#cause like what was the reason for him to do all that???

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version): Future V

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You bring home your girlfriend

It’s not often that Alexia finds herself pacing.

She used to do it a lot when she was still playing. She used to pace before big games, up and down the length of the locker room until finally being allowed out to warm up.

This isn’t like that in the slightest.

This is her meeting your girlfriend.

Your Real Madrid girlfriend.

Alexia had thought you were dating that English girl that plays for Chelsea but apparently that was ‘just a fling’ and ‘sleeping with a friend’ which is something Alexia wasn’t quite sure was allowed but apparently it was.

She knew she had never let you go off to Madrid for a girl’s trip with some of the girls you dance with.

Look what had happened.

You’re bringing home one of Alexia’s worst enemies.

It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth as she peaks out of the front windows to see a fancy car pull up. It’s certainly not yours but you’re the one sliding out of the passenger seat.

Alexia breathes out along sigh as she  pulls herself away, desperate to not let you see her lurking.

“Jaume!” She yells up the stairs,” You sister and her girlfriend is here!”

No answer.

“Jaume!” Alexia yells again,” Stop hiding in your room!”

She waits for a second and then Jaume’s desk chair scrapes against his floor and Alexia can move away from the stairs.

“Olg-“

“I’m already here,” Olga says, breezing into the room with a smile on her face,” Ale, you look like you’re about to pop a vessel.” Her finger smooths down the wrinkle in Alexia’s brow. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Our daughter is bringing home an enemy. I’m allowed to be angry.”

“You’re not angry,” Olga says, a soft smile on her face as Alexia glances back at the door,” You’re nervous. You just want y/n to be happy and you’ve not met this girl yet.”

“I just don’t get why she didn’t just stick with the English girl!”

“I thought you didn’t approve of Aggie?”

“I didn’t! I don’t! I don’t know.” Alexia huffs, glancing away. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And I’m sure she’s very happy with Olaya. Now, put a smile on your face and pretend you aren’t nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!”

The doorknocker goes and Alexia jolts in shock.

“Aren’t you going to get it?” Jaume asks from the top of the stairs and Alexia scoffs.

“I don’t want them to know that I’ve been waiting on them.”

“You’re so weird.”

Alexia ignores her son, waiting a few more seconds before opening the door, plastering an incredibly fake smile on her face when she looks at your girlfriend.

To her credit, Olaya Rodrigeuz doesn’t cower much outside of the usual ‘oh my god, Alexia Putellas is looking at me!’.

“Mami,” You say warmly and Alexia’s fake smile morphs into a real one.

“My bambi,” She coos, hands coming up to hold your face,” I missed you.”

“You saw me last weak.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss-“

Alexia freezes as something cold and wet brushes up against her hand and she shrieks.

“Oh, sorry,” You laugh,” This is Flower.”

“That’s a bear.”

“He’s a puppy.”

“Shit, y/n,” Jaume says, forcing his way through the door,” Where did you get a bear?!”

“A puppy.”

“Puppy, bear, same thing,” Jaume says dismissively,” Where’d you get him?”

“I bought him,” Olaya replies as the three of you squeeze into the entrance hall,” Y/n was talking about getting a dog and I saw an ad so I just bought him without thinking.”

It’s probably overreacting on Alexia’s part but she can’t help but notice all the little things as Olaya talks about buying you your dog (who apparently you’ve named Flower). Alexia’s eyes narrow as Olaya’s hand splays out against your hip, the way that she pulls you a little closer and they way you automatically tilt your neck towards her as she presses a soft kiss to just under your jaw.

Your girlfriend is a lot older than you. It’s obvious to everyone but causes the most worry in Alexia.

It was never a secret that you preferred older women. For whatever reason, girls your age never really interested you.

But it always made Alexia wary, especially when said older woman spent money on things like a puppy and held you so close like you were some piece of arm candy.

But that might have just been Alexia’s own interpretation of it.

“Food?” Olga offers up from behind and you stand, clicking your tongue.

“I’ll help. Come on, Flower.”

Your puppy pads obediently over to you and Jaume trails behind, trying to be as close as possible to the bear-like puppy with the flowers on his collar.

Alexia holds her hand out.

Olaya takes it.

Alexia squeezes, her face a mask of indifference.

“So,” Alexia says,” You’re dating my daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And you bought her a puppy.”

“She wouldn’t have done it for herself. She really wanted one but she was nervous to take the last step.”

“So you just bought her a puppy.”

“Yes.”

Alexia stares, long and hard until Olaya visibly slumps, shoulders closing in on herself.

“And the puppy is hers, right? Like if you break up, she gets to keep him?”

Olaya nods. “Yes.”

“Good because she really looks like she loves that dog and I don’t want him taken from her.”

“I only want the best for her,” Olaya says, seemingly uncowed now.

Alexia allows the silence to grow stale for a moment before she finally drops Olaya’s hand.

It isn’t approval. Not yet. But it’s a truce. It’s a ‘I’m not going to throw you out of my house just yet’.

“Now,” Alexia says, leading your girlfriend into the kitchen,” Why don’t you introduce me to my new grandson?”

[chase-prairie]

Invasive Species and Xenophobia

Invasive species are complicated! People have a lot of feelings about them, positive and negative. Are plants that move "invaders" "colonizing", "immigrants", "citizens"? What does it mean to kill species that are from somewhere else? What if that species legitimately makes a poor neighbor and causes extinctions in other, native species? This complex, culturally-loaded issue is a foundational issue behind a lot of plant conservation and restoration.

This is a juicy and still actively disputed topic! The Guardian recently had a big article on colonialism in Botany, (tbh her views are dated and reductive, imo) and it’s come up again this week, to much hostility (cw: reddit). Yes, my region's native plant restoration came from literal nazis, but also, the impacts of some invasive species are real, not figments of a racist imagination. How do we balance these issues? What does ethical invasive management look like?

Since it’s such a juicy topic, I wanted to offer a few fun readings to share:

The Native Plant Enthusiasm: Ecological Panacea or Xenophobia?, Gert Gröning and Joachim Wolschke-Bulmahn, 2004, Arnoldia.

THE CLASSIC 20th century German nazis and native plants paper. Made a huge splash when it came out, and you will still encounter people who paint all native plant stuff with this brush. Summary: yeah the nazis loved their native plants and used them as part of their conquering process. Also, the first prairie plantings ever, located in Chicago, were done by a racist probable-nazi for racist reasons, full stop. I’ll let him speak for himself: “The gardens that I created myself shall… be in harmony with their landscape environment and the racial characteristics of its inhabitants. They shall express the spirit of America and therefore shall be free of foreign character as far as possible… the Latin and the Oriental crept and creeps more and more over our land, coming from the South, which is settled by Latin people, and also from other centers of mixed masses of immigrants. The Germanic character of our race, of our cities and settlements was overgrown by foreign character. The Latin spirit has spoiled a lot and still spoils things every day.” - Jens Jensen

Botanical decolonization: rethinking native plants, Tomaz Mastnak, 2014, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space

Rather than viewing native plant plantings as an act of racially-pure occupation, Mastnak positions native plants in California as a decolonization of the sub/urban lawn. Uses a lot of quotations from 16th century English philosopher Francis Bacon, and is heavy on the philosophical musings.

From killing lists to healthy country: Aboriginal approaches to weed control in the Kimberley, Western Australia by Bach et al., 2019, Journal of Environmental Management.

This paper talks through some of the native vs invasive debate, and offers a different perspective on how to approach to plant invasive management based on cultural relations, rather than country of origin or behavior.

Beyond ‘Native V. Alien’: Critiques of the Native/alien Paradigm in the Anthropocene, and Their Implications, Charles R. Warren, 2021, Ethics, Policy, & Environment

DENSE but thorough, if you want to follow the entire history of the native/invasive debate, this has you covered. The most interesting stuff, in my opinion, is the discussion of invasive denialism, IE: the impasse of “You’re just being racist!” Vs “You know nothing about ecology!” I recommend the Discussion, which starts on page 13.

[greengoblinswifey]

could you do a story where frontman is readers sugar daddy, please and thank you I ❤️ your writing.

Luxury & Lies— Hwang In-ho x Fem!Reader

summary— Being In-ho’s sugar baby came with luxuries beyond your wildest dreams. You never questioned where his wealth came from, only cared about what you could get out of him. But when you stumbled upon the truth, the Squid Game and the power he held as the Front Man, you knew exactly how to use it to your advantage. And In-ho? He’d do anything to keep you.

warnings— Sugar daddy!in-ho, manipulation, cunnilingus, body worship, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff.

a/n— Thank you and enjoy <3

Youth and beauty on the outside was not eternal, that being said, you were always one to use it to your advantage.

It was by using those assets that caused you to stumble upon Hwang In-ho. He was an older yet very attractive man and obviously very wealthy. You knew how to play the game right and the night you had met In-ho, you were seated in the lounge area of an upscale restaurant that was famous for transactions like this.

He slipped into the seat next to you, decked in an expensive suit and as soon as you flipped your hair and tilted your head, he was sold.

You didn’t have to say much, especially when it came to older men, you let him do the talking, you were just there to look pretty and get what you want. And you got way more than you bargained for being Hwang In-ho’s sugar baby.

In-ho always gave you what you wanted. That was the foundation of your arrangement. You asked, and he delivered—no questions, no hesitations. It started with luxury handbags and designer clothes and shoes, then first class trips and five star hotels, and before you knew it, you had an entire apartment paid for in your name and a collection of jewelry that could make royalty jealous.

Being with In-ho meant being spoiled, but it also meant playing your role. You were his eye candy at every event, the one in his arm in dresses he picked out for you, flashing a smile that made investors and business partners envious. You liked the life you lived, liked the way people looked at you when you walked into a room together.

You never questioned how he could afford it all. What did it matter? You weren’t with him for his morality, you were with him for what he could give you.

But then you found out.

It had been an accident, really. You were in his office at the penthouse, bored and nosy, and you stumbled across a locked drawer in his desk. He always kept things private, but this was different, the secrecy intrigued you. So you looked until you found the key, expecting maybe some business documents or an old affair he never wanted you to know about.

You didn’t expect tapes.

Or the footage of people being slaughtered.

You sat frozen, watching clips from the so called Squid Game, men and women gunned down like animals, the screams piercing even through the speakers of his monitor. And there, in the midst of it all, was him—your sugar daddy, the man who paid for your lifestyle, standing over it all in that black mask.

The Front Man.

The truth settled like ice in your veins, but strangely, you weren’t horrified. You were curious.

For the first time since meeting In-ho, you had leverage.

So, you confronted him.

You remembered the way he looked at you when you brought it up. The sharp inhale. The slight flinch. He had tried to keep you in the dark for a reason, because, deep down, he feared this exact moment.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah?” You folded your arms. “Well, I did.”

A pause. A long, heavy silence. And then, a confession. He admitted everything. How long he had been in charge. What the games really were. The money, the power, the control.

“I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore,” he said eventually, looking down. “I won’t stop you.”

That was the moment you could have walked away. Should have, maybe. But you had no intention of leaving.

Instead, you put on a show, acted like you needed time, like you were shaken and unsure. Let him panic, let him compensate.

And, oh, did he compensate.

A brand new penthouse apartment, yours, fully paid for. A car, your dream model, delivered to your doorstep. Cash in your account, a credit card linked to his bank account. Jewelry, vacations, an all expenses paid trip with your homegirls on his private jet, all while he stayed behind, giving you space.

He only texted you once.

“Let me know when you're ready to talk.”

When you had everything you wanted, you decided it was time.

The night you returned, he was already waiting in your penthouse, standing by the windows with a glass of whiskey.

“You look beautiful,” he said, scanning your outfit like he hadn’t seen you in weeks, which he hadn’t. “Did you have a good trip?”

“It was perfect,” you said, slipping off your coat and letting it drop onto the couch. “Thanks to you.”

He exhaled softly, nodding. “And are you ready to talk?”

“I am,” you said as you walked toward him slowly, heels clicking against the floor.

He tensed. You could see it in the way his fingers curled slightly against the glass, like he was bracing himself for the worst.

“You kept a huge secret from me, In-ho,” you murmured, stopping just inches away. “That’s not something I can just forgive overnight.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“I bet you are.” You reached for his tie, giving it a gentle tug. “But sorry isn’t enough. You have to earn my trust again.”

His breathing hitched. “Anything,” he murmured, voice low. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

You smiled, slow and sultry. “Good,” you said, stepping backward toward the bedroom. “Then follow me.” And just like that, he did.

You led him across the penthouse, never looking back, because you didn’t need to, you could feel his presence behind you, could feel the heat of his stare. By the time you reached the bedroom, you stopped at the edge of the bed, tilting your head just slightly over your shoulder.

He was watching you with hungry, dark eyes, scanning every inch of you. And then, you let yourself fall back against the silk sheets, stretching out, parting your legs to make your point.

His breath came uneven. “You—”

“You said you’d do anything,” you murmured, hooking a leg around his waist and pulling him closer. “Show me.”

Something inside him snapped.

He was on you in seconds, his hands gripping you, lips crashing against yours with a desperation you had never felt from him before. He wasn’t just indulging you—he was proving himself.

For the rest of the night, he did exactly that.

Because at the end of the day, you always got what you wanted.

The second In-ho had you beneath him, it was like something inside him broke loose. His hands were at your clothes in an instant, fabric tearing under his grip as he stripped you naked. The sound of ripping seams filled the air, followed by a sharp gasp from you as cool air met your skin.

“In-ho—”

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, dark eyes flickering over you like he was soaking up every inch to memory.

His lips were on you before you could respond, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, over your breasts. His lips were everywhere, like he was trying to worship and make it up to you.

Then he was lower, his mouth pressing against your stomach, his hands holding you steady as you squirmed.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, breath catching.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “So perfect. Always so goddamn perfect for me.”

And then, he had you unraveling.

The first stroke of his tongue against your pussy had your back arching, fingers twisting into the sheets as pleasure shot through you like lightning. He moaned against you, gripping your thighs to hold you still, but you couldn’t—not when he was devouring you like this, like he had been starved for you.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against your pussy, pressing a kiss between every stroke of his tongue. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You barely heard him past the pleasure that built and built with every expert movement of his mouth. He was relentless, slow at first, savoring you, but when he felt you tense, when he heard the way you gasped his name, he tightened his grip and ravished you with ferocity that had your legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Cum for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

And when you finally came, when you cried out so loud you swore the whole city could hear, he only held you through it, kissing your thighs, whispering praises against your heated skin.

“You’re a dream,” he breathed, pressing a lingering kiss just below your navel. “So beautiful. So good for me.”

In-ho didn’t stop. Even after you were left trembling beneath him, after your breath was still shaky and your body tingled from the aftershocks, he kept kissing you, soft presses of his lips against your skin.

“You're everything,” he murmured between kisses, trailing from your chest to your lips. “More than I deserve.”

The way you shivered when his fingers brushed your breasts, the way your breath hitched when he pressed a kiss just below your chest. He worshiped you, whispering apologies against your skin.

“Forgive me,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “For everything. For keeping things from you, for being selfish enough to want you despite it all.”

You cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “You're not losing me,” you promised softly, and the way his eyes darkened told you he believed you—but he needed to prove himself anyway.

His mouth found yours in a desperate kiss, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you. You felt him—all of him, hard and heavy against your thigh.

Another thing about In-ho? He was the full package. The biggest you’d had, the biggest you probably ever would have, and he knew exactly how to use it.

He smirked at the way you swallowed hard, his hands skimming down your sides, teasing, making you wait.

“You always act like such a brat,” he murmured, pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck. “Like you don’t need me.” His hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But then I get you like this, and you melt for me.”

“In-ho,” you gasped, gripping his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of his cock as he slowly pressed against your folds. “Let me take care of you.”

And when he finally gave in, when he finally stopped teasing and claimed you, it was deep, slow, possessive. He worshiped you, murmuring praises against your lips, against your skin. He filled you inch by inch, your pussy quivering around him.

“You're perfect,” he groaned. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your nails dug into his back, legs tightening around him as he pulled you closer, right on his dick. Every slow, deep stroke unraveled you, and he felt everything, the way you clung to him, the way you gasped his name like a prayer.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Give it to me. Cum.”

And when you finally did, when you cried out and your body tensed beneath him, he held you through it, his own breath ragged, his grip tightening like he never wanted to let you go.

He didn’t pull away right away—just kissed you through it, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. Soon, you felt the rush of his cum filling you up and his soft moans in your ear.

“Mine,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine.”

In-ho never just left you after. That wasn’t who he was.

No matter how intense things got, no matter how desperate or needy, he always made sure to take care of you after.

Tonight was no different.

He pressed a kiss to your temple before slipping away, only to return moments later with a warm cloth. He handled you carefully, murmuring soft praises as he cleaned you up, whispering apologies when you flinched from sensitivity. His touch was steady, so unlike the man who ran the most brutal game in existence. With you, he was different.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, running a hand down your thigh as he finished.

You nodded sleepily, reaching for him. “Mhm.”

That was all he needed to hear. He tossed the cloth aside and pulled you into his arms, shifting until you were resting on his chest, his fingers tracing circles into your skin.

“I’ll prove myself to you every day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll always be here for you.”

You hummed in response, half asleep against him, but he knew you heard him.

That was something about In-ho, you knew this arrangement was transactional, but there was something deeply intimate in the way he held you after, in the way he needed to keep you close, like he was afraid you’d slip away in the night.

Even now, his grip on you was firm.

“You’re so good to me,” you mumbled, fingertips skimming his jaw.

“You deserve it,” he murmured, eyes half lidded as he looked down at you. “And more.”

He held you like that for the rest of the night, whispering sweet nothings, pressing lazy kisses to your hair. You didn’t need to say it out loud, but you both knew, no matter how complicated things were, he wasn’t letting you go.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Tips: An Unforgettable Villain

A villain is the antagonist of your story whose motivations and actions oppose the protagonist and drive the plot of your story.

A villain is the opposite of a hero. In contrast to the hero, a villain is usually compelled by a desire to commit acts of cruelty and immorality.

Bestselling author Dan Brown advocates for writing your villain first—even before your hero—because it is the villain who will make the hero heroic.

Tips for Writing a Great Villain in Your Novel

Choose a real-life model. Find a real person to model your villain after. It could be someone you know, a person from history, or a famous serial killer. Try writing a brief character sketch in which you list their positive and negative attributes, their physical appearance, and their state of mind. Once you’ve done some brainstorming, be sure to differentiate your fictional character from your real-life model (you don’t want to get sued!). You can do this by changing identifiable elements like name, age, and specific actions or events.

Put yourself in their shoes. When it’s time for your villain to act, put yourself in their place. Think about challenges or hardships that might tempt people to act out or behave badly. How do you react to bad things? Tap into those emotions and try to apply them to your villain.

Consider their motivation. Just like with your main character, determining your antagonist’s motivation can help you unlock other aspects of their character, such as their goals and their personality.

Introduce a villain with a bang. A strong introduction to your villain sends your reader a clear message that this character is malicious. In Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield features an unforgettable introduction to antagonist Uriah Heep, whose seeming politeness is overshadowed by a face so shocking and ugly that it is described as “cadaverous.” His introduction immediately establishes the character as a villain.

Characteristics of a Good Villain

Every great hero needs a great villain. Villains are the antagonistic force of your story that challenges your hero and drives the action. Most great villains share a common set of characteristics.

Strong connection to the hero. The best villains are inextricably connected to the hero, and aid in the hero’s character development through their inherent opposition to them.

Clear morality. Every villain needs to have his own morality. If a villain spends part your story killing people, you need to give him or her believable reasons for doing so. Make the reader understand exactly what desperation or belief has driven him to it. For instance, in Ray Bradbury’s dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, primary antagonist Captain Beatty’s mission is to find and destroy books because he believes that books cause people to reject the stability and tranquility of a life of conformity. He has a strong moral point of view, and the reader believes that he believes he is doing the right thing by trying to burn books. After all, every villain believes they are the hero of their own story.

A worthy opponent. A great villain should be a strong and worthy adversary to your hero. They shouldn’t be weak and easily beaten, nor should they be so powerful that they can only be defeated by random chance. In Sherlock Holmes, his arch-nemesis Moriarty is a criminal mastermind who is every bit as smart as Sherlock. Having a villain who is in many ways equal in skill and intelligence to your hero will raise the stakes of their encounters, as it creates a credible threat that your hero might be bested.

Compelling backstory. Any good villain should have an interesting and credible backstory. In addition to creating a deep and more three-dimensional villain, a memorable backstory allows ourselves to identify and even sympathize with the villain. For example, the Gollum character in The Lord of The Rings trilogy used to be a normal hobbit until he was corrupted by the power of the One Ring. In addition to deepening the character by showing us the full breadth of his journey from virtuousness to wickedness, Gollum’s backstory forces us to consider how we are sometimes tempted by bad or unethical forces in our own lives.

Villains should be fun. Let’s face it: evil villains are fun. In Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs, readers hold their breath whenever Hannibal Lecter appears on the page. Whether it’s their black-hearted sense of humor or their odious worldview, our favorite villains possess qualities that we love to hate.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Villains

[redwinelew]

too busy being yours | lewis hamilton

teammate + driver!reader

summary inspired by hozier's cover of do i wanna know

word count 4.4k

warnings 18+ content. angry/hate sex. choking. oral (f receiving), praise kink. kinda angsty a bit. i tried to make this neutral so it could be mercedes!lewis or ferrari!lewis. unedited bcs i couldn't be bothered. many grammatical errors. english is not my first language.

author's note i hate how fucking long this is bcs it was supposed to be a short blurb but i got too carried away as i always do. this fic drained me so idk if it's any good but i hope u guys enjoy

masterlist | requests are CLOSED!

this is just sex, you said to yourself the first time lewis was fucking you after your overtake in miami causing him to lose his chance at getting a podium.

"you kept pissing me off since the day we met, you know," he said as he wrapped his large inked hand around your throat, your head turned to one side and your cheek pressed hard floor of his driver's room.

a tear escaped your eyes as they rolled back, his cock ramming into you. he gave you so little time to adjust to his size and it burned. he was bigger than anyone you have ever taken, combined with the way he was choking you, the brutal pace of his cock ramming inside you, it was pain mixed with pleasure. you never felt like this is with anyone else, and it made the experience better all together.

"so— you couldn't— fuck. you couldn't stop— thinking about me since then? is that what— you're saying?" you sassed him back.

he almost didn't make you cum that day.

for some reason, somehow you have always expected things to end like this between the two of you. not that you think about him bending your knees to your chest and fucking you hard until you see stars and all you could think about was how deep he is inside you on daily basis but it has become some fort of tradition for you two to get on each other's nerves every week, and he looks like the type who would let out his frustration with sex. it was like it was bound to happen.

the second time it happened, you tell yourself that he was just trying to make you feel better, after you crashed against alex albon in japan.

"let me take care of you." he assured, sinking to his knees in your hotel room's floor. his hands were spreading your legs wide for him to bury his face in between them.

you propped yourself on your elbows, wanting to watch him and you swore you never thought he could be this gentle with you after what happened in his driver's room. his thick lips smeared long, wet kisses all over your thighs, eyes stay locked with yours, taking in your reaction. your chest heaved and you released a shaky breath, throwing your head back the moment his tongue dived into your sensitive parts.

he was going slow, careful of your injuries but not too slow that he was depriving you of that high. his tongue moved in the most articulate ways, fingers pumping in and out like he just knew what would makes you click and shatter. as if he was already a pro at at the art of pleasuring you, despite this being his first time putting his tongue on you.

"i want to hear you," he lifted his head for a split second to say, half a whisper after he noticed how you were, how you were biting your bottom lip, trying to suppress the sinful sounds from escaping your lips.

"someone— might hear—"

"i wanna hear you." he repeated, firm but gently. "please, sweetie. i wanna hear you fall apart for me."

when your eyes met his, somehow it was clear that this was not the same man who had fucked you hard on the floor of his driver's room a few weeks ago. his eyes were different. you hoped your own were not deceiving you because you could swore it was filled with a different kind of lust compared to the first time.

noticing your hesitation, he took your hand and brought it to his head, gesturing you to guide him by grabbing his braids.

"come on. show me what you like. i want to know."

"i want to know."

you wanted to argue that he didn't have any reason to. why should he know how to eat you out until your body shook from pleasure and your eyes see stars? why should he know how to flick his tongue in ways that would make his name the only word you could remember? having lewis hamilton, the seven time formula 1 world champion on his knees with his head in between your legs is not something that would ever happen again, no.

but you found yourself spreading your legs a little bit further, trying to make your body relaxed and comfortable on the hotel bed. you gathered his braids since his hair tie has gone somehow, and he let you. he dived back to your clit, and groaned, loving the way you guided him in order to help you reach your peak.

he made you cum twice with his tongue and fingers. then with his cock, and again it was different from the first time. he let you stare into his big brown eyes, his braids hung like curtains on either side of his face as his bare frame towered over your naked body, your legs locked around his waist.

he was thrusting into you slow and deep, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him, to draw those little gasps of yours he was starting to get obsessed with. he wanted to see your eyes flutter as he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one that would make you utter his name like a prayer.

you tried to focus more on the pleasure he was bringing and less on the fact that this felt like he was making love to you. because it couldn't. that word should be forbidden from both your lips and his. this was not love. he was only fucking you this slow and this gentle because you got into a crash. he was afraid he could cause more serious injuries to you even though there wasn't even any to begin with.

the third time, it was after you and him achieved podium together but that race was a bit different than the other. a historic 1-2 at your team's home race, the first since you joined the team. a win with lewis here was something you were determined to happen since the beginning of the season and it finally came true.

your lips never lacked a smile since you crossed the checkered flag with lewis behind you. the long, tight hug that you two shared, especially the way he was burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hand rubbing your back and the way tears were streaming down your cheeks were definitely one of the most talked-about topics among fans that week. but you couldn't care any less. a lot has happened for you personally. you were unable to give your 100% when the season starts, and a bunch of DNFs and crashes did not help your case either. podium started to feel like a distant dream. you thought about the fact that your contract was ending this year and had not been renewed yet. you needed this win and thankfully it proved something to the team. you wanted them to forget about finding a new driver to replace you next year because the old you were still here. struggling with a new car design is something common among formula 1 drivers. lewis knew it all too well.

that is why he cannot stop praising you that night.

"you did great, sweetie. you were amazing." he said with each slow thrust of his cock, earning soft sighs from your lips. his strong arms were cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"you— you were great too." you said, trying to redirect it to him, hating the way your cheeks grew warm at his praise. you've spent so much time arguing and getting on each other's nerves that being praised by him felt strange though not unwelcome. in fact, you hated how much you loved it. hated how it was the only thing that you crave to hear from his pretty mouth from now on. no more bickerings. no more quick retorts. just his sweet tongue making you feel good about yourself, verbally and physically.

"no, no. this is about you. you did great. you deserved every bit of this. don't you?" you delt him slowing down. you bit your bottom lip, too overwhelmed by his intense gaze to say anything.

"i asked you a question, sweetie." he demanded an answer, keeping his tone soft. his voice was barely a whisper.

"i— mhmm.... please.... move." was all you could say instead as you turned your head, trying to hide from his gaze. you never felt so small. this feelings burned.

"answer my question, first. you did great, didn't you? sweet girl?"

you whimper pathetically at the new nickname, letting him grab your chin to meet his eyes once again.

"i didn't..... early on. i wasn't doing good." you say quietly. you don't know why that was in your mind at the time. you should be enjoying the day, that moment. your win, the way he was filling you up to the brim. nothing else matters. what more could you asked for?

except maybe more assurance from him. that this win was not because of luck. was purely your hard work. was because you fucking deserved it.

"that's normal, sweetie. they made a lot of upgrades and improvements this year, didn't they? it's normal to take time to readjust to some changes. don't beat yourself up for it. you're a great driver. everybody knows that. i knew it."

why the fuck do you feel like a rookie right now? you didn't need to hear all that. you've been in this sport for years. you've moved teams, dealt with the fact that you had driven and struggled with far shittier cars. but why did lewis' words make you feel slightly better, deep down? why did he make me feel relaxed enough to unclench your jaw and to drop your tensed shoulders? how did he know exactly what you needed to hear? how did he manage to read you so well?

"y-yeah." you nod breathlessly, agreeing, especially when he finally moved his hips again, but it wasn't enough to make you reach that peak again and he knew it.

"repeat after me: i deserve this."

"lewis—"

"say it or you're not cumming tonight."

you swallowed, lips trembling. as threatening as it soundes, you knew lewis didn't mean that. but still, he's a man of his words. you didn't want to risk the perfect night you and him are having.

and maybe, just maybe, you start listening to his words. you start pushing away all those negative thoughts that were trying to drown your victory today.

"i...." you take a deep breath. "i deserve this."

"louder." he demanded again as he shifted between your hips, gripping your thighs tighter, his eyes never wavered from yours.

"i deserve this." you did as he commanded, with a much firmer tone, like you really mean it.

because you did. you fucking deserve this win. this team. this life. him.

"you did great today." lewis started fucking you again deeply, not hurried with his pace.

"i did great today." you gasped.

"that's my good girl."

you're his good girl.

he kissed you that night, for the first time ever, which surprised you when you thought about it again. the first time you two fucked, you never get to so much as a glance at his lips because of the position he got you in. second time, the thought did cross your mind, making you wonder how would his lips which was sucking on your clit at the time felt when they're pressed against yours instead. how he would devour you like you're all he needs to survive. how his tongue would taste in your mouth.

and it was sweet. long and passionate. better than your wildest dreams. it felt so natural, the way his lips moved against yours in a perfect synchronization. as if they were made to have this dance together.

you whimpered into his mouth when you came, and he drank it all up, swallowing your cry, big hands cupping your cheeks. it was heaven.

until you fell back to earth, to reality, when you realized that like every other thing in this world, what you have with lewis right now, whatever the hell he wants to call it, it will not last forever.

how long are you two going to keep this up? pretending like you hated each other's guts during the day, only to be tangled up under the covers at night? how long until everybody in the garage, fans on the internet notice your stolen glances? how you two always tries to stand a few feet apart, not because the mere sight of each other disgusted you both, but because you are afraid that you were not able to keep this facade up any longer. that you might say fuck it and jump to each other's arm to celebrate another podium. or rushing to ask your race engineer if the other was okay after a crash.

you remembered an interview lewis did. with which magazine, it doesn't matter but what he talked about was. that he wants to have a family, to have kids. it sticks in your mind, every word in the article you already have them memorized. only one question is left.

is that woman you, or is this just another fling to him?

you need to know, need to put an exact label to this thing you get going on with lewis right now or else it might drive you crazy. you cannot keep letting him in, cannot let him whisper another one of those promises in your ear, each time you let him have his way raw with you, if they all meant nothing to him. he might not seem like the type, but you cannot let yourself lost in the uncertainty. better to end this now before it's too late.

you glanced at his sleeping figure on your right on your hotel bed. another night spent together, without knowing where this stands for him. was it all just for fun, his way to release his frustration? it'd be fair, since you never exactly made it easy for him to have you as his teammate. or did it actually mean something to him, deep inside, only he is too afraid to say it?

you shift to your side, staring at his beautiful face. you snuggle up closer, tangling up your legs with his under the covers, needing to go feel his heat, as if this is the last time you will ever get to be this close to him.

it could be.

your hand goes to push his braids behind his ear, cupping his cheek before running your rhumb across his cheekbone and he stirs a bit, a sigh left his thick lips and you feel his hand on your hip tenses a little before he relaxes again. he's absolutely breathtaking, when the pressure of winning his eighth championship isn't occupying his mind. the way his long lashes flutter in his sleep. two piercings decorating his nose. giant lion tattoo on his chest exposed, besides the most obvious parts down there, all for you to see.

something inside you cannot help but wonder.... do other girls get to see him like this too? how many of them? do they get to touch him like this as well? does he enjoy it? does he whisper to their ears the same thing as he did to you?

your heart clenches but then you quickly tell yourself. of course he does. of course they do. it would be a fool of you to think otherwise. who do you think you are, besides a teammate who has been giving him a hard time ever since you two were paired together? a woman he's using to release all of his frustration on? you are nothing but those. do not think that the great formula 1 champion lewis hamilton would make an exception for you. do not pretend like this "relationship" would have a future.

but then, another part of your brain reminds you, trying to ease your nerves. he wouldn't stay every night, probably wouldn't even let you have your orgasms, wouldn't even think about getting on his knees for the woman he hates with every fiber of his being, if this was meaningless for him.

you wanted to move, when he suddenly stirs again. a groan left his lips.

"what time is it?" he asks in that deep, sleepy tone of his, eyes still shut. his accent is always more apparent in the morning.

"almost seven." you say flatly, removing your hand from his face, laying on your back again, your face turns away.

lewis senses the shift in your behavior somehow. his thick eyebrows meet in a knot, before his eyes open. he lays on his back as well, stretching his body a bit, feeling every single muscle in his body sore, before sitting on the bed. you take a peak at him, the way his muscular body bathe in the sunlight seeping through the room through the gaps between the curtains. he takes his hair tie from his wrist, gathering his braids before tying them back together again lowly. his tattooed back visible to you, with lightning-shaped patterns caused by your sharp nails from last night. you bite your lip at the sight, at your poor, desperate attempt to mark him as yours.

it's useless.

he will never be.

a deep exhale escapes from his lips before he glances at you momentarily, eyes raking over the visible outline of your naked figure under the white covers, taking in your sudden cold demeanor.

"did i hurt you?" lewis asks, voice laced with concern.

yes, in a way, you wanted to say. but instead you keep quiet. wouldn't it be nice if you could just freeze, trying not to move, and you'd shrink, disappear from here forever? not having to face him anymore, nor that one painful fact that you have tried to forget. if only life is easy that way.

he calls your name, gently, and it still feels foreign to you, the way your name leaves softly from his lips. you were used to him barking, hissing it. like your name is poisonous, disgusting to him in the garage. never would you have thought he would whispers it so calmly, moaning it even.

he calls again, and you cannot ignore him this time. you turn your head, meeting his eyes tiredly.

"i'm fine—"

"no, you're not." he cuts you off, and it almost angers you. how would he know how you really feel? he doesn't know anything about you besides how to make you come. he doesn't know your favorite food, your favorite colour. you want him to stop pretending like he's got you all figured out.

"i...." you sigh. "i don't wanna talk about this right now, please."

lewis raises an eyebrow. "you know that answer will only make me even more curious now, right? just tell me."

when you stay silent, still refusing to meet his eyes, lewis tries to guess himself.

"is it about last night? did i hurt you? please, tell me. i can't...." his sentence trails away when you shake your head slowly at his guess.

you bite your lip again, harder, before sitting up as well, pulling the white covers to conceal your bare chest. your eyes stare into a corner blankly, nails scratching the back of your neck as your mind tries to put together the words you have been dying to say to him ever since what happened in his driver's room.

"it's not just last night.... it's the previous nights. it's every other night we spent. together. i don't...." you gulp thickly, suddenly at loss for words. you have been thinking about this moment for so long, you hate yourself for not being able to be straight now.

"sweetie...."

"what are we, lewis?"

pause.

"what?" he asks back, his face all scrunched up, eyebrows tie up like he didn't even process your question.

you take a deep, shaky breath, before finally, finally looking at him in the eyes.

"i mean, what are we? what is this?"

"what is wha—" he chuckles with a nervous look on his face, probably wondering what the hell has gotten into you this early in the morning that made you asked these questions.

you try your best not to roll your eyes at his clueless face. you wish he could just skip these acts, pretending like he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about. you want to move to the part where he confirms what you have known all this time.

"please, just be honest with me. i don't want to waste my time anymore and i'm sure you—"

"no, hey— wait a second. what is this— what the hell are you—"

"i asked you first!" you say impatiently, raising your voice a little, which startles lewis but you wish you could say that you care. every second spent with him feels like you should have been using it to do something else, with somebody else and you might have a future with.

"what are we, lewis?" you repeat, firmly this time and louder so the question seeps through his mind.

pause.

"all these nights we've spent together.... did they mean anything to you? like at all? i need you to be honest with me because if this is all just for fun to you then you can find someone else—"

"i don't want someone else." he cuts you off. the suddenness of it combined with the firmness of his voice catches you off guard. but you are not about to let it distract you.

"well that's too damn bad because i'm not here to be one of your girls—"

"me neither." a beat. "i just want you to be the only girl."

pause.

"what the hell does that mean?"

"it means...." a sigh from him. "that i am a coward who should have told you how i really felt from the beginning."

his voice is getting shakier as he continues. "you drive me crazy since you first joined this team but then i realized that i love how it feels, as long as it was you who makes me feel this way."

you gulp at his smooth words, trying to keep yourself together. this is lewis hamilton, 7 times formula 1 world champion. his name itself is bigger than the sport. he knows how to make people fall to their knees in his presence. you do not want to be one of them, cannot allow yourself to be.

lewis takes a deep breath, and you find yourself holding yours.

"the only kind of girl i want you to be is mine."

pause.

"you...." you shudder. "you can't just say that. like it means nothing."

part of you are relieved somehow that he feels that way. that this was not meaningless to him. but you did not expect another type of feeling to enter the conversation. or maybe you did, only you refuse to think about it. because the mere thought of lewis falling in love with you as this goes on feels impossible to happen.

"i wouldn't if that's the case." he says, quick and confidently. "I'm in love with you, sweetie."

"i...." he stammers suddenly. "it's been a while since i was in love, i almost forgot how it feels. it was after our team's home race that i realized it. that night. it felt good to be like that with you. i remembered how i wanted to spend every night like that with you. not just the sex but the lengthy conversations we had after. and the way you felt in my arms when you fell asleep, i.... i just want to hold you like that every night. i can't get enough. you've made me a mad man, love."

oh, love.

you chew on your bottom lip, not knowing what to say, how to react. you didn't expect a confession, never would have dreamt of those four letter words to leave his lips while talking to you. mine. love.

or maybe you did. you think about moments that you two spent alone together, besides having him inside you that you shared and you find yourself loving every single second. sharing stories, your passions. you realized how much you enjoy hearing his rambles and wishing that you could hear more, that he would share more. something deeper, more personal.

"we can't." you say without thinking.

lewis clenches his jaw, huffing in frustration.

"why not? because you think the team wouldn't approve? or the fans?" he quickly guesses, like he already knew the excuses you'd give.

"i'd only accept rejection from you if you yourself do not want this. not because of the team or our publicists or— or the fans. because who cares what those people have to say? this is our lives, not theirs. do not let other people dictate how you feel." he says firmly.

"i'm not." you retort just as fast. "because i do feel the same."

you see how he releases a heavy breath after hearing your own confession, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulder. a relief.

"i just need to know if you are serious about going public. it's a big step. how long have we been rivals publicly? and then suddenly we're dating? how would that look?"

he smiles tinily.

"i'm sure it wouldn't be a surprise to them. maybe deep down they know you've always wanted me."

"oh, me?" you roll your eyes at him while pointing at yourself. "alright, sir lewis 'you've made me a mad man' hamilton. sure. i wanted you first. definitely not the other way around."

he chuckles this time, his white teeth on full display before he closes the distance between you two.

"keep talking and i'll show you how mad you truly have made me." he says in a low, sultry voice.

and you did. and he kept his promise. you two ignored the fact that you have a qualification today, or how purposely loud you are being. you know you'd be too embarrassed to actually face the other drivers who stay in this same hotel after today but when lewis was fucking you deep and slow but hard as a way to prove his devotion to you, you cannot exactly say that you care about anything else in that moment.

[cinnamqnx]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing. sae itoshi x f!reader

summary. after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

warnings: nsfw elements, smut, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

11 | pillow talk ( smut 18+ )

you had finally gotten back to sae’s apartment once again, feeling slightly awkward inside from your last encounter here.

“you don’t have to stand so awkwardly, make yourself comfortable.”, sae says casually, walking into the kitchen.

you quickly followed him, “well last time i was here we had a little problem.”

he turned around to face you after getting out a protein shake from his fridge, “didn’t we fix that?”

you stayed silent, “…or are you still upset?”

“i’m not upset, i just feel like there was a bit of awkward tension between us today.”

“i felt it too. it’s probably because we was with other people right after we spoke about it.”, you lean on his kitchen counter, soaking in the view of him.

there’s a small amount of silence before he speaks again. “do you want to stay?”, he asks, shaking his drink.

“i do, i think we should talk too. it’s not the same as over text.”, you nod.

“yeah, i actually didn’t really use my phone before you.”, he sets his drink down, “i feel like you have me doing a lot of talking.”

“is that a bad thing?”

he shrugs, “i don’t know, i just don’t really do all this, so it’s new for me.”

you make an amused face, “you don’t talk?”

“nah, i just mean in relationships. i’ve not really had girls pull me up on things i’ve done.”, he paused after realising what he just said, “sorry, that sounded really dickish.”

“it’s okay. at least you’re improving, a few days you wouldn’t have even realised.”, you joke, a small smile on your face.

“your smile is really pretty.”

you smile while rolling you eyes, “you’re a sweet talker.”

“can’t i just admire you?”, he tilts his head, an innocent but affectionate glint in his eye.

you smile at him, the same glint in yours.

12:22 am

you let out a shaky breath as sae began to kiss up your thighs, itching closer and closer to your centre, “you okay, beautiful?”

you nod, “mhm.”

he uses his arms to push himself up, planting a soft kiss on your lips, “you sure you wanna let me do this?”, he asks in a soft tone, making your heart swell.

“yeah.”, you whisper.

“c’mon, give me more than that.”, he says, placing his large palm at the side of your face.

“i want this, sae.”

he kisses you again, this time with more passion, tracing his tongue against your bottom lip, softly biting at it, causing you to let out a heavy sigh.

he smirks, “you’re so cute.”

he then started kissing alongside your jaw, tilting your head to the side for him to have better access. licking, sucking and kissing, you gasp, moving your head away slightly.

“you’ll leave marks.”, you say, his eyes staring into yours.

“hm? good, other men will know to stay away.”, he says before moving back onto your neck, just to move back to your lips.

you let out a breathy laugh at his possessive response, “i’ve not given you a reason to worry.”, you joke.

“i know. and you won’t, right?”, he murmurs, a vulnerable tone which has you surprised.

“i won’t. promise.”, he simply smiles gently, going back to kissing your neck, collarbone and shoulder, leaving no place unmarked.

he pulls away, looking up at your hazed expression, smirking before moving back down, placing small, gentle kisses on your abdomen.

“am i okay to take this off?”, he asks, his hands lingering at the waist band of your skirt.

“mhm.”, you nod, lifting your head up to look at him before dropping it back down.

he swiftly pulls your skirt off, throwing it to the side of his bed, teasingly pulling on your underwear before placing soft kisses on your upper thighs, moving to your abdomen.

“quit the teasing.”, you breath out.

he looks up at you, a smirk on his lips, “can’t i just appreciate you?”

you huff quietly, making him smile against your stomach, placing his last kiss, rubbing up your thighs and pulling away, getting a good look at you sprawled out on his bed in a tiny crop top and your underwear.

“be good for me.”, he says, his hands rubbing small circles on your hips, “do you want me to take your top off?”

you hesitate for a moment, that being enough for sae to bend down and give you a reassuring kiss on your lips, moving back down, “i’m gonna pull these off, okay?”, his hands on the waist band of your underwear, moving his fingers under the sides, ready to take them off.

you breath out, your stomach knotting with anticipation, “okay.”

he swiftly pulls off your underwear, checking your face for any discomfort, the cold breeze hitting you making you gasp quietly.

“you’re already so wet..”, he mumbles, moving down to place gentle kisses on your pussy, making you nibble softly on your bottom lip.

he hooks your thighs over his arms as he gets comfortable in his position, placing teasing kisses on your clit as he uses his tongue to tease your entrance.

you bite your bottom lip harder, your head leaning back even further.

“don’t hold it back.”, he looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, “i wanna hear you.”

“it’s embarrassing.”, you whine, but came out more like a quiet moan.

“stop being silly, let me hear how beautiful you are.”, he says, leaning up and kissing you, making you taste yourself.

you nod slowly, looking back at him as he pulls away, “good girl.”

he returns to his original position, but using his now free hand to slowly rub on your clit while his tongue slowly licked along your entrance, eliciting a needy whine from you.

“there you go.”, he says as you let out the noises he’s been dying to hear.

he picks up his pace once he feels he’s edged you on enough, the slow circles on your clit moving faster and faster while eating your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth.

“oh, fuck”, you mutter, your hands moving to his hair, tugging on it as you throw your head back, his quiet moan vibrating on your clit.

he unravels his other arm from your thigh, using his thumb to gently circle your entrance, letting you know what he was planning to do, the new sensation drawing out a small gasp from you.

he gives your clit a teasing kiss before focusing his attention onto his fingers, his middle sinking into you while curling upwards, hitting that spongey spot that’s been dying for attention immediately.

you let out a gasp, arching your back and moaning put his name, “hm? what is it, beautiful?”, he asks, his tone irritatingly condescending.

“asshole.”, you mutter as he chuckled, staring up at you with adoration and lust.

he sinks in his ring finger right next to his middle, fitting snuggly as he picks up his pace while attaching his lips against your clit.

your legs shake with the overwhelming pleasure, your mouth letting out uneven breaths and shaky moans while your hands clutch the bedsheets beneath you.

he never stops his pace, the veins in his arms prominent, continuing to abuse your g-spot.

“wait- wait. fuck.”, you moan out, your brows furrowing as you feel the pleasure start to build up in your stomach, so desperately trying to hold on, “i’m gonna-”

you cut yourself off with your own moan, “yeah? cum for me, baby, fuck. let me see you.”

you arch your back as you feel the intense pleasure hit you like a bomb, throwing your head back while gripping onto sae’s forearm, your legs instinctively wrapping around his shoulder’s as they shake with vigor.

suddenly, you feel a splash of liquid ricochet off sae and onto your thighs, looking down to see you had squirted all over this man’s face and chest.

“my god, i don’t..”, you pause, breathlessly, “i’ve never done that before.”

“yeah?”, he he hums, to which you nod weakly, your head falling back from exhaustion.

he smiles at himself, so obviously smug.

sae had cleaned you up after being so adamant he didn’t want anything else from you tonight, satisfied with just making you feel good.

he was more attentive than you could’ve imagined, running you a warm shower while he got you both some snacks from his kitchen. then putting on a movie for you both while cuddling on his bed, the covers over you both as you get closer and closer to drifting off to sleep.

tracing small patterns on your skin, he asks, “you feeling okay?”

“mhm.”, you pause, “i feel really good.”, you smile at him.

“good, i’m glad. i felt like i owed this to you.”

you half lidded eyes open, confused, “what do you mean?”

“i just feel like ive been a bit.. dickish, with you recently.”, he shrugs.

you hum, leaning your head further into his bare chest, “so you felt like you had to please me sexually?”, you joke.

“i mean, i guess, i don’t really know how to explain it.”, he sounds unsure.

you raise your head to look at his face, “do you wanna try?”

“well, i’m not usually liked for my personality, just what im good at.”, he pauses, trying to word it for you, “sorry, i’m not good at this kinda stuff, talking about how i feel.”

you nod understandingly, “i don’t wanna rush you, but im here to listen.”

he doesn’t say anything, moving his hand to play with your hair, “you’re definitely way too good for me.”

“i don’t think that’s true.”

“it is. i don’t wanna fuck this up with you.”

“you won’t, as long as you’re honest with me.”

“i can definitely do that.”, he mumbles into your shoulder, placing a soft kiss on it.

“then there’s nothing you need to be worrying about.”, you reassure.

he hums at your words, “give me a kiss.”

and of course, you obliged.

navigation. heartbreak summer

next chapter. 12

author’s note. this is the first smut i’ve wrote in years LOL so be nice guys, sorry this took me longer than usual to get out it just has way more writing than usual and i’ve lowkey been having writers block w this story, i think after this chapter i’m going to focus on virtually yours as it’s only going to be 15 chapters long, but after that heartbreak summer will have my full attention 🫶🏻

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi @megumiivs @captainshindo @evry1luvssm @alatusorrow @pookalicious-hq @gigiiiiislife @tnt-kokoo @misosoupii @whisperofae @bontensbabygirl @s4-mmy @viviinpt @werfiedeii @dinnersyummy @sccubss @nuhahani @treeguzzler @pctterheadd @taefanclub @literallyushiwaka @yiiscorner @suksatoru @manjiroswifo @sugacor3 @kaz-0e @rinniebinniebay @heartcam @arwawawa2 @sharks-3 @saeishiro @ira-in-ink (open)

[zorosangell]

I'm shocked at the lack of wano zoro fics involving a geisha reader tbh??? I'd expected to find more but there's NONE ... or atleast not ones that isn't your fic

but oh my goddd that geisha reader & zoro fic was beautiful but imagine after komurasaki allegedly dies orochi finds reader to be his new little personal geisha and inviting (demanding) her to come to onigashima with him n zoro poorly receiving the news that'd be funny I think,

⛥ﾟ・。 stupid

synopsis: part two of oiran -- zoro starts an argument over you going undercover as orochi's personal oiran. and it ends... interestingly.

cw: fluffy fluff, microscopic angst ig, zoro don't play about you, reader is just a girl (just like me fr), kinda suggestive

"No way in hell," Zoro denied, not even giving the matter a second thought. "We'll figure something else out."

"Zoro, please... think of Kin'emon... think of Momo."

"I'm thinking of you. And how stupid this plan is."

"It's not stupid."

"Coulda fooled me."

Your brows flattened, growing annoyed with his stubbornness.

'Forgot how much of an ass he can be...'

"Zo', you're being unreasonable," you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, I'm being unreasonable?" he cocked a brow, letting out a sarcastic laugh before stepping out the way of the door. "Then by all means, please go."

You smiled, surprised by the sudden change of heart.

"Really?"

"No!" he exclaimed, incredulously, eyes widened by the fact that you actually believed him. "Christ, (y/n), you might as well send yourself gift wrapped with a bow!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you!" he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Look at yourself, (y/n)! You're what guys like Orochi dream about. A gorgeous, dolled-up oiran dropped right on his doorstep for the taking."

You paused a moment, processing his statement.

In preparation for your arrival to the Flower Capital—a trip you were already supposed to be well on your way on—you'd fixed your rain-ruined makeup and changed into new kimono, which you'd tucked away in the safe-house in the earlier days of your mission.

You also touched-up your hair, adorning your... everything with jewelry and ornate pins to make yourself look like an oiran fit for shogun.

Much to Zoro's displeasure.

But you weren't concerned with that.

What you were concerned with... was the last part of his statement.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

Zoro's breath hitched, a crimson flush rising from his neck to his cheeks, and only intensifying as you stalked closer.

"I...! Well...! You...!" he stammered, slowly backing away while you pressed forward, until his back hit the soft wood of the door. "Quit tryna change the subject!"

"Okay~" you flashed a cheeky smile, moving even closer until your chest was pressed against his, forcing you to look up at him with innocent, doe eyes.

"And quit looking at me like that!"

"Like what, Zo'? Why can't I look at my handsome swordsman?" you cooed.

"'Cause I know you're trying to butter me up. And it's not gonna work," he deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Dammit, Zoro! I can take care of myself!" you groaned, annoyed that your seduction had failed. "Why won't you let me do this? It's for the mission!"

"Damn the mission! I don't give a shit! Think about yourself for a second, (y/n)!"

You flinched slightly at his volume, and were quick to clam up.

Of course, he noticed this, and took a moment to reign himself back in, taking in a deep inhale through his nose.

"What do you think Orochi wants with you? What reason could a man like him possibly have for asking for you by name? He only wants one thing, (y/n)!"

"And you'd think I'd give it to him?!" you scoffed, incredulously, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and feeling offended by the insinuation.

"Men like him don't ask! They don't care about boundaries, and they don't take no for an answer!"

"So now you think I can't fend for myself?"

"I think you wouldn't have to if you just didn't go all together! I've spent time in the Flower Capital and these guys are nothing like the small fry you were dealing with in the country! They do whatever it takes to get what they want! And I'd rather not fuck up everything the crew has worked for by having to cut down the goddamn shogun for putting his hands on you!"

You faltered a moment, surprised, and he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders, pulling you closer until you both were flush against each other, and his lips only a breath away from yours.

"I don't think you understand that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I let you go and do something reckless," he stated, significantly calmer, though not without his firm tone. "You're not some sacrificial lamb, or a soldier for a better cause. You're a member of this crew... my right hand... and I'd..."

He faltered a moment, another flush of crimson rising to his cheeks.

"Be pretty inconvenienced if you didn't come back."

You raised a silent brow, a small smirk rising to your lips that said 'Really?'

He scoffed, avoiding eye contact.

"You get the idea."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

He froze, turning stiff as a board as you rested your hands on his chest, before carefully pulling away.

"I get the idea."

With a slight sigh of relief, his shoulders sank, and his index and thumb came up to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"So... no Orochi?"

You nodded, dutifully, the sight causing a certain stir within the swordsman's undergarments.

"No Orochi."

At that, he smiled, genuinely pleased.

Before anything—before Wano, before the Akazaya, before any old daimyo—your safety was Zoro's utmost priority.

And he'd be damned if he let anyone, even the fucking shogun himself, lay a single finger on you.

Using his distraction against him, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, swirling you both around before tackling him to the ground.

"(y/n)?! What are you—?!"

You placed a finger to his lips, the devilish look in your eyes forcing him to swallow thickly.

"If I can't do what I wanna do... then we're just gonna have to find another way to occupy our time..."

Slowly, but intently, you began to tug off your robes and sashes, your eyes not leaving his for a moment as you stripped.

And as day turned to night, and then night turned to day, and then day turned to night again, Zoro only had on thing on his mind.

Especially with you resting on his chest in a spent pile of sweat and bliss.

'This woman... is going to be the death of me...'

[mysticaltora8276]

It was in the fifth book I believe when Harry saw the memory of Snape. He talked to Sirius and Remus and Remus I tend to think is a bit more honest and what’s going on. Remus had no reason to lie to him. And yes, Sirius is the cause of blame. I mean, look at his treatment of Kreacher. He’s not a paragon of virtue. He’s a very flawed individual who does do right but at his core he was raised awfully and they reflect and the way he acts and interacts with people. You could argue he’s sort of like an opposite of Snape. Which is probably why he bullied him so much, not excusing the bullying by the way.

The thing about Snape is, I know he’s a flawed person, but so are the marauders. None of them are innocent little angels. All of them are guilty of something. I mean the thing of it is for me is I acknowledge that all of them are idiots and needed to grow up. Some had the potential to grow into something better like James and Snape who never got the opportunity or were stunted for whatever reason like Sirius or tentatively trying but failing due to flaws like Remus or just chose not to in the case of Peter.

“The marauders grew up but Snape never did”

Brother Sirius was making his unconscious body hit things and still called him by the same mean nickname he did as kids as an adult, Remus literally gaslit him and harry about the bullying they put Snape through and abandoned his pregnant fucking wife, Peter literally sold all his friends out for self interest, and James kept jinxing snape behind lily’s back and then died 3 years later . Is the growing up in the room with us?

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (a lion and a wolf)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the honest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The morning of his wedding arrived draped in warm light, the sun rising over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting long shadows through the grand halls. It was a beautiful day, the kind that should mark the beginning of something joyful. But for Jaime Lannister, there was no joy to be found.

The servants had already begun their work—preparing the Great Hall for the feast, polishing the floors until they gleamed, dressing the walls with the sigils of both Lannister and Stark. It was a grotesque display, he thought, a spectacle of unity that was built on blood and betrayal.

And soon, you would be wearing Lannister colors.

Jaime stood before the tall mirror in his chambers, staring at his own reflection as the attendants adjusted the golden clasps on his ceremonial tunic. Crimson and gold, lined with embroidery so fine it could only be Lannister work. They draped the heavy cloak over his shoulders, fastening it with a roaring lion at his collar.

He looked the part. He looked like the heir to Casterly Rock. Like the man his father always wanted him to be.

And yet, he had never felt more hollow.

Kevan entered without knocking, his presence calm but expectant. "You’re nearly ready."

Jaime gave a humorless chuckle. "Ready? Is that what we’re calling it?"

Kevan sighed, stepping forward. "I know this isn’t what you envisioned for yourself."

Jaime turned, tilting his head. "Oh? And what exactly did I envision, Uncle?" He gestured vaguely with his golden hand. "Living out my days with a sword in my grip and the taste of battle on my tongue? Sworn to a king I didn’t respect and a cause I didn’t believe in?" His voice was quiet, bitter. "Or did you mean the part where I spend a lifetime bound to a woman who despises me?"

Kevan studied him carefully. "You made your choice, Jaime."

Jaime let out a slow breath. "I did. But it has become twisted."

His uncle’s expression remained unreadable. "You picked her yourself and your father has ensured that this union secures the North. This marriage isn’t just about you, and it’s certainly not about her. It’s about legacy. Power. Stability."

Jaime exhaled sharply, turning back toward the mirror. "And what if I don’t care about any of that? What if I care only about her."

Kevan sighed. "Then you are more foolish than I thought."

Jaime clenched his jaw. He had known this conversation was coming—had known his uncle would try to reason with him, to remind him of his duty. It was the Lannister way.

But duty meant nothing when all he could think about was the look in your eyes last night. The way you had pleaded with him. The way you had broken in his arms.

"She hates me," Jaime muttered under his breath.

Kevan didn’t deny it.

"She will learn to accept it," was all his uncle said.

Jaime turned toward him, his expression cold. "Like Cersei accepted Robert?"

For the first time, Kevan faltered. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t speak.

Jaime scoffed. "That’s what I thought."

He dismissed the attendants with a wave of his hand, his mind still swirling. Once they were gone, he turned to Kevan again. "And what of Robb Stark?"

Kevan's brows furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

Jaime took a step forward, voice lowering. "Because she will ask about him more. Because she will never forgive me if I keep lying to her."

Kevan's gaze darkened. "Then perhaps you shouldn’t have told her anything at all."

Jaime’s hands curled into fists. "That wasn’t an option."

Kevan regarded him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You should count yourself fortunate, Jaime. Most men don’t get to choose their fate. Your father has given you a gift—a new beginning."

Jaime let out a hollow laugh. "A new beginning?" He turned away, staring out the window toward the sea. "Feels more like an ending."

Kevan watched him for a moment longer before sighing. "Get dressed. The ceremony begins soon."

Jaime didn’t reply, and his uncle left without another word.

For a long time, Jaime stood there, staring at the crashing waves below, feeling more like a prisoner in his own home than he ever had before.

He had never been afraid of battle. Never feared death. But today, as he prepared to stand before the gods and bind himself to you, he realized he was terrified.

Not of the vows. Not of the responsibilities.

But of the fact that for the first time in his life, he wanted something—someone—he could never truly have.

The hall was suffocating.

The towering golden pillars, the vast ceilings carved with Lannister pride, the flickering candlelight—it was meant to be grand, magnificent, a display of power. But to Jaime, it felt more like a tomb.

He stepped through the great doors, his crimson cloak trailing behind him, every step heavy with the weight of expectation. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands stood as he entered, their murmurs dying down to a hush. His uncle was already seated at the high table, his expression unreadable, his cold eyes watching every move.

But Jaime wasn’t looking at him.

His eyes found you.

You stood at the altar, waiting, a prisoner in Lannister gold.

You were beautiful. Gods, you were beautiful. And yet, there was something tragic about the way you held yourself—rigid, unyielding, as if your entire body were resisting what was about to happen.

The gown they had put you in was elegant, finely woven with golden embroidery that shimmered in the candlelight. The delicate fabric should have made you look soft, regal, but it did the opposite. It made you look like something gilded, something owned.

Jaime hated it.

Your hands were clasped together in front of you, your jaw tight, your chin lifted in quiet defiance. Even now, even in the moment where you were supposed to be bound to him, you refused to break.

But when your eyes met his, Jaime felt his breath leave him.

Because for the briefest of moments, it wasn’t you looking at him.

It was Eddard Stark.

The same quiet fury. The same unwavering resolve. The same disappointment.

Jaime swallowed hard, his fingers flexing at his sides. He had always hated the way Ned Stark looked at him, as though Jaime were nothing but a dishonorable oathbreaker, a man without honor.

And now, standing before you, he realized he had done something even worse.

He had stolen a Stark from her pack.

His chest tightened painfully as he took another step forward, forcing himself to hold your gaze. You didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, but there was something in your eyes—something raw, something breaking—that made Jaime feel as though he had just been cleaved in two.

Bronn stood off to the side, watching, his usual smirk replaced with something unreadable. The Lannister guards flanked you, ensuring you didn’t run again, their presence an unspoken threat.

She is here against her will.

She is being forced into this.

And I am the one standing beside her.

Jaime tore his gaze from yours, looking down at the stone floor, at the way the candlelight cast shadows against it.

Jaime wished he could be someone else.

“Take your place,” came the High Septon’s voice, solemn and expectant.

Jaime forced himself to move, each step toward you heavier than the last.

When he reached your side, he saw the way your hands trembled slightly, though your expression remained cold, impassive. You looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

Jaime exhaled slowly, so quietly only you could hear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath.

You stiffened.

Then, ever so slightly, you turned your head, just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

And when you did, Jaime saw it.

Not just your father’s gaze.

But something else.

Something broken.

Something that would never forgive him.

Jaime clenched his jaw, looking away, his heart pounding against his ribs.

The ceremony began.

And Jaime Lannister had never felt more like a villain.

The ceremony began with a weight that Jaime had never felt before.

The High Septon’s voice was solemn, echoing through the great hall of Casterly Rock, his words ancient and binding. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands watched in complete silence, their eyes trained on the spectacle before them—on the Lannister heir finally taking a wife.

Jaime could feel Kevan’s gaze from his place at the high table. His uncle sat in his father’s stead, his presence a reminder that Tywin still held dominion over this marriage, even from King’s Landing. Jaime had expected some last-minute reprieve, some sign that fate would intervene, that the gods themselves would strike him down before he had to speak the words that would bind him to you forever.

But no such salvation came.

You stood beside him, silent and rigid, your fingers still clenched together in front of you, as if keeping your hands occupied was the only way to keep yourself from striking him, from clawing at the walls and running. Your face was unreadable, but your eyes—gods, your eyes—held a storm within them, a fury restrained only by the knowledge that escape was impossible.

She is looking at you like a man about to carry out her execution.

Jaime swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand taller, to keep the façade of the composed lord he was expected to be.

The High Septon gestured for you both to extend your hands, and Jaime hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reaching out. His golden hand remained at his side—useless, mocking—while his left hand extended, waiting.

You didn’t move at first.

The pause was long enough for the gathered nobility to murmur amongst themselves, for Kevan to shift in his seat, for Bronn—who was standing off to the side—to smirk faintly, as if amused by the hesitation.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, you placed your hand in Jaime’s.

He tried not to react to how cold your fingers were.

The High Septon took a long strip of embroidered silk, wrapping it around your joined hands in slow, ceremonial movements. The fabric was heavy, embroidered with gold, with the sigils of House Lannister and House Stark entwined together in unnatural harmony.

As the binding continued, the words of the old vows filled the hall.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for all eternity…"

Jaime barely heard them.

He was too focused on the way your fingers tensed beneath his touch, on the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back whatever words you truly wanted to say.

"From this day, you are one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be he who would tear them asunder."

You flinched at that, just barely, but Jaime noticed.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell you that this didn’t have to be a prison, that he wasn’t going to chain you down, that he understood—perhaps more than you knew.

But words felt meaningless now.

And then, the High Septon turned to him.

Jaime felt a heavy weight settle on his chest.

"Do you, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and cherish her, from this day until your last?"

The words sounded like a death sentence.

Jaime looked at you, and for the first time, he saw something flicker across your face. Not anger. Not defiance.

Resignation.

You expected him to say yes.

Because that was what Lannisters did. They took what they wanted, regardless of who suffered for it.

Jaime’s throat felt tight, but he forced himself to speak.

"I do."

The words barely left his lips before the High Septon turned to you.

"And do you, Lady Y/N of House Stark, take this man to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and cherish him, from this day until your last?"

Silence.

A tense, deafening silence.

The entire hall held its breath, every eye on you, waiting, expecting.

Jaime’s fingers tightened around yours instinctively.

He felt the smallest tremor run through you, your breathing shallow.

Then, finally, after what felt like a lifetime—

"I do."

Your voice was steady. Cold.

A perfect lie.

The High Septon smiled as if something holy had just occurred, raising his hands in blessing.

"Then, in the eyes of gods and men, I declare you husband and wife. Let it be known that the bond between House Stark and House Lannister is now sealed."

The silk was unwrapped from your hands, and Jaime let go of you, not because he wanted to, but because he knew you wanted him to.

There was only one thing left.

The final act.

"You may kiss the bride."

Jaime heard Kevan clear his throat from the high table. He knew the expectation. He knew the eyes on him.

He turned toward you, waiting, searching for some sign that this wouldn’t be an even greater mistake than it already was.

Your face was blank, your gaze unreadable.

Jaime inhaled slowly, then took a step forward.

You didn’t move.

Carefully, cautiously, he reached for your chin, tilting it up just slightly before leaning in.

The kiss was barely a brush of lips—quick, fleeting, meant only for show.

But he felt you tense the moment it happened.

When he pulled away, you were already looking past him, your body still rigid, your hands now clenched at your sides.

Jaime turned back to the hall, offering a tight smile as the room erupted into polite applause.

It was done.

You were his.

But as he glanced at you one final time, Jaime realized something.

He may have won the hand of a Stark in an attempt to save you from Roose.

But he had lost something far greater.

And perhaps, he had never truly had it to begin with.

The feast was a grand affair, as expected of the Lannisters. Gold-lined goblets overflowed with Arbor wine, the tables were weighed down with lavish dishes—roast boar with honeyed glaze, river trout stuffed with herbs, spiced duck, and bread so soft it practically melted on the tongue. Minstrels played lively tunes in the background, their melodies lost amidst the constant hum of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Jaime sat beside you at the high table, adorned in ceremonial red and gold, looking every bit the heir to Casterly Rock that his father had always wanted him to be. His golden hand rested on the table, unmoving, while his other clutched a goblet he had yet to drink from. He wasn’t thirsty—nor was he in the mood to celebrate.

You were seated beside him, dressed in Lannister colors, the weight of the marriage still heavy upon you. You barely touched your plate, only picking at the food with little appetite, your gaze distant despite the raucous festivities surrounding you. It was clear to anyone paying attention that you were present only in body, not in spirit.

Jaime leaned toward you slightly, his voice low so only you could hear. “You should eat.”

You barely reacted, only shifting your fork slightly on the plate. “I’m not hungry.”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. “It’s going to be a long night. You’ll need your strength.”

You exhaled slowly, tilting your head slightly toward him. “For what, exactly?”

Jaime knew what you were implying, and a part of him winced. He was painfully aware of what people expected of them tonight. The bedding ceremony. The consummation. The final act that would solidify this marriage in the eyes of gods and men.

But Jaime had no intention of forcing you into anything.

“For enduring the rest of this wretched feast,” he answered instead, offering a half-smirk.

You turned your head toward him at that, your expression unreadable. “Is that all?”

Jaime studied you for a moment before leaning in closer. “If you think I intend to drag you to bed like some brute, you insult me.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, your lips pressing together as you searched his face. Jaime wasn’t sure what you were looking for, but after a long moment, your shoulders eased—just barely.

He continued, his voice softer now. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Y/N. But I swear to you, I will not make it worse than it already is.”

You blinked, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

Before you could say anything, a drunken noble raised his goblet, his voice booming over the crowd. “To House Lannister and House Stark!”

The hall erupted in a chorus of cheers, though some were more reluctant than others. Jaime caught Kevan watching him from across the room, his uncle’s expression calm but expectant. Bronn, further down the table, smirked at him knowingly before tossing back another gulp of wine.

Jaime turned back to you. Your fingers were curled tightly around your goblet, your knuckles white, but you lifted it nonetheless, playing the part of the obedient bride.

He hated it.

Before the moment could stretch too long, he leaned toward you again, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear.

“This doesn’t have to be war, Y/N.”

You turned to him fully at that, your expression unreadable. “Then what would you have it be?”

Jaime met your gaze, his throat tight. “Something better.”

You studied him for a long moment before looking away, exhaling softly.

The feast continued, the minstrels played, the guests laughed and drank. But Jaime only had eyes for you.

He wondered in silence if there would ever be a way for you to look at him without seeing your enemy.

The night stretched long, the feast becoming more of a drunken revelry as time dragged on. The halls of Casterly Rock pulsed with the sound of laughter, goblets clashing, and the occasional bawdy song that filled the air with drunken cheer. The wine flowed freely, and the golden light of the torches flickered against the stone walls, casting long, swaying shadows.

Jaime sat stiffly beside you, his goblet untouched. He had lost count of how many men had stumbled past the high table, offering slurred congratulations and crude jests about how lucky he was to have a Stark warming his bed. He had smiled through gritted teeth, offering half-hearted smirks, but his patience was running thin.

You, however, had remained eerily silent.

Your expression had not wavered once throughout the night, your goblet lifted only when required, your voice never raised in conversation unless absolutely necessary. But Jaime could see it—the way your fingers curled tightly around the stem of your cup, the way your shoulders remained taut, the way your breath came just a fraction too slow, as if you were bracing yourself for what was coming.

And it was coming.

The moment was inevitable.

Jaime knew it the second one of the drunken lords of the Westerlands stood up from his seat, his face flushed red with wine, his tunic slightly askew. He swayed on his feet before throwing an arm around the nearest man, raising his goblet with a lopsided grin.

“Well, now, it’s been a fine evening, hasn’t it?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the laughter and music. “A mighty fine evening for a mighty fine wedding! And what’s a wedding feast without a proper conclusion?”

The crowd chuckled in anticipation. Jaime felt your body stiffen beside him.

“Come now, Lord Jaime,” the drunken lord continued, slurring his words slightly. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny us a bedding ceremony?”

The room erupted into cheers, laughter spilling from the lips of men too drunk to care about anything other than tradition and spectacle. Some of the ladies tittered behind their goblets, their eyes gleaming with amusement. A few of the men slammed their hands against the table in encouragement, eager for the show to begin.

Jaime clenched his jaw.

And then—Kevan turned to him.

His uncle’s expression was calm, but there was a quiet expectation in his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything. The Lannisters upheld tradition. It would be seen as an insult if Jaime refused.

Jaime exhaled slowly, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. He could feel the weight of the entire room pressing in on him, waiting, watching.

And beside him, you sat still as stone.

Jaime turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, to see the barely concealed tension in your features. Your hands were hidden beneath the table, but he could guess they were clenched into fists. Your breath was slow, measured, controlled.

He knew what you were waiting for.

You were waiting for him to say yes.

You were waiting for him to be like every other Lannister before him—to drag you from this hall, to let these men tear you from your clothes, to parade you like a trophy into a bed you did not want.

And gods, Jaime hated that you thought him capable of that.

The room was still waiting.

Kevan was still waiting.

Jaime let out a slow breath, then pushed his chair back slightly, rising to his feet.

The crowd leaned in.

He lifted his goblet.

“To tradition,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough authority to silence the room.

A few men cheered, raising their goblets in agreement.

Jaime waited for them to quiet.

Then he turned to face them fully, his expression unreadable.

“But as my lady wife has endured much already, I think we can all agree that she need not endure more tonight.”

The laughter faltered. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confused and surprised. The drunken lord who had started the jest blinked at him, his wine-addled mind struggling to process the words.

Kevan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Jaime smirked faintly. “You are all welcome to drink until your bellies burst and your legs give out, but the bedding is over.”

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then—Bronn laughed.

A loud, sharp, amused laugh.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the sellsword drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Jaime Lannister refusing a bedding ceremony. I never thought I’d see the day.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, though most were uncertain. Kevan sighed through his nose but said nothing.

Jaime turned back to you, finding you watching him carefully, searching his face.

“Shall we?” he murmured, extending his hand.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding, rising from your seat without a word.

The crowd parted as Jaime led you from the hall, the weight of a hundred eyes on his back. But he didn’t care.

Because for the first time that night, he saw something flicker across your face.

Not gratitude. Not warmth.

But something close.

And it was enough.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet as Jaime led you through them, away from the feast, away from the prying eyes of the nobility. The warmth and noise of the great hall faded behind you, replaced by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and the flickering of torches that cast elongated shadows on the cold stone walls.

Your hand was still in his, though neither of you spoke of it.

Jaime could feel the rigid set of your shoulders, the way your steps were measured and purposeful, as if you were trying to remind yourself you still had control over something. He wanted to say something to ease it, to reassure you, but words felt clumsy, inadequate.

When they reached the heavy doors of the chambers that had been prepared for them, Jaime hesitated before pushing them open.

Inside, the room was exactly as expected—lavish, warm, filled with rich reds and golds, the colors of his house drowning everything. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting an orange glow over the thick furs draped over the grand bed, over the fine silks that adorned the room. It was meant to be inviting, meant to be the place where a newly wedded couple would consummate their marriage.

Jaime hated the sight of it.

Because he knew what you saw—a prison dressed in gold.

You stood in the doorway, unmoving. He could feel the way your breath slowed, controlled, as if bracing for something inevitable.

Jaime exhaled softly, then turned to face you. “You can breathe now, you know.”

You glanced at him sharply.

He smirked, tilting his head. “I imagine you’ve been holding it in all night.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you said nothing. Instead, you stepped inside slowly, surveying the room like a wolf scanning unfamiliar terrain, your posture tense.

Jaime closed the door behind you both, then turned toward you fully. “You’re safe,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “Safe,” you repeated, voice hollow. “That’s an interesting word for this.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Nothing will happen tonight unless you wish it.”

You turned to face him at that, studying him carefully, as if trying to find the lie in his words. “And tomorrow?”

Jaime hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow, and every night after, that remains the same.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his tone. For a moment, the firelight cast something softer across your face, something unsure.

Jaime took another step closer, reaching for your hand once more, his touch light, careful. “I know you still hate me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “I don’t expect that to change overnight.”

Your fingers twitched in his hold. “Then why are you doing this?”

Jaime studied you, his throat tightening. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t know, that there was something about you that unmade him, that had made him question everything. He wanted to tell you that the thought of you crying in his arms the night before still haunted him. That he hated seeing you afraid. That you were different from everything he had ever known.

But instead, he smirked faintly, tilting his head. “Because it’s the one thing I can do for you.”

You exhaled, looking away for a moment before finally, finally, allowing yourself to relax. Just a fraction.

Jaime stepped even closer now, his free hand rising slowly, hesitating before brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers lingering just slightly as he tucked the strand behind your ear.

You let him.

For the second time since you had been brought to Casterly Rock, you didn’t recoil from him.

Jaime swallowed, his gaze flickering between your eyes, your lips, the curve of your jawline. He had kissed you today, at the ceremony, but that had been for show. This… this was different. The pull from the night before.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice lower now, softer.

You inhaled, your breath ghosting against his lips, but you didn’t pull away.

His left hand held onto yours as if grounding himself. “Say the word,” he whispered.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. Then—

“Goodnight, Jaime,” you whispered instead.

Jaime let out a slow breath, his lips curving into something wry. “Goodnight, wife.”

Then, with great effort, he let you go.

He turned toward the fire, grabbing the nearest chair and settling into it without another word. You watched him for a moment longer before moving toward the bed, slipping beneath the furs with careful movements.

Jaime didn’t turn to look, but he listened.

Listened to your breath slow, listened to the shift of fabric as you settled.

And as he sat there, staring into the flames, he realized something.

Jaime Lannister did not long for battle anymore.

He longed for something much more dangerous.

And it was sleeping only a few feet away from him.

The morning light seeped through the heavy crimson drapes of Casterly Rock, casting an amber hue over the grand chambers. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving only embers glowing faintly beneath the blackened logs. The scent of wax and cold stone lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest traces of perfumed oils used the night before.

Jaime stirred first, blinking against the soft morning light, his body stiff from having spent the night in the chair. His muscles ached slightly, a dull reminder that he was not as young as he once was, nor as invincible. He let out a quiet exhale, rubbing his face before turning his head toward the bed.

You were still asleep.

Curled beneath the thick furs, your form was relaxed, your breathing even. A few strands of hair had fallen across your face, and for the first time since he had met you, there was no tension in your features, no guarded expression, no silent fury burning beneath the surface.

Jaime watched you for a moment longer before forcing himself to look away.

A knock at the chamber doors shattered the quiet.

Jaime straightened as the heavy doors creaked open, and a line of Lannister servants entered, their movements swift and efficient. They carried trays of breakfast—warm bread, honeyed fruits, and roasted meats, along with fresh jugs of milk and wine. Others carried linens, their purpose clear.

Your eyes fluttered open at the noise, blinking against the morning light before focusing on the movement around the room. Jaime watched as you slowly sat up, your expression shifting as you took in the sight of the servants preparing the room, the way some moved toward the bed with practiced ease.

The bed linens.

Jaime saw it before you did—the way one of the older chambermaids stepped forward, ready to strip the furs and assess the sheets beneath.

His jaw tightened.

There was an expectation here. A tradition as old as Westeros itself.

The bedding had to be checked.

Had to be proven.

Jaime felt your body stiffen beneath the covers as you realized it, too.

The chambermaid reached for the sheets—then hesitated.

Because the linens were clean.

Jaime could see the pause in the servants' movements, the quick, darting glances between them. It was subtle, but it was there.

There was no proof of consummation.

No blood to stain the white linen.

The chambermaid, to her credit, said nothing. She only folded the sheets neatly, placing them aside without reaction. The other servants followed her lead, their expressions carefully neutral.

But the silence in the room had shifted.

Jaime glanced toward you, noting the rigid way you sat, the way your fingers curled into the furs, your jaw tight. He exhaled slowly before turning back to the servants.

"That will be all," he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm.

The chambermaid bowed her head slightly before gesturing for the others to finish their tasks quickly.

Jaime stood, stretching slightly before crossing the room. He poured himself a goblet of wine, more out of habit than need, before glancing over his shoulder at you.

"You should eat," he murmured. "It’s going to be another long day."

You didn’t move at first, still staring at the clean linens, still processing the unspoken weight of it.

Then, finally, you looked up at him. Your expression was unreadable, but there was something in your eyes—something uncertain.

Jaime met your gaze, tilting his head slightly. "Did you expect me to force you?"

You swallowed, glancing away. "I didn’t know what to expect."

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. "I told you last night, didn’t I?" His voice was quiet, lacking its usual sharp edge. "Nothing will happen unless you want it to."

You exhaled slowly, nodding just slightly before shifting to the edge of the bed, reaching for the plate of bread and fruit. Jaime watched as you took a slow bite, your hands steady, but your shoulders still stiff.

He smirked faintly. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it.

The animosity in the room softened, just a fraction.

Jaime took his goblet again, leaning against the table as he sipped.

The servants moved efficiently, pretending not to notice the silence between you, pretending not to acknowledge what they had noticed.

And Jaime, for once, was grateful for the discretion.

[xoxoavenger]

Heat of the Moment

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Sam's stuck in a time loop, watching not only Dean die but also Y/N's reaction to it. Every. Single. Day. (Mystery Spot Rewrite)

word count: 11227 (this took literally almost 6 hours just to write I thought it could be done for Groundhog Day but holy fuck)

warnings: major character death (lol), cannon typical gore, time loop, not proofread bc I finished this four hours before I have to wake up

main masterlist

//

Day 1

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Got your gun?" Y/N asks when they're about to walk through the door. Dean makes a face and turns right back around, digging through his bag.

"He'd forget his head if you weren't here." Sam says under his breath, but Dean still hears it. He grabs one of Y/N's bras and holds it up, causing her eyes to widen.

"I think Sammy accidentally put his clothes in our bag, sweetheart." He smiles at the two of them, who are both giving him bitch faces for different reasons. "Ha!" He laughs, grabbing his gun and dropping the bra.

"Let's go, douchebag." Y/N rolls her eyes as she lets him go through the door first, smacking his ass and grinning as he flinches.

"I wasn't kidding earlier. I will kill myself." Sam threatens, but when Y/N looks up he has a small smile on his face.

"Go get breakfast, you mammoth-man." She tells him as she locks the door. He smiles, turning to follow his brother. Y/N isn't far behind, jogging to catch up to Dean and grab his hand.

They walk into the diner, sitting in a small booth that they barely fit in but Dean insists (they all know it's so he can sit as close as possible to Y/N).

"Why do you have to make up an excuse? You share a bed with her because she's your goddamn girlfriend. I think you can handle sitting two feet away at the breakfast bar." Sam argues.

"You're on the other side anyway, Sam. You don't have to complain." She tells him as she looks up at the menu. Sam rolls his eyes, and Y/N takes a deep breath. She loves the brothers, she really does, but they drive her crazy sometimes.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"Do you even know what that is?" Sam asks, and Dean doesn't have a good answer to this. Luckily, their waitress comes up to greet them, and Y/N smiles up at her.

"Are you three ready?" She asks with a smile. She's an older lady, with dark, short hair curled in an oldies style to match the bright yellow uniform.

"Yes! I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." The waitress jots it down, and they turn to Sam, who orders his coffee and pancakes. "You got it." The waitress says, and leaves them be. While the boys start to argue about Bela, Y/N looks around the diner. It seems like just a normal, old-fashioned diner, but something in her gut is telling her that this place isn't what it seems.

"Where the laws of physics have no meaning?" Dean asks, reading off the pamphlet Sam handed over. Y/N focuses back in, seeing 'Mystery Spot' on the front.

"This town has a mystery spot?" Y/N asks, grabbing the pamphlet from Dean. Sam shrugs, the boys looking up as the waitress comes back with their coffees. She spills the hot sauce, which ends up getting on Dean because of how far out in the booth he is. Sam can't help his small smile, and Y/N can already feel a headache coming on from this day.

After breakfast, the three walk through town, Y/N looking at the Mystery Spot pamphlet.

"Sweetheart, you're wasting your time. Places like this are just tourist traps." Dean says, gently grabbing the pamphlet from her hands. She frowns, snatching it back.

"There are plenty of places in the world that have strange occurrences that aren't tourist traps." She argues, looking over at Sam for some help.

"There's the Bermuda Triangle, The Oregon Vortex. This could be one of them." Sam defends, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"The Broward County Mystery Spot?" He asks as if it's the stupidest suggestion he's ever heard of.

"It could be? How would you know if you haven't even gone there?" Y/N asks, and Dean takes the pamphlet once more.

"Alright, let's say I believe this. What's the lore?" He's looking down at the pamphlet, and Y/N's looking over at Sam, so neither of them see the blonde who walks right into Dean.

"Excuse me." She says, but Y/N's already turning around. She's used to people hitting on Dean - she's not blind, of course she knows her boyfriend is attractive. But it doesn't make her happy, and usually Dean doesn't do much to stop it before it's too late.

"Hey!" She yells, but Dean's grabbing her arm before she can march over to the blonde chick and ask if she was born yesterday, because she clearly doesn't know how to walk.

"Come on," Dean says quietly, which enrages Y/N even more.

"Seriously?" She asks, talking her hand from Dean's arm. They all start walking again, Sam looking ahead to make sure no one is about to witness the nuclear fight that's about to occur.

"Sweetheart, she ran into me on accident. We don't need to start a fight over that." Dean tries to calm her down, but Y/N isn't having it.

"That's the thing, Dean. You never even stop it. I'm always the one that has to say something." Y/N isn't even sure why they're having this fight right here, right now, but she doesn't want to have to keep it in anymore.

"Does it really matter? You and I both know that I'm yours. I thought you trusted me enough to know I wouldn't just do that." Dean seems actually hurt, which makes Y/N even more mad.

"You clearly don't understand." She huffs, fighting the urge to walk ahead of the bothers. Instead, she looks over the Sam. "So, what's the lore?" She asks, as if they didn't just have a fight.

"Uh," Sam scrambles to recover. "They say these places can bend space and time, sending victims anywhere, or when, I guess."

"That sounds like X-Files." Dean grumbles, clearly still not over the fight. Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Our life is basically X-Files." She argues as they walk past two guys struggling to get a piano through a door. They all stare for a moment, then get back to the conversation.

"Alright, look. I'm not saying that's what's really happening. But if it is, we gotta check it out, see if we can do something." Sam tells them, and Y/N nods.

"Alright, alright. We'll go tonight, after they close, get ourselves a nice, long look." Dean agrees, and Y/N nods.

"Great, see you tonight then." She makes to turn left when the brothers turn right to go back to the hotel.

"Where are you goin'?" Dean asks, pausing just before he crosses the street.

"I need some space. I'll meet you there an hour after close, promise." She says, then walks away. Sam turns to Dean, who's frowning as he watches his girlfriend walk away.

"Dude, you've got to learn how to apologize." Sam says with a sigh, starting to cross the street.

"Shut up!"

~

Y/N's waiting at the Mystery Spot an hour after close, like she promised. The boys nod to her, and Dean hands her a flashlight before they walk in. There's tons of wacky rooms, but they don't find anything interesting.

"Wow. Uncanny." Dean says after they walk through a green and black spiral hallway and into a room with furniture on the ceiling. Sam's scanning for EMF, and Y/N's looking around for anything other than these random attractions that only give her the spooks because of the dark.

"Find anything?" She asks Sam.

"No." The younger brother answers. She keeps looking around, but she has no idea what the hell they're even trying to find in this place. She's crouched down, looking underneath things just to satisfy Sam at this point.

"Do you have any idea what you're looking for?" Dean asks, seemingly giving up even pretending to check the attractions.

"Uh, yeah." Sam says unconvincingly.

"Don't lie, Sammy." Y/N sighs as she stands, looking over at the boys.

"No, I don't." Sam amends, and Dean shakes his head. The two haven't talked since that morning, when they fought, but Y/N knows that by tonight it'll all be find. They just needed some time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" A man rasps quickly from behind them. Y/N gasps as her heart tries to escape her throat, the two boys pulling their guns quickly. She reaches into her waistband before she remembers that she left her's at the hotel that mooring, thinking she was going to go back. Shit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. We can explain." Dean says, seeing the man has a gun. He looks over at Y/N, who pulls her lips in when he realizes she doesn't have a gun.

"You robbing me?" The man asks, swinging his gun to Sam.

"Nobody's robbing you," Y/N tries, the gun swinging to her.

"Calm down!" Dean shouts, trying to get the gun back on him. He has his hands up, and Y/N can tell he's a little more worried because she doesn't have her gun. God, she's so stupid.

"Don't move. Don't move!" The man yells, but Dean continues to move, keeping the gun on him.

"I'm just putting the gun down." Dean explains, but the man is firing the gun, and Y/N screams as she watches the bullet hit Dean's chest. He falls backward, and she rushes to him and drops to her knees, forgetting all about the gun.

"Dean!" She shrieks, picking his torso off the ground and putting it in her lap. He's struggling to breathe, his eyes not even seeing her.

"Call 9-1-1!" Sam tells the man, rushing to Dean's other side.

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"Do it!" Y/N screams at the same time Sam yells "Now!"

"Hey," Sam says to Dean as he starts to choke on his own blood. Y/N knows that there's nothing they can do, that the bullet clearly went through his lungs and now Dean's last moments on this earth are going to be full of pain. He doesn't deserve this.

"Dean, hey," She whispers, watching his eyes finally meet hers. "No, you can't do this, come on, we never had makeup sex." She's trying to joke, trying to make his last minutes bareable, but even though he smiles slightly she can see the panic flooding his eyes. As the light leaves them, and Y/N's tears start to fall, she realizes that she's going to go to Hell to get him back, because their story can't end that way.

"Y/N," Sam whispers, causing her eyes to flick to his.

"This can't be happening." She says, so soft and yet so full of pain that Sam's heart breaks into a million little pieces.

Day 2

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam looks a little lost as he walks in, staring between Dean and Y/N like he thinks they may be monsters.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Y/N asks as she leans on the doorframe, watching her boyfriend gargle water like a toddler.

"I don't know." Sam says as Dean spits out his water. The couple makes eye contact, confused by this answer. "Man, I had a weird dream." Sam finally settles on, and Y/N nods as she goes back to their bag to finish packing.

"Don't forget your gun!" Y/N calls before Dean can walk out the door.

"Dean doesn't usually forget his gun." Sam mutters, and Y/N turns to the younger brother.

"Are you sure you're alright, Sammy?" Y/N asks as Dean digs through their bag.

"Are you bringing your gun?" Sam dodges the question, and Y/N furrows her brows.

"I never bring my gun to breakfast." She says, watching Sam's face for a few seconds until Dean walks through the door.

"Come on, sweetheart. Sammy, you lock up." Dean says as he grabs Y/N's hand. She tosses the keys to Sam, who turns toward the door.

They walk into the diner, choosing a booth. Y/N looks up at the menu, wondering if they'll let her order lunch for breakfast.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"It's Tuesday?" Sam asks, and Y/N turns to look at him.

"Yeah." Dean nods, his forehead slightly crinkled as Sam looks a little worried.

"Are you three ready?" The waitress comes up and asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"Yes! I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." Y/N smiles, and they all turn to Sam.

"Uh, nothing for me. Thanks." Sam says, causing Y/N to furrow her brows.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The waitress says, and leaves them be. While the boys start to argue about Bela, Y/N looks around the diner. It seems like just a normal, old-fashioned diner, but something in her gut is telling her that this place isn't what it seems.

"Hey!" Dean snaps his fingers, and Y/N turns to see that he's snapping them at his brother, who seems to still be out of it. "You with me?"

"What?" Sam asks, and Y/N feels like something is off. Clearly, Sam isn't fine.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Dean asks, leaning forward.

"You don't... You guys don't remember any of this?" He asks the two of them. Y/N and Dean look at each other, then back at Sam.

"Remember what?" Dean questions, and Y/N can't help but let her mouth hang slightly open, because she thinks Sam may have lost a couple marbles.

"This. Today. Like - like it's - like it's happened before?" He clarifies, which really only serves to make things muddier.

"Are you talking about déjà vu?" Y/N asks, hoping Sam just didn't get a good night of sleep.

"No. I mean like it's - like it's really happened before." Sam seems very intent on this, and Y/N just stares.

"Yeah, like déjà vu." Dean says with a nod.

"No, forget about déjà vu! I'm asking you if it feels like-like we're living yesterday all over again." Sam looks very agitated now, and Y/N looks at Dean, who she knows is about to talk about déjà vu again.

"Maybe you just need some sleep, Sam." Y/N suggests. Sam looks at her, as if remembering something, but before she can ask the waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it. Y/N blinks as this happens, but Dean smiles.

"Nice reflexes." He compliments, but Sam is staring at Y/N.

"What?" She asks, but he shakes his head. They eat the rest of their meal in peace, as if Sam hadn't fully admitted to being crazy, before they take a walk outside.

"Are you guys sure that today is Tuesday?" Sam asks, and Y/N takes a deep breath as they pass a barking dog.

"Sam, what the hell are you on about?" She asks, watching him look around as if everything was out to get him.

"Okay, look. Yesterday was Tuesday, right?" He asks, and Y/N and Dean both look at each other once more (Y/N's lost count of how many 'your brother is crazy' looks she's given him). "But today is Tuesday, too." He sounds out of his mind, and Y/N is genuinely starting to get worried.

"Yeah, no. Good. You're totally balanced." Dean says.

"So you don't don't believe me?" Sam practically yells. They both turn to him, missing a blonde lady come out of nowhere and run into Dean.

"Excuse me." She says, but Y/N's already turning around.

"He-" She barely makes a sound before Sam's hand covers her mouth, turning her around and getting them to start walking again. "What the hell?" She asks, pushing Sam off.

"Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know?" Dean gets back on track, briefly distracting Y/N from the fight she was about to start. "Even-for-us crazy. Dingo-ate-my-baby crazy." Dean says.

"Dingo at my baby?" Y/N repeats, looking over to Dean. "Maybe it was a premonition?" She offers before getting too off track.

"No. No way. Way too vivid." Sam shakes his head. "We were at the Mystery Spot, and then," But he trails off.

"And then what?" Dean asks, but Sam looks down at Y/N.

"Then I woke up." He says as they walk by two men arguing about a piano, but Y/N knows he's not telling the full truth. "Wait a minute! The mastery spot. You think maybe it," He trails off again, and Y/N wants to shake him.

"Maybe what?" Dean asks.

"We gotta check that place out." Sam says, but Dean does't seem convinced. "Just go with me on this." Sam begs.

"Alright, alright. We'll go tonight, after they close, get ourselves a nice, long look." Dean agrees, and Y/N nods.

"Wait, what?" Sam stops them, and Y/N turns on the sidewalk to face them. "No." He says, as if it's a terrible idea.

"Why not? You suggested it." Y/N argues.

"Uh," Sam looks at Y/N, as if for help, but she has no idea what he needs. "Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours. Nice and crowded." He says instead, and Y/N blinks.

"My God, you're a freak." Dean says, and Y/N drops her jaw to try to stop from laughing, hitting Dean's arm.

"Dean!" She says, looking at Sam's bitch face.

"Okay! Whatever. We'll go now." He agrees, walking past Y/N and Sam.

"Y/N," Sam keeps her from following Dean so close, the two of them walking a bit behind him as he steps into the road.

"What? Are you sure you're okay?" Y/N asks once more, but Sam doesn't answer but a car speeds through the stop sign and hits Dean, who was only a few feet in front of them. Y/N watches his body go flying before landing face down.

"Dean!" Sam yells, and the two of them race over to his body. "No, no, no." He begs as Y/N flips his body over, holding his bloody face in her hands. He's struggling to breathe, but only for a couple moments before he's not breathing anymore.

"Dean?" Y/N whispers, shaking him slightly. "Dean!" She screams, tears starting to fall down her face.

"Y/N," Sam looks over at her with an unreadable expression, but she doesn't care because Dean is dead.

"This can't be happening." She says, and Sam's eyes widen.

Day 3

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"I'm in a time loop." Sam says quietly, not getting out of bed. Y/N pauses, looking over to him.

"What?" She asks, but Sam glares at her.

"This has happened before. This all has happened before." He gets up, and Y/N nods slowly.

"Alright. Why don't we go get some breakfast, and you can tell us about it then." She suggests, which seems to calm him down a little bit.

Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun, not grabbing hers, and then they're off the breakfast.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"Would you listen to me, Dean? Cause I am flipping out." Sam says lowly, and Y/N and Dean look at each other before looking back at Sam.

"Are you three ready?" The waitress comes up and asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"He'll take the special, side of bacon, and they both want coffee. Nothing for me, thanks." Sam says quickly. Y/N's eyes widen.

"You got it." The waitress turns and leaves, and Y/N looks over at Sam.

"I wanted lunch." She complains with a small pout, but Sam doesn't seem to care.

"They don't do lunch this early, the kitchen isn't set up yet." He's still speaking fast, and it's starting to upset Y/N.

"You don't know that." She argues, and Sam finally looks her dead in the eye.

"Yes, I do. That's what I've been trying to tell you guys. I'm stuck in a time loop." Sam insists, and Y/N nods.

"Like Groundhog Day." Dean suggests, as if this is crazy.

"Yes. Exactly like Groundhog Day." Sam seems happy with this, and Y/N knows that her boyfriend does not believe him at all.

"Uh-huh." Dean's almost smiling, and she sighs.

"So you don't believe me." Sam says, as if it's the most believable thing in the world. Dean laughs at this.

"It's - It's a little crazy. Even-for-us crazy. Ya know like, uh,"

"Dingo-ate-my-baby crazy?" Sam finishes the sentence, and Y/N's eyes widen.

"How'd you know I was gonna say that?" Dean asks, as if Sam hasn't been explaining it the whole time.

"Because you've said it before, Dean. That's my whole point." Sam says, and Y/N's starting think that maybe Sam's not crazy. The waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it. Y/N blinks as this happens, but Dean smiles.

"Nice reflexes." He says, but Sam looks like a kicked puppy because Dean doesn't believe him.

"No. I know it was gonna happen." Sam argues. Y/N sighs as she takes a sip of her coffee before putting it down.

"I'm not saying we don't believe you, Sam, but I'm sure there's some sort of explanation for this." Y/N says, and Sam's eyes snap to her.

"I'm sure there is." He says cooly, and Y/N flinches back.

"I haven't done anything yet. This is the first Tuesday I've lived through this week, sorry." She says, rolling her eyes at Sam's attitude.

"Alright, everyone calm down." Dean suggests and this fires both Y/N and Sam up.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down because," Sam stops, and he looks between Y/N and Dean.

"Because what?" Dean asks, waiting for the answer.

"Because you die today, Dean." Sam says, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

"I'm not gonna die. Not today." Dean says, as if this is an idiotic thing to say and Sam is just trying to get a rise out of him.

"Twice now, we've watched you die." Sam says, looping Y/N in on this even though she hasn't been going through the time loop with him. "And I can't. I won't do it again, okay?" Sam's voice is low, and Dean sits back at this. He can tell his brother is serious. Sam looks over at Y/N, who's staring back at him. "You're just gonna have to believe me. Please."

"Alright. I think still think you're nuts, but," He nods a couple times. "Okay. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out." Dean promises, just as his food comes to the table.

After breakfast, they take a walk outside, back to the hotel. Sam pushes his way to be on Y/N's left, even though Dean's always on the left, but she lets him. A girl bumps into him, and Y/N turns to eye her before continuing walking. They're talking about the Mystery Spot, about why Sam thinks it's the root of the entire problem. The brothers are fighting, and Y/N is tired of it.

"Alright! Let's just go tonight after they close." She says, but clearly this was not the right thing to say.

"No, no, no, no!" Sam says, looking at her like she's crazy. "We can't." They're standing on the sidewalk now, Y/N turned to face the other two.

"Why not?" Dean asks, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Because you," He starts, and Y/N realizes immediately what Sam is trying to say.

"I what?" Dean asks, and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"You die there." She says, causing Sam to scowl at her. She squints instead of asking what his problem is, because clearly he has a lot.

"Okay then, let's go now." Dean says, walking off the sidewalk and onto the street. Sam knocks Y/N over as he grabs Dean, stopping him from being hit by a car that's blowing through a stop sign. Y/N's elbow is bleeding, but otherwise she thinks she's fine, and Dean is fine too.

"What the hell?" She grumbles as she stands, going over to Dean and Sam.

"Did it look cool, like in the movies?" Dean asks, and Y/N rolls her eyes and she holds her elbow.

"You peed yourself." Sam says, and she starts laughing.

"Of course I peed myself. A man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!" Dean asks, before looking at Y/N. "You alright, sweetheart?" He asks, and Y/N nods even though she can feel the blood staining the long sleeve she has on.

"What the hell was that, Sam?" She asks, turning to him.

"I was saving Dean." Sam argues, mood soured even more.

"You didn't have to push me to the ground!" She argues, and Dean snaps his head to her.

"Why are you pushing her, man?" He asks, stepping closer to Sam.

"Let's just go." Sam mutters, knowing he won't win this. "Don't forget your gun this time, Y/N." Sam calls as he crosses the street. Y/N turns to Dean, who grabs her hand and crosses the street with her.

"I don't know what he's on about, I never forget my gun."

~

"I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought - it's full of crap." Dean says as they walk the same walk they had been in the morning. It's dark now, and they had spent the day at the Mystery Spot trying to figure something out. They had gotten absolutely nowhere, which doesn't bode well for Sam.

"So what is it, then, Dean?" Sam is clearly freaking out, and Y/N is exhausted of all this. "What the hell is happening to us?"

"I don't know." Dean says lowly, and Y/N knows he's exhausted of this too. "Alright, let me just - so, every day I die." Dean states. Y/N has half a mind of just continuing on to the hotel.

"Yeah," Sam confirms.

"That's when you wake up again, right?" Dean asks, and Sam looks over at Y/N. She has no clue why he keeps doing this, but it's driving her crazy.

"Yeah," He says finally.

"So, let's just make sure I don't die." Dean says, as if it's obvious. "If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out."

"Great, I love this plan. Can we go to bed now?" Y/N asks, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him along.

"Let's get some take out. Who want's Chinese?" The words are barely out of his mouth with a rope snaps, and Y/N turns to see Dean's body flattened underneath a piano. Blood is everywhere, and his head has been decapitated. She's so shocked, she can't do anything but stare.

"Y/N, wait!" Sam calls, and she looks up at him.

"This can't be happening." She whispers, and Sam lets out a yell as everything goes black.

Day 4

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam yells, and Y/N's eyes widen as Sam crowds her.

"Sam!" Dean shouts, but Sam doesn't care about whatever threats his brother his about to make.

"I know it's you. I know you're doing this. And I get it, okay. I don't like it either. But if I have to listen to that song one more goddamn time!" Sam is in Y/N's face, and she looks terrified.

"What are you talking about?" She asks, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Don't play dumb! I know you're behind the time loop! Look, we can stop Dean from dying, but you have to work with me and stop doing this!" Sam begs, and Dean finally pulls Sam back.

"What the hell are you on about, man?" Dean asks, getting between Sam and Y/N.

"I am stuck in a time loop where you die every day and Y/N is causing it!" Sam accuses, and the two of them stare at him as if he's crazy.

"How!" Y/N shrieks, coming out from behind Dean's back. "How would I even be doing that?"

"I," Sam pauses, because he actually hadn't thought that far. "I don't know. But every time Dean dies, you say the same thing." He says, and Y/N takes a deep breath.

"Great. Good deduction work, Sam." She says, and now he's starting to doubt himself. But if it isn't Y/N, and it isn't the Mystery Spot, then what is it? "I'm going to get some food." She tells the two of them, walking out the door.

"Don't forget your gun." Sam says weakly, and she turns sharply to him.

"I never bring my gun to breakfast." She grumbles, making a point not to grab it before walking out the door.

"What the hell is your problem?" Dean asks, more angry than Sam's seen him in awhile.

"I have watched you die over and over, Dean." Sam says, but Dean is still pissed off.

"That doesn't mean you go after my girlfriend, bitch." Dean says, leaving the room without grabbing his gun.

Sam wishes he was surprised when Y/N comes running into the room, tears streaming down her face as she tells Sam that Dean choked on his breakfast.

"This can't be happening." Y/N whispers through her tears, and Sam just lays back in his bed, thinking you have no idea.

Day 5

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"No going out today!" Sam says, making everyone pause. Dean turns the music off, then looks at his brother.

"Alright, I know you've been pretty upset lately, but,"

"I'm trapped in a time loop." He says quickly. "No, it's not déjà vu. No, I'm not going crazy. You die every day. We can't go get breakfast because you'll choke on your food. We can't check out the Mystery Spot after hours, because you get shot. We can't go during the day, because you get hit by a car. And even if we narrowly avoid those two fates, a piano crushes and decorates you. So you are gonna sit in this hotel room, and we are going to get to tomorrow." Sam tells Dean, then finally looks at Y/N. They're both looking at him like he's crazy.

"I'm taking a shower." Dean says simply, getting up and looking at Y/N. "Can you please un-crazy him?" He asks, before shutting the door to the bathroom and turning the water on.

"Are you on drugs?" Y/N asks, because it's the only thing she can think of. Sam sighs, shaking his head.

"I know how it sounds, okay. But I swear, it doesn't matter what we do, Dean ends up dying and the day restarts. It's an endless stream of Tuesdays." He puts his head in his hands, and Y/N frowns.

"Well, something had to of caused it. Do you know what it is?" Y/N asks, sitting on the bed next to him. She's not sure she fully believes him, but they also hunt demons and monsters for a living and her boyfriend has a death sentence that ends in hell which saved Sam's life, so she can't say he's completely crazy.

"At first, I thought it was you, somehow. But yesterday I called you out and realized that it wasn't." Sam admits, and Y/N narrows her eyes.

"Why would you think I had something to do with this?" She asks, a little hurt.

"Because Dean kept dying and you always say the same thing after he dies. I thought you somehow made a deal or something to try and get him back, but for some reason this is the day he dies." Sam says the words with pain lacing his voice, because he doesn't want to give up trying to save Dean's life. As much as he hates watching Dean die over and over again, he'll go through it if the end means he'd save Dean's life.

"Ahh!" They hear Dean's yell from the bathroom, along with a loud thud. Y/N's eyes widen, and she looks over to Sam. He thinks they're going to go look at the body, that she'll want to confirm that Dean's really dead, but instead she grabs his arm, hand shaking in terror.

"This can't be happening." She says, and Sam's mouth drops open just as the world goes black.

Day 6

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Let's order in breakfast." Sam suggests on a whim, hoping to keep Dean inside without setting him off. He has no idea what causes the deaths, or why they happen at different times, but he can't figure it out if Dean keeps dying at the beginning of each day.

"There's a good diner down the road, why don't we just go there?" Y/N asks as she zips her bag, turning to the boys.

"I just really want tacos." Sam lies, and it's a stupid lie but he needs them to stay in.

"I could go for tacos." Dean shrugs, and Y/N sighs, knowing she's lost this battle. They drive to the drive-thru (because Sam insists he cannot go inside and doesn't want to sit on those chairs, they aren't made for men of his size) and take the tacos back to the hotel. Once they're all spread out, Sam can breathe a little easier.

"So, are you ever going to explain why we had to get tacos instead of going to the diner?" Y/N asks as she bites into her taco. She stares at Sam as she chews, but her face turns as something wrong hits her taste buds.

"Do these tacos taste funny to you?" Dean asks, mouth full.

The only good thing, Sam thinks as he watches Y/N slump against the table only seconds before Dean does, is that he doesn't have to hear Y/N's heart shattering whisper again.

Day 7

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Dean!" Y/N screams as Dean falls to the ground after trying to plug in his razor, ending up electrocuted with hair sticking up and skin burning. "He's not breathing! Sam!" She calls, but Sam stays in bed. He takes a deep breath as he prepares himself for the next line, which although he's heard it five times already never fails to make the hair on his arms stick up.

"This can't be happening."

Day 8

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam doesn't have time today. He's going to figure out what the hell is going on at the Mystery Spot.

He lets the day go on as normal, Dean getting his bacon and Y/N asking about lunch. He forgets to stand in Dean's spot, and Y/N gets in a fight with the Dean, which means they end up meeting her after hours at the Mystery Spot.

"I think Sam's gone crazy." Dean says when they spot her.

"Why's that?" She asks, taking a flashlight from him. She forgot her gun at the hotel, having thought she would be going back after breakfast. They enter the building, weaving through some rooms and hotel to get to the main attracts

"Dean, you said you would trust me." Sam complains, and Dean sighs.

"I will, I will." He promises. "Sam says he's been through today before. Like Groundhog Day. He said the first time, I died here."

"Listen," Sam stops them both in a green and black spiral hallway. "The first time we were here, Dean died because the owner caught us sneaking around. This time, we're gonna catch the owner so I can figure out what the hell is up with this place. Because if I wake up tomorrow and it isn't Wednesday, I'm gonna lose my mind." Sam tells them, then marches out. Y/N nods, looking to Dean.

"He's lost his marbles." She's agrees, following Sam.

It's not hard to tie up the owner with the duct tape Sam had brought, but Y/N and Dean both just watch as Sam starts to tear into the walls with a sledge hammer.

"Everybody's fine. Nobody's gonna get hurt, okay?" Dean says enthusiastically to the owner. Y/N is sitting on the floor next to Sam, watching with wide eyes as he goes crazy.

"Sam, maybe we should drop it and let the poor man leave." She suggests, watching Sam stagger back. He looks like a wild man, and Y/N fights the urge to slide away.

"Something's gotta be goin' on here. I intend to find out what." He heaves, and Y/N just nods. They've been here for the better part of the night, and Sam has gone through most of the walls.

"Place is tore up pretty good, dude. Time to give it a rest." Dean says, but he doesn't move toward his brother.

"No!" Sam yells, startling Y/N. Now she does slide back to Dean's side, not wanting to be near the axe. "I'm gonna take it down to studs." Sam goes back to chopping, and Y/N runs a hand over her face as Dean lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Sammy, that's enough. Give me the axe." Dean pushes himself up, and Y/N stays sitting as she watches the two boys fight.

"No!" Sam yells, pulling it away from his brother.

"Give me the axe! This is crazy!" Dean argues, and the two start yelling over each other. Y/N stands as Dean grabs the handle, the axe balancing between them.

"Guys, I think we should drop the axe and quit fighting." She's trying to sound calm, but her heart is racing. She doesn't like the look of this. She begins to walk forward as Sam loses his grip on the axe and it slices right across Dean's neck, not quite decapitating him but killing him quickly.

"Oh, no. Dean?" Sam doesn't sound too concerned, but Y/N feels like she's going to throw up. There's blood covering her face and clothing, Dean's blood, and he's dead. He's dead, and Sam killed him. She looks up at him, and he just tilts his head and sighs.

"This can't be happening." She says, confusion laced in her voice.

Day 100

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun, he grabs her hand and tells Sam to lock up, and then they're on their way to breakfast. On the way, Sam tries to tell them about the time loop, but it goes about the same as it did the last time. They sit in the too small booth again, and Sam almost rips his hair out when Dean starts to speak.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information. Before she can, Sam sets a set of keys on the table. "What are those?" Dean asks, looking up.

"The old man's." When he says it, Y/N realizes that Sam seems tired, like he didn't sleep at all last night. "Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel." He says tiredly, like he's had this conversation before. Y/N furrows her brows, but before she can ask the waitress shows up.

"Are you three ready?" She asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"Yes, we are. I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." The waitress jots it down, and they turn to Sam.

"Hey, Doris. What I'd like is for you to log in some more hours at the archery range." Sam says, and Y/N opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She has no idea how to excuse what Sam has just said. "You're a terrible shot." He says it like it's funny, which makes him seem even more crazy.

"How do you know," She starts, but Sam doesn't let her finish.

"Lucky guess." He nods. Y/N can feel Dean looking to her, probably to see if this is real or not, but Y/N cannot take her eyes off the younger Winchester. They all smile at Doris, who leaves, then turn to Sam.

"Okay, so, you think you're caught in some kind of what again?" Dean asks, because clearly the display he just put on caught his older brother's attention.

"Time loop." Sam is looking at the table, slouched in his seat with a sad expression.

"Like Groundhog Day." Dean suggests, and Y/N watches Sam shrug.

"It doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it." He grumbles quickly, and Y/N sighs.

"Jeez, aren't you grumpy?" Dean says, and Y/N closes her eyes at her boyfriend's dense nature.

"Yeah, I am. You wanna know why?" Sam asks, and Y/N puts her head on the table. Sam may have actually lived through this Tuesday a hundred times, but Y/N has lived through this fight a thousand.

"Why?" Dean can't resist poking.

"Because this is the hundredth Tuesday in a row I've been through, and it never stops. Ever. So, yeah, I'm a little grumpy." Sam tells them, and Y/N picks her head up to try and comfort him.

"We'll figure this out, Sam." She tells him, because even if she's not sure if Sam is truly crazy or if he's actually living through a year of Tuesdays, she knows they will help him.

"Hot sauce." Sam says, and Y/N can only blink at this.

"What?" Dean asks, but then the waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it.

"Nice reflexes."

"I knew it was gonna happen, Dean." Sam barely lets his brother get the words out. "I know everything that's gonna happen."

"You don't know everything." Dean snarks, and Y/N wonders if in one of these hundred timelines, her boyfriend ever just leaves things be instead of challenging them.

"Yeah, I do." Sam counters, and Y/N is about to split up the fighting before it's even started when the two begin to talk at the same time.

"Yeah, right. Nice guess." Dean looks up at that, and Sam just smirks.

"It wasn't a guess." Sam says, but of course Dean can't leave it at that.

"Right, you're a mind reader. Cut it out, Sam. Sam! Sam!" They both lean into the table, getting close to each other. "You think you're being funny, but you're being really really childish. Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and evermore when he wakes up-"

"Okay, stop it!" She says, but Sam says it in time with her, causing her to stare at him. He cowers back, knowing he crossed a line.

"Sorry." He mutters, and everyone takes a deep breath. "But that's not all. Randy, the cashier? He's skimming from the register." They all turn to look at the guy at the front, who seems none the wiser to Sam knowing this information.

"Sam," Y/N starts, but Sam doesn't stop to listen to her. Whatever he thinks she's said before, it clearly wasn't important.

"Judge Meyers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit." Sam says it loud enough that Judge Myers hears them and drops his drink, spilling it everywhere. "Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the Mechanic on the way home."

"What's your point?" Dean asks, eyes wide with this information.

"My point is I've lived through every possible Tuesday. I've watched you die every possible way. I even watched you die once." He turns to Y/N, who is still staring at him. "I have ripped apart the mystery spot, burnt it down, tried everything I know to save your life, and I can't. No matter what I do, you die. And then I wake up. And then it's Tuesday again." Y/N and Dean look at each other, and Y/N wonders how many times Sam has watched them do this. She wonders how many times Sam has gone through this exact speech, how many times it took for him to get to where he is now.

~

They're walking back to the hotel, and Sam's still dejected.

"Dog." He says, and on cue, the dog starts barking.

"There's gotta be some way out of this." Y/N says, even though she's sure Sam's tried almost everything.

"Where's my dang keys?" Sam asks, and a moment later they walk around the old man from the diner asking the same thing. "Excuse me." He says, and then a girl brushes past Dean.

"Excuse me." She tells him, and Y/N turns around, about to yell at her.

"Don't yell at her, you'll only start a fight." Sam says as he grabs her arm. She's starting to get annoyed with his futuristic bullshit, so she rips her arm away from his.

"I wasn't going to." She says, and before Sam can tell her that he knows she was, Y/N feels the need to do something different, just to prove him wrong. "Excuse me!" She calls, causing the blonde girl to turn around. Y/N jogs to catch up, leaving the brothers behind her.

"Has she ever done that?" Dean asks, starting to walk back.

"No," Sam says, sounding shocked. Y/N's grabbing a paper by the time they get there, and the girl is walking away. She looks down at the paper, then back up at Sam.

"You've done this a hundred times, and you never thought to check and see what she was carrying?" Y/N asks, and Sam shakes his head.

"Most of the time, I was keeping you from a fight." Sam says, and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"It's a missing poster." She says, holding it up. "For her father." When Y/N drops the last part, Sam's eyes widen and grabs the paper, jogging toward the girl. The dog next to them is barking, and Dean smiles down at them.

"Hey, buddy. Someone need a friend?" He asks as he crouches to pet them. Y/N smiles and leans in closer, and then the dog goes for Dean's jugular as if it's a rabid animal.

"Dean!" Y/N screams, pulling him away from the dog. But he's already gone, blood all over his front and eyes wide still. "Sam!" She calls, and Sam turns to see the scene.

"Shit," He mutters, but at least he figured something out before he had to restart. Something useful.

"This can't be happening."

Day 103

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam is ready to get to breakfast, and after Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun they're off, Sam bringing his laptop to do some digging into the case. They order from the waitress, sitting in the small booth, and Sam starts to report on his findings from the day before, when he had talked to the missing guy's daughter.

"He writes about local Mystery Spots, debunking them. He's already put four of them out of business. Here." She turns the laptop around so they can see what Sam's found, and the couple start to read up.

"The 'Truth Warrior'?" Y/N asks, with a roll of her eyes.

"More like a Pompous Schmuck, if you ask me." Dean says, leaning over her shoulder.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I mean, I've read everything the guy's ever written. He must've weighed a ton, he was so full of himself." Sam says, and Y/N pauses on that. How has Sam read everything he's ever written if they just started researching this morning?

"When did you read all that?" Y/N asks, and Sam just stares for a moment as the couple looks at him like he's crazy.

"Come on." He avoids the question, grabbing his laptop.

"It's funny, ya know? This guy spends his whole life crapping on mystery spots and then he vanishes in one." Dean says with a chuckle as they stand, and Y/N nods with a smile.

"Kinda poetic." She says, following Dean out the door. They pass when Sam isn't right behind them, turning back to see him staring at an empty plate.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Guy has maple syrup for the past hundred Tuesdays - all the sudden, he's having strawberry?" Sam watches the man that was just in the diner as he walks outside.

"That's not a very funny punchline." Y/N comments, looking at the plate.

"It's a free country, Sam. A man can't choose his own syrup, huh? What have we become?" Dean jokes, causing Y/N to let out a small giggle. Sam doesn't find either of their jokes even worthy of a smile.

"Not in this diner. Not today." He says, completely serious. Y/N's smile begins to fade, because she thinks Sam may actually be crazy. "Nothing in this place ever changes - ever. Except me." Sam says dramatically. Y/N opens her mouth with a small smile.

"This cannot be happening." She says, Sam's eyes widening as he turns to her. "Sam, it's too early for you to lose your marbles."

"No, wait!" He yells, but it's too late.

Day 104

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"I'm caught in a time loop, and I think I just figured out how to fix it but we have to go to breakfast now." Sam says quickly, rising and going to his bag, changing his clothes without even caring that Y/N is standing right there. She covers her eyes dramatically, even though she's seen it all through the years when she's had to fix him up after hard fights.

"Breakfast sounds good to me." Dean agrees, completely skipping the time loop part as if Sam had told them the weather.

"Don't forget your gun, Dean. I'll lock up. We can talk about it later." Sam says, pulling on his shoes and grabbing Y/N's arm to lead her out the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asks, snatching her arm out of his grasp.

"I promise, it will all make sense soon. I just have to get to the diner." He lets Dean and Y/N go ahead before goes back into the room to grab what he needs. He doesn't even complain about the small booth, doesn't snap when Y/N asks for the hundredth time about lunch, and grabs the hot sauce when it falls. When Dean's food finally comes, he seems to be in a better mood.

"So, you think you're caught in some kind of what now?" Dean asks through a mouth of bacon. Y/N scrunches her face in disgust, but she doesn't say anything.

"Eat your breakfast." Sam snaps, and Y/N gives Sam a look, if only because she doesn't dare to say anything to him when he's acting like this. As soon as the man sitting at the bar across from them gets up, Sam follows with the bag he packed.

"What's in the bag?" Dean asks, and Y/N sighs as she stands.

"Nothing good, I'm sure." She says as Dean follows, putting money on the table. Sam follows the man far enough that there aren't a lot of people around before he pushes him against a chainlink fence, a stake pressed to his neck.

"I know who you are. Or should I say 'what'?" Sam says, and Y/N looks at Dean, unsure what to do.

"Oh my God. Please, don't kill me." The man begs, and Y/N steps toward Sam, hand on his bicep.

"Uh, Sam," She starts softly, but he shrugs her off.

"It took me a hell of a long time, but I got it." Sam is acting like nothing else exists, and it's kind of scaring Y/N.

"What?" The man asks, as if Sam really needed prompting to continue.

"It's your M.O. that gave you away. Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, don't they?" Y/N looks at Dean once more, because she is completely lost.

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Just put the stake down." The man begs, and Y/N grabs Dean's arm to try and get him to help.

"Sam, maybe you should-"

"No!" Sam yells, voice deep. It startles Y/N, but Dean is still staring intently. "There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops. In fact, you'd pretty much have to be a god. You'd have to be a trickster." Sam says, and Y/N suddenly realizes what Sam is saying.

"Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife's name is Amelia. I've got two kids. For crying out loud, I sell ad space!" Y/N's not sure if the trickster is just putting up a great show, or of if Sam has gone off his rocker and this is his breaking point. She briefly realizes she'd be losing both Winchesters if this is true, so she needs this man to be a trickster. She needs Sam to be right.

"Don't lie to me! I know what you are!" Sam screams. Y/N flinches again, and Dean grabs her hand and squeezes. "We've killed one of your kind before!" The words are barely out of Sam's mouth before Loki is there, in the flesh. The trickster they thought they killed, not actually dead.

"Actually, bucko, you didn't." He says, and Y/N feels Dean push her behind him slightly.

"Why are you doing this." Sam says, keeping the stake pointing to his neck.

"You're joking, right? You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?" The answer makes Y/N angry, but Dean opens his mouth first.

"And Hasselback, what about him?" Dean asks, as if that's the most important thing right now. It's nice he's thinking about the victim, but a trickster they thought they killed is actually alive, and apparently has been putting Sam through time loops.

"That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one." The trickster says, and Y/N groans, because of course nothing can be easy. "Huh? Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town." He's saying it all with a smile, and Y/N can't stop herself.

"So this is fun for you?" She asks, and Sam pushes the stake in more.

"You killed Dean over and over again." Sam says, and Y/N can't help but squeeze Dean's arm tighter; Sam hadn't told them about that part of the time loop.

"One - yes, it is fun. And two - this is so not about killing Dean. This joke, is on you, Sam." The trickster says, before he looks over to Y/N. "It could've been on you, too, but I knew you'd figure it out way faster. But Sam, having to watch his brother die every day. Forever. Having to listen to you say the same words again and again." He's smiling, and Y/N feels sick even though she doesn't even know what words he's talking about.

"You son of a bitch." Sam says, but he has nothing else, no other comeback.

"How long will it take you to realize you can't save your brother, no matter what? Hell, sometimes, you can't even save her." Loki taunts, and Y/N wishes Sam would just kill the motherfucker and end this.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asks, pushing him into the fence even more. "I kill you, this all ends now."

"Oh, hey! Whoa, okay, okay. Look, I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you wake up, it'll be Wednesday. I swear." Loki says, and Y/N shakes her head.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" She asks, and he turns to Sam.

"If I'm not, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner." He says simply. Sam looks over to Dean and Y/N, who look at him with the same expression. He knows what he has to do.

"No. Easier to just kill you." He says.

"Sorry, kiddo, can't have that." Loki snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's gone. Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and flopping her body dramatically.

"Don't," Sam says, but it's too late.

"This can't be happening." She complains, and Sam thanks the trickster that at least this time, it wasn't soft and sad.

Day 105

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N turns to see him looking wide eyed.

"What, are you gonna sleep all day?" Dean asks around his toothbrush, one hand on Y/N's hip and the other brushing his teeth behind her.

"No Asia." Sam says, and Y/N furrows her brows as Dean leans over her to spit his toothpaste out.

"Yeah, I know. This station sucks." He complains, going over to his bag. Y/N spits out her toothpaste and rinses her mouth, freeing up the bathroom for Sam.

"It's Wednesday!" He says, and Y/N pursues her lips in confusion.

"Yup, it usually comes after Tuesday." She says, going to her shared bag.

"Hey, turn the music off, would ya?" Dean asks, getting in Y/N's way of packing the bag.

"What, are you kidding?" Sam asks, as if Dean was crazy. "This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?" He dramatically jumps out of bed, causing Y/N and Dean to just stare.

"No." Dean says flatly, and Y/N tilts her head slightly.

"Are you alright, Sam?" She asks, walking over to the bed. "You were pretty out of it yesterday." She feels his forehead, and he only lets her because he knows Dean would kill him if he smacked her hand away.

"What happened?" Sam asks, too scared to hope.

"I mean, you were acting all strange, and we ran into the trickster." Dean explains, and Sam smiles as he finishes putting on his shirt.

"Alright, pack your stuff. Let's get the hell out of town, now." Sam says, and Y/N turns to Dean.

"What's up with him?" She asks, and he frowns.

"I don't know, but I want breakfast." Dean says as he walks out of the room, Y/N following.

"No breakfast!" Sam shouts, and she rolls her eyes.

"We can stop somewhere." She whispers as they make their way to the car. Dean puts their bag in, then Y/N's small personal bag, not closing the trunk because Sam's supposed to be right behind them.

"I feel like we made a mistake, letting the trickster go." He says, and she sighs. Before she can respond, however, they turn to see a man pointing a gun at them.

"Give me your wallet." He's shaking, and Y/N can tell this is his first time.

"Hey, woah, we can talk about this, alright?" Dean tries, hands up. Y/N reaches for her gun, but she forgot it in their bag, thinking they were just going out to the car. A stupid, stupid mistake. "Why don't you just put the gun down, we can talk about this." He says, but the man doesn't like the answer. He gets closer, and the second Dean shifts to grab a gun the man shoots. He must've realized his mistake quickly, because he's running before Y/N even screams. She hits the ground, grabbing his body and staring at the bloody mess and the bullet hole on the front.

"Dean?" She whispers, but she knows it's futile. The man may not have had much experience with a gun, but he hit Dean perfectly to kill.

"Dean!" Sam shouts as he runs over. "No, no, no, this wasn't supposed to happen, not today!" He says, and Y/N has no idea what that means but she lets it go as she watches her tears fall onto Dean's freckled face. The love of her life, gone.

"I'm sorry," She says, because she doesn't know what else to say. She should have had her gun on her, should have been able to stop that guy.

"I'm supposed to wake up." Sam says, and Y/N looks up finally.

"What?" She says, cradling Dean's body close to hers.

"Say the thing." He demands, and she flinches back. It's silent for a couple moments as they stare at each other.

"What thing?" She asks, looking back down at Dean. She pushes some stray hairs out of his face, brushing her fingers down his stubble.

"You always say it!" Sam snaps, and Y/N startles. "You say it every time, right before it resets. You have to say it." He begs, and she thinks he must be going crazy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She whispers as more tears fall down her face.

"'This can't be happening.' Say 'this can't be happening.'" Sam tells her, and she just shakes her head.

"Why?" She doesn't understand, everything feels wrong. Holding Dean's lifeless body is wrong, not feeling his breath is wrong.

"Just do it!" He yells, and she can't help the sob that escapes.

"This can't be happening." She repeats, but nothing happens.

Six Months Later

"Hey, Sam, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm back from Cabo, where I spread some of Dean's ashes. I wish you could've come, Bobby said he hasn't heard from you in awhile, so I figured I should reach out. He said you've been hunting still. Taking care of business. I want to help, Sam. Don't push me away." She takes a deep breath, and Sam can hear the hesitation over the recording. "I know this is hard, Sam. But you've turned into a machine, and I know Dean doesn't want that." She hesitates again, and Sam almost wishes she'd end the call. "Call me, Sam. Please." Finally, the end tone plays, and Sam presses on the gas harder. He knows that Y/N wouldn't approve him summoning the trickster, but he has to do it, he has to get his revenge or get Dean back.

Sam has been on the fringe, he knows, but killing Bobby was a wake up call. He would promise that trickster anything, to just have Dean back. Bobby's voicemails are bad enough, but Y/N's break his already fragile heart. He can barely listen when she does call. He would have sold his soul. But thankfully, he doesn't have to do that. Loki snaps his fingers, and for once - no, this makes twice - Sam doesn't have to hear the God forsaken words come out of Y/N's mouth before everything goes black.

Wednesday

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N turns to see him looking wide eyed.

"What, are you gonna sleep all day?" Dean asks around his toothbrush, one hand on Y/N's hip and the other brushing his teeth behind her. Sam continues to stare, and Dean spits out the toothpaste over Y/N. "I know, no Asia. This station sucks." Dean complains, and Y/N rolls her eyes as she spits out her own toothpaste.

"It's Wednesday." He says softly, and Y/N briefly wonders if he had a nightmare. She didn't hear any tossing or turning, but that didn't mean much.

"Yup, it usually comes after Tuesday." She says, going to her shared bag.

"Hey, turn the music off, would ya?" Dean asks, getting in Y/N's way of packing the bag. She smiles up at him, but then Sam comes over, grabbing Dean around the shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. She steps back to let them have their moment, but Dean is looking at her confused over Sam's shoulder.

"Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" He asks, and Sam breathes deeply.

"Enough." He answers, then pulls back. "Wait, what do you remember." He looks at the both of them, so Y/N answers.

"You were pretty out of it yesterday." She says, recalling how erratic he had acted at the diner.

"Yeah, you were acting all strange, and we ran into the trickster." Dean says, and Sam nods. "That's about it."

"Let's go." Sam finally says with a small smile.

"No breakfast?" Dean asks, and Sam chuckles.

"We can get breakfast on the way." She tells him, and both of them nod. "Are you sure you're okay, Sam?" She knows something's up, but Sam is trying to play it off.

"I just had a really weird dream." Sam says, and Y/N nods. "And Y/N, don't ever leave the hotel without your gun again. Ever." He says, and Y/N furrows her brow.

"We're literally going to parking lot." She says, but Sam shakes his head.

"Trust me, don't do." He picks up his bag, and Y/N shrugs, grabbing her gun out of her personal bag before following Dean out, Sam bringing up the rear.

"I really hope this is happening." Sam says as he looks at the bed that he woke up in over a hundred times, then closes the door. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers @lyarr24

[respectthepetty]

I wanna talk about the toe

You know, the scene where Fujisawa squeezed Sei's injured toe!

In the first episode, Kaori stated that a broken nail was actually a simple fracture and really just needed a little care to strengthen it.

Which is exactly what she did for Sei

But just like everything else in this show, this discussion isn't about a toe. The toe could be about the embarrassment we feel, so we continue to suffer even when an easy fix exists.

And it could also be about the true source of pain.

Kaori and Fujisawa are not bad people, and the show hasn't presented them as such, but Sei questioned if Kaori was aware of how upset Hagiwara was about the growing distance in their relationship.

Then the show immediately answered that question through Ayako's testimony. Kaori isn't just aware; she's happy about their situation.

Sei also asked what Kaori didn't like about Hagiwara.

And the show answered that as well. Kaori doesn't like that he is a man.

They aren't broken. It could just be a fracture. And there is an easy fix. But instead, they continue to suffer.

Then there is the actual toe, which is Sei's toe. He hit his foot on the table, in the house of a man who designs furniture.

Yet Fujisawa is rarely home.

Sei hurt his foot after Fujisawa avoided their conversation, and Fujisawa hadn't been home or spoken to Sei since, which is why he barely found out that Sei had hurt his foot after dinner. Then, he immediately squeezed the toe.

Regardless if Fujisawa designed the table that Sei accidentally walked into, he was part of the reason Sei was in pain. And at first, I felt he wasn't to blame and thought he didn't even notice. But just like with Kairo, he is aware. And he keeps doing it. He squeezed Sei's toe. He just heard the story about how it was hurt. He was looking directly at the toe. And. He. Squeezed. It. He wasn't even gentle when taking off Sei's sock.

Sei excuses the behavior and tells him it doesn't even hurt anymore, but this is the basis of their entire relationship it seems. Fujisawa does something that hurts Sei, and Sei lets it go. It's a vicious little cycle.

Once again, the show hasn't painted anyone as the villain, yet Sei has specifically stated multiple times who he thinks is a "good man," and it isn't Fujisawa.

During this scene, Hagiwara questions Sei about what Fujisawa does for him that makes Sei want to be nice back to him, and the only thing of substance Sei offers is that Fujisawa agreed to live with him.

He states Fujisawa is patient with him, but Fujisawa also demands he never meet up with his pen pal. Sei also states that Fujisawa concedes often, yet the friend they just encountered stated that if anyone wanted to speak to Sei, they had to go through Fujisawa.

It's all very normal behavior due to the circumstances. None of it seems malevolent. And yet Fujisawa wasn't interested in Sei's foot until Sei mentioned that he spoke to his co-worker who asked his girlfriend to look at his foot. Then, he squeezed the toe, which is an odd reaction. Or is it all very normal behavior due to the circumstances?

Sei doesn't have friends. He never attended the work dinners before. Yet now he is going out for dinners, has a co-worker whose girlfriend helped him, has another co-worker who is a bit afraid of him and he finds it funny, and a pen pal who has a girlfriend who he chats with through an email account that just happens to be Fujisawa's name and birthday.

Which reminds me of this co-worker and her wild story.

The woman is in a bad relationship. She is aware that she is in a bad relationship. There is an easy fix. But she doesn't leave.

Everyone, including Kairo and Fujisawa, are very aware of the situation that is unraveling in their relationships, but nobody wants to apply the easy fix. They are avoiding the issues and causing more suffering. Which is strange because Sei and Hagiwara have been shown to take responsibility and fix problems.

So why doesn't Kairo tell Hagiwara that she isn't sexually attracted to him anymore when he tries to initiate sex? Why doesn't Fujisawa tell Sei about his feelings (of jealously) instead of squeezing his toe? Because the easy fixes require communication, and they refuse to communicate, which is why this entire relationship between Hagiwara and Sei extended beyond one email.

Because it was never about the toe.

[vasilissadragomir]

y’all i really think sid abernathy is intellectually and/or developmentally disabled. idk if this is a common belief or not, but after the audio excerpt i’m more convinced than ever. here’s why:

1. sid’s dialogue and behavior

“you said be your rooster. you said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

“haymitch!” wails sid. “the sun’s coming up!”

sid’s language and cadence suggest a young child. which makes sense; he’s 10, which is a young child. so it’s consistent that haymitch would tell sid to be his “rooster,” which is, of course, a callback to “tuck your tail in, little duck.” however, while katniss’ pet name for prim is humorous and light-hearted, her intention in using it is to make prim feel better facing the imminent reaping.

sid’s joy on reaping day, especially the reaping day of the second quarter quell, suggests sid is at best aware but unconcerned about the day’s proceedings, but realistically, that he doesn’t know or understand whatsoever what will occur. as far as he’s concerned, the most important event of the day is haymitch’s birthday.

granted, sid is 10, and prim, at 12, is reaping age. but there’s no way he can avoid the truth about the games or reaping day at school. and haymitch “resistance is not an option” abernathy would not indulge such wanton disregard for the dangers of the day. acting like the reaping isn’t happening is insolence in and of itself. unless, of course, sid’s behavior is not disregard, but true ignorance. and the only way he’d be ignorant of the reaping is if he is, at least in the eyes of haymitch and his mother, incapable of understanding it.

2. sid needing an explanation about the reaping

“i wonder whether it'll be me or ma who sits him down beforehand and explains about his role in the reaping, how he had to look nice and keep his mouth shut and not cause any trouble. even if the unthinkable happens and his name gets drawn, he's got to suck it up, put on the bravest face he can muster and climb onto that stage, because resistance is not an option.”

as implied by sid’s happy attitude in the excerpt, and now confirmed by the audio clip, sid will need to have the reaping explained to him when he turns 12. but in his worry about sid’s first reaping, haymitch is concerned with telling sid step-by-step what to do. and it’s not just about where to stand or the proceedings themselves. he will have to explain to sid that he needs to be quiet and docile.

no kid in district 12 would need it explained to them how to act on reaping day by age 12. that is, unless the normal district 12 peacekeepers would otherwise know that the kid means no harm in stepping out of line. on reaping day, with peacekeeper reinforcements and cameras, the same lenience would not apply. an intellectual disability would explain not only that, but why haymitch and their mother intend to keep sid in his happy ignorance as long as they can.

3. sid’s death within two weeks of haymitch’s defiance

the most common question about snow’s punishment of haymitch is why he didn’t have sid or lenore dove reaped. on lenore dove, it would be too obvious to reap haymitch’s girl just a year or two after haymitch’s games. that’s especially true if haymitch’s insolence is so egregious as to warrant a punishment as severe as the death of all his loved ones. after a year or two lenore dove would be aged out. to create some plausible deniability for the capitol citizens, the only realistic option for snow to reap would be sid.

with sid, he would have nine years to choose exactly the right moment to punish haymitch in this way. if sid is anything like prim, he’d be beloved in the capitol during haymitch’s games, largely for his youth and innocence. but katniss herself considers prim to be reaped. that’s a particularly strong possibility once prim was older, and thus less angelic and harmless in the eyes of the capitol. even still, rue is evidence that age is not reason enough for the capitol to grow sour at the idea of any tribute’s reaping.

so why wouldn’t snow wait it out for sid? i’m sure we’ll get plenty of reasons in the book, but the best explanation is that it would create blowback for snow if sid was reaped, regardless of his age or how beloved he is in the capitol. the most realistic scenario why that would be true is if sid is too naive and “simple” to be a threat, even as an older teen in a strong, adult-like body.

that’s not to say the capitol is “above” reaping a disabled child (see: the boy from 10 in the 75th and wovey in the 10th). but a beloved younger brother of a quarter quell victor who is ALSO developmentally disabled? the optics would be terrible for snow. that’s especially true if the capitol’s attitude toward people with mental disabilities is anything as patronizing as that of the people of district 12 (see: the people at the hob treating greasy sae’s granddaughter like a pet out of ignorance rather than malice).

4. it’s great device to explain the games to the audience without too much info-dumping

we’re going to spend much of the games in haymitch’s head. even in the midst of a battle royale, that can get boring really fast. that issue was avoided in tbosas by snow’s narration, since the boring bits of lucy’s gray’s time in the games were easily supplemented by snow’s life in the capitol.

with katniss, the quiet parts of the games were broken up with flashbacks. the flashbacks served double duty of keeping things interesting AND creating character development/worldbuilding. we saw katniss’ father’s death, her interaction with peeta, her friendship with gale, and her life at home with her mother and prim. her father’s death explained her character, the bread incident her feelings about peeta, her friendship with gale her worldview, and prim/her mother the inter-12 seam/town tensions as well as katniss’ motivations.

unlike with katniss, though, we know a lot about who haymitch is and what happened to him. we don’t need as much basic worldbuilding (and i doubt he’d have much more information than katniss does at this point, anyway), so the only things left are his family and district 12. for haymitch’s family, which is 100% seam in a way katniss’ is not, we’re going to need a new lens through which to view 12. it can’t *just* be typical single-mother seam life; we got most of that through katniss and gale. haymitch’s story has to provide a new angle.

i think that additional layer *has* to be sid. haymitch, unlike katniss, was himself reaped—what is motivating his survival? what makes him different than all the others in the seam, who are reaped to an inevitable death? a clear explanation could be that sid is incapable of surviving if haymitch dies. even with their mother working, everyone has to contribute. and if haymitch doesn’t have a gale, sid’s protection is even less guaranteed.

sure, haymitch might just have the same maternal instinct katniss has for prim, but that’s one of the key distinctions between them in the trilogy. haymitch loves peeta and katniss like they’re his own, and yet he lies to and betrays them in a way that katniss considers unconscionable. and, imo, if it’s as simple as haymitch wanting to protect sid’s innocence like katniss wants to protect prim’s, the similarities between them become less parallels and more replicas. what’s the point of sid’s death if katniss and haymitch are so similar that the loss of their siblings conveys the same message?

[nugatorysheep]

What your favorite SU character says about you but it's just mean as fuck

Steven — How is being a mentally ill, people-pleasing queer going for you? Did your mommy issues and anxiety resolve themselves yet or are you still avoiding therapy?

You either disliked or were neutral about him until he got a neck. You think Future is peak cinema (correct) and can't understand why everyone else hates it. You have a better grasp on this show's characters and themes than most of the people who watched it.

Connie — You were likely the gifted kid in school but a total burn-out now. You either see a lot of yourself in this character (How are those helicopter parents of yours doing? Have you gone no-contact yet?) or you're a normie and boring to sandbox with. Probably both.

You've got a lot of Feelings™️about her and if people don't agree it causes Problems™️. In case no one has told you yet, stop caring what other people think. Your constant virtue signaling to appeal to other normies is a crutch that's just holding you back. It's okay to have fun!!

Stevonnie — You want to fuck this character, though you'd never say that out loud. You like Steven and Connie; maybe you like one more than the other, but you like both at least a little. If you're using them for shipping you're the only person in the entire fandom doing whatever hyper-specific ship you've latched onto.

Rose and or Pink — You really suck as a person! Or you used to suck but you've gotten a lot better and we stan! If you're the former you almost certainly have terrible takes on this show (but not in the way people might think), sorry, I don’t make the rules. Either way, you gotta stop finding ways to bring her back, dawg. She's gone.

Greg — You're a man (positive) and gay as hell. Gentleman on the streets and a fucking freak in the sheets. We stan. Pop off king <3

Garnet — If you headcanon her as acespec she is not actually your favorite, Ruby and Sapphire are your favorite, but you like them both equally so you just say you like Garnet. If you headcanon her as anything else you're definitely shipping her with one of the other gems, probably Pearl or Jasper.

Amethyst — Super chill person. Would be in most people's dream blunt rotation. You're a live and let live kinda guy and I respect that, but you also have no hills you'd die on so you're not the first person anyone goes to if they need serious support. You can get away with misinterpreting this character (on purpose or accidentally) because it's hard to say things about her that most people won't just shrug at and go "yeah that sounds right I guess"

Pearl — You're annoying as hell. You see yourself in this character and that's not a good thing. Your social media presence gives off the same energy as every white woman's Instagram profile. If being a victim was a contest you'd take home the gold.

You think everyone is out to get you. They're not.

You think you're being persecuted. You're not.

Most people who see you from a distance and don't know better think you're alright, so you're probably pretty well-liked in public. The only people you will get along with in close quarters are all walking mean lesbian stereotypes.

Peridot — You're annoying as hell for a different reason. You see yourself in this character too and that is a terrible, terrible thing.

She's your pfp on every website and app that will allow it. Your lifeblood is this fucking character and e v e r y o n e will know it. You're weirdly possessive of her and the hyper specific headcanons you made for her (even if you don't say that) despite every grass-fearing autistic person on the internet projecting onto her, so ironically you don't like other Peridot fans, which always ends up with you sitting alone even on websites with millions of people on them.

90% chance you're a furry, otherkin, therian or think you have DID. You think you're misunderstood, and in some ways you are, but the reality is most people don't speak dog and don't have the time or energy to learn. You need to go outside and learn to speak cat whether you want to or not

Lapis — You don't like Peridot fans or kinnies, which is weirdly in-character. You're the biggest hater but you don't hide it and I can respect that. You think Lapis is a victim, but you're only half right. You would probably fall for propaganda if it was dressed up fancy enough.

Jasper — You want to fuck this character, full stop. There's a 50/50 chance you're chill af or the most insufferable person on the planet. If you're the former you're friends with a lot of people. You float easily from one group to another, but a jack of all trades is a master of none, and you're no one's first pick if they're looking for someone close. You probably hate Lapis and her fans but you should really just let that shit go ngl

Spinel — You need therapy (derogatory) and you're making that everyone else's problem. Despite the clown aesthetic you're not very funny to be around and you should get a better sense of humor. You project onto this character way too hard and it shows in your fandom habits and headcanons, but most of the time that's fine

Like Spinel, you're a little two-faced. Some people pick up on that right away and some don't. The people who do hold you at arms length until you make it clear which clown you'd rather be. You hate it when people ship Spinel with any character besides your favorite pairing, but you'll never say that out loud unless it's a ship the people you're talking to don't like.

Blue Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or a minor who doesn't actually understand anything about this character yet, and would immediately fall for any and all forms of propaganda

Yellow Diamond — If you think she is wearing a helmet you're a man (derogatory) and you expected things out of SU that were never gonna happen. If you think it's just hair you have a much better grasp on this character than 90% percent of SU's fandom and I'm platonically kissing you on the mouth.

White Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or an incredibly based and sexy queer.

The Zircons — You like Ace Attorney, or would like it if you haven't played it yet. You're making them kiss sloppy style. UwU

Lars — You probably didn't like him until after he died. You will defend this boy with your fucking life. Also you should just…. go watch Star Trek if you haven't. Seriously what are you doing—

Sadie — You're an oddball. Very lax though. You have complicated feelings about Shep

Peedee — You're a little quirky, a little freaky, but you're too scared to just say that. You desperately need some fun in your life, but the people around you make that difficult. Eventually you'll find the folks that are worth hanging around. See you on the flip side :)

Ronaldo — You're the type of person this character is based on and you take it in stride. If you're shipping him with Lars, you're the only person who's opinion on this character matters.

Kevin — I dunno who hurt you but you have a terrible taste in men. You only have fun in bed if it involves a damn near human rights violation

Mayor Dewey — You're normalbirb

Any other townie — This is a trick question! No one has these as their favorite lmao

[radioactiverats]

i think 7.5 is definitely one of my favourite parts of this story! was the static starscream getting embarassed? what do you think would get his face glowing? huaahah

Thank you!!! I really enjoyed writing that one!!

Here is some crack... pure crack. I'M SORRYYYY

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (10/?)

Each bot carried a number of things in their subspace at all times. Ratchet carried an innumerable variation of medical tools, medical-grade energon, and indelible knowledge of what a spark felt like as it slipped through his servos. Starscream carried datapads, a specific type of energon jelly he knew you liked when rations allowed, and the insurmountable grief that accompanied the condemnation of being alone. Megatron, presumably, carried enough hatred to power the entire solar system and then some, but you wisely choose not to think too hard about that.

Now that Starscream was trying to cement your necessity to the Decepticon cause, you'd added a couple of important datapads to your subspace. In addition to bandages (you'd wanted to store the welder in your subspace, too, but Starscream vehemently disallowed it because it would unnecessarily weigh your frame down in flight. After some protesting on your part, he finally ex-vented and promised that he wouldn't get himself injured someplace you couldn't fix him), some energon jellies for after training (courtesy of Starscream), and... a crumpled poster.

You'd kept a memento from your time at the Academy - it was one of your most closely guarded secrets, because you'd perish on the spot from pure and utter embarrassment if anyone found out.

A poster of Starscream.

Back at the Academy, it would have been impossible to find a wall that hadn't fallen victim to the onslaught of posters - before the ones advertising the war effort against the Quintessons had taken over, the posters had been primarily motivational and featured high-profile seekers. Many of the cadets idolized Sunstorm - your roommate even had a wall full of stolen Sunstorm posters. His golden frame in flight, a glowing halo framing his helm. You agreed that Sunstorm was cool, but deep down, your idol was Starscream. There was no shortage of glossy Starscream posters around the Academy, and whoever ran the show had clearly poured a huge percentage of the budget into making new posters every semester. Many of them were illustrated, for reasons that had actually been explained before - Vosian illustrators tended to be trained in capturing the feeling of flight, rather than the appearance of it. You'd always been drawn to the posters of Starscream because of the emotions they sparked within you - Pride. Determination. Spark-lightening liberation. However, it was the final semester before the end of your first year when the publicity department had apparently decided they'd had enough of paintings, and it was time to try something new. Well, new. Ironically, it was a return to traditional photography.

When the new posters came out, you'd stared at it for so long that your roommate had come to drag you back before curfew, took one look at the poster and burst out laughing.

It was the cheesiest thing you'd ever seen. Starscream, hip cocked and a smug grin on his faceplate, pointing at the camera. SOAR HIGH! The poster enthused, in a garish font and colour that quite frankly hurt your optics. REACH FOR THE STARS!

You opened your intake, closed it. Reset your vocaliser twice. You were sure that your wings were vibrating at this point. To make matters worse... "Is Commander Starscream winking?" Your roommate wheezed, and a few cycles later, it was you who had to drag them back to your dorm instead other other way around before you were caught sneaking around after hours.

It was on the same day you'd all been given your celebratory allowance of high-grade jet fuel - amidst all the reveling, your roommate had elbowed their way through the crowd to you with a huge grin on their faceplate. "I have something for you," They said cheerily, and shoved a slightly crumpled roll of paper into your servos. Even without looking, you already knew what it was, and the garish pop of colour as soon as you unfurled it slightly only confirmed your suspicions. "Come on," You groan. "Couldn't you have stolen me one of the cooler ones?"

"I could have," They said. "But the look on your faceplate wouldn't be as hilarious." More laughter as you groan and bury your burning faceplate in your hands. "But," They continue thoughtfully, "don't you think this one kinda humanizes him a little?"

Huh. That night, you're still turning your roommate's words over in your processor. It's kind of endearing, in its own way. You'd never have imagined that Starscream would allow himself to be photographed in such a way, and it's kind of growing on you. You suppose it does break up the monotony of his previous posters somewhat. And that wink... Blushing furiously, you hide your face in your servos and thank your lucky stars that your roommate is sound asleep, so you don't get teased into the dirt.

That poster ended up being the only evidence that you had a roommate, because they didn't survive the attack. Not for lack of searching. You'd searched and searched, and found an arm. You stopped searching after that.

The poster had been stashed deep in your subspace for as long as you could remember. That was another thing you carried. Two things, actually. One, your guilt at being the only one left, and two, your embarrassing little crush on Starscream. Further guilt at allowing the two conflicting feelings to coexist may as well have been a third thing.

However, the years of war had more or less put a damper on dwelling on the past, because threats in the present were far more immediate. You decided it was a good thing that you'd been stuck in emotional limbo for a while now. Primus knows what would become of you if your emotions came back full force at this point.

It's a relatively quiet day when your little slip-up happens. Ever since you became entrusted with datapads needed for officers' meetings, you and Starscream had a brief routine in which you'd double-check that everything was accounted for before heading out. The only thing was that last night's recharge had been fraught with nightmares, and you couldn't deny the exhaustion that fogged your processor. As such, you were not functioning as well as you would have liked to be.

"Reports of the last mission?"

You place it in his outstretched servo. "Check."

"The one on Autobot activity."

"Check."

"Preliminary results of the Terran soil analysis."

Terran soil analysis? You dig around in your subspace. That sounded familiar. You definitely had it, but maybe you'd stashed it way back because you hadn't anticipated Megatron wanting to hear about soil samples. You frown, and dig a little further. Fingertips just managing to brush against something, and that must be it -

"Check," You quickly say, before Starscream can get impatient.

There's a few kliks of silence, which strikes you as strange, because Starscream normally carries a minimum of ten datapads into these meetings. You glance up at him, a question on your glossa - but as soon as you realise what he's looking at, your expression rapidly morphs to match his in one of utter mortification.

No.

Starscream's optic twitches. He holds the offending poster at arms' length - as if trying to put some distance between it and his frame.

It's that horrific poster of him. He'd fought tooth and nail not to have it published, because it was just so embarrassing. Unfortunately, he'd been overruled by the Academy's senior council, who for some Primus-forsaken reason absolutely loved it.

For the greater good! They'd said. The cadets look up to you, Starscream, it would do good to closen the distance between you, so they understand that they can one day be like you.

"Fine," Starscream had snarled, but was only too glad when they'd finally been removed.

Vorns later, he thought he was finally free of that - apparently not.

You can feel his accusing optics on you.

"Cadet."

"...Yes, sir."

"Care to tell me why this is in your possession?"

You gnaw at your lip plates.

"I'm waiting."

You shuffle your pedes. "Um," You mumble.

Why, indeed, had you kept it?

Defeated, you know you know the answer but have no chance of hiding it, because Starscream can absolutely tell when you're lying.

"I know it's one of the weirder ones," You mutter, thankfully missing the twitch of Starscream's optic, "but I liked your posters because of how they made me feel. Because of how you made me feel. Like I could do anything. Like as long as I worked hard, it would pay off, because you cared enough about us to see it happen."

You can't stop now that you've started. "If I had a choice, though, I would have picked the one where you're in your altmode at the edge of the stratosphere because that one was super cool, and I always wondered what it would be like to fly alongside you like that, as an equal. But it's okay because this poster makes me hope that we're not too far apart after all, it's kinda silly but it reminds me that you're my commander and hopefully you know that I really, really admire you -"

A choked crackle of static (mercifully) cuts your ramble off before you can embarrass yourself further.

"Sir?"

You chance a look at Starscream, and what you see renders you completely unable to retain fine motor control of your faceplate. This time, you really wish you could preserve his expression on a poster.

Starscream, former Air Commander of Vos, feared SIC of the Decpticons, is blushing.

You watch with rapt fascination as the blue blush of energon rises to settle prettily across his cheeks, only intensifying the more he stares at the poster. Now he's the one who's adamantly refusing to meet your optics.

"You -"

"Sorry, I misspoke, I shouldn't have-"

"No," Starscream cuts in. His voice is raspier than usual.

"It's... it's fine."

He glances once more at the rapidly fraying poster in his servos before shoving it back towards you.

"...But don't let me see that thing again."

You quickly roll it up and shove it back into your subspace. Now you definitely can't get rid of it.

Starscream still can't quite clear the static from his vocaliser, nor the blush on his faceplate. You take mercy on him and remain silent, lest his cooling fans kick on. It's probably for the best that he doesn't find out about the Commander Starscream Academy Fan Club.

"Now. Terran soil samples?"

Previous /

Edit: THE POSTER in all its technicolour glory by @bonkkix !!!!!

[itsabouttimex2]

Heyyy time! Hope you're doing well! 💕 I hope u don't mind me asking this question

So for Shadowpeach y/n... After macaque's death, What's Wukong and y/n relationship like? Does y/n have some type of hatred towards Wukong for killing macaque? And how are they both grieving?

Macaque's Death

Honestly, it depends on the configuration of who is yandere and how Macaque is killed. A few to consider:

Macaque is yandere for Y/N, and is killed in self-defense = they celebrate Y/N's freedom together and leave the body to rot.

Sun Wukong is yandere for Y/N, kills Macaque in self-defense = Y/N is still scared of SWK, but doesn't care for Macaque dying since he brought it on himself.

Sun Wukong is yandere for Y/N, kills Macaque preemptively = Y/N hates him for essentially murdering someone who could've gotten them away from him, and refuses to bridge the gap between them.

Y/N is yandere for Macaque, and he is killed in self-defense = The rational part of their brain shuts off in grief and they set out for revenge in spite of the reasonable circumstances around their beloved's death.

Y/N is yandere for Macaque, and he is killed preemptively = Y/N goes insane on the spot and violently attacks Sun Wukong's friends, needing to be either crippled or put down to prevent any harm.

Y/N is yandere for Sun Wukong, and Macaque is killed preemptively = Oh well, really. He shouldn’t have caused trouble for their beloved Monkey King! To help, Y/N will hide the body and clean the blood to keep their beloved from getting into trouble.

Macaque and Y/N are both yandere for Sun Wukong and working in tandem is the one I like to think of the most, though- imagine the poor monkey spending five-hundred years trapped under a mountain with his “lovers” realizing they can dote on and love him with no holds barred and no restrictions for five full centuries? They have a literal dream come true in their hands… until one day the two are out and about, gathering supplies and cooing to each other about what fun they’ll have with their dear “husband”, only to come back and find the mountain shattered and their love gone. After a long journey spent tracking him down, Macaque is regardless put down and the king escapes with his friends in tow, leaving Y/N to seethe and scheme up a dozen punishments to put their “husband” back in his place… after resurrecting Macaque, of course. He’s going to be delighted to settle the score with his beloved king, after all.

[starcurtain]

More Phaidei Fics I Want to Read

1. Obligatory "fish out of water" fic (mostly AU because the timeline would probably not match canon, but we do what we want here!), taking place after Mydei and the Kremnoans first make it to Okhema. Okhema is already harsh on outsiders, let alone on a conquering "barbarian" tribe infamous for bringing strife to so many other city states. Mydei doesn't know the local customs at all, and while he doesn't care the slightest about how these pathetic Okhemans see him, the trouble he keeps getting into is affecting the reputations of innocent Kremnoans too. He's got to find a way to blend in, at least enough to stop costing his fellows any chance of finding paid work... Too bad the only person who is willing (and has time) to help is Phainon (who isn't native to Okhema either but done a much better job of learning to get along with the locals). The guy thinks he's the Titans' gift to Amphoreus just because he beat Mydei in a duel once. It was only once! And why does it matter whether we eat standing up or lying down? What are you laughing at, Savior Complex?! Or, tl;dr: The culture clash comedy one where Phainon and Mydei teach each other entirely opposing sets of manners, and come to learn a lot more about one another in the process.

2. Also obligatory omegaverse where Mydei is an omega born with a unique constitution: he's built like an alpha, snarls like an alpha, and dominates his opponents like an alpha. He even smells like an alpha, especially when he's in heat, so the only people who ever figured out his secondary gender were his doctor and his parents, all of whom are dead now. The whole world thinks Mydei is an alpha, and his reputation as an indomitable warrior prince pretty much hinges on people continuing to believe that. The problem is, Mydei wouldn't actually mind getting to live an omega's life, at least the part about finding a mate and starting a family. Only, who in the world would want him for a mate? Any alpha hunting for an actual omega would never think to look in Mydei's direction, betas would just be confused, and even those few alphas who are attracted to other alphas would only end up disappointed after discovering Mydei isn't one. He's nobody's ideal partner, and he'd mostly made peace with that--until Phainon. Until that upstart alpha from the middle of nowhere knocked Mydei down in a brutal spar and then pulled him up with the gentlest hand, and suddenly it mattered that no one would ever want Mydei. It mattered a lot. (Of course, the long and short of it is that Mydei is the man of Phainon's dreams, and after a series of setbacks and miscommunications and lots of silly angst, they'll find their way to a happy ending.)

3. After discovering Mydei's weakness for sweets and cute things like pink pomegranate juice, Phainon decides to engage in a bit of light-hearted teasing: He starts sending Mydei exceedingly adorable gifts and fancy candies under the guise of a "secret admirer." The joke is on Phainon, however, when it turns out Mydei finds the gifts quite charming and is determined to discover the identity of the mysterious gift giver. A reasonable person would quickly give up on the joke to avoid getting caught, but Phainon has always been weak to chasing thrills--and maybe this whole thing about being Mydei's "secret admirer" isn't too far off after all... (The real joke is that Mydei, realizing immediately who the gifts were from, invented an entire "hunting my admirer down" story just for the fun of watching Phainon squirm--and, well, because keeping the whole thing going, being showered with attention by his rival, doesn't feel too bad at all.)

4. The opposite fic: The one where Mydei's completely mismatched online personality accidentally catfishes Phainon and causes some very silly drama. Mydei's (anonymous) teletweet account is full of cutesy chimera kitten memes, aesthetic pictures of food, heart emojis, and overly punctuated (with exclamation points) recaps of shopping trips in Okhema's market... Can anyone blame Phainon for thinking this is the account of a cute girl who is refreshingly earnest about her love for chubby seals and pink milk tea? But as Phainon becomes closer and closer to "Fig Stew" online, things get more and more complicated--because he's also been getting closer and closer to his real world companion Mydeimos lately. Both Fig and Mydei are wonderful, and Phainon can barely bear the thought of losing either of them in his life. Trying to get closer to them both would be way too dishonest, but choosing one over the other... What should he do? Meanwhile, Mydei is in trouble. He wasn't planning to set up some secret identity or anything; it's not his fault Phainon mistook him for a girl online! There's nothing weird about dudes posting sparkling kitten gifs, godsdammit!! But now the charade's gone on way too long to come clean, especially since Phainon seems so invested, and... well, can you blame Mydei for not wanting to give up on the closest thing to a relationship he's ever managed to start? tl;dr: Online mistaken identity hijinks fic.

5. The required-in-every-fandom time travel fic (with bonus fake dating)! Through an outpouring of Oronyx's power, Mydei and Phainon end up in the bodies of their future selves, who, it turns out, have not only managed to end Amphoreus' war and revive Castrum Kremnos, but... appear to have also... gotten married?!! Now Mydei and Phainon have to not only find out exactly how their future selves managed to save the world (so they can accomplish the same task) then look for a way back to their own time--they've got to do all of that while also pretending to be a happily wedded pair of rulers to avoid raising everyone's suspicions. This would be a whole lot easier if either of them knew the first thing about being actual kings... or about relationships. The slightest slip up could create ripple effects that change the entire timeline permanently, but--no matter how nerve-wracking it might be to admit, after seeing the future in store for them together--there's nothing Phainon (and Mydei) won't do to make sure things go exactly as they should.