#don't get enough chances for that kind of thing

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

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this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Jumping right back in to part 3!

Accurate depiction of me knowing what's about to happen to the readers dad. 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

And:

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off. “What? What is it?!” you yell. He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?” You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭

Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.

Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

It's a whole vibe 🍞

Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket. Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. 🤣

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him.  Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂

He finally drags you to him in a kiss.  It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

See I feel better already 🥰

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.

And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.

This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❤️

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 4

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Tysm to everyone who voted in the poll for this chapter!!

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Masterlist: x

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Divider by @plum98

“What do you know about your neighbor?”

You’d expected the one in the goggles—what was his name again?—to do the talking, purely based on the fact that he's the one who kidnapped you in the first place. But it’s the one with the porcelain mask who wastes no time cutting to the point.

You wonder how blatantly obvious your fear is as you shake your head and stutter out an answer.

“I-I don’t—I don’t know anything.”

Your eyes dart nervously between the three of them. You feel like you're trying to convince a pack of wolves not to eat you alive. The odds are so blatantly stacked against you that it feels pointless to even try defending yourself.

"Well, you're gonna have to come up with something, sunshine. Because you're no use to us if you don't tell us anything. And the way things are looking now," he trails off, almost as if to bask in your helplessness.

You try not to shift in place, try not to feel like a piece of meat dangling in front of three hungry dogs.

And then even though you don't need him to spell it out for you, he finishes his sentence anyway.

"You're gonna want to give us something to work with."

You glance wearily between the three of them.

The black-masked man is casually leaning against the wooden drawer by the door. He doesn't seem to have any weapons on him, but one look at his well-built shape is enough to tell you he probably doesn't need any, anyway. When he notices you looking, he tilts his head to the side, and you quickly look away.

The other one, the guy in the goggles, is the stillest you've ever seen him be. There's an almost anticipatory calm to him, like at any moment, he'd be ready to jump into action. You don't even want to cast your gaze down to the hatchets hanging from his hips.

When you look back at the man in the white mask, you find that he's crossed his burly arms over his chest.

Your stomach sinks.

They're so much bigger than you, so much stronger. Even if you weren't outnumbered—hell, even if there were two of you against only one of them, you're not entirely certain you'd be able to run away, much less fight.

"I... I don't—"

You swallow back the rest of your sentence when an image of blood soaking through wooden floors flashes to mind. Push it down, push it down. Now's not the time to think about it.

"I didn't," you correct yourself with a flinch, even though it has the taste of acid rising to the back of your throat, "didn't ever get the chance to know her personally."

You cast your eyes to the floor. And when all you can imagine is a cold body lying in front of you, you squeeze them shut.

In all honesty, you never really cared about your neighbor. She was a hag; a crooked old woman who didn't take care of herself and who, truthfully, gave you the creeps.

You don't know what she got up to in her spare time. You certainly don't know what she could've done to merit the attention from these sorts of people. You don't even think you want to know. But regardless of your opinion of her, you need to think of something.

You need to think of a good enough lie.

"She... she mostly kept to herself," you shift, and the bed creaks beneath your weight. "She was a shut-in; didn't go out much, didn't like people—that kind of thing."

You take a deep breath.

Lie like your life depends on it—because it does.

"I don't know why me, but she—she let me in. She didn’t like anyone else, but she confided in me. And she... she was never specific about her secrets, about the kind of things she did that pushed people away..."

You shift again, and the throbbing pain of the cable ties rubbing into your sore wrists helps you focus on weaving together the frail threads of your story. You can only hope that your concentration comes off as recalling something from memory and not imagination.

"But I know she was scared. And ashamed. It's why she always kept to herself; she couldn't bear her guilt and paranoia to others."

The more you speak, the clearer your story becomes. You mingle facts with fiction, inventing a character, a mockery of the woman who's likely in a body bag at this point. A woman who's had her life stolen by the very man standing to your left.

You try not to shiver as the thought, unwelcome, comes to mind.

"So that's it? That's all you know?"

The white-masked man leaves no room for hesitation in his question, no space to keep dancing around the bush. Cold, curt, dry.

You wonder if he can see through your act, and you have to hold back the urge to cringe.

They want something specific, you realize. Some concrete piece of information that you clearly don't have. If you make something up, they'll know immediately. But it's not like you can just admit you're bullshitting your way through this.

You rub your wrists together again, looking for some kind of out, some kind of safety you can cling to before it's too late.

But you must be taking too long for their liking. Because as you're scrambling to come up with something, he nods to the brunet.

Their executioner, you realize with daunting horror. They're going to clean up their loose end right here, right now. They're going to kill you.

"Wait—wait!"

In a frantic panic, as you're clumsily kicking as far back away from him as possible, you stammer, "W-wait, I—I know more!"

Despite his white-masked accomplice's impatience, he pauses. And that's when it clicks.

Whether they like it or not, you have some semblance of influence over the situation. They want something you have—information they think you possess, information that's important enough for them to risk an abduction over. There's a chance you might be their only lead.

You're your own bargaining chip.

"I know more," you repeat. "And—and I'll tell you if you promise to bring me home. Unharmed."

The man huffs, and his black-masked counterpart snorts out a low laugh.

"Alright, sunshine, you wanna pinky promise on that while we're at it, too?"

You ignore the rush of heat rising up your face. "I'll show you," you blurt out impulsively, "bring me back and I'll show you."

The man cocks his head. You don't fail to notice the way the muscles in his arms jump, like he's flexing to relieve some kind of tension in his body. You don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Show what?" he all but hisses.

"She—she kept a hiding spot. She was always very secretive about it. But I saw her. I saw her go into it, and I know it's where she hid her important things. Whatever you're after..." you hesitate, then muster every ounce of confidence to say, "there's a high likelihood it's in there."

You twist your wrists against the plastic ties. Pins and needles prickle the tips of your fingers, but you're thankful for the sensation. It grounds you.

Another huff.

"And what makes you think we're even after that kind of thing?"

You shake your head, try not to bite your lip, try not to let the cracks show through your facade. "Bring me back, and I'll show you. I'll tell you everything I know. And I promise I won't say a word about any of this."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, like he's considering your offer. You're too scared to add anything else, too scared to spoil your measly chance at freedom. So you just quietly sit there and wait for what he has to say.

Without necessarily meaning to, your sight lands on the man with the goggles. Your gazes lock, and when he cracks his neck to the side, that flutter of fear and nausea tugs at your chest again.

You remember the blood on his hands. You remember the scream.

You, again, have to force away the reminder of what these men are capable of as you sit there, tied up and helpless between the three of them. All you can do is wait.

After what feels like way too long, the masked man "hmps."

"Don't make me regret this, sunshine."

It's all he says as he turns around and returns to the joint room.

The two other men linger behind, and for a second, you're almost worried something bad is going to happen. But then the black-masked man turns as well, and the brunet follows suit.

They're both around halfway through the door when, even to your own surprise, you dare to call out to them.

“W-wait!”

The men pause, and when the one with the goggles turns to look at you, your face warms. You try not to shrink back from his gaze as you speak.

“I—My wrists hurt. I can’t feel my hands. Can you… can you please take the zip ties off?”

It’s a long shot, you know it is. You're beyond humiliated for having to ask—and even more so as you anticipate their mocking rejection.

But, to your surprise, your kidnapper seems to hesitate.

“Please.”

You offer one last measly, pathetic little plea in the hopes of reaching whatever semblance of compassion that might still be buried within him.

He cracks his neck again, and then he wordlessly approaches.

You should be relieved. You should be happy that he's going to help you, that he's going to untie you and grant you some bare minimum of autonomy. But all you feel is fear as he unhooks a hatchet from his belt and comes closer.

You flinch as the metal blade glints menacingly in front of you. When he wraps his arms around your form to reach your wrists, you don't even dare to open your eyes.

He doesn't touch you, but he's so close that you can feel his warmth on your skin. His scent envelops you, wrapping around you like a false sense of security. You don't move, you don't even breathe.

You half expect the blade to sink into your back. But with one flick of his wrists, the plastic snaps, and warm blood floods into your hands, all the way to the very tips of your fingers. He didn't so much as nick you in the process.

You're not entirely certain if you just imagine him lingering next to you. You can't see his eyes, but you can feel his gaze soaking in your reaction.

What does he want from you?

It almost feels like he's about to say something, but then, to your relief once more, he leaves.

You've just enough time to look up and catch the black-masked man watching the whole interaction from the doorframe. But then he turns and leaves, and so does the one in the goggles, and they shut the door behind themselves and lock it with a resounding click.

•••

Over the next few hours, you become a slave to the clock on the nightstand. Every minute ticking by feels painfully slow.

You expect the men to return and tell you they're ready to take you back. But when that doesn't happen, it starts to feel like little more than wishful thinking. You wonder if they lied, if they're just biding their time until they find the best way to dispose of you. And that's when you realize you probably shouldn't keep waiting around like some kind of damsel.

You need to find a way out of here.

The first thing you try is the most obvious option; the front door. You fiddle with it for the better part of an hour, and when your frustration mounts, you're tempted to break it. But you don't want the men to hear—you certainly don't want to attract their attention—so you come up with a quieter solution.

You rummage through the drawers and find a pen. There aren't any scrap pieces of paper around, so you rip out a page from the bible on the nightstand and write your message. You slip the paper through the crack, and then, just in case only one isn't noticeable enough, you write a few more and cram them all under.

You wait a few minutes, pressing your ear to the door to listen in on the other side. But there's nothing except dead silence.

You fidget in place, at a loss for what to do with yourself. And then you get the idea to listen in on their side of the wall too.

Hands pressing to painted wood, you gently press your ear to the surface. You close your eyes, strain your hearing, and wait.

One minute.... two minutes... three...

They're either very quiet, or the rooms are ridiculously well-insulated. You somehow doubt the latter. You wonder if they're still in there, or if they've since left. You make it a point to be more attentive to sounds both in the hallway and in their room.

Another half hour and it hits you; you're hungry.

You drink water from the sink in the hopes of it filling you, but it barely helps at all.

When you catch another glimpse of your reflection, your eyes dart to the shower behind you. You weigh your options, then decide, fuck it; you might as well.

It ends up being a good distraction. The scalding water feels wonderful against your skin. And with nothing else to do but wait, you take the luxury of your sweet, sweet time.

You only come out when the water starts losing its heat.

Even though it isn't very appealing to put your dirty clothes back on, you realize you don't have much of a choice. You'd rather wear not-so-clean clothes than be caught between three masked men in nothing but a towel. You get dressed, return to the room, and are surprised to find two plastic-wrapped sandwiches on your bed.

Your mouth waters immediately at the sight. You scarf both of them down, and even though you pause to consider saving the second one, you're so hungry that you can’t resist it. You try to savor it as much as possible.

And then you're left waiting and waiting and waiting some more.

The following two days are spent similarly.

You're given food and, on occasion, some kind of drink when you're either sleeping or in the bathroom, which means they're listening to what you're doing.

Well, either that, or there's a hidden camera somewhere in the room. You've checked every nook and cranny, but the possibility still lingers at the back of your mind. You don't even want to consider the implications of what that might entail.

You try staying awake the second night, just to try to catch them when they come into your room. But you don't hear them, and after waiting in the dark for a few hours, you end up passing out halfway through the night.

The possibility that they lied about bringing you back becomes increasingly plausible on the third day.

You feel trapped.

You're too scared to scream for someone to save you. Not only are you worried about getting gagged and tied, but you also don't want to risk the ever-so-faint and dwindling possibility that they might still bring you back home. And even if they don't plan on letting you go, you're worried—most of all—about them killing you if you make too much of a scene.

No one seems to have noticed any of the dozens or so notes you slipped under the doorway, which, if you had to guess, means your kidnappers saw them and threw them out. Either that, or they picked a room at the very back of a hallway in some obscure hotel no one ever stays at. But even in that case, surely the hotel staff would've stumbled on them... right?

Eventually, it feels like your last option is to knock on their door and ask when they plan on bringing you back.

You lift your knuckles over their door, then hesitate.

The minutes tick by.

But you just can't bring yourself to knock.

You're too scared.

You go back to pacing back and forth in your little prison of a room.

On the third night, you're determined to stay up.

Even despite the clock on your nightstand keeping you grounded in reality, your lack of a proper routine—lack of a proper anything—has your body's rhythm completely out of sorts. You slept through most of the day, and when the night comes, you're wide awake.

Still, you're wrapped in the cheap hotel sheets, lying in the dark with your eyes closed in the hopes of fooling anyone who comes into thinking that you're sleeping. And even though you aren't tired, by the time you eventually do hear the door creaking open, you're on the verge of falling asleep.

The sound, however, snaps you right back to full attention.

You try to keep your breathing steady, try not to disrupt the flow of your chest rising and falling so evenly.

You wait and listen, and you hear... nothing.

You try not to shift. Try not to let it interrupt the flow of your breathing. You just lay there and wait, wondering what happened. Did they only open the door to quickly check in on you? Did they not actually come into the room?

You wait a little while longer, and then, right as you're about to open your eyes, you feel it. You're being watched.

[mydarlingclaudia]

lalala I’m not immune to him… butcher Simon and fem!reader

wc : 882

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

sigh. Butcher!Simon Riley.

You're new in town, you need a job, you need to have something to do. Too bad that no one besides the small coffee shop a few minutes away was hiring, you got the job, but they could only offer you time to work in the mornings.

After the first week, one of your coworkers told you about the butcher shop down the street that could really use some help (even though the owner refused to put up a sign in the window or anything of the sort), it really wasn't an awful idea to give it a shot, yeah?

The first thing you notice when you walk into the small shop is that the man behind the counter is huge, like, stereotypical slasher kind of huge with a few scars on his face to really sell the look. He hardly pays you any mind, just a small glance and "What'cha gettin'?" while he wipes his hands on his apron.

You panic, mumble out that a few slices of pepperoni and salami is fine, then watch him work for a few odd moments before you ask him if there's any chance you could get a job there.

He once again just glances at you before handing the meat off to you and telling you to come back the next day at 4:30.

So– you get the job.

Simon–your boss's name, apparently–figured there was no harm in hiring you, you'd be working in the afternoon and cutting meat isn't too difficult. Plus, seeing your face light up when he told you the good news made him feel better.

The whole thing comes almost naturally, you don't mind the clean-up that needs to be done afterwards and you're good with the customers, it certainly makes everything easier for Simon. Another good thing is that he lives right above the shop, so if there's no customers that day, he'll just send you home, he can come downstairs if someone knocks on the door.

He's stopped by the coffee shop a few times, too, he normally makes a comment along the lines of "Busy girl, aye?" or "See you in an hour." but it’s easy to brush off.

It’s only after a couple of months when Simon really starts to talk to you, before it had just been him asking about your day or talking about shipments and customers, but now it’s asking about your favorite movies and if you’ve gone to that nice restaurant just outside of town yet, if you’ve got any plans for the weekend and “Wanna know somethin’ funny?”

Turns out he was in some kind of military, you only found out when he had leaned over the counter when someone was ordering and a pair of dog tags slid out from the front of his shirt. Simon tucked them back under his shirt when the customer left, so you thought it was better not to ask.

Anyway, he keeps getting friendlier with you. Telling you that you could take more of the tips from the tip jar was, going out to get lunch for the both of you and evening bringing you food he made from time to time, offering to walk you home, normal things. What you considered a bit odd was when he’d start helping you adjust your jacket whenever you’d put it on to leave or when he’d bring you actual gifts like earrings and sweaters that he said he didn’t need anymore.

Even though you thought it was strange, you liked it, Simon’s a lot sweeter than he looks.

Watching him work is great, too. You’re in no way complaining that you get to see the muscles underneath his shirt flexing nearly everyday, the doting and pet names he calls you are another added bonus.

Once you’ve been working there for nearly a year, he starts inviting you up to his apartment for dinner and insisting that you should just stay with him when the weather is bad. You just brush it off each time, saying you don’t want to intrude and that a little bit of snow wouldn’t hurt you, but the look in his eyes makes your gut twist and you almost say yes.

If that wasn’t enough for you to want to go home with him, then maybe the soft touches would be. Whenever Simon’s hands were clean, there’d always be a steadying hand on your back or a gentle squeeze to your hip when he passes behind you.

Besides, the time Simon decided the shop was closing early when it was almost time for you to go home for the night had been special, but that’s because he asked you, “Y’doin’ anythin’ tonight?” when you were putting on your jacket.

You never do much of anything at home, so you thought nothing of it when you shook your head and turned to the door, but once again, his big hands found their way to your waist and a kiss was planted to the corner of your eye before you could really process that Simon was ushering you out and walking beside you.

”Then we’re goin’ out tonight, ‘kay? Proper like.” You weren’t going to say no, and his hand that squeezed more made it feel like he was planning on keeping you.

[mushgloomz]

Modern Love

dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

• A/N: you asked and i shall provide. presenting my new magnum opus, dbf!Joel x reader slow burn realness - i want this shit to last, so it will be a series (apologies if you were hoping for a one-off, i can't bring myself to do it). also probs good to mention that this is a shameless self-insert fic bc us british girlies need some JM love okay? title and chapters inspired by 80s songs bc i'm insatiable.

• Warnings: no outbreak au, language, alcohol consumption, pet names, reader is afab, british and has hair - no other physical descriptions (and the british thing is only mentioned in passing dw).

• Word Count: approx 2.5k

1: Let’s Hear It for the Boy

You pottered around the kitchen, the countertops left messy in your wake; you weren’t a baker by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d tasked yourself off with making a birthday cake. If it came out edible, you’d gladly consider it a successful endeavor.

It wasn’t your birthday, nor your father’s - ever since your parents’ divorce and your father’s subsequent mid-life crisis move to the States, you’d lived with your dad in Austin, Texas. Both of you had been there for the best part of six years. You’d visit your mother back in the UK periodically, usually over the summer, and return just in time for the neighbourhood’s favourite celebration: Joel Miller’s birthday BBQ.

Joel and your father had become fast friends; meeting at a trader’s warehouse by chance, and bonding over their appreciation for a cold one in front of the TV. Both men were reserved by nature and were single fathers to their kids - that being yourself and Sarah, Joel’s daughter.

You ducked your head, peeking into the oven to check on the progress of your passion project. Nothing looked burnt as far as you could see and, much to your surprise, a pleasant smell was emanating from the cake tins and wafting around the kitchen.

When your father had asked why you were so insistent on making a cake for his best friend, you fell short of an answer. The reality was that, since you’d known him, Joel had been at the centre of near enough every fantasy you’d had. He was hot, funny, and surprisingly kind given his reputation for being a bit of a grouch.

You’d almost developed a sort of secondary friendship with Joel, branching off from that of him and your father. He’d ask for you to ‘babysit’ Sarah for him, even though she was sixteen and arguably more capable at taking care of herself than you were. A fledgling friendship grew between her and yourself each time you visited; letting her talk about the drama at her highschool.

Another ten minutes passed before you finally conceded and opened the oven door, a waft of steam hitting your face as you did so. From what you could see and smell, the labour of love had been successful. You pulled the tins from the rack, and set them on the side to cool. You’d deal with them later - now, it was time for you to get yourself sorted.

You hopped into the shower, rinsing batter from the ends of your hair, scrubbing at every inch of your body. Despite the painfully obvious fact that Joel Miller was not the kind of man to date someone half his age, you preened and polished yourself until you were silky smooth and quite literally glowing - you opted to live in hope, after all.

After your shower you traipsed into your room, slumping onto your bed, still wrapped in a towel. You scrolled through your phone aimlessly, reading through messages that you'd been sent whilst you'd been distracted by your newfound baking talent.

tell the DILF I say happy birthday ;)

The message from your best friend back in the UK elicited a small laugh. There was something pleasantly nostalgic about tittering over someone entirely unattainable; it reminded you of being back at school, taking it in turns to gush over whatever boyband member took your fancy at the time.

Enjoy the party today, don't make a tit of yourself xx

Your mother knew you all too well. In all fairness, she had dealt with the consequences of your drunken teenage years most of the time, so it made sense. You scrolled through a few more generic messages; the work group-chat, a discount code from some mailing list, and...

Excited to see you kid :)

Oh. Oh. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Joel was excited to see you. He probably sent the same message to several other people, but you relished in the attention nonetheless. If anything, it spurred you on to finally get dressed and get back to the cake downstairs.

You slipped on a summer dress; it was light and airy, perfect for the brutally hot weather. It was ankle length, a soft pink and white paisley-style print over the soft cotton, and a split to the thigh over the right leg. It hugged where it needed to, and honestly? You looked fucking fantastic.

Trotting down the stairs and back into the kitchen, you groaned under your breath. The mess that you'd made whilst baking was worse when you saw it with fresh eyes. The cakes were cooled now on the wire rack that you had left them on; your dad would just have to dodge the splodges of batter and eggshell scattered across the countertops.

After a futile attempt at decorating, you gazed down at the cake. How you'd managed to cock up the icing this much was beyond you, but it would have to do. Your dad was waiting impatiently by the front door, grumbling under his breath, a six pack of beers and a card tucked under his arm. You grabbed the cake, wrapped it in tinfoil, and headed out, balancing it on a platter as you and your father made the short walk to the Miller household.

It was only a few minutes before you'd arrived, stepping up onto the porch behind your father, allowing him to knock whilst your hands were full. A moment passed, and then the door opened. A wide grin and sparkling brown eyes revealed themselves; a charcoal grey t-shirt clung to tan arms. It took all of your self-restraint to not gawp every time you saw Joel - he just got better and better.

Joel clapped a hand on your father's shoulder, mumbling something and essentially shoving him through the threshold of the door. Then his eyes turned to yours, glancing quickly down at the tinfoil wrapped cake in your hands, before speaking with a chuckle.

"Run outta wrapping paper, huh kid?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "Bold of you to assume this is for you, huh Joel?", you quipped teasingly. Much to your delight, your retort elicited another gravelly chuckle from the man. He leant against the doorframe, and you raised an eyebrow, trying not to stare at his bicep. "Well, are you gonna invite me in?", you questioned with a smirk. Joel stood upright, shrugging playfully as he did so.

"'Spose I'd better. Go on, get your ass inside kid."

The giggle that escaped your mouth was entirely involuntary as you ducked under Joel's arm and into the house. A fair few people were milling around indoors, but a majority of the guests were situated in the backyard. You made your way through the back door after perching the cake on the kitchen table.

A few people turned and gave polite waves when you stepped outside, others started their beeline toward you to exchange mundane pleasantries - ‘you’re looking very well!’, and ‘how’s that job of yours?’, and the dreaded ‘have you found a nice boy yet?’. You rinsed and repeated your answers for each person, smiling politely.

Sarah was sat on the grass with a friend; your father was swigging from a bottle of beer and laughing animatedly amongst a group of middle-aged men. Your heart nearly leapt of your chest when someone tapped you on the shoulder, causing you to spin around quickly, eyes wide. Tommy Miller, Joel’s younger brother, stood with a smug grin plastered over his face.

“Well ain’t this a surprise? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a drink in your hand at these get-togethers.”

You scoffed, feigning offence at the all too real accusation. “Big talk for a man that isn’t offering to get me a drink”, you retorted, smirking. Tommy threw his hands up, palms toward you in mock defense, laughing.

“Whoa now! I’m a fine southern gentleman, ‘course I’ll get you a drink. All you had to do was ask, doll.”

The conversations you had with Tommy consisted of little more than playful flirting; sometimes you wondered if he was actually flirting with you, but seeing how he acted around women he was actively trying to pick up resolved any doubts. Any fire and sass was quelled, and he would become almost meek and reserved - the embodiment of flushed cheeks and a coy smile. It was nice being able to know where you stood with him, especially since you didn’t have a fucking clue when it came to Joel.

~~~~

As the hours passed and alcohol swilled around the mouths of every adult in sight, the polite affair that was once a celebratory BBQ had devolved into a raucous cacophony of laughter as a very drunk Joel lured everyone inside the house, stumbling as he went. You were drunk, but not to the same degree; with everyone settled inside, you decided it was the ideal moment to bring out the cake.

You peeled the tinfoil from the confection, grimacing slightly as you looked at it once more - even with beer goggles, it still looked akin to a toddler’s cooking class attempt rather than a 50 year old man’s birthday cake. You stuck a single candle in the centre and used the lighter you had stolen from Tommy earlier that afternoon to light it, before lifting it carefully and carrying it toward the lounge.

As you entered you nodded once at your dad, who was just sober enough to understand your signal, and started to lead the group into a pitchy chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’. You grinned as you walked over to where Joel was sat, setting the cake down on the coffee table in front of him before backing up, snapping a photo of the birthday boy as he held a hand to his chest, a soft smile on his face. He looked at you as he leant down to blow out his candle, mouthing ‘thank you’ before blowing out the flame.

“Y’all sure know how to make a man feel like one lucky son of a bitch. Thanks for comin’ everyone.”

Joel chuckled, smiling widely as he spoke. You glanced at the faces around you; the single women of the neighbourhood doting on his every word, a couple of the married ones too. Your dad held up his beer, calling for a cheers. Picking up your own bottle, you held it up in Joel’s direction, beaming at him as others held up their own drinks.

People began to engage in their own conversations again, shifting and mingling amongst themselves as more drinks were poured. Joel sidled up beside you, standing over you as you cut slices of cake.

“You make this yourself, sweetheart? Just for me?”

Heart thumping in your chest, cheeks burning, you nodded with a shy smile. Before you could raise the knife again, a thick finger swept up some of the icing on the cake’s border. You turned around and watched as Joel put the same finger in his mouth, shooting you a wink as he pulled the digit out with a satisfying pop. He leant in close, so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath melding with his cologne.

“Mm. Tastes as good as you look in that pretty lil’ dress.”

Like a fish out of water, your mouth dropped open ever so slightly and you inhaled sharply. Before you could even comprehend what had just happened, Joel had turned away, shouting out to someone setting up karaoke by the television. Did that really just happen? You must have been hearing things, surely? You considered pouring the rest of your drink away, but fuck it; if you were hearing things like that, it would be worth the hangover.

Karaoke was a shambles, as expected. This wasn't the first birthday BBQ that Joel had relished in the karaoke machine being dragged out - despite his usually very collected exterior, he loved to sing, especially once he had a few drinks in him. It was never the song choice you'd expect someone like him to go for either - the man had a soft spot for 80s music and always requested a power ballad.

Perched on the arm of the sofa, you had a front row seat to Joel's latest performance; in fact, you were one of the few people actually paying any attention. It felt like he was singing to you, the way he crooned the words to 'Don't Dream It's Over', his eyes glancing over your form every once in a while. God, he was gorgeous.

The song concluded and you couldn't resist snapping another photo of the man as he took a swig from his bottle in front of you. It was one of the few occasions that you could get away with it, under the guise of taking them for memory's sake. Joel caught you, and smirked as he lowered his bottle.

Your dress had slipped from one of your shoulders a tad, and before you could lift it once more, Joel had stepped forward. He took the soft cotton between his fingers, letting the tips of them graze your shoulder ever so gently as he slowly shifted it back into place. Your eyes were wide, gazing up at him, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip just so. Joel hummed, low and rumbling, barely audible.

"Sweet girl... better keep that tongue in your mouth 'fore I forget who I am."

Swallowing hard, mouth running dry... did he actually just say that? Did he mean to say it in such a sultry tone? "I-I, uh...", your response was unintelligible at best as you stumbled over the flurry of thoughts in your head. The lounge had since cleared out; Joel chuckled softly under his breath. With a tender touch, he raised a hand to your cheek; a calloused thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

Your lips parted slightly as your breath caught in your throat. Every beat of your heart reverberated in your head. Joel leaned down, still smirking, as he pressed his lips against yours. A breathy gasp left your lips as his moved firmly against yours for just a few moments. He pulled away sooner than you had wanted, leaving you sat there with your chest rising and falling heavily.

Joel's jaw clenched and he scrunched his eyes shut as he stood in front of you, dragging a hand down his face with a sigh. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like an apology, shaking his head ever so slightly, before he turned to leave. You watched as he left the room, stomach turning all the while. Nausea rose up inside you, and as you made a sprint for the bathroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was your fault he had responded in such a way. Shit.

[eclipseberrycake]

Funhouse (Looey x Reader)

AN: Hey guys guess who's a new Sprout main? Me. A Rodger kept taking tapes right in front of me, literally calling me over only to take them the second i was close enough. His friend was playing as Bobette. You took something I loved Rodger main, I'm taking something you love. Since I can't draw her pregnant, she's the new villain until someone else pisses me off. Not yet though. I will bide my time.

Anyway.

☁ Looey. Looey. He's such a guy. A goofy lil' goober.

☁ If you don't think he's with another circus based toon, you're crazy. He's a little too...crazy for lack of a better term. Looey I think really needs someone to match his energy, so another circus toon would be perfect!

☁ Stay with me- A Healer! Toon, who's special ability is kind of like a tightrope. It attaches them to the nearest wall and let's them cross an area without being spotted for like 5 seconds.

☁ I think it's neat especially with Looey.

☁ He's a distractor, evidently, and if you haven't picked it up I love the Distractor X Healer Trope.

☁ Imagine he's running and for some reason nearly gets snapped by Twisted Scraps only for a thing of cotton candy to fall in front of him? I've only ever seen Goobs and Scraps really catch Looey mains tbh.

☁ ANYWAY

☁ They probably use circus foods instead of cupcakes or cookies. And you KNOW Looey loves his circus foods. My personal hc is that he wasn't always part of Gardenview and was part of a circus at some point, so he gets a little homesick :(

☁ Maybe you two both came from the circus in fact and found refuge in Gardenview and joined their cause! That would be cute! Just two sweethearts looking for a safe haven for themselves.

☁ Speaking of which! Looey is so sweet! And cheeky too!

☁ He's constantly giving you little flowers with a cheeky little grin, pecking your cheek and running off before you could even reciprocate, or tapping one shoulder is to make you look only to round around the other side.

☁ He also loves rubbing against you to make your fur/hair all puffy from the static electricity.

☁ He also has so many cool little skills. Like, he can juggle on a unicycle kind of things. He can make balloon animals and is scary good at those scammy carnival games. If you ever get the chance to go to a carnival with Looey, you should know he's pinpointing the largest teddy bear there and you're walking out with it.

☁ On runs, since he's distracting, he doesn't stress too much about you. He trusts you can handle yourself! He only struggles when he knows he's teetering the edge of becoming a twisted and you come to heal him. Your ability makes it easier on him though!

☁ He's always eternally grateful when he hears to deployment of your line, and sees the treat, but never sees you! Not that he doesn't love you and seeing you! But not seeing you while he's distracting is truly best.

☁ He takes the healing well honestly. He's sits with a cheeky, "Alright alright." Gazing at you lovingly the entire time, even if you're scolding him.

☁ The kind of dude to play pranks on his lover for sure. But not mean, tiktok incel pranks, but the confuse don't abuse pranks. :) Like that one husband with his blind husband! He's adding shampoo while you're in the shower and trying to wash it out. He's adding more fries to your plate every time you look away so you think it's an endless plate. He's such a menace.

☁ And he's quick too! So you can't even get him back! Like that one video where the girlfriends dumps cold water on her bf in the shower and he grabs her before she can escape and pulls her in? That's y'all.

☁ You guys probably have a whole lotta activities you do together. Small little hobbies he sees somewhere and wants to try at least once.

☁ Baking turned into some sort of adventure! You've seen Sprout and Cosmo do it with their sweethearts and they always end the time laughing, covered in flour and icing and feeding each other desserts.

☁ Funnel cakes was the treat he was craving when he walked up to you one lazy afternoon. There were no runs going on, supplies were stocked and everyone was taking the well needed break to catch up on some housekeeping, little chores they had been putting off or even just simply napping. It was a day of rest and relaxation!

☁ But Looey wouldn't let that slide. He's had a craving for the sweet treat for so long and now, he has the time to drag you to help him make it! The normal bakers were scattered, out of the kitchen, one of them napping with one of their partners while the other was folding laundry with the other next to them. So that meant it was open!

☁ You yourself were on a device, scrolling through some app that started with a T, reading silently while curled in a blanket. You looked so content there, he almost hesitated to ruin it.

☁ That did not stop him from running full speed only to jump onto you, nuzzling into your neck as you squealed at the intrusion. "Gumdrop!" He cheered while your squeals turned into laughter, pecking soft pecks to your cheeks and lips. "Let's do something!"

☁ "I was doing something." You giggled, brushing back his ears before they popped right back up. He shook his head to make them wave back and forth and tap against your hands, making you laugh again as you moved to hold his head. "But I guess I can share my attention."

☁ "Great!" His tail gave a wag. "I was hoping you and I could go on another baking adventure. I'm thinking funnel cakes!" He cheered, making you roll your eyes fondly.

☁ "Is that what you want now?" You tease, closing your device and setting it to the side.

☁ "At this very second? No. I want a kiss." He beams, making you laugh once more. You give him a sweet little peck, hearing his tail wave side to side rapidly.

☁ Once he was satisfied, he stood with a sweet bow, extending a hand to you. Once you took it, he helped you up before hooking your elbows together, rehashing the time he spent earlier while you had some alone time back to you.

☁ You listened with an attentive ear, smiling the entire time. By the time you made it to the kitchen, he was going on about the game of Crib he and Finn had been playing earlier, and how he had won- even if you knew he had been using the tricks he used in the circus to flub the cards.

☁ You pointed out as much, moving around the kitchen a little clumsily. You found what you needed well enough however, setting it out along with the utensils needed. Looey knew himself well enough to know where his limits lie, so he put a pot of oil on the stove, turning the burner on before stepping back, watching you whip up a quick batter.

☁ "You look glorious, you know that?" He teased, watching your cheeks flush as you tried hiding your smile. He loved seeing that look on your face, especially knowing it was because of him.

☁ There was something about you that just had him acting like a whole new toon! It was kind of uncanny really. He wouldn't admit, except to maybe you, but at the beginning of his time with the circus, he feared he was too different. Too much. And he hated being alone.

☁ Then you showed up and life hasn't been the same. He will forever be eternally grateful to have you in his life and fully plans to cherish you for as long as you will allow him too.

☁ It was why he insisted on having moments like these so often. He never wanted to say he wished he could've done it with you and would've rather had the memories to look back on. Especially with the twisteds. He had only been a twisted once, and could only remember running and running and running hoping to find you or any trace of you.

☁ Waking up, back to himself, and seeing you was one of the best-worst moments of his life.

☁ He knew seeing him like that must've been scary for you and tried desperately to erase that memory with only good ones.

☁ And if sifting powdered sugar onto freshly fried dough and drizzling it with your favorite sweet sauce helped erase some of those bad memories too?

☁ Well, he found he didn't mind a single bit, laughing at the powder dusting you nose as you fed him the first bite of the first treat, laughing when he got sauce all over his face.

[aplacefordreaming24]

Wawawa! This will be very long, I apologize!

What does your f/o's hugs feel like?

Like home. They're warm and they're safe. I can feel him next to me and I know that he's real and I'm real and that it's safe; it's okay. And I can just sit there as long as I need until I'm ready. To me, that's home.

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

Hmm. I like silly dinner dates! It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy, I'd be happy just going to an IHOP at 3 in the morning for a date. Or park dates!! A picnic or just taking walks around the place while we hold hands. Very simple things like that :3

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

I think he likes dates where we get to go to aquariums, museums, planetariums, etc. Places where he gets to watch me be in awe of everything and he has the chance to impress me with all his knowledge on whatever subject we're discussing. That, or more fancy dinner dates! Because I don't get to do a lot of anything fancy in general!

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

We both have a lot of songs that make us think of each other, so I will go off of what's on our shared playlist! The song that reminds me of him is "Furever" by PhemieC! The song that reminds him of me is "Sick of Losing Soulmates" by Dodie Clark!

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

Hmm, well! I'm only 4'10", and he's 5'9"! So while he's not like, giant, he's still pretty tall compared to me! I only reach his shoulder! Idk the actual math though!

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

I'd say about 3 at the start of the relationship, and with enough time, we got it to an 8! He can still be a little jittery around PDA, not necessarily for the public aspect of it, but for the actual physical affection. But he can get pouty if I'm not at least holding his hand <3

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

Is it cliche to say his eyes? They're such a pretty shade of blue <3 I'd happily sit and stare into them for hours if I could. Or maybe his voice? I love the sound of it, especially when he sings.

What do you think they smell like?

Hmm. Mint. Clean linens. Pine trees, surprisingly. Forests. He smells like winter. It's soothing.

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

I think it would be gift giving in terms of showing affection, and words of affirmation/physical touch for receiving affection! He lives off of praise and kind touch. I never pass up a chance to call him a sweet name or give a compliment, or press a kiss to his cheek/touch his hair. Anything to remind him I love him.

As for gift giving, I think it's a default, almost? Being surrounded by wealth for so long, around a lot of frivolous and materialistic people, he might believe that's just how people generally are. Except, I am horrible at receiving gifts. Worse than horrible. But it's okay, he will learn I want kisses and nice touches back! (And work on helping me accept gifts, oops).

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

Yes! It's very comfortable. He likes to be big spoon (is that too much to say?) and generally speaking, it's a bunch of comfortable blankets and being wrapped up in each other's arms. I like to lay on his chest and hear his heart beat while he has his nose in my hair. It's the only way I know how to sleep nowadays...

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

I think my favorite is how selfless he is, hehe! He used to do ballet, only because his little sister was too nervous to do it alone, which was soooo sweet of him! He's very flexible and still good at dancing, and it's fun to tease him about it hehe!!

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

Oh god, here we go again /silly. I have always described it as the same dynamic as Orpheus and Eurydice from Hadestown. A man who fell in love with a woman. Just two people who simply fell in love. One who can help the other see how the world could be, and one who can help the other see how the world is. And we'll fall in love, over and over again <3

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

He holds me...... He doesn't do much, though he feels a need to, I'm sure. But I really don't ask for much. I just wanna be held until I feel better. And maybe talk about it for hours until I'm over it, but he's there to listen and get whatever happened off my mind when I'm done.

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

It's the best feeling in the world <3

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

He does!! His favorite place to kiss me is my forehead/the top of my head. Or if he really wants to fluster me, he'll kiss my hands and fingers!

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

Yes, all the time!!! Specifically his cheek/neck/jaw!

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

Nap. Napping. Sleeping. Laying in bed together with no responsibilities for the day, just wrapped up in each other and being warm and happy? Sign me up, please. Napping together because we fell asleep watching a movie? Hell yes. I love naps. We deserve it.

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

Hmm, I can't think of a specific compliment, but he loves to call me sunshine/sweetheart! I am also considering the idea he likes to call me honey <3

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

My favorite compliment to give him is how selfless, kind, sweet, thoughtful he is! I don't think he realizes it or hears it enough. That he's much nicer that he realizes. I call him teddy/teddy bear a lot, but also my love, love, my prince, my knight, etc etc.

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

[skeletonh0e]

The boys in heat

Extremely self indulgent UT Sans x Reader, US x Reader, UF Sans x Reader, HT Sans x Reader, and UL Sans x Reader. Talks of impregnation, breeding and a lot of overstimulating. AFAB Anatomy but pronouns are gender neutral. NSFW obvs

No trigger warnings I think? Some minor blood & cnc play with Horror Sans + cum inflation with Underlust Sans but that's it

🔞 Minors DNI

Classic Sans :

Awkward is the best term to describe him during this time, Sans does not like being out of control of his body in any form and his heat especially as it progresses is gonna be an experience to say it lightly

Generally hard to be easy and laid back when your body is not uh....not that

He deliberately does not tell you about it, avoids sex like the plague, and is just generally acting weird, until you either put the pieces together or he genuinely thinks he might pounce on you at any moment

He personally admits he normally rides these out alone and doesn't know how he'll act around a partner

Now that you're here though, things are different

A brief chat mainly to ease him into it as you genuinely trust Sans regardless of what pheromones are doing to him

Once things get started well? It is a lot

Sans had previously been attentive during sex don't get me wrong, however he just kind of treats it like anything else he does. Chill and laid back.

During his heat? He's clingy, impatient and needy, going for several rounds at a time, begging to pump you full of his cum, groping at anything and everything.

Naturally rougher as a result, though it's less intentional and more out of sheer desperation because even without extreme horny brain you turn him on so fucking much

"sorry baby i can't help it-" being said as he fucks you through your fifth orgasm of the day, he's cum inside you many times at this rate but his body screams for more and for more of you specifically

When he does tire himself out or manage to calm his urges enough to think properly he does help clean up, order take out and cuddle. The occasional pun here or there, "i'd make a dick joke but that'd come across as cocky wouldn't it"

But per usual cool down periods do not last for that long, you have woken up before with him grinding against you nearly whimpering as he needs another round

Never been extremely heavy on dirty talk, but he's a lot more quiet during his heat cycle outside of grunts and moans. When he does speak it's normally making sure you're okay, praising you, telling you he's close.

Occasionally he'll mumble things to himself likely things he didn't mean to say outloud, stuff like how good you're gonna look knocked up, how much he wants to fill you right now, and that he wants to breed you so fucking bad

Kinda...protective in a way he just isn't, even when he isn't balls deep inside you. Hovering over you, attending to your needs outside of the bed room attentively, and on the off chance you need to speak with someone else. He is there, as if waiting for the moment he's needed to intervene.

Definitely some nesting behavior, that's pretty endearing.

Underswap Sans :

Does tell you about it beforehand, blunders a bit, sort flustered, but he wants a gameplan before anything else and he did not want to risk scaring you off.

You get the whole run down, how long the cycle lasts, what to expect, the likely good if a kid happening, etc, etc.

You start out very informed and you do prep for it accordingly, though Sans did insist that you could just sit this out as he is aware he becomes a lot during this period

And boy howdy was he not fucking joking

This man has some serious energy, combine that with his over energetic nature in general and his need to please you feel like you're basically rendered into his personal fleshlight as he pounds into you over and over

Anytime he cums, he simply just doesn't stop. Still hard and thrusting into you like jack hammer, as if the previous orgasm was just a little hiccup.

Don't worry he's just as eager to please you as he is himself

Sans has always been a bit of a worshipper in the bedroom regardless of who's on top (you two switch it up quite a bit), he really gets off on just knowing he's making you feel good and likes to praise you cuz he looooooves you

He's sickeningly sweet sometimes and on his heat

Every orgasm you have is getting milked outta you

He'll happily play with with clit and tits while pounding into you, man handling your form in passionate manner. Anything to make you moan louder and cum on his cock again

Very chatty too, not that he was ever quite but it's full force here. On and on about how pretty you look stuffed with his cum, how you're so tight, how he wants to never stop and how he's going to keep making you feel so good

Due to his high stamina cool down periods almost like never happen, he will still stop and tend to your needs when you're hungry or tired but he has a raging hard on the entire time.

You work on a compromise of him jerking off and cuming on your nude form either when asleep or utterly wrecked with your over flown pussy needs a break

Which while at first he doesn't seem that thrilled about the idea, changes his mind as he really likes the idea of you being covered and marked in his scent.

It's less out of jealousy and more out of pride to mark you a deliciously nude way

Underfell Sans :

Would have told you about his heat....if he remembered

You're both kinds thrown for a loop by it, you more than him honestly. But thankfully you at least knew monsters did have heat cycles so it wasn't as out of nowhere as it could be

Though at first it did just seem like just Sans but hornier

Sans seems to have two main moods that be flip flops in-between, VERY aggressive in which he fucks you with malicious almost violent intent telling you that he owns your pussy, that you're his little fuck doll and he's going make sure everyone knows it

And a big massive softie that's extremely sweet and lovey dovey to you. Something that was normally only happened in very small doses or when he's utterly shit faced

It's not just praise but adoring you, talking about how much he loves, you that he's lucky to have you, how he just knows you're going to make a great parent

The whiplash is real, especially since sometimes he'll change his tone half way through fucking you. It's never entirely clear what sets either side off, other than occasionally his sweet side normally happens once he's cum once or twice

Very...possessive during it all, constantly rambling about how you belong to him and he'll kill anyone that even thinks about doing this to you

You don't know how much he'll actually act on that threat, but it's probably a good thing that neither of you are able to get out much.

But frankly while he's like this he would be willingly to fuck you someplace public tbh

So. Many. Fucking. Hickeys. You're covered in them by the time it's all over.

Cool down periods he does his best for after care, but like....he's very quiet. Almost like he feels guilty, especially at the sight of all the bruises you have. Which you will have to reassure him that he didn't cross any lines and that you liked it

"you're really some kind of freak ain't cha?"

"Your freak."

Horrortale Sans ;

Primal and animalistic are the best terms to describe him while he's like this.

Before the famine heats were no big deal, now however the term "wanting to fuck like animals" has never been more accurate

Sans never told you he got them, but you learned about them via other monsters so you were prepared on some level and even a little intrigued

Once a monster sets his sight on a mate, they'll frequently hunt them or fight off any other possible suitors. And given how you and Sans like to play Prey and Hunter, this allows you take things up a notch

The moment you know he's gone into heat, you run, you hide and he comes after you. It's a hell of a thrill, especially since you know it guarantee a better pounding once he finally gets you

You shifting around in the forest, sneaking around before you hear a husky voice call out "i know you're here sweetheart-"

You attempt to book it the other direction but the only thing you can comprend is a simple phrase before you're pinned to the ground

"gotcha."

The way you're fucked is brutal, he's never been gentle really but this is something else. Your entire body quakes with his thrusts, you're screaming as his cock is jammed against your g-shot and nearly rendered to tears from it all

He bites too, not just bruising you but definitely drawing blood then lapping it up with the same feral hunger that he fucks you with

Not very talkative, mostly just growls and groans. Only occasionally barking out "mine" or a "you're not going anywhere sweetheart" if you attempt to squirm away from him

Not that you really want him to stop but the struggle turns both of you on, he likes working for it and you like driving him up the wall to be honest

You're brutally fucked outside, clothes ripped off you, covered in bloody bite marks, pussy full of his cum, on the verge of passing out until he seems to either we decide to let up or is tired himself. He'll drape his coat around your naked form then carry you back to his place

If anyone attempts to stop him they're killed on sight, this is his mate and no one gets to touch them during this time.

When you wake up there'll simply be a low growl of "told ya you weren't going anywhere" before the cycle continues.

He does halt to care for you, you're his mate after all, but again weirdly silent throughout most of it.

It'll be a while until he's more chatty again, it's best to reassure him you were into his somehow more violent and extreme side of him.

Underlust Sans ;

Literally just his entire personality dialed to his natural extreme

Also doesn't think to tell you simply because he forgets it's not a common thing and to be fair it takes you while to notice

It's not until you're ten round today that you ask if something it up as while yeah he's got serious stamina and loves to fuck normally his dick would be a little soft by now

"Babe please tell me you didn't take some monster viagra-"

It makes him laugh before he breaks it down for you but also assures you there's no shame in tapping out and that monsters down here have ways to handle this without a partner

You take it as a challenge especially as he tells you it's not a challenge

It's one you enjoy though

The shift is his personality are far more subtle, rougher, a bit more dominant, and extremely fixated on pumping you full of cum. Like extremely fixated on it.

And whether it's the heat or some other factor you're not accounting for he cums a lot more than usual. Sometimes you'll just pinned down feeling his cock gush waves of his seed for several minutes as it fills you up.

He praises you through it all, telling you how good you are for him, how you take it all so well, and reassures you when it's almost done.

Your stomach looks more than a little bloated with it glowing with all the magic he just pumped into you and he definitely has a toy blog that helps you keep all of it in there

When you need a break from getting your pussy filled, anal play and oral keep you mouth entertained. You try swallowing his massive load but you end up having plenty spill out then the rest paint your body

And Sans looks super smug after wards the entire time

Definitely likes to tease you when he can, "bet you've never been fucked this good before huh?" said playing with your overstimulated clit while your whole is still plugged with a belly full of HIS cum

Having the most control over himself and already being a king of after care you're pretty much set when you do need a break for real

But you can't help being cheeky when you two are cuddling then you feel his erection rising up again

"You having fun?"

"i dunno it's a little hard."

[ttheggrimrreaper]

Haii I love your writing and I was wondering if you could do a NSFW with gagamaru needing you so bad he sneaks into your window in the middle of the night (he's all out of breath and sweating lol) and fem!reader is really sweet about it please and thank you!!

Thank you so much!!!! Sure I can!

Needy

Gagamaru x Fem!reader

MDNI

NSFW under the cut

Think of it like this: In a Au where instead of Blue lock happening while our characters are minors, they are aged up and adults. But the same things happen, just with them as adults. You can assume this is the case with all NSFW works I make.

Gagamaru wasn't a needy person. He didn't stress about his partner talking to other men, most of the time. But after spending so long at Blue lock.. with nothing but his fist and other sweaty men. Gagamaru didn't waste a second before breaking in and getting what he waited so long for.

Warnings: Missionary, Breaking and entering (not so much breaking), no protection, P in V, mentions of fingering.

You yawned as re watched the game, well more so a reel someone put together of Gagamaru being goalie. Not a lot, only 10 minutes worth of footage that was eye catching enough, but it was enough to please you. You were so proud of him, sure it wasn't exactly what he wanted to be, but he looked happy to be in a game, to be in the starting line up.

Turning off the TV, wrapping yourself in your blanket as you passed by a taxidermy fowl. A gift Gagamaru had given to your guardian.. and when you suggested getting rid of it because it was creepy and Gagamaru had given them yet another one. They promptly yelled at you, it was the first gift Gagamaru gave to them and they were never gonna just give it away! Your lovely guardian now rested in the other half of the house... too old to be able to take care of themselves. You chuckled as you patted the birds head, going to your room to get a good night's rest, maybe, If you're lucky, Blue lock will let your mountain boy have his phone.

Gagamaru had waited long enough, stuck fucking his fist in the shower and little chance he can get. Searching for some kind of satisfaction. But once his release came, it did little to please his urges. He wanted you, needed you. He couldn't even call you for the entirety of being away at blue lock. He couldn't even see you in the crowd, however he did get to see your face when they watched the replay and the camera man panned to your cheering face as you clung onto your guardian, hand thrown up in the air waving and screaming his name. Unfortunately however, the domestic moment that should have brought blood to his cheeks, went down to his pants.

You were dreaming, your mouth parted as your face was plush against the pillow. The soft flowers that your hands trailed over... White and black with bold yellow middles.

"y/n...." Your name called in the winds, followed by a huff, and a crash which dragged you out of your dream. "Y/n" the voice said again, you sat up... Looked around at the very end of your bed two eyes seemingly glowing.

"OH MY G-"you screamed, launching your pillow at your intruder. He leaped forward and a hand crashed over your mouth. You closed your eyes and squirmed, kicking and hitting his chest as hard as you could.

"hey, don't scream come on-" he huffed out, you paused recognizing the voice, slowly cracking an eye open to meet with Gagamaru, his face red and usually wide eyes full of.. usually nothing was currently hazed over with lust. No doubt your struggling and squirming again his lower half didn't help him in the slightest.

"Maru??.. Gagamaru!!" You leaped on him, the fear from before forgotten as you pressed kisses all over his face. He panted slightly, his arms wrapping around you.

"hey pretty girl" he hummed, catching your lips in a kiss. It was hungry, chasing after you and trying to hold himself back from overpowering you with what little restraint he had left. Pulling away and digging his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against it. "Need you" his voice was muffled, occupied with pressing kisses along your neck and collar bone.

As much as you would have liked a domestic greeting.... You had to admit you missed him just as much. His touch, his tongue, the way he would perfectly roll into you. after experiencing his fingers curling and touching all the right places, your smaller ones did little to please you. So many nights spent with your hand between your legs, playing with your pussy only to find that it did nothing to what you craved.

"need you too." You mumbled against his hair. That was all the confirmation he needed, pushing himself up as you straddled his lap, lips clashing together as your hands gently twisted his hair, his grip on your hips bruising. Slowly, his hands etched your shirt off, only parting for a quick minute to pull the fabric over your head. You leaned back, pulling his down with you, his hands carefully gliding over your nipples, teasing them with the pads of his thumbs.

You whimpered under his touch, tugging his hair softly as you had to pull your head back, panting. Gagamaru found a new home for his lips, back on your neck as he left little love bites and kisses. His hands slide down to your hips, fumbling to untie the draw string that kept them on. Pulling them down along with your panties before one hand returning to cup your cheek as the other rubbed soft and slow circles on your clit. Pawing at his shirt collar, he obliged and pulled it off himself, your hands still in his hair as he pulled away. The cold air reaches your core as you shiver, hearing the familiar sound of his belt hitting the floor.

"I love you so much" He rasped out, hands returning to your hips as he lined up.

"Maru no no 'ts to b-!" He caught your scream of pain that slowly plead into pleasure with his lips, swallowing it up as he bottomed out. He was just too damned big and after so long without him, it felt like the first time all over again. Experimentally, he rolled his hips forward, cock dragging perfectly against your walls. You whimpered lifting your hips up as you whined for more. Nails digging into your shoulders.

He started off slowly, gently as he would pull his hips back ever so slightly, and then push himself back on. The lewd sounds filling your ears along with his groans. But with each thrust, and each beg for more you let out, he sped up. Hips slamming against you, he pulled away as he sat up, tucking his arms under your waist as he lifted your hips ever so slightly, but even the slightest difference in elevation allowed him to sink into you deeper.

You moaned his name countless times, begging for more as your hands clawed at the bed sheets. He was too big, in both length and size, on any part of his body. You couldn't reach his shoulders or hair so you had to settle with the sheets. His eyes were shut, face contorted in pleasure. Usually, for Gagamaru to truly feel satisfied, to truly be able to orgasm, he required some crazy position. Full nelson, waterfall, sometimes you would be hung up in the air. But as of right now, he had no attempt to no move you into that. All he simply wanted, was one. One simple, one long awaited, one well deserved, orgasm.

Your heels dug into the small of his back, pulling him impossibly closer. The room full of your moans and the lewd sounds coming from where you two would meet. However, one specific drag in particular had you screaming. The head of his cock harshly dragged against your G-spot causing you to squirm and move your hips around, leading you to further more reach your high.

Your squirming, had ended up working wonders for Gagamaru, a loud groan coming from him as he came, and with one final thrust he bottomed out and allowed himself to bend back down to kiss you, with no intention of pulling out. You whined, shifting around slightly but his hands came to catch your hips and hold you still. "No no don't move.. don't move" he mumbled, the exhaustion from the game, and this long awaited reunion finally catching up to him.

"w-welcome back Maru" you hummed, pressing a kiss to his hair as you panted. Gagamaru nodded softly, head nuzzled in the crook of your neck once more. He finally, was Abel to return home, To you, which to Gagamaru... Wherever you were was home.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Second Chances

The Bucky brainrot is real, and so is my journey to main him in Marvel Rivals.

Summary: Fate decides to surprise you with a second chance by throwing you into the same team as a Bucky from a different universe (reader has fire powers)

Things never surprised you anymore, not after so many years of being a superhero but a golden portal opening in the middle of your house with a Doctor Strange stepping through it that looked like yours but not really still kind of surprised you. It was supposed to be a day off, a normal relaxed day so of course someone has to step in and ruin it.

"Evren, we need your help to save the multiverse."

"What?" You stare at the Doctor Strange who stands in your living room with a hand outstretched towards you.

"The multiverse is in danger, and the only way to save it is to defeat two Doctor Dooms. I am requesting for your help in that." He glances over his shoulder into the portal, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't have much time. Either come with me or watch your universe shatter."

"Well, then I don't have much choice, do I?" You walk towards the portal, laying a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "I can't sit back and let my universe die."

"Good. We need all the firepower we can get." With that, he enters the portal, floating towards the battle that's raging on below in a city that looks familiar yet unfamiliar to you.

"Heh. Firepower." You take a step forward and feel yourself fall through the air, the wind whipping at your face. The air smelled different from the Shibuya you were used to and its decorations were different, definitely more futuristic, had a whole lot less manga and anime billboards. Instead, Spiderman icons were scattered throughout, or at least some sort of spider icon that looked a whole lot less friendly than the one you were used to.

Blue flames flicker in your palm, spreading to cover your entire body as you land in a fiery explosion, sending those nearby flying backwards. You begin to feel the familiar heat of your powers coursing through your veins, bright red scales forming on your forearms, shins, neck, and you grin, bending the heat to your will. A row of flame daggers appear behind you as Strange throws up a shield, blocking a barrage of long green blades.

"Stay behind me!" He conjures up blades of his own, flinging them at the approaching figures and you target the same figures, wondering who the enemy is. It's rather hard to tell, since both sides clearly have superpowered people clad in colourful outfits but if Strange was the one recruiting you, his enemies were yours and you weren't one to back away from a fight.

"Evren?" A familiar voice asks. Whipping around, you see none other than Black Panther standing before you. His suit is more decorated than you remember but he still sounds the same, and has the same stance as the Black Panther you know.

"Your highness?" You stare incredulously. "What —"

"Move it!" Yet another familiar voice shouts, shoving you aside as a ball of ice whizzes past your ear courtesy of a dual coloured hair lady. "We need to fall back and regroup, follow me."

Brown hair falls into your line of sight, accompanied by familiar blue eyes and your heart skips a beat. You know that face anywhere, even if it's half covered by a mask.

Bucky?

Your mouth opens and closes, questions filling your head when he grabs you by the wrist tightly and drags you away, sprinting at top speed. Your legs struggle to keep up but you somehow manage to hold yourself together long enough to reach a building where Strange and a few others await, dodging more ice projectiles that are now accompanied by Wakandan spears. Whirling around, you throw up a wall of blue fire and push it towards the direction of the attacks, sending the Wakandan king a silent apology before ducking into the house, panting.

"So much for a relaxing day," you gasp, quelling the flames within. The scales disappear into red mist and you feel your body cool down, though sweat still clumps your hair. Pushing the few loose strands out of your face, you survey your surroundings. Faces both familiar and unfamiliar stare at you as Strange introduces you as the newest member of their team.

"This is Evren. The portal lead me to them, destiny must have chosen them to aid us in this battle." He explains, gesturing towards you. You recognise the likes of Thor and Bucky but the other two faces are a mystery.

"Evren, heroes and villains from across time and space have gathered to fight for various reasons over control of the Timestream Entanglement, which is the space we're in right now. I meant it when I said I needed your help to save your universe. If the Entanglement gets out of hand, realities will collapse upon themselves and universes will die."

"Very cool, and not cool. Explains all the familiar faces but also raises so many questions." You look at Bucky, who stares back at you with an unreadable expression. "And a few personal problems."

"I understand. Take what time you need to orient yourself but we will strike again tomorrow, and I need you to be at your best." The Sorcerer Supreme frowns. "Choose any room to rest in, I will see you at dawn."

With that, he leaves and so do most of the team, although the alien in green with two antennas sticking out of her head does give you a smile and wave which you return tiredly. The only one left is none other than Bucky, and you're both relieved as well as filled with dread by that.

"I'm…assuming you know who I am. Or at least whatever version of me exists in your universe." You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves. Sparks of blue fire flicker on your fingertips and you force yourself to extinguish them, clenching your fist tightly.

He continues silently staring at you, gaze flicking up and down before going to a nearby bench to sit. You follow suit, taking in all the ways he's different from your Bucky. First off, his clothes are different, you've never seen your Bucky in…well…that outfit before but you have to admit it looks good on him. Then he has a metal arm that looks the same yet different but it's on the same side. Of course you can't forget that this Bucky wears a mask, and that your Bucky long stopped wearing one because it reminded him too much of his Winter Soldier days.

"Evren. Y/N." He finally starts speaking and you feel your chest tighten. Why does he have to sound the same as your Bucky? The one you'll never be able to see again, the one you failed, the one you won't ever be able to touch, see, or hear again.

"Yeah, that's me." You force out a chuckle, a smile plastered to your face. His gaze softens and his flesh hand reaches upwards to remove the mask. It's then that you realise he has a scar over his left eye, something your Bucky never had and your hand unconciously moves towards it. He flinches, pulling back and you quickly stop yourself, muttering an apology.

He shakes his head, setting the mask down next to him and looks you in the eye. "I'm not the Bucky you know."

"The scar is a pretty obvious sign," you laugh nervously, fiddling with your costume.

"I mean it." He frowns, and his eyebrows knit together the same way your Bucky's did. His lips even curve to the same degree and you can't help but tear up. "I'm the Winter Soldier more than I am Bucky, especially after everything Hydra's done to me."

"R-right." Your throat is clogging up and the tears aren't helping. Fingernails dig into your palm as you try to suppress your emotions — showing weakness to someone within moments of meeting them is not a good impression to make. You swallow hard, blinking away the tears and sniff, looking away. "Sorry, all this is still taking some time to get used to."

"It — it's alright. Take however long you need, doll." The words just slip out, he can't help it. His heart threatens to shatter as memories of his time with his version of you flood his mind. The gentle touches, the heated kisses, the soft whispers that turn to sticky blood, the smell of smoke and ashes, the saltiness of his tears, the —

He pulls his mind out of the darkness with a shake of his head, gripping his metal arm with his flesh hand. This isn't the you he knows, this isn't the you he failed to protect, this isn't the you he broke his promise to. Still, when he looks at you he sees his doll, his beloved, his little dragon and he can't unsee it.

"What…is your Bucky like?" He asks softly, flesh hand inching closer to yours.

"The." You begin. "The Bucky in my universe —"

Tears flow freely no matter how hard you try to hold them in, clogging up your throat but you press on anyways. You owe it to his memory, to at least be able to recall them fondly, cherish the times you had together and press forward.

"He was someone who never let the cruelty of the world stop him from being the kindest person ever. He was broken, burdened by his past but he never gave up. He always pushed forward, strove to become better and that motivated me to be better myself. He always cherished me, looked at me as though I was the only one in the world, loved me with everything he had. Sure he had his dark moments but he always rose above them." You bite your lip hard, drawing blood. "Others always saw him as the Winter Soldier but I always just saw him as James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, my entire world."

"You were my entire world too." The words fall from his lips as a whisper but you catch them all. "But I couldn't save you."

"I couldn't save you too." You give his hand a squeeze. "Seems like we're both terrible at protecting those closest to us."

He lets out a sad chuckle, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. "So it seems."

The both of you sit in silence for a while, staring at the floor but it's a comfortable silence, something you haven't felt in a while ever since your Bucky died. It feels nice, even if it's with a different Bucky and you can't help but smile. He shifts a little closer, your shoulders brushing against each other and you stay like that. His thumb glides over the back of your palm, drawing little circles on your skin and you look up, huffing in amusement at how his lips curved into a genuine smile, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"I miss this," you murmur. "I've almost forgotten how it feels."

He hums in agreement, savouring the physical contact, your unnatural warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of his metal arm.

"What was the Y/N in your universe like?" You ask, curious. His gaze clouds with sorrow and you nearly take back your words but he begins talking.

"They were beautiful, handsome, strong, smart and everything in between. They could be reckless, hot-tempered, eager to fight but always fiercely protected others, even if it could cost them their life. They blazed so brightly it lit up everyone around them and yet burned so warmly it drove the chill away every time. They were an idiot, but they were my idiot and I wouldn't have traded them for anything." He lets out a huff, smiling as fond memories flit across his mind. "I wish I had more time with them."

"I feel the same way," you sigh wistfully, playing with the ring that sits on your finger. "But there's no going back to change the past. The only thing we can do is move forward and honour their memory, no matter how hard it is."

You stand up, exhaling deeply and turn around to face him, extending a hand. Your resolve hardens, forged by the fire that's been reignited inside you. "The way I'm going to do that is by fighting to save my universe with everything I have. The flames I was given will blaze through my enemies and I will protect my home no matter what. That is how I will honour my Bucky's memory. How will you honour your Y/N's memory?"

He looks up at you, lips parting in surprise then smiles, grasping your hand and standing up. "I suppose I'll just have to match their fire, won't I?"

You grin, lifting up a fist. "Looking forward to working with you once more, handsome."

He bumps your fist, ice blue eyes gazing fondly at you. "Right back at you, doll."

Blue flames burst forth as you smirk, curling around your forearm. "Don't you dare fall behind tomorrow or I just might have to carry on ahead by myself."

He laughs, the first one you've heard since coming to this Shibuya and it makes your chest grow warm. You can't help but smile at him as he lightly punches your shoulder with his metal fist, just like how your Bucky always did whenever he accepted any of your challenges.

"You're the one who needs to ensure they don't fall behind tomorrow. Don't forget, I'm stronger than your Bucky." He smirks, nudging you with his elbow. "Do try to keep up."

You laugh, nudging him back. "You're on."

Tomorrow is going to be fun, far more than you ever expected. Maybe having your relaxation day interrupted isn't so bad if it means being able to live in a dream for a little longer. The flames within you roar in agreement, eager to rise up to the challenge and you touch the ring on your finger.

Hey handsome. I'm sorry for losing sight of the person you saw in me. Your death hit me really hard, harder than I expected and I was lost. I didn't know what to do without you by my side, I only knew I was being swallowed by an endless abyss and a part of me had disappeared forever. But fate gave me a second chance in the form of whatever this is. I got to meet an alternate version of you who had lost their version of me. His metal arm is different, stronger even, no offense to yours, but in exchange Hydra had broken him more than you. Still, there's the same kindness and strength in him that I saw in you, so I know he will pull through it all just like you did. Don't miss me too much, we'll see each other again in due time and when we do, I'll have so many stories to share with you. Love you James.

[traumadumpwriter]

JJ Maybank X Reader ~ Relapse and a Half

Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into drugs, but they're unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.

Trigger warning for: drugs (obviously), guns, sexual assault, violence

Part One

Part Two

Part Three:

After the confrontation at your house a night prior, JJ had only been able to see red, quickly pacing past your mum before making his way to the Chateau, kicking over some bins and verbally abusing some kids on his way.

He couldn't believe that you liked him. That you wanted to be with him. The thought stressed him out and made him regret doing whatever he'd done to get you to fall for him.

It wasn't that he didn't like you back. In fact it was quite the opposite - he'd been entirely obsessed with you ever since you'd arrived in the Outer Banks. His issue was that he'd seen up close just how damaged you were, just how sweet and kind you could be, just how much you deserved the world and everything in it - but not him. He wasn't good enough; not cool enough, not smart enough, not clean enough.

"Why him?" He thought. "Of everyone on this island, why him?"

You could've gone for Pope or John B or even one of the Kooks, at least they would treat you right. It might've killed him inside to see, but it would've been better than the pain he was feeling now, knowing that he'd been unintentionally hurting you this whole time, knowing that he was the one who bore the responsibility of your heart.

He stormed into John B's without stopping, going straight for the blunt in the ashtray and then storming back outside. From his behaviour, the Pogues feared for the worst and Kie's eyes were quickly tearing up, panic settling into her chest.

"She's okay, isn't she?" She followed JJ outside in a pleading tone, shortly followed by Pope and John B. "Please say she's okay."

JJ didn't answer, angrily sucking on the blunt and staring out at the sea, his mind racing.

"Answer me JJ! What's happened?" Kie demanded.

"Is she alright? Was she at home?" Pope questioned.

"JJ- fucking answer us man! Is she at the hospital? Is she- is she okay?" John B shouted.

JJ took another sharp drag on the blunt before solemnly answering.

"She's fine. I mean, she's not, but she's alive."

Kie shoved him with some frustration, her tears quickly drying up but her teeth gritting.

"Why the hell would you scare us like that? What happened?"

"We had an argument... I- You were right Kie. It is my fault."

She blinked incredulously, double taking as she tried to suss out what was wrong with the boy.

"What are you talking about?" She questioned angrily.

He took another sharp drag, even sharper this time, ran his hand through his hair and then turned to the Pogues with exasperation.

"Y/N likes me! And I've been a fucking idiot to not see it. I shouldn't have rubbed all those girls in her face. I didn't think she cared, but.. I guess she did."

"So you're saying that like it's a bad thing. I thought you liked her too." John B proclaimed in a confused tone, shooting a look to Pope who had also been aware of JJ's crush.

Kie was kicking herself for not picking up on that, wishing she’d known and she could’ve told you weeks ago - before you even had the chance to get depressed and pick up a pill again. But she didn’t focus on that thought for too long, more focused on your current wellbeing.

"I do, I just- We all know I'm a piece of shit, okay? I don't deserve someone like her. Hopefully she sees that now." JJ tutted, his eyes darting between each of the Pogues.

The uncertainty of his statement made them all nervous. 'Hopefully she sees that now' - what the hell did that mean?

"What do you mean? What did you do?" Kie hissed, her heart in her throat.

"Nothing! I was just rude. I guess I rejected her. Called her a junkie-"

Kie hit him again, seething with the boy at that point.

"What is wrong with you? Why the fuck would you do that?" She snapped, grabbing the blunt from his hand and throwing it onto the floor. "Go back there now and tell her you love her! She's probably crying her heart out right now."

JJ shook his head, thinking about picking up the blunt from the ground but not bothering. Weed wasn't strong enough to make him feel better anyway. He wanted to follow Kie's instruction, he wanted to hold you and tell you his truth, but he could think of too many reasons why not to - too many reasons why you were better off without him. The rejection may hurt now but you would get over it. You had plenty of other options. You would get sober again and you would be fine. His issue was that whether he was sober or not, he was never fine.

"Being with me would only fuck up her life more and you all know that! You should just convince her to like someone else, someone whose good for her. I can't do this." JJ protested.

"You're not a bad guy, man. Come on." John B said but JJ just shook his head again, walking towards his motorbike.

"So you're just gonna leave?" Pope scoffed as JJ got onto the bike.

"I told her to turn on her phone. Try calling her again." He said numbly before kick starting the bike and speeding off.

Kie groaned, unsurprised that when she called your phone moments later it didn't go through. She sat melancholically next to Pope, leaning on his shoulder whilst John B stressfully kicked a stick around.

"Well that's not what I was expecting." Pope sighed and then turned to Kie. "How long has Y/N been crushing on JJ exactly?"

She shrugged and shook her head.

"I don't know. Forever. But that doesn't matter anyway. I'm worried. It must've taken a lot for her to admit that she likes him, so she's either really manic or.."

"Really high." John B finished her sentence, not looking up from the ground.

"How much do you want to bet it's the second one?" Pope groaned.

"I just don't get why she didn't talk to me if JJ was upsetting her this much. She promised us she'd never use again. She's never broken a promise before." Kie sighed and then stood up. "I'm gonna go to hers. I'm annoyed but.. I'm more worried than anything. I wonder if her mum has clocked on yet… I’ll see you guys tomorrow."

"Love that woman but she's clueless so I doubt it." John B scoffed dryly. "See you tomorrow Kie."

Kie picked up her bike and rode it to your house, her mind racing with all the possibilities of what you could be doing.

"Most likely passed out or crying." She thought, her chest aching as she thought of your pain. You'd been through a lot together, and though she was beyond frustrated with your relapse, she wouldn't stop being your friend because of it.

When Kie eventually knocked on your door, your mum was surprised to open it to her.

"Isn't Y/N at yours? That's where she said she was going. JJ upset her quite a bit earlier." Your mum questioned and Kie was quick to catch on to the lie.

"Oh yeah- yeah she is. She's just so upset right now. She forgot some stuff and I said I would come and get it for her."

"You're so lovely Kie. What would she do without you?" Your mum smiled, letting her in.

When Kie went up to your bedroom and picked up a bag to strengthen her lie, she was concerned to see that your phone was still on your bed. Wherever you'd gone, you hadn't brought it. She turned on the phone in hope that it would give some clue as to where you could be, but all that came through were the missed calls and messages from the Pogues.

Kie couldn't let herself panic though. You were grown enough to look after yourself.

"Maybe she just went on a walk. Or a bike ride even. That's most likely. She probably just went to clear her head. I'll try again tomorrow." Kie thought to herself, but she took the phone anyway, hoping that when you came back you would have to come get it off her. She scrawled a note onto your mirror with an eyeliner from the side; "Got ur phone. P4L. - K"

The next day, Kie waited until the afternoon to leave her house, waiting for your knock on the door that never came. She decided that she would go back to your house and confront you there, but when she arrived there was no one inside. Your mum would be at work - that made sense - but after pounding on your door loud enough to wake you up from whatever slumber you might be in and getting no answer, she started to panic.

All of the worst possibilities sprung into her head - a horrific vision of you overdosed and alone, bent over the toilet and throwing up uncontrollably or even passed out and foaming at the mouth - so she quickly rushed to find the spare key under one of the many plant pots and slammed it into the door. She ran up the stairs, loudly repeating your name as she did, and paced into your room.

"Y/N, please be okay." She said before opening the door, her heart dropping when you weren't in the bed.

Nothing in the room had moved, not the crumpled up bedding, the pile of clothes in the corner nor the note on the mirror. You hadn't come back.

"Shit. Where the fuck is she?" She muttered to herself before pacing around the house, desperately searching for you but finding nothing. "Need to find her."

Now her mind raced to even darker corners. Perhaps you'd fallen into one of the many bodies of water on the island, high and uncoordinated, and drowned. Or maybe you'd crashed your bike into an oncoming vehicle. Maybe you'd passed out somewhere and someone had called an ambulance, or maybe you’d put yourself in danger without even realising it. She had no idea how spot on she was with the last prediction.

Kie had told Pope of her plan to force you to come to hers by keeping your phone, and all of the boys had assumed that the confrontation had been over and done with by that point, so they were confused when she turned up at the Chateau without you.

"Did you speak to YN?" JJ asked, springing up from his seat as soon as he spotted Kie.

He'd hardly slept, tossing around in his bed all night as he thought of all the things he wanted to say to you but couldn't. "It was better this way." He tried to convince himself "She's better off thinking I don't want her. Maybe she didn't even mean what she said. Maybe she was just high." He couldn't push the image of him holding you and loving you from his head though.

"No. She never came to mine." Kie huffed, wheeling her bike over with furrowed brows. "And before you ask - yes I went to hers, she's not there. Doesn't look like she's been home at all since I went there last night."

"So where is she?" John B questioned, his posture tightening.

"Do I look like I know?" Kie snapped. "I'm seriously worried."

"Shit." JJ hissed, instantly jumping into a panic. He was quick and erratic. "Okay. We should all split up and look for her. I'll check the marsh and the forest, Kie you should check figure eight, Pope you check town, and John B you take the boat and check the waters. Report back here in two hours."

He rushed towards his motorbike before anyone could even answer, but stopped in his tracks when Pope suggested a disheartening idea. It was an idea that had occurred to both John B and Kie as soon as JJ had announced his plan, though it didn’t surprise them that he didn’t think of it. He was someone who always lived in a somewhat state of denial.

"Don't you think one of us should check the hospital too? You know, just in case."

JJ swallowed, catching the lump in his throat before it could properly form, and nodded.

"Y-Yeah. You do that." He said without turning around. He wanted to argue - to say that the idea was ridiculous and a waste of time - but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. Pope might be right, and if he was... JJ had to cut his thoughts off before they got too hard to bare. He jumped onto his bike and sped off, heading straight to the marshes.

His search was obviously fruitless. He waded through knee high mud and lifted up heavy logs. He dug through thick bushes and climbed up trees. He shouted your name at the top of his lungs and prayed to God that you would appear.

But none of it worked.

By time the two hour mark had hit, he'd searched miles of forestry and worked up quite a sweat. Still, he wouldn't stop until he knew you were safe.

"Maybe one of the others have found her." He thought desperately to himself, jumping on his bike and heading back to the Chateau. They'd all tried to convince themselves with the same hopeful thought and been sorely disappointed when they eventually returned to their friends. JJ was the last to arrive.

"Any luck?" He shouted from his bike before he'd even got off it, springing across the lawn.

The rest of the Pogues were stood in a circle, also damp with sweat and breathing heavily. They looked upset which was understandable given the situation, but JJ felt his heart jump into his throat as he worried that the unimaginable had happened.

"Pope! She wasn't in the hospital, was she?" He asked with urgency, pacing over to the boy.

Pope was breathing heavily, still catching his breath from the run back to the Chateau.

"Pope!" JJ repeated in an almost shout, shaking his friends shoulders.

"No- No." Pope panted out.

"Chill, JJ. None of us had any luck." John B patted him on the back with a sympathetic look.

It didn't calm him down though. Instead he started to anxiously pace, running his hands through his hair and repeating to himself "Think, JJ. Think!"

"She might just be at someone's house. Who knows, she could be having a great time right now while we're thinking the worst." John B suggested which Kie rolled her eyes at.

"The only people she’d ever hang out with other than us are druggie degenerates, so it's not exactly great if she's with them either. Those people wouldn't care if she was on the floor foaming at the mouth."

"Well I don't know what you want me to suggest, Kie! We've looked everywhere else. Should we start banging on the doors of every junkie we know? Because that could take a while!"

As John B and Kie bickered, JJ continued his pacing, racking his mind for ideas until one shot into his head like a bullet.

"Wait-Wait. What did you just say?" He turned to his arguing friends.

"That she's probably with some drugged up degenerate?" John B answered in a sarcastic tone.

"That's it! She's probably at her dealers house. And I know only one scum bag who sells that prescription shit."

JJ ran back to his bike without saying another word, ignoring the questions from the Pogues as he kick started it and sped off - some hope finally in his mind though it was still mostly clouded by worry.

"Should we follow him?" Pope asked.

"Probably." Kie answered, heading towards the Twinkie with a sigh.

It was ten minutes later that JJ pulled up by Barry's house, carefully parking his bike around the corner so that the dealer wouldn't see him. They'd had their fair share of arguments already about JJ's dad and due to this JJ knew that he had a gun. It wouldn't do him any good to get caught on his property.

The blonde paced through the overgrown front lawn and almost jumped for joy when he saw your bike strewn lazily into one of the bushes - the signature ugly green paint instantly catching his eye. You would just be sat on the sofa smoking a joint or something. He could knock on the door, distract Barry without getting shot somehow and get you out of there in no time.

Then the sound of a large vehicle coming towards the house reached his ears, and he quickly ducked around the corner and crouched under one of the windows, anxious to not be caught by one of Barry's customers either. They typically weren't the most reasonable people after all. He was relieved with his decision when Rafe Cameron jumped out of the truck, music blaring and obnoxiously announcing himself as he knocked loudly on the front door.

JJ's ear pricked as he heard Barry's voice from inside, not having realised that the window on the wall above his head was open.

"Shit." The dealer tutted, followed by the sound of a zip. "Why now?"

Barry's breathing was heavy, like he'd been doing exercise, and it peaked JJ's curiosity. Was he working out whilst you watched from the sofa? That would be fucking weird. There was no way you would be lifting weights with him.

JJ listened carefully, waiting for the sound of the front door to open and the start of a passive aggressive conversation between the two men before he stood up and looked in the window. If either of them caught him, that would be a lot of trouble.

He wasn't at all prepared for what he saw through the glass though.

The sound of the zip suddenly made sense, and the heavy breathing. You were there, lying in an unmade bed, stripped naked and seemingly asleep. Even unconscious your face looked so sad and your body looked tired; thin, with random bruises scattered about your limbs and dirty looking hickies on your chest.

Had you let Barry do this? Surely not. Surely you had more self respect than that.

The thought of any other man touching you was enough to make JJ feel upset, let alone a scumbag dealer that he knew you would never have any real feelings for. But then it dawned onto him - that if you hadn't wanted Barry to have sex with you, that didn't make it any better. In fact, it made it a whole lot worse.

It meant that... you'd been tricked or forced or coerced in some way. It meant that you'd been raped. And maybe you didn't even know it. Maybe you were so knocked out that you would have no idea what Barry had done. Maybe he had drugged you on purpose so that he could do it.

JJ's blood boiled, so much so that he felt himself getting physically hotter, his teeth grinding and his fists clenching. He tapped on the window, hoping to get a response from you, but you stayed stiff and still, your eyes closed and your breathing shallow.

How much had you taken? Had he given you something too strong? Did the dealer even know if you were on the boundary of never waking up? Did he care? Either way, there was no way you could've rightfully consented to doing anything sexual with anyone. Not when you were clearly out cold.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." JJ hissed to himself, trying to quickly brainstorm a way to get you out of there without getting killed by Rafe or Barry.

He pulled out his phone and went to text John B before remembering that he'd ran out of data, cursing himself for not paying his bill once again. Then he decided to creep around the back and listen in through another window, hoping that he'd overhear something to help with his plan. All that he heard didn't serve to help though, in fact it made his rage all the more fiery and his brain even less able to come up with a good idea. The desperation was becoming torturous.

"Where's Y/L/N then? I can see her ugly ass bike out the front." Rafe asked in a mocking tone.

"She's in bed, sleeping. What's it to you country club?" Barry answered.

Rafe scoffed. "I caught you mid fuck didn't I? Sorry for being a cock block bro. Can't say I'm not jealous. Bet she's a total freak in the sheets."

JJ could practically hear the smug smirk on Barry's face.

"Yeah, tits like you've never seen. And pussy like a vice grip. You wanna come take a look? She's out cold."

"You already know my answer to that, bro." Rafe chuckled.

JJ's eyes widened, a deep panic settling into his chest. You would be mortified to know that Rafe Cameron had been ogling your exposed form, let alone the potential that Barry might actually let him sleep with you. He ran back around to the other window and banged on it one more time in hopes of waking you up before quickly ducking down again just as the two men entered the room. He couldn't stay down and listen to their crass remarks this time, he couldn't bare it. He had to cause a distraction.

With a rush of inspiration, he picked up a rock and lobbed it at Rafe's truck, creating a loud thud as it dented the exterior. The two degenerates stormed outside at that and JJ heard the sound of a gun clicking.

"What the fuck was that?" Barry muttered whilst Rafe angrily proclaimed "Something dented my ride!"

"If there's anybody out there, you better come out now!" He shouted, his voice echoing around the vacant lot of overgrown swampland.

Then right on cue, the Twinkie pulled around the corner, a very confused looking John B in the drivers seat with Kie and Pope sat behind him. Rafe scoffed something bigoted about the Pogues before stamping over to the van, knocking so hard on the window that he was almost punching it. JJ would've been glad for his friends arrival if not for the pistol in Barry's hand.

"You dented my fucking car. Get the fuck out here!" Rafe demanded as Kie slid open the door, pacing at him with a scowl.

"We didn't do shit to your car. Now where the fuck is Y/N?"

"Didn't do shit? Look at the dent! You're paying for this Kie - since I know you're the only one with any money."

"I'm not paying for something I didn't do. Now tell me where my friend is. I can see her bike there and I swear to god if either of you have hurt her-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Rafe cut her off with an intimidating smirk, stepping so that he was inches from her face. "You can't do shit."

Pope jumped out of the van and quickly got in between them, his nostrils flaring as he eyed the sociopath. John B quickly jumped out too, though before he could open his mouth to say anything Barry had cocked the gun and pointed it at the trio.

"Y/N ain't here. She bought her pills and wondered off into the marsh. Left her bike behind. Now if you want to find her before the gators do, you lot best be on your way."

No one moved an inch, horrified by the revelation of Barry's statement.

"And you just let her go? What is wrong with you? She could be dead!" Pope hissed, an unexpected volume to his voice.

JJ could no longer sit and silently listen knowing that his friends were about to embark on another wild goose chase. You were there, mere feet away. This was their best opportunity to do something before anything else could happen to you.

Feeling that the dealer was sufficiently distracted, JJ decided to fully open the window and climb inside, struggling slightly with the old frame as he pushed it up. Once he was in, he instantly rushed to your side, gently shaking your shoulder in an attempt to wake you up again.

"Y/N it's me. We've got to go." He whispered, only getting a groan back from you.

Your hair was splayed messily around your face like the petals of a flower, making him think to the mornings he'd spent with you in the past. How he'd woken up beside you after a night of drinking and wanted to kiss you, but held himself back in fear that you would find it weird. That you would remind him that you were only friends with the occasional benefit. That you'd laugh in his face. If only he'd known how wrong he was.

Perhaps he didn't deserve you, but if being by yourself meant that you were going to do this to yourself... he would have to fight until the end of the earth to be with you.

In that moment, he regretted so many of his past actions. From the random girls he'd kissed in front of you to his recent rejection of you, he knew that once you were safe and awake he would do anything and everything to take it all back.

You would be his. No one else's... This could never happen again. No one other than him would touch you. He wouldn't allow it.

He looked around the room in a panic, picking up your shirt from the floor and lifting your head so that he could pull it over your body. Your body weight was resisting his actions, dead and heavy, but when he found your underwear and started to pull them up your legs, you finally flinched awake - even if it was only slightly.

"No Barry. Not again." You mumbled, lifting your leg to kick him away.

"It's me - JJ. We're gonna get you out of here." He said quietly, pulling your panties up so that you were covered and then slipping his arms underneath you to hoist you up bridal style.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, your heart jumping into your throat.

"JJ?" You whimpered, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"It's me baby. It's me." He repeated in a hushed tone. "You're safe now."

Then he heard the sound of the van starting outside and knew that he had to be faster. He looked around the room for a weapon and was pleased when he spotted a shotgun leant against the wardrobe, an idea springing into his head. He quickly put you back down on the bed.

"No. No. Don't leave me." You choked out, your breathing becoming rapid with panic. It broke JJ's heart to hear.

"I'll be two seconds. I promise you'll be okay." He mustered the softest tone that he could, stroking your face and placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before picking up the gun and charging out of the room.

As soon as you were out of his sight, his bubbling anger returned. No longer would he be able to put on a calm front, that time had ran out. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his skin went hot again, thinking of the vile words he'd overheard.

He pumped the gun one time, making sure it was loaded, and then slammed open the front door, quickly drawing the attention of the bickering degenerates outside. John B also quickly noticed his friend too, instantly stopping the Twinkie from reversing and jumping out again as he watched JJ in disbelief. The scene moved so quickly that none of the Pogue's were able to immediately process it.

With a cry of anger, JJ lifted the gun above his shoulder and then slammed the butt of it as hard as he could into Barry's head, knocking him out instantly. The dealer fell to the ground and dropped his own gun, and before Rafe could reach for it, JJ pressed the barrel to his chest. Rafe held his hands up in nervous surrender, though it didn't mean much.

"I should fucking kill you both!" JJ shouted. "You fucking piece of shit. You like girls when they're passed out? Huh? You like girls that can't say no?"

"Woah man. Chill. I didn't touch her." Rafe tried to calm him down, his eyes wide with fright. "It was all Barry. I just got here!"

At the realisation of what JJ had alluded to, the three other Pogues ran to join in the confrontation again. They felt sick at the idea that you might've been hurt - especially by two such unsavoury characters.

"Where is she?" Kie shouted, throwing punches into Rafe's side whilst Pope picked up Barry's pistol from the floor and kicked his body a few times.

"Inside." JJ answered through gritted teeth, staring Rafe down and struggling to not pull the trigger. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

Rafe stumbled for a moment, swallowing before he collected himself and answered confidently "I didn't even touch her. Kill me and you’re going away for life! There’s not gonna be any of my DNA on Y/N, I can promise that! I’m not into passed out chicks. That’s all Barry.”

JJ didn’t move for a second, thinking on the boys words before lowering the gun slightly. He would make him suffer another time. In that moment, Barry deserved his attention much more.

"Get the fuck out of here." JJ eventually hissed.

Rafe did exactly that, backing away quickly to his truck and speeding off. The blonde turned his attention to Barry now, who was groaning as he slowly arose from the ground. Without hesitation, JJ bent down to his level and started to throw punches, blinded by fury and bloodlust. His nose cracked first, then his cheekbone, then his eye socket. JJ didn't know how long he'd been attacking him for when he felt John B's touch on his shoulder and heard his voice in his ear. The brunette had found you in the house and lifted you into the Twinkie during JJ’s raging, stood and watched for a moment and then decided to stop his friend, worried for your welfare despite enjoying the show very much.

"Come on JJ, that's enough."

Barry's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess, but he couldn't stop.

"J, you're gonna kill him."

That didn't matter.

"We need to get Y/N out of here. Let's go!"

The sound of your name did halt him. His knuckles were bruised and his chest was panting.

"He raped her, John B. She was passed out in there and naked when I found her!" He turned to his friend with a desperate expression. "We need to kill him."

"I know, I know. But he's not worth the prison sentence, J." John B struggled to bite back his own rage but managed to do so, speaking in a soft tone as he tried to calm his friend. "We'll make him suffer, don't you worry. But right now we need to go."

The blonde boy finally nodded in agreement, feeling somewhat dizzy from the adrenaline as he stood up and made his way to the Twinkie. Once he saw you inside, your half dressed body curled up on Kie's lap as you cried, the guilt came back to him in an agonising gut punch.

"This entire thing had been practically all his fault." Was all he could think. "From the relapse to this. He'd fucked you up without even trying."

He ignored his friends shouts as he paced back to his bike and said nothing as he rode off, deciding that he would go to a bar and drink his thoughts away for the night. As John B had said; it wasn't worth getting a prison sentence for murder, but that didn't mean he couldn't find some other random people to fight.

Hiiii I hope y’all enjoyed. I might make a part 4 depending on feedback. Stay safe!!

[fuck-customers]

I am actually pretty glad that the company that has treated me horribly and fucked me over and over is (most likely) being shut down. There's a 50/50 chance that the company will be bought out by Buyer A who will keep the stores running and revamp the company (or so we're told) or be bought out by Buyer B who will liquidate. (I don't want to give too much info at risk of exposing myself, but I think this is probably enough to figure out what I'm talking about. It's almost definitely obvious to ither employees of Company) I feel almost equally about either option, but I kinda want Buyer B because of some immature part of me that's going "haha yeah fuck you, that's what you get for being such a garbage company that treats your employees (and customers) like shit. You're a waste of retail space" but also I recognize that the satisfaction will last for like 5 minutes, max, before I'm like "well now I'm fucked and out of a job, so..."

Idk where I'm going with this. It's just kind of a rambly vent. I absolutely hate job hunting (as does everyone) and this is actually my first "real" job, as my previous job was a short-term seasonal gig, so I'm very nervous on a personal level because I do not feel confident that I have enough work experience nor enough job hunting experience to be able to get another job. Especially since it is after the holidays but before the summer season. Aka: the dead zone of hiring times. Hopefully I'll be able to fall back on filing for unemployment if I have to.

But I'm trying to focus on all of the fucked up moments at this job as a kind of admittedly bizarre inspiration tactic. Kind of like "hey maybe my next job won't have management that makes fun of me for my disability" and "maybe I won't have a manager that yells at me and treats me like I'm stupid in front of customers and causes me to cry in the bathroom and then the other manager who wasn't even there that day piles on the bullying by essentially saying (I'm paraphrasing) that the first manager is justified in yelling at me because I am stupid"

Idk honestly I'm the type that could perform really, really well if I am just shown how to do my tasks and then left alone to do them. That's it. I don't need to be micromanaged. I know how to and will ask for help if needed. But unfortunately, I do not have qualifications, so I most likely will end up at another retail job, which is just the same thing in a different packaging.

I am sorry you may be losing your job and I really hope you find a better one that treats you right.

But for the life of me I can't figure out what company is and what company A & B are. would you be willing to send an anon ask with that and I promise I won't publish it. But if not I understand.

-Rodney

[slothpower-central]

Hello everyone, Amia and I have been cooking again. We're both Limbus Company and Squid Game fans so we put together the most epic tier list topic ever: How far is the cast of Limbus Company getting in Squid Game? We included most NPCs, and we only did games from Season 1(I haven't finished Season 2 yet lol) I'll spoil everything below and explain a few interesting things of note for our list, now is your last chance to leave if you don't want Limbus Company or Squid Game Season 1 Spoilers!

So to start off with a few details, Dante is fucking dead, they can revive the Sinners and that's cheating, we want to keep this fair after all

Second, let's talk about Faust. So she would be disconnected from gesellschaft for the game since it's kind of unfair if she can just ask her mirror worlds for advice whenever. We also said she could very well have a role similar to Player 111 in season 1 but instead of freaking out over not knowing the next game she'd just have to try and survive herself and end up failing

Next, the people we said who'd die in Marbles (besides Faust) we made extra sad if you know who we paired them up with. Ishmael and Queequeg Marbles game because as Amia said:

Anyways we also paired up Heathcliff and Catherine (we only put regular Catherine with both Heathcliffs and didn't include Every Catherine on purpose) Dad Quixote and Dulcinea, Effie and Saude and Dongbaek and Dongrang, these two in specific are fun because I said, and I quote "Yo Dongrang has Sang-Woo energy" and if you remember what happened in Canto 4...yeah.

The people who die during Lights Out are mainly because we think they'd piss people off and get themselves killed or just seem too weak and end up getting killed. Yuri is getting stabbed by Hopkins, Heathcliff is killing Hindley and the other 3 are a tossup of who's taking them out

The other methods of people ding we had mainly as noncompliance with guards or some other random way they'd get themselves killed

We have pink guard and VIP tier because we did think a few characters would be more fun being on the other side of the games

We had Ishy winning but honestly either her or Ryoshu could win, they've both got the guts to win

We didn't include everyone in the tier list but they'd be there too, we just...didn't care enough to rank them

Feel free to discuss tho we put some of these guys in tiers based on vibes but if you wanna express your own opinions you can,these are just the opinions of two fixated individuals.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Lucifer: You're too kind to people that hurt you.

Adam: If they are meant to have some ill will come for them for their actions then that is not up to me to decide.

Lucifer: No? Even after everything?

Adam: ....... It would only come back on elme worse. Vaggie and the others aren't worth it.

They'll all burn in Hell for what they did and Adam will be tucked neatly away in his own little heaven. Whatever that may be.

Adam: Karma will get them.

Lucifer found more papers: You keep saying that.

Adam: Well, I have to believe that people who are unkind are given one chance to change. If they don't make things right, then He'll awaits them where their souls will burn into nothing more than ash.

He looked back over to Lucifer.

Adam: In theory.

Lucifer: Yes, these people are anything but holy and they will burn for their sins.

He'll make sure of it.

They moved onto his father's office and if Lucifer thought that Lilith had skeletons in her closet, Teddy has a graveyard.

So many crimes covered up. Naughty naughty.

Adam: What do you need this information for anyway? If I may ask.

Lucifer: You'll see soon enough. Let's go my dear.~

Adam flushed and followed him out, Lucifer found everything he needed. They went back to the garden where they were spotted by Teddy.

Teddy: There you two are!

He looked irritated that Adam wasn't hurt. Stupid little fat man.

Adam: Fath-

Teddy: Shut up! I'll deal with you later.

Lucifer: You might want to watch your tone, father.

Teddy: Who the Hell are you anyway? Get the hell out!

Lucifer stepped closer, his eyes glowed red: I won't be doing that.

Adam could feel the air get thick again, was it getting darker? His father looked scared.......

I also really love Nun Adam. But this time let him be a real nun and Lucifer come up as the devil looking for a new human bride 👀

I'm weak for aus like this.

I love nun!Adam au's!

Maybe too much.

Who am I kidding? There's no such thing. I'm so keen for this btw!

Let's start a new rp!

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.