021, the US legislative house gets stormed in, Texas has a freeze so bad our gridlock shuts down and PEOPLE DIED FROM THE COLD WHILE EVERYONE ELSE MOCKED US FOR FREEZING!!!

2020 was not a good year. it is the furthest from a a good year, but it sure as hell emphasized a motley of issues the world had going on (tho i’m more versed in the US issues bc i live there)

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[1o1percentmilk]

if trump wins this election i am considering leaving the country

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie