#i have had my share of shitty commenters let me tell you

[gerec]

have you've noticed an increase in hate comments on ao3 fics? (not the A/I bot stuff, I know ao3 sorted that out, i'm talking actual people leaving hate comments, and sometimes it's not even guest accounts). i've noticed an increase in the last few months in the x men fandom and others. more and more people commenting bad faith, outright rude comments. i mentioned it to winter_hiems and she said she'd noticed it too - worked an age on her latest and the first comment she got was a hate message. kind of wondering if it's starting to be a widespread thing because our fandoms only partially overlap

Hi Anon,

I haven't been posting very much lately so I haven't noticed an uptick in negative comments - in my experience, it sort of comes and goes over time i.e. you get a bunch all in a short period and then it all disappears again for a long time. My guess is that with the increased interest in X-Men from X-Men 97 we're getting a big influx of new or returning fans, and a small portion of them haven't read the memo on fandom etiquette. It doesn't explain what's happening with other fandoms though so I really couldn't guess :(

Personally, I don't have the energy or inclination to deal with bullshit anymore so I just delete anything that pisses me off and permanently block 'em on ao3. Seriously it never ceases to amaze me, the amount of entitlement and sheer dickishness that exists out there over something we do for love, in our free time.

So here we are again, for those of you who are genuinely new and don't know what's acceptable, and aren't just assholes:

Unless the author says 'I welcome concrit', keep your concrit to yourself. Nobody asked you and nobody wants to know how you would write this thing. Just go write it yourself if you think you can do better.

If you have nothing nice to say, back out of the fic. It costs you nothing to shut the hell up.

Authors do NOT prefer getting shitty comments to getting no comments at all. Authors are sharing their love and joy with the world and genuinely want to hear how its making their readers happy - full stop. They did not do hours of unnecessary research, agonize over plot points, edit the damn thing 20x and stay up nights coming up with ideas just so you could tell them how their fic is wrong/bad/stupid/upsets you/is what's wrong with society today etc. The problem is you. It's always you. Shut up.

Rant over!

[lady-ashfade]

Yandere Romantic Class 1-A With A Darling Who Is Touchy And Flirty

—£ This about how the class would react! I have just been in the mode to write for mha so that’s what I’m doing. Also love the yandere class with all my might.

—£ Warnings: Suggest themes, yandere behavior, possessive behavior, reader being very flirty, revealing clothing.

The class had a handful with dealing with you. it was always so much when you started right off the bat with giving them hugs or touching them in smalls ways. to you it wasn’t a big deal and you were just being you, you had no clue that they thought it was romantic. sweet little thing you were to not noticing how feral your classmates were with you.

Each of them always tries to get you to touch them in any kind of way. If you wanted to lay your head on their shoulders, give them a high five? Anything is okay.

Quickly they realized you just did physical touch to show you care, or that you had a flirty personality. You never noticed how truly dazed and embarrassed they got when you flirted with one of them. Or, the death glares they sent to the other that had your attention.

Bakugo was one to quickly pull you around. he’d pull you by the waist and make you walk with him while he yells at you(He’s to flustered to do anything else). He’d give you pointers on how “Not to suck.” when you train. even saying he needs help dealing with those shitty extras he is friends with.

Bakugo gets so red when you touch his muscles and his chest when you praise him for a job well done. he could have beat you in a training match but here you are praising him. “You’ll be a great hero.” You’d wink at him and tell him to remember you when the time comes. but how could he ever forget you!

The class always watched out for you when they needed to. like once they saw you with a person from class 1-b and you put your precious hands on that person. oh boy did they get pissed. they let you out of sight for a minute and here someone is taking advantage of you. don’t you know that smile and praise is only for them, along with your sweet touches.

“We missed you,” Mina spoke as she held you close as the class surrounded you. “Dumbass, stop talking to those fuckin’ idoits.” The loud blonde growled.

You only giggled and smiled, “They were really nice guys. no need to worry,” you smirked “you guys are the only classmates I want.”

Their hearts melted there.

Soon, they got more comfortable with your attention. So much that they couldn’t go without them. They pouted when you didn’t hug them when you walked into class, or anything else. And of course that counted how much you hugged the others and made you do the same.

But, the more time went on your flirting was taken seriously, of course unnoticed to you. the dekusquad and bakusqaud would fight over who you actually like. the others would get jealous and maybe comment, but they would share. they would do anything for their darling.

If you are more masculine then you could touch the guys more because it wouldn’t be considered “Inappropriate” even if you are innocent. like feeling their chest and shoulders to comment them. The boys loved that, because they got to smirk at the girls.

Now if you are more feminine then the girls made you cuddle them, no matter what actually. throw your arms around the waist, or pull you so close to their bodies. the girls are bad because they are into PDA. Like, the boys touch you if you allow them- But the girls? They are touching you all the time.

“Aren’t you the cutest,” Ochako coo’d at your puffy cheeks full of food, you looked like a deer in headlights as you continued to chew. “They have sauce on their cheek, kero.” Tsu chirped up from beside you.

“Here let me!” Momo took a napkin and whipped off your pretty cheek. “Much better.” You thanked her and continued to eat. you were used to your friends behavior so it wasn’t a problem, though sometimes you found it weird.

“I made you a playlist.” Jiro said as a buzz at your phone went off. She had stayed up all night looking for songs that you’d like, maybe even praise her for it later.

But the class fond over you not matter what you are. you’re their darling. you can get anything you want if you bat your eyes at them.

in training they put on a show for you just so they get get your praise at who wins. it’s almost a blood bath each time. the class is constantly fighting over you. And will fight anyone who is not them because it’s only them who can have you.

Just be careful not to make them faint with your actions because it’s easy. Their pretty little thing.

[aestheticaltcow]

No Phone Policy 3.0

Baby girl Berzatto needed a metal name, and this felt like the choice, ya know?

Previous Part Next Part

The Bear Masterlist

“Hi, beautiful… oh, this is hella trippy buggies. I remember holding you for the first time, and now I’m holding my granddaughter for the first time…” your Dad laughed as he stared down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms. You smiled as you watched him pace beside your bed. “Where’s Carmy? I have a present for this little princess—I’m surprised he isn’t glued to her, or you, for that matter.” 

You grinned as you adjusted yourself in the incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed you’d been in for the past 48 hours. “He went home to grab me some stuff I forgot.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. With a narrow stare, your Dad nodded. He could tell you weren’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to upset you by pushing the topic. 

“Well, what did you two name this perfect little angel?” your Dad questioned as he handed you your daughter. You shrugged, “Haven’t decided yet… the papers are over there on the table, but we can’t decide.” 

“What were you two thinkin’? I’m team something unique and magical, especially since that lil girl was born on one of the most magical days of the year.” he smiled, putting a hand over his chest. You chuckled and adjusted the infant in your arms.

“July 23. Best day of your life.” you answered, “You know, I know the story by heart… but she hasn’t heard it yet.” the sing-song nature of your comment made your Dad lean forward in his chair. “Baby’s first Grandpa story! May I?” he asked, offering his hands to you. You laughed as you handed the baby back to him.

“I better get my daughter back, Dad,” you playfully scolded as he held her close to his chest. He shrugged and responded, “No promises. She’s my new favorite person in the world—your Ma and sisters, and the boys are a very close second, but right now—it’s all her.” 

“You hear that gorgeous? Grandpa has known you for 30 minutes, and your greatness has already superseded your Mommy’s. You’re my perfect lil angel.” he cooed. As he babbled at her, you rolled your eyes, “Tell the story, Grandpa.” 

He scoffed in your direction before turning on the story-telling voice he would use when telling your nephews' stories. “The year was 1986. Your Grandpa was traveling with one of the greatest bands mankind will ever know, Van Halen. Metallica is also a pretty fuckin’ awesome choice for music- don’t let your Daddy ruin your taste in music, princess. You will be my little metalhead.” 

“Dad.” you scolded. He shot you an exasperated look, “He’s not even here bonding with his daughter. I’m GOING to shit on his shitty taste in music.” he challenged. He noticed your subtle wince when he brought up Carmy for a second time. Something was going on, but he didn’t dare bring it up, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop shittin’ on Carmy. Back to baby’s first Grandpa story.” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and adjusting the baby in his arms. 

“Grandpa was in St. Louis. I’d followed Van Halen for 12 weeks across the continental United States. I was broke as shit, hungry as hell, and I STANK. I’m at the truck stop right- there’s this little diner called Olivette. I ordered the cheapest breakfast I could, and at the end of my meal- this GORGEOUS waitress brought me a piece of gooey butter cake- a Missouri delicacy, in time you’ll have your fair share, princess.” he assured the gurgling bundle in his arms, “The waitress goes, ‘it’s on the house sugar’ in this cute ass little twang and I about died. That was your Grandma Dottie.” 

You smiled as he continued the story. He went in to explain how he’d worked up the courage to ask her if she was going to the Van Halen show that night, and when she said ‘yes,’ he knew she was the one. You laughed as he explained that his mutual love of music had brought him an amazing life. 

“I met Dottie on July 23, 1986, so the fact you were born on July 23, 2024, is a sign. I think I can convince your Mommy to give you a metal ass name. Auntie Pamala was named after Panama- the best Van Halen song. Your Mommy’s middle name is Olivette because that’s where I met your Grandma. Then Auntie Mars is Mars because Grandma wouldn’t let me name her after Lars Ulrich, but Mars was acceptable.” you laughed as your Dad explained the Y/L/N family lure. “Your Auntie Pam is my favorite, though- she named her boys after Eddie and Alex Van Halen.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I love you, Daddy, but I’m not naming my daughter after Van Halen or Metalica.” He scoffed in response. What about Pantera or Megadeath? I’m just sayin’ with a last name like Bearzatto. She needs a metal-ass name.” 

You laughed as you collected your daughter back from him, “Okay, buggies, I love you, and I’m really proud of you. Not just for procreating but for everything you’ve done. Your Ma would be real proud, too.” 

~

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name yet?” your sister Pam laughed as she cradled your daughter in her arms. You shrugged, “We just can’t decide.” 

“Didn’t he insist on some Van Halen reference?” Mason, Pam’s husband, laughed as he entered the room with a brown paper bag. You shook your head, “He gave her three band onesies, but I think I got out of the Van Halen references.” 

Mason shook his head as he placed the bag on the end of your bed, “I wasn’t sure what you’d be cravin’, but I figured a sub and chips was a safe bet.” he grinned. “Thanks, Mason.”

“What about Jade Van? Dad would freak over the reference.” your baby sister Mars laughed as she put her head on your shoulder, and she snuggled closer to you, craning her neck to get a better look at your still-unnamed daughter. You shook your head, “I don’t know how Carmy would feel about that one.”

“Bitch. He isn’t even here. Name her whatever the fuck you want.” she said with an overly dramatic eye roll. Mars was the only one who knew about the issues you and Carmy had been going through, but you couldn’t stomach telling her that Carmy missed the birth. 

“How about Blade? Blade Berzatto—fuckin’ metal, right?” you joked, trying to brush Carmy out of your mind. Mars erupted into laughter,, which startled the baby in your arms. You cradled the baby and nudged Mars to shut up. “I love it. But let’s go more norm-core,” Mars said as she ran her thumb against the baby’s chubby cheek.

~

“Are you an Erin? Jasper? Kali? Luna?” you listed off baby names as you did skin-to-skin after the baby’s afternoon feeding. You were finally done with visitors for the day, and you’d turned your phone off to avoid dealing with Carmy. You’d inevitably have to talk to him at one point, but having at least one more day of peace was a priority right now. You didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but it was a safe assumption that he was probably working himself to the bone at The Bear. The Bear… Bear… “Wolf.” the name came to you. “Wolf Berzatto… Daddy goes by Bear. We were calling cub while I was pregnant… you don’t call baby wolves cubs, but I like it. You do need a middle name, though. I know Daddy liked the name Bonnie.” you rattled off before leaning over to kiss the baby’s hat-covered head. 

“What if you hate the name Wolf? I mean, you could go by your middle name or a nickname… Daddy’s name is Carmen, but he goes by Carmy. Okay, Wolf Bonnie Berzatto. I like it, and if Daddy doesn’t, he can suck my dick. Am I swearing too much around you? I feel like I am.” you laughed, “Okay… also, you’re only getting your Daddy’s last name because I changed my last name when I married him.” 

“Wolf… that’s quite a name,” Natalie awkwardly complimented, trying not to pass too much judgment on her niece. She can go by Bonnie if she hates it.” You defended your name choice for the hundredth time in the short eight hours since announcing her name to your family group chat. Turning your phone back on had been anxiety-inducing. Carmy had left you hundreds of texts and voicemails begging to be allowed in the hospital room and apologizing for anything and everything he could think of. It was endearing, but you were still pissed off. 

“Does Carmy know about the name choice?” Natalie carefully prodded as she watched you shove stuff into your bag. You shook your head, “I haven’t talked to him yet.” 

Natalie knew you hadn’t talked to him and knew about you barring him from the hospital. He came back to the restaurant. Natalie had seen Carmy upset in the past, but this was a different kind of upset. He went off on Richie about the ‘no phone policy’ he’d enforced on all staff. Carmy was never a fighter, but Marcus and Sweeps had to hold him back after Carmy had punched Richie in the side of the head.  Richie, visibly disorientated, screamed a ‘what the fuck’ alerting the kitchen staff of the fight going on in the thankfully empty front of house. It took a while for Carmy to calm down enough to tell anyone what had happened. Richie apologized but said Carmy missed the birth, which wasn’t his fault. It was Carmy’s fault. Richie went off about Carmy knowing your due date and how he should’ve planned better and asked for an exception to the rule. 

Natalie sighed, remembering how that comment had riled Carmy up again. She drove him home while he called you repeatedly, getting progressively more upset each time his call went to voicemail. “She can’t do this to me, Sugar- I know I fucked up, but-but she can’t-” Carmy stopped midsentence and began rocking himself forward and backward in his seat. “Carmy, wh-wh-what can I do? How can I help you?” Natalie begged as she parked in the driveway of the house you two owned. “Do you have a fuckin’ time machine so I can go back and not miss the birth of my fuckin’ daughter!” he screamed, making Natalie freeze in her seat.

Natalie stayed with Carmy the entire time you were in the hospital. He was a mess. He flipped between extreme rage and full-blown panic. He ranted about how you were going to leave him and prevent him from seeing his daughter. He cried so hard he threw up multiple times. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. Natalie had never seen her brother like this before and was at a loss for what to do. 

When you called her to come pick you and the baby up from the hospital, she didn’t know what to say. You’d asked her not to tell or bring Carmy, which she understood, but it still conflicted her. You hadn’t filled her in on Carmy’s minimal involvement with your pregnancy the past weeks, but Natalie could put two and two together. After enlisting the help of Syd and Richie, Natalie felt as if she could leave Carmy and come pick you up. 

“Are you okay, Nat?” you questioned as you strapped Wolf into her car seat. It’s nothin’. I just feel really guilty that I’m meeting my niece before Carmy had the chance to…” Natalie explained as she crossed her arms over her stomach. You knew Natalie had a point. You felt that same guilt. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with your husband and daughter. 

You sighed, “Well, I guess I have to talk to Carmy at one point, so let’s go.”

[spitdrunken]

i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

[mimimui]

bllk boys as your not-so bf

includes: isagi, bachira, chigiri, nagi, reo, rin

tags: use of profanity, use of 'babe', one-sided(?), angst if you squint hard enough, discord in nagi's

a/n: inspired by my not-so bf (we don't talk anymore) :b srsly idk if that guy actually liked me or not but anyway .. enjoy !

even if he's at soccer training, he answers all your texts right away. you've seen him reply, or rather, not reply, to his other friends whenever he was with you. it feels as if isagi gives you special treatment, but in reality, you barely talk in real life. he pays you no mind when you pass by him, as if you were strangers. sure, he can act like that all he wants, but he can't forget all the late night talks you had.

you've shared secrets, fears, ambitions, and questions with each other. you've exchanged greetings, selfies, and "i love you"s, yet he's able to act as if you're nothing more to him. you look at him and there's a familiar pang in your heart, one you've experienced many times before.

how much longer is he going to hide his true feelings for you? does he have feelings at all?

the morning of the sleepover your friend hosted, you and bachira lie down comfortably on the bed, clicking through your friends' instagram stories. you're on his chest and his head is on your shoulder, him being the one clicking through while you hold your phone. he occassionally makes comments about them, saying things like "that was funny" or "ooh that one's pretty, introduce me sometime?"

you frown at his comment, but he doesn't see it. you two are always so close, holding hands and whatnot. you're always mistaken as a couple, but bachira denies it quicker than you do, which is a sign you should probably take. when you all go home, your friend sends you a picture they took of you and bachira on the bed and teases you.

your heart wrenches as you tell them "we're just friends."

you share a lot of your things with chigiri, and he does the same. you always find him asking to borrow your hairbrush, if he can take a bite of your food, use your phone, and more than you can remember. can you recall when you let him use your shirt after training? yeah, that was the only thing of yours he never gave back. why would he even keep that shirt?

on his way home, his teammates asked him if the shirt belonged to his significant other. he pauses for a moment, but then ultimately denies even having one. you get a bit irritated at times, and he has to snap you out of your thoughts at the cafe you two frequent. here you are, once again sharing a drink with one straw. yes, one.

from all the indirect kisses you've shared, you should actually just kiss at this point.

you and nagi play video games together everyday. you're always seen duoing together, so a lot of people mistake you two for a couple. after soccer training, nagi's quick to turn on his computer and ask you to play games with him. fps, rpg, horror... you've played so many games together you've lost count.

in vc, he hears you groan and he stifles a laugh. you complain the player that killed you is cheating as you click through the players to spectate nagi. when you're about to mention the flank, he says something that makes your heart pound. maybe you're imagining it, or maybe it's because of a shitty headset, but did he just call you 'babe'?

you shake your head, brushing it off. you probably just heard wrong.

reo connected his online payment to your food apps, so you don't have to pay for your orders. you refused at first, but as your face recognition detects his face, your phone was now his domain. he tells you to order food whenever you want, and not to tell him when you do, he doesn't mind.

but as you see him carrying an extra lunchbox with food he made himself, you wonder who he's going to give it to. you're not bothered, of course, it was just a cooked lunch. made by reo. personally. you mentally slap yourself for thinking about it so much. are you even allowed to be jealous of the lunchbox's recipient? you're just reo's friend, and you already have access to his online wallet, so what's the problem?

yeah... what's the problem?

he's annoyingly good at minesweeper. rin effortlessly completed the board, while you're still stuck deciding between the bottom or top tile. he acts nonchalant about his umpteenth win that day, but you know he wants to brag about it to you so bad.

you sigh in defeat, asking him for another rematch, which he gladly agrees to. and, just like all other times, he completes his board first. this time, instead of laughing at you for being slow, he takes your device and completes the board for you. he complains you take too long, and that he gets impatient when his love isn't done with the game.

wait. his what?

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[lostbookmark]

WHISPERED SECRETS MASTERLIST here

MAIN MASTERLIST here

MDNI 🔞

Summary: After four years your sister's ex-boyfriend comes back into your life. Can you keep your entanglement a secret? Will the guilt eat you alive? 

Pairing:  Sisters ex Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader. 

Genre: SMUT, angst, hurt - comfort, romance. 

Warning: Explicit sex, fingering, Possessive Yoongi, swearing, reader is insecure, jealousy, punishment, unprotected sex, drinking, dirty talk, praising, very light degradation, spanking, spanking as punishment, teasing, hair pulling, arguments. Overuse of the name, baby.

A/N Edited by me aka I just throw commas in and see if my document corrects it. 

Yoongi is a bit…mean(ish) in this one. 

Yay!! I have the next 2 chapters written. Posting will be every Sunday US time. 

A little SMUT under the cut. 

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Kevin….Kris….Kihyun. No, none of those names sound right. He's good-looking and easy on the eyes, pretty smile but boring as hell. It's been a week since Yoongi took you home after the intense night you shared. You had stayed the night, and the next morning, you made up an excuse for needing to get home. You were scared to stay longer, afraid he would kick you out. He never questioned you or begged you to stay.  You exchanged numbers, but he never contacted you. You felt defeated.  You didn't tell anyone. Not Lisa or Jisoo. They would never let you live it down. Maybe this is why you let Lisa talk you into showing up at the “hot guy she ditched you for” house party. His name is Jimin. He seemed okay, you guess, but you haven't really gotten to know him. Her love interests never last long. Key…Kang…Kyle. That's it! You think his name is Kyle. 

“I just got back from Milan,” Kyle boasts. He is giving you what you think is probably his most charming smile. “I'll be heading to London again soon. Got quite a few photoshoots lined up. Mostly magazines, but I got a commercial too. I even have some contacts for Paris fashion week. I'm going to be a big deal.”

You really don't care, and you know that sounds mean. Why did Lisa introduce you to him? Did she really think you would hit it off with him?  Damn Lisa for making you come here. Damn Yoongi for not calling or texting you. Damn him for making the feel of his touch still linger on your skin.  Did you do something wrong? Were you just bad at sex. You know that you are pretty inexperienced, but it seemed like he enjoyed himself. He even cuddled you after he cleaned up with a warm washcloth. He was a pure gentleman. He even ran a hot shower for you as he made a quick snack afterward. You may or may not have tried to remember the brand of his shampoo. After some light bickering, he let you sleep on his side of the bed.  So, why didn't he call? Was there someone else? Oh my god! Were you the side piece? Of course, someone like Yoongi would have someone waiting for him.   

“Lisa said that you two have been friends since you were young. You work together too, right? ” Key…no Kyle said and you nod your head.

“Yeah, umm..” You started but were interrupted.  

“Baby,” you turn to see Yoongi staring daggers at you. How the hell did he know you were here? You're pretty sure that your jaw is on the floor right now. Yoongi places himself right behind you. He rests his chin against your shoulder and hands coming together around your stomach. “Who's your friend?” Why does he say it so calmly despite his glaring eyes? 

You freeze, your body rigid, and can't say anything.  One week, it's been one week, and now he's right here. You don't know what to say. Are you supposed to throw yourself at him after he ignores you? You wish you could throw a shitty comment his way, but you don't. It's not who you are. You wish you could tell him that since he isn't interested, maybe you will go home with Kyle. He looks at you and Kevin…no Kyle impatiently. His glare, thankfully, is fully on Kyle now, and you don't want it back on you. Nope, you are definitely not going to say that, even if it’s a lie. 

“Hey man, I'm Kai,” Kai that's his name! You knew it started with a k. “Didn't know she had a boyfriend. Lisa lied to me. Sorry about that.” Kai apologized and rushed out of there. Literally, he walked away as fast as his legs could carry him. You wish he would take you with him. Technically, you guess Lisa didn't lie. 

You turn in his arms to look at Yoongi fully. He looks pissed. You don't know if you should be scared, angry, or turned on. Is it possible to be all three? His eyes looked hard, unlike a week ago. It seems like such a long time ago. Maybe it was just a fever dream, and you made it all up. This Yoongi is different, and it is making you anxious. 

“We're leaving,” he breathes heavily in your ear. 

He takes your hand and threads your fingers through each other. He starts heading for the door, and you have no option but to follow him. You don't want to fight him and cause a scene. You try looking around for Lisa, hoping you spot her. You don't see her, but you do catch a glimpse of Kyle…Kai chatting up another girl. She seems thoroughly excited about it. Good for her. Looks like you probably dodged a bullet there. When you get through the door, you notice his car just down the street a little ways. Lisa picked you up earlier, and now you're kicking yourself for it. Yoogi practically rips the car door open and looks at you expectantly.  He holds the door with one hand while his other is on his hip. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asked. His stare is still cold. “Do you want me to go get Kai for you? Do you need him to help you?” 

“Wh…what? No, why would I…” you were cut off.  

“Get in, baby. I'm already mad, don't make me tell you again,” he told you.

With one last look back at the house, you get in the car. The same car and spot you sat in a week ago. God, a week ago, you were shivering with anticipation. Now, you were confused and honestly a little scared. Where was he, and why was he acting like you had done something wrong? You knew deep down that Yoongi would never do anything to hurt you. However, this is a side of him you have never seen. You didn’t see it years ago either when he was still with your sister. Even during their fights at the end of their relationship.  You even spent a lot of alone time with him back then, annoying him. He never snapped at you. When you couldn't figure out how to parallel park, he never snapped at you. When Lisa got you drunk at homecoming and he had to pick the two of you up, he never snapped at you. He never did anything like this. 

“Cold?” He asks you. You're rubbing your hands together. 

“A little,” you answer softly. You want him to grab your hands and warm them with his own. Instead he cranks the heat. 

The only sound in the car was from the radio and the heat blowing on your cold fingers. You don't know what the song playing is, but the deep bass is slow. It's almost comforting. You want to close your eyes and drift to sleep. Maybe if you go to sleep right now, you'll wake back up in his bed, and you can redo everything. Obviously, that's not possible. Your eyes slide over to him. He's concentrating on the road, and there's a small tick in his jaw. His hand had stayed on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white with his grip. He didn't touch you, not even once. You want to cry. What did you do? Why is he so mad? How did he find you there? What did you do?  The song on the speakers switched to something less moody, and your eyes moved to look out the passenger window. The sky is clear, the stars shine bright and twinkling in the late night sky. You didn't care for it.  Not even one little bit. 

That soft yellow glow of the bedroom was exactly the same. So were his sheets and pillows. The memories were completely vivid and fresh in your mind. The sound of your skin slapping together, his grunts and your gasps. The way he held you when you drifted off to sleep.  You look at Yoongi sitting on the corner of his bed staring at you. His elbows resting on his knees and his right knee bouncing slightly You can't tell what he is thinking. You stand next to a large desk in his room. You think he must use it for work. There's messy paper everywhere and pens scattered all around. You try to focus and see what's on the paper but can't make out the scribbles. Poems, maybe? Does he write? You can't remember if he ever mentioned wanting to write back then. Maybe you didn't pay close enough attention. 

“Look at me,” he snaps at you. Your eyes immediately obey his command. “What were you doing  there with Kai?” Yoongi spits his name out in disgust.  

“I…I..Lisa introduced us. We were just talking,” you said softly. “I don't know him.” 

“So, you were just going to go off and fuck someone you don't know?” He asked and you were taken back. He was basically snarling at you. 

“NO!” You cried out. “I wasn't.”  You were getting worked up. “Why do you care? I haven't even heard from you in a week.” You shocked yourself by actually saying that outloud. Shit. You can't take it back now. 

Yoongi didn't seem amused by your outburst. Cracking his neck, he stood up from the bed and stalked up to you. You wanted to take a step back, but that messy desk prevented you from doing so. Yoongi rests both his hands on the desk, caging you in. His breathing and the sound of your own heart beating in your ears ring loudly in your ears. He runs the tip of his nose against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps race down your arms. Your body betrays you, wanting you to give into him. 

“You know,” he whispers in your ear. “The phone works both ways, baby. Get on your knees.” 

You swallow thickly. You aren't exactly sure what he means. Right here on the floor? On the bed? You decide not to make him wait and drop to the floor right in front of him. Are you supposed to undo his pants? Is that what he wants? You have never given a blow job before. Maybe you can fake it and figure it out as you go. You’ve seen porn. Just don't bite him, and you'll be fine. Your hands reach up and start to undo his belt around his hips. Yoongi chuckles a humorless laugh as he swats your hands away.  Oh, that's not what he meant. Tears well in your eyes out of embarrassment. 

“On the bed. On your knees, ass up,”  he snickers at you. 

You stand up slowly and walk with your head down to the bed. You don't want him to see the unshed tears or your embarrassed face. You know it's red. Your knees hit his mattress, the sheets are still soft. You lean down onto your elbows as you look at him, and he shakes his head at you. God, you probably look like such an idiot for not knowing what to do.  Yoongi walks over to you and puts his hands on the back of your shoulders, and pushes you gently down. Your chest and the side of your face meet the bed. He turns your head gently to look at the other side of the room. There's nothing to see over there besides his closet.  You feel the dress that you're wearing starts to rise up. Yoongi next adjusts your hands. Making sure that your fingers are interlocked above your head. You feel him get closer to your face. His breath tickles your ear. 

“Are you okay?” He asks you.

“Yes,” you say meekly. 

“Good. Stop me anytime,” he tells you as he kisses below your ear. “You thought I was ignoring you? You think that’s why I didn't call you?” He asks, but you don't answer. You can feel him slip your dress completely up and over your ass as he stands behind you. “Yes or no, baby?” 

“Yes,” SMACK! As soon as you answer, he spanks you. It wasn't overly hard but just enough to sting. Your body goes rigid, and your eyes widen comically in surprise. Oh! You honestly were not expecting that.

You wait for him to say something, but you're just met with silence. You don't feel his presence near you. You strain your ears to try and listen for him. Did he leave the room?  

“Y..Yo..Yoongi?” you asked softly and he didn't respond.

Suddenly, there was a tick…tick..tick noise in the room.  Slowly, you turn your head, and you see him sitting at his desk. His shirt is off, hair beautifully messy,  pants undone, but nothing obscene showing. Tick…tick…tick. It's one of those music things, a metronome you think it's called. The pendulum swings back and forth again and again. Tick… tick…tick. Yoongi is watching you kneel on the bed while playing with it in his hands. He almost looks bored. 

“Turn back around,” he tells you slowly. You turn your head back around. Tick…tick…tick. “You know what i was thinking all week?” He asks you. “I thought I was a horrible person. Did I force you here? Did I make you do something you didn't want? You wanted out of here so bad the next morning I thought you were going to have a panic attack.” 

The chair groans a little bit. You can only assume that he got up. You can hear the clicking of his belt buckle as if he's walking to you. You anticipate his touch, but again, nothing. Tick…tick…tick.  The oscillating noise is putting you on edge. The sound of his belt tells you he's close. Your breath is starting to come out as pants as adrenaline starts to flow through you. Your interlaced fingers twitching. 

“I wanted to give you space. I see that was the wrong thing to do. Why didn't you get a hold of me, baby?” He asked. You still can't see him.  

“I didn't want to bother you,” you mumble. SMACK! SMACK! You press your hands together tightly and screw your eyes shut.  Tears blurred your vision as they started to fall. You sucked in a shuddering breath.

“You could never bother me. Instead of talking to me, you decided to ignore me to fuck around with Kai? How do you think that makes me feel?” His voice raises some. SMACK! His hand gently starts rubbing your reddened cheek. Soothing the stinging with his cool palm. You hear him take a deep breath.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say through tears. “I'm fine.” You really were. “I didn't…” 

“What?” Yoongi asks. His hand is still gently rubbing your reddened skin. 

“I thought you realized you made a mistake. I thought maybe I wasn't good enough for you. I'm not like my sister,” you hiccuped. You pressed your hands tightly together before he delivered the next smack. It never came. Tick…tick…tick.  

“Why would you compare yourself to her? Why didn't you say anything?” He asked. His hand stroked some hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The strands were wet from tears. 

“Have you met me,” you try to joke through tears. You highly doubt Yoongi thinks it's funny. Yoongi leaned over to look at your tear stained face. Bending down, he kissed the tears away. You close your eyes and welcome him. He's here. The soft, gentle Yoongi is here now. 

Yoongi moved again and stood behind you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear and slowly slid them down your legs. His fingertips tickled the outside of your thighs as they traveled down. He lifted your knees one at a time so he could completely remove them from your body. Then, nothing. Why does he keep disappearing on you? You were tempted to turn and look for him again. Tick…tick..tick. Suddenly, his tongue is on you. You close your eyes and sigh, escape your lips , and fingers tighten together.  You push your hips back against his face to get him closer. His tongue swirls magical circles against your bundle of nerves.  One week, and you realize how much you missed this. How starved for his touch you were. You should have made the first move. This all could have been avoided. He was right. You didn't think about how he felt.  You shouldn't have gotten in your own head. You always get in your own head. Yoongi pulls away. Disappointment floods through your body.  Disappointment doesn't last, though. You hear his belt rattling, and pants hit the ground. He roughly pulls your body to him in one smooth move. Your own clothed back to his naked front. He gently tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head back. Just like that, gentle Yoongi is gone.  Dipping his head, he slants his mouth over yours. Tongue demanding entrance. You relax and press your tongue against his, tasting yourself on him.  Soon, he lets go of your lips and hands roughly yank your dress down to your waist. You thrust your hips back with an arch of your back. He's hard. 

“Still good?” He asks again, hands and slowly coming up to cup your naked breasts. His fingers tweak your nipple. It sends a jolt right down to your core. 

“Yes, Yoongi,” you reply somewhat breathlessly. 

Yoongi pushes you forward so you were down on the bed again. Chest flush with the bed, ass in the air. His hands grip your hips, bringing you back to him. You feel him run his cock up and down your wet folds. Dipping the head in and taking it back out. He does this several times and it's driving you mad. You try to swivel your hips but he completely backs off with an airy laugh. SMACK! He slaps your ass once more. Grabbing your hair again, he pulls you up   savagely against him. His arm crosses over your chest, hand on your shoulder. He's supporting your weight against him. You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder. Chest rising and falling with every pant of your breath. 

“I should have fucked you in front of him,” he hisses in your ear. “That way you wouldn't have to doubt me again. Everyone at that party would know your mine now. Kai….Lisa….Jimin.” 

 Yoongi's free hand cups your pussy, giving you teasing strokes. Teasing just like before. Fingers enter you shallowly just to pull back quickly. You look at him and you don't even have time to question him before he's answering you. 

“How do you think I found you tonight? We work together, baby. He likes talking about Lisa.” He explains with a chuckle. “Lisa… she likes to talk about setting her pretty little friend up with a date, but her friend is kind of shy. I took the chance that she was talking about you. Lucky me, huh,” Yoongi answers you as his fingers finally start pumping into you. Your wet, you thought maybe too, went given the situation. Your noises make it obvious how much you are enjoying this. “Too bad you're not available. Kai was pretty good-looking.” 

“Please, I'm sorry. I need you. Yoongi, please,” you beg him. Yoongi kisses your neck. Lightly sucking on your sweat slicked skin as his fingers pump into you faster. Marking you, making you his.

Yoongi lets his grip on you go. You fall to the bed and scramble to get back onto your knees in front of him. You lift your head and look over your shoulder at him. Trying to beg him with your eyes to do something…anything.  Tick…tick…tick. Yoongi finally grips your hips and pulls you back to him. Leaning over you, he places you exactly like he had you before. Chest flush with the bed, hands above your head. Rubbing your red marks with his hand, he deals one more blow before he sinks all the way into you. You sigh. He feels like home. 

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Tagged reader

@unicornbabylover

[ddejavvu]

The Right Person - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: You're good friends with Jack Hotchner, and his dad finds you crying at a house party.

Contents/Warnings: best friend's dad!hotch, legal age gap (reader is over 18), mutual pining, soft!hotch, mention of alcohol/drugs, cheating (reader's unnamed, faceless boyfriend), hurt/comfort, fem!reader

WC: 3.6K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Very few things are more embarrassing than crying at a party. You're wading through a sea of high, hammered young adults, and even if they're too out of their minds to notice the tears on your cheeks, you feel like a fool for letting them fall.

You probably shouldn't have been as naive as you were going into your relationship. You'd been blinded by the prospect of someone being interested in you, and you hadn't stopped to consider the odd behavior he'd presented. You didn't want to be the overbearing girlfriend and check his phone, but walking in on him sucking face with someone else was just about all the evidence you'll ever need.

So now you're crying, stumbling down the hall and into the front yard for a breath of fresh air. Inside it's stuffy, booze and weed clouding the air and burning at your lungs. The front steps feel like a new beginning, away from your asshole (now) ex-boyfriend and the shitty music blaring from the house.

You're not offered much solace, though, because sirens blare through the streets. You squint through your teary eyes at a squad of cop cars that screech into the driveway, black SUVs trailing behind them. Fear drags your stomach down to your feet, because despite knowing that you're sober, you still probably hold some accountability for whatever drugs they're doing in there.

You're the only one outside, save for a couple moonbathing around the side yard, but the cops start for the front door. It means you're scrambling out of the way, tempted to put your hands up just in case.

"Miss," One of the officers glances at you, "Go home. We're shutting this down."

"Oh- okay," You stammer, nodding and wiping a tear from your eye, "I-um... I have to call an uber."

The officers don't pay you any regard after that, streaming into the house. It's only when you're fumbling clumsily with your phone that anyone engages with you, and the booming voice that travels over the lawn brings immense comfort to you.

"Y/N?" It's Aaron Hotchner, Jack's dad. You'd become fast friends with Jack through a couple of shared community college courses, and you'd come to know his dad from study sessions and movie nights.

"Mr. Hotchner," You breathe, reaching up to smear a tear off of your cheek, "I- Are you- what's going on?"

"The neighbors complained about the noise" He explains, jogging across the grass to reach out for your shoulder, "What happened? Are you alright? Why are you crying?"

"I'm okay," You sniffle, now infinitely more embarrassed to be caught blubbering by your best friend's very attractive dad, "We all have to leave?"

"Don't worry about that," He murmurs, shrugging his windbreaker off of his shoulders and wrapping it around your own. Your top is sheer and too-short, and the cold air had been nipping at your skin. His jacket is warm, soft, and you realize with an aggressive heat to your cheeks, it smells like him.

"Now," He tries again, keeping his jacket securely over your shoulders, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm alright," You shake your head, chin to your chest, "It's dumb, it's nothing. I- I need to call an uber, I'll-"

"I will drive you home," Aaron promises, voice soothing as his hand brushes over your back, "But I need to know what's wrong."

"I don't-" You stammer, eyes rolling at how silly you sound while another wave of tears streams down your cheeks, "It's just- my boyfriend, I saw him kissing someone else. Really, it's dumb, it's nothing."

Aaron doesn't respond, not right away, but you know he's heard you. You know by the momentary tightening of his grip on your shoulder, the way that his fingers dig into your skin like he's trying to make a fist but you're getting in the way. Then he eases up, touches all soft and gentle.

"I'm sorry, honey." He coos, stepping against your chest to wrap you in a hug. He rubs your back, up and down, up and down, up and down, until you're sniffling and sobbing into his chest. He keeps his arms around you, strong and firm, his cheek flush with the crown of your head as partygoers stream out of the house around you.

He's the epitome of comfort, all sweet, low reassurances and grounding touches. He murmurs only loud enough for you to hear as you curl your fingers into his shirt, 'He didn't deserve you, honey.' and, 'You're better off without him.'

"I just didn't see it coming," You admit lamely, your voice muffled against his chest. He doesn't ease up on the hug, and you're grateful for that. The last thing you'd want to do is make him uncomfortable, but he seems to realize you need comfort right now.

"Jack... always had his thoughts about him." Aaron admits, "But I think he kept them to himself, he didn't want to ruin things for you."

"I could tell," You sigh, nestled snugly into Aaron's chest, "I... I thought they just needed time to get used to each other, you know? Like, get to know each other. But I guess not, I guess Jack was right."

"Don't tell him that," Aaron teases, "It'll go straight to his head."

You laugh, albeit weakly, against Aaron's chest, and he takes it as a win.

"Okay," He hums, giving one last broad sweep of his hand over your back, "Let's get you into the car. It's late, you should get home and get to sleep."

"Thank you for taking me home," You sniffle letting him lead you with an arm around your shoulders to one of the SUVs, "Are you sure it's okay to just take one? Weren't there other people riding with you?"

"They'll figure it out." Aaron assures you, knowing Derek will have to bite the bullet and sit in the middle seat of the back row, something he always takes an extra SUV to avoid doing, "It's okay."

Aaron helps you into the passenger's seat, even tugging at your seatbelt when you struggle to wrestle it over his jacket.

"Here," He reaches for the strap, easing it up and over a fold of the jacket that it was stuck in, "Let me."

He clicks it into place for you, and you smile tearily up at him.

He leaves you with a pat to your knee, then shuts the door.

You hear him call something to, presumably, another agent, trying not to think too hard about whatever team member of his you're depriving of a seat. Aaron doesn't let you think much about it, though, because as soon as you're pulling away from the curb, tears no longer pouring down your cheeks, the interrogation starts.

"What were you doing at a party, anyways?" Aaron glances over at you, a frown creasing his brows, "You're not the drinking type."

"I didn't go to get drunk," You shrug, "I went 'cause my boyfriend invited me."

"He invited you," Aaron repeats, "And then... wow."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Aaron looks at you, stopped at a signal just outside of the neighborhood, "Really. That's awful. You deserve so much better than that."

"Thank you, Mr. Hotchner," You sniffle, "I really appreciate how kind you're being. The ride, and- and the jacket, and-"

"It's no problem," He assures you, looking you in the eyes through the mirror, "That's what you deserve, sweetheart. You don't need to thank me for it."

You have the ironic urge to thank him again.

"And you can call me Aaron." He reminds you, smiling knowingly at your reflection, "You know that."

He's made a point to tell you time and time again that you're allowed to call him by his first name. During impromptu, mid-study-session dinners, at pick-ups in the college parking lot, but you've never felt acquainted with him before, not like this. Wearing his jacket while he drives you home after a ten minute hug seems a lot better of a reason to use his first name than seeing him in passing while you're laughing with Jack.

"Aaron," You mumble, and he chuckles warmly.

You don't have much time to enjoy the sound, even if it flips your stomach into cartwheels. You wish you could savor it, but you watch Aaron take a wrong turn to your house, and a frown tugs your brows down.

"Uh, I live that way," You point behind you, "It's okay, you can just turn up there, I think."

"We're stopping somewhere first," He explains, car bouncing as he pulls into the parking lot of a convenience store, "Come with me?"

You nod, wordlessly, climbing out of the car. He's already around to your side when you step out, looking only a little upset that he hadn't gotten to open the door for you. He shuts it, though, and catches his jacket when it slips from around your shoulders.

"Oh-! Here," He holds the material open, urging you to fit your arms through the slots, "Put it on, honey."

You blame his honey-sweet tone of voice for how clumsy you are in slipping into the jacket. It's unfair, really, how he's treating you like a precious thing, wrapping you in his jacket and driving you home. Then he zips it for you, all the way up to your chin, and you think you're in love.

The cool night air feels even more now like a fresh start. Thoughts of your awful ex-boyfriend have been looming over you the entire time, but they ebb away with each caring gesture Aaron shows you. It takes every ounce of self control in your body not to tackle him into a kiss when he takes your hand, leading you into the convenience store.

He beelines for the frozen section, grabbing a handheld basket on the way. He stops you right in front of the ice creams, only dropping your hand to gesture at the display case.

"Go ahead," He urges you, "Pick some. That's proper breakup ritual, I hear."

"Aaron, no-!"

"It's a rite of passage," He cuts you off, something stern in his eyes even if they're primarily kind, "Just- here. You like cookies and cream, right?" He eyes a container of the flavor behind the glass, and you nod tentatively, wondering how he'd remembered. You'd only eaten it once at his house, and he'd only known because he'd caught you washing your bowl out, and insisted on doing it himself because you were a guest.

He pushes the basket into your hands, and you watch begrudgingly as he takes two quarts of ice cream from the shelf. You protest weakly as he ushers you to the counter, but he shushes you gently, stepping in front of you to pay.

"Aaron," You mumble, cheeks hot and voice whiny as he waits for the cashier to ring him up. You knock your face against his back, burying it there for safekeeping, and he reaches back to pat your side.

The total isn't egregious, but it's more than you're happy with him spending on you. Of course, you don't have cash, so you're unable to pay him back, either. You'll have to slip Jack money the next time you see him, but you have a sneaking suspicion he'd use it at the school's vending machine instead.

"Thank you," You gush, voice still thick with embarrassment and cheeks still burning as Aaron leads you back to the SUV. He's slipped his hand back into yours, and he tucks the ice cream at your feet when you're settled into your seat.

"Again," He urges, resting his hand over your own where they lay in your lap, "Don't thank me. I'm only treating you like you deserve."

If he notices the monumental smile you try to bite back, he doesn't tease you about it.

He pulls into your driveway shortly after, with no further detours. You're renting a little ground-floor condo, and he walks you to your door with your ice cream in hand.

"Alright," He sighs, passing the bag over to you, "I think you have to watch a romance movie with this," He glances at the bag, "It's the law, I'm pretty sure."

"Oh, yeah?" You grin, the expression brighter than it would have been a half-hour ago, "What if I don't? Are the police gonna show up?"

"I will," He threatens, a warm smile on his face, "And I'm a bit of an ice cream fiend, so don't tempt me."

"Well there's two quarts..." You raise your brows, a silent invitation.

"I don't want to intrude," He starts, but you cut him off before he can even try.

"Mr.- Aaron," You hesitate, voice coming out meager where you want it confident, "I really don't want to be alone right now."

You almost expect him to leave. Sure, he'd been sweet to you tonight. But you're nervous that his sympathy was temporary, and that it's waning. So you stare at his shirt instead of his eyes, and you miss the way his gaze softens.

"Okay." He nods, one foot stepping forwards towards the threshold of your condo, "Okay honey. I'll stay."

Your condo isn't much. You're a college student, not a CEO, and your shoddy furniture tells that story. Aaron doesn't seem to mind, though, setting the bag on the counter and rummaging for spoons.

"You sure you want to share?" He eyes you where you've sat yourself on the couch, quarts and spoons in hand as he joins you.

"I'm sure," You nod, reaching for the tv remote, "I think I'd get sick if I ate two cartons."

A romance movie isn't hard to find, but you feel yourself developing a pounding headache from the exhaustion of crying. The ice cream is sweet on your tongue, cookies crunching between your teeth and staining them dark. You munch through the first half of the movie, digging into the carton with a greedy spoon each time. You don't even breach the halfway point before you have to stop, eyes closing and head pounding.

Aaron's similarly engaged with his ice cream, spoon upside-down in his mouth as he sucks it clean. You try not to stare at his mouth, but you're bashful as you place the lid back on your ice cream tub.

"I'm gonna beat you," Aaron boasts, digging his spoon back in for more ice cream, "Quitter."

"Go ahead," You sigh, head lolling back against the cushions. Your voice is colored with defeat, sad and dull. Aaron suspects it's not just about your unspoken ice cream eating contest.

"C'mere," He sighs, jamming his spoon into his ice cream and wrapping his now free arm around your shoulders. He urges you against his shoulder, something that you'd wanted to do since the moment you'd sat down, but didn't have the guts to.

"I'm sorry, honey." He reminds you as you lay your head against his shoulder, his constant slew of sympathy warming your chest, "He's an idiot."

"I feel like the idiot," You admit, voice in a low grumble, "I should have known it was too good to be true."

He pauses, stiffens, shifts. He's turned to face you, now, nudging your head off of his shoulder so he can look you in the eye. He's frowning, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like... I dunno." You sigh in defeat, "I wasn't exactly everyone's dream girl in high school. And when I started college and everyone seemed older and more mature, it was comforting, like a fresh start. And then he took an interest in me, and I felt like things were finally starting to work for me, like I was finally a girl that guys liked. And then... well, you know the story. It just feels like I should have known better."

All the while, through your confession, Aaron's face has twisted itself into the deepest frown you've ever seen on the man. It looks like it's embedded permanently into his features, like he's stuck there from now on. It's almost cartoonish, and you'd laugh if you weren't so sad.

"Don't say that." He orders, voice stern.

"What?"

"Don't say that." He repeats, "This is not your fault. You were not supposed to see it coming, nor does it mean that people don't like you. College boys are..." He deliberates carefully on his word choice, seeing as he has one himself, "Impulsive. And impulsivity can sometimes be channeled into some pretty stupid shit. Like cheating on your girlfriend. Okay? It's not your fault that college boys are stupid."

"But-" You start with a choked voice, and his disapproving glare intensifies, "He wouldn't have cheated on me if I wasn't doing something wrong, would he? Or- or maybe I just am wrong, maybe I'm just not the type of person that's good enough to make someone stay."

"That is," He rushes to reply, reaching up to thumb a tear away from the apple of your cheek, "The dumbest thing I've ever heard." His hand rests there now, flush to your face, and there's a cold stripe down the middle where he'd been holding his spoon. His fingers are chilly too, but they warm against your skin.

"You are not wrong, there is nothing about you that makes you 'not good enough'. I can think of a thousand things that make you wonderful, but not one dealbreaker. Listen to me, please." He's leaning in, getting closer and closer with every word that tumbles from his lips, "There are people who fall in love with serial killers. No one is unlovable, certainly not you."

"But- but those people fall in love with serial killers because they're serial killers. That's- that's a thing about them, that's a lifestyle that people glorify. No one glorifies mediocrity, Aaron," Your heart sinks, "And that's what I am. I'm mediocre, maybe I'm good enough to take home for a night but I'm not good enough to live with."

In all of your frantic blubbering, you'd avoided eye contact with Aaron. Snapping back to focus, though, you see that it's impossible now, that he's close enough that your noses are brushing, and his breath is fanning over your mouth. Your own breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds.

His eyes, once stern and disapproving, are soft around the edges. They're chocolatey, and they speak to his sweet soul that's compelling him to stroke his thumb over the pudge of your cheek. You think for all the world that he's going to kiss you, you almost beg for it, but at the last minute, he tilts his head down, not forwards.

His forehead presses to your own, and his eyes shut.

"You are," He murmurs, holding you close, keeping your face flush to his, "The perfect girl. You're sweet, you're kind, you're funny, you're caring, you're so pretty, you're hardworking, you're resilient, you are... I could name a thousand other things. And, one day," His eyes flutter open, staring into your own as best he can at such a close proximity, "The right person will tell you that."

Aaron is the right person. He has to be, you can't imagine anyone else in the world being as kind or sweet with you as he is. And after all, that's what he says you deserve, right? The way his hand fits around your face seems like a piece of your puzzle you'd never known was missing until it snapped into place, and if you could steal his voice sea-witch style just to hear it all day long, you would.

It's a staring contest, and you blink first.

"I'm glad you told me," You admit, voice thick with emotion. You're not sure whether he picks up on the fact that you're designating him as the right person or not, but you choose not to think about it as he pulls you impossibly closer.

"Don't thank me," He reminds you, "it's what you deserve. Are you tired?"

"Yeah." You admit, slumping your forehead against him even as he tries moving away. It means that your skin slips against his lips, and he presses them into a pucker against your head. You'll savor the feeling forever.

"Go to sleep," He urges you, hand still on your cheek to guide it back to his shoulder. You curl into him much easier now, feeling lovey enough even to wrap your arms around one of his own. The movie plays forgotten on the tv, and your eyes shut to the vision of Aaron's lap, ice cream abandoned between his thighs. It's a nice image, but one you can't think too hard about while sleepy.

His hand comes up from where it had been draped over the cushions behind you to rub your back. He applies soft, gentle pressure, stroking up and down over the fabric of your- his jacket, one that you hope he doesn't take off of you before he leaves. It's grounding, and it only makes you burrow into him more.

The way you know he's the right person for sure is by fighting sleep. You want to conserve your time with Aaron, and you don't want to forget the feeling of his tender touches. You're in that floaty space between sleep and consciousness, somewhere with bodliy sensation but little cognitive ability. Your brain is pleasantly cloudy, and Aaron's hand on your back never stops.

When your breathing evens out, Aaron thinks you're asleep. You feel him shift ever-so-slightly, and you're worried he'll leave you. But he doesn't, he gets even closer, and you feel his lips land on the crown of your head.

"Perfect," He murmurs into your scalp, vibrations thrumming through your skull and wriggling their way into your brain, cementing the thought there, "G'night, sweetheart."

You drift to sleep knowing, without a doubt, that Aaron is the right person for you.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[sawyerconfort]

the yellowjackets when you wear their shirts would include...

Hi, I promised I would come back and I just disappeared, I'm really sorry! As I mentioned before, my computer has been having huge problems, and I've tried to fix it before, but it looks like I'm going to have to format it after all.

In the meantime, I've got a laptop abandoned at home and I'm trying to write on it. Half the delay was because I was trying to adjust to the new method and the other half because I really had no idea for these requests and giving you shitty stuff would not be fair at all.

Ok, so here we go, probably for a wave of headcannons with other fandoms (AHS fans, I promise I'll answer all of your asks, don't worry!

Enjoy!

Requests will be a little closed for a while just until I get my act together! Sorry for the delay and closing!

If you can also let me know in the replies if you want more prompts and headcannons with the yellowjackets, I would appreciate it! And let me know if you want me to include Travis or\and Coach Ben on it too...

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

Jackie Taylor

I don't think Jackie would make a fuzz about it. Alright, she would probably be surprised on the first day. But because she's supposedly the most popular girl in school, she's even happy that you're being influenced by her style, after all, that's what popular girls are for, right?

It will also depend a lot on your relationship. If you are friends, for example, Jackie will insist on letting you take some clothes that no longer fit her. And if you're dating, she'll make sure to tease you as much as she can until you express the reaction that pleases her the most.

"You look beautiful, (Y\N), my style really suits you, like I always said."

Shauna Shipman

Shauna wouldn't mind too much about you wearing her clothes either, but unlike Jackie, I think she'd be pretty insecure about commenting on it, kind of afraid that it would make you stop wearing it, and also, of course, due to her internal issues with herself.

But Shauna would find it incredibly adorable, though, and would give you some signs that she liked the offbeat idea, her way. This includes not-so-subtle glances while you're wearing the fabric, or some clothes, which are her favorites as well, laid out on the bed when you come to visit… Little details that let you know that Shauna isn't bothered at all therefore.

I mean, unless it's her flannels, these inseparable fucking flannels… Those no one can take, not even a significant other.

"Uh… You look cute, (Y\N), in my outfit… I like it."

Natalie Scatorccio

I don't think Natalie would mind you wearing her clothes. In fact, I think it would be a good opportunity for her to take advantage of this and tease you as much as she can. She will do anything to make you self-conscious and blush, but not in a bad way. Like, that's just her love language.

And, let's face it, Natalie is needy enough not to let her scent wash off her clothes when you take them off. On nights when she needs to sleep alone, if you're dating, she'll purposefully grab one of her pieces of clothing and smell in the scent to keep you close.

"Hey, sweetie, lookin' pretty, huh? Is this outfit mine by any chance?"

Taissa Turner

I'm a hundred percent sure that Tai would be one of those people who abominate clichés, unless she's doing it herself. So, at first, this idea of sharing clothes with her significant other is something she would find completely silly. The first time, she would just kindly tell you to stop it, in a way that doesn't hurt your feelings (I love a soft-hearted Tai, don't judge me!).

But then, as time goes on, I'm also one hundred percent sure that Tai would buy clothes in her style that exclusively fit you. It's kind of her guilty pleasure, since spoiling you is one of her most practiced love languages. And well, considering the tantrum she threw the first few times, how much you've evolved is impressive.

"Okay honey, which one do you want to wear today?"

Lottie Matthews

Okay, get ready for the biggest love bomb you've ever received in your life. Lottie would be completely adorable about your wearing her clothes, and not only would she not mind at all, she would make a point of convincing you that you are one of the lost paintings by one of the famous artists of past centuries, or something like that.

In fact, it's kind of a headcannon on my part that Lottie doesn't have her own style and that she's always looking for something that makes her belong somewhere (some clothes in her teens she wore because of her mother's influence, just because it would please her, you know? )

So, seeing you wearing the dresses that she finds extremely over the top, or the blouses that have too much detail and too little simplicity, is like one of the greatest achievements of her life, if not the greatest. I don't think Lottie ever liked that flashy style more than when you started stealing it from her.

"Wow, wow, wait a minute! Wow, (Y\N), I think you wearing this made me a hundred times more in love with you! Wear it more, babe. You can wear my clothes as much as you like."

Van Palmer

(Okay, since Liv identifies as they\them, I'm going to change the pronouns for this one, hope you don't mind!)

Van and Natalie would have the same approach when it comes to stealing their clothes. But, I think, as an honest opinion, Van would turn this more into a flirting game than anything else. They are simply obsessed (it reads turned on) when you wear something of theirs.

And of course, this opens the door for some good teasing that will inevitably end in making out. Like, how would you handle it, with Van looking you up and down and smirking with that smile you're completely drawn to every time? It's almost impossible for nothing to happen.

I'm also pretty sure that if you were dating, they wouldn't let you have only your clothes in your closet or in your bags. There would always have to be three or more pieces of them that you could use as much or as little as you wanted.

"Wow! Watch out, everyone! There's an extremely hot living being crossing the room, and look what a coincidence, they're wearing my clothes!"

Misty Quigley

Misty would probably have the best reaction ever. Then she, who was always ridiculed for her attitudes and style, having someone who was able to wear her clothes as if they were completely ordinary. Are you kidding? You'll practically make her day if you do something like that!

Obviously, she would be embarrassed and reluctant to ask you the first time why you were doing it, but Misty Quigley has two sides to the coin, and one of them being the impulsive side, I think that would be the one that would beat her to the courage. And your response of the type "because I love your style" would simply keep her up all night.

By the next morning, her entire circle of potential friends would have known about it…

"OH MY GOD! Are these… are these my clothes? Okay, now you really need to let me do your makeup, (Y\N)!"

Laura Lee

(Same thing as Liv\Van, but I don't really know if Laura Lee would use neutral pronuns... It's all because of Jane Widdop, our baby!)

Laura Lee would be pretty surprised if you showed up wearing their clothes, and honestly, I don't think there would be any malice on their part when you did. More than a possible sign that they could be more than friends to you, this would mean that you could, above all, be friends.

They would find it extremely sweet, actually, the effort and dedication you put into choosing an item of clothing that they loved, but was also comfortable for you. In short, Laura Lee would just adore you even more, if that were even possible!

"Oh! Oh! I can't believe it! You look beautiful wearing this, (Y\N). In God's eyes and mine mostly."

[thisismeracing]

Love sips | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.7k ― Warnings: +18; not proofread; mentions of food and a bad day at work; graphic description of sex; oral (fem and male receiving) - 69; slightly sub!mick and dom!reader; ― Summary: Some bad moments leave the feeling that your whole day was destroyed. Sometimes, all you need to navigate life’s ups and downs is someone to remember you that bad events don’t equal a bad day, Yn decides on a very peculiar approach to remind herself that, and Mick, her boyfriend, is happy to help.  ― A/n: I actually liked this far better than I thought I would. I was very insecure at first because it was my first time writing a 69 scene, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

⁕ Based on this and this request. ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

Bad days happen. It’s a fact.

Sometimes they’re a series of bad things that happen during the whole day.

Sometimes they’re just one bad thing that happens during that day and ends up tainting the rest of it.

Today, unfortunately for Yn, it was the former. 

She woke up late, which made her skip breakfast and grab a snack in the cafeteria close to her work, which ended with someone spilling coffee on her white blouse. She didn’t have a spare. Then it was the whole stress at work, her boss got her new tasks when she wasn’t even finished with the ones she had, and she needed to deal with some rude people along the way. And by the end of the day, Yn wanted to Uber home, but only then, when everyone had left, she noticed she had forgotten her charger at home, and her phone was dead. 

She had to walk to the subway, with a stained shirt, sore feet, and a headache. 

When Yn got home, she kicked her shoes off and crouched down to pet Angie who was napping in her bed close to the stairs. She breathed in her house scent, the low light, and the peaceful atmosphere, before grabbing two water bottles and making her way to the bedroom where she knew Mick would be. 

And there he is indeed. Mick’s sitting on the bed with a book, he seems deep in concentration, but the second he hears the door his head snaps up. Yn eyes wander from his naked chest to his gray sweatpants up to his face, and they share a look before she discards the water bottles on the nightstands and starts to undress. Mick closes the book and Yn nods. 

“Lie down,” it’s a soft command, and the blonde shows Yn one of his trademark grins before his back hits the mattress.

“What happened?” He asks, watching her remove her panties, her bra still on.

Yn sighs, “I’ve had a shitty day, but I’ll tell you after you make me cum. I’m sitting on your face.” She got on the bed. “Now be a good boy and make me forget my own name, will you?” 

Mick accepted the challenge with a proud smirk and hooked his hands on her thighs, helping her cross one of her legs over his face. Pussy right in front of his mouth.

He groaned and then moaned when she sat down without much pleasantries. Yn rocked back and forth, one hand on his hair pulling it tight, and the other holding onto the headboard for support. She threw her head back when his tongue invaded her hole, and his nose bumped into her clit in a crazy friction. 

Digging his short nails into her ass, Mick let the adrenaline and passion lead the way, licking and sucking, while Yn demanded in heated and low moans. She told him how good he was making her feel, told him he was such a good boy, that she would cum all over his face, and he was going to drink it all like his favorite liquor. Because, of course, he would. 

“Use your fingers, Mick!” she urged, lowering her other free hand to his hair, pushing his face deeper, and whimpering when he gathered her juices on two fingers before sticking it in.

He made ‘come here’ movements hitting her walls right on the spot, and Yn felt her toes curls. 

“Faster!” her command echoed through the large bedroom, and Mick couldn’t help but follow. “Make me cum, Mick.” She whispered looking down, her eyes finding his pleading ones. He was getting off with it too, but she could clearly see that he was obeying and putting her first and nothing made Yn more aroused than seeing how much he loved and cherished her. 

Yn reached for the clasp of her bra and took it off quickly, throwing it somewhere, and focusing her attention on Mick’s ministrations and her own hands playing with her hard nipples. The blonde closed his eyes, taking her swollen bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks while inserting a third finger inside, making Yn gasp and cry a string of profanities. 

With that pace, it did not take long for her to forget about the stresses of the day. Spiller coffee turned into spilled love confessions. Her throbbing head turned into a pleasantly throbbing body. And she felt the exact moment her body toppled over the edge, jumping head first into pleasure land. Mick moaned, and the vibrations made her dizzy. Her back arched, and Yn whimpered praises to her boyfriend, who slowed down his pace, helping her ride the orgasm wave.

 “Was it good? Did it help?” the German questioned, kissing the inside of her thighs, and Yn knew him long enough to know he wasn’t fishing for compliments, but, in fact, worried about her. 

“It was great, baby. Do you think you can give me one more?” she asked, supporting the weight of her body on her knees. 

When Mick quickly nodded in agreement, even looking excited, Yn turned her body, her pussy still directly on top of his face, but she was now facing his lower half. She draped her body on top of his, and he moaned, understanding what she was about to do.

“You’ve been such a good boy. I think you deserve some attention too.” Yn comments, playing with the hem of Mick’s boxers. She traces the outline of his hard shaft and chuckles when a strangled moan pass between his lips reverberating on her core. “Be patient, baby. I’m giving you some attention too. Your reward.”

And with that Yn lets his dick spring free from the clothing. She gives it a tug and pumps, before spitting on his pinky swollen head. The muscle of his thighs contract, and he involuntarily thrusts into the air. Mick moans into her core and licks a stripe of her sensitive pussy, while Yn takes part of him inside her mouth, taking her time to enjoy the feeling of each vein and dip. She could feel the salty precum on her tongue, and it only made her more aroused because truly Mick got off giving her pleasure. That was yet another proof of it. 

“Oh- Ich-” Mick started but cut himself off when Yn hollowed her cheeks and sucked him just the way he liked. It was too much. Her smell on his nose, her taste on his tongue, her tongue on him, her body on top of his. All of his senses were high and it wouldn’t take long for him to hit his climax. 

“You what, love?” She teased, grounding her hips harder against his face and taking him deeper into her mouth. 

Mick let out a series of curses and praises in German and then stuffed three of his fingers through her entrance. She was as wet as before, and he was eager to get a sip of her again. He traced her clit, and played with her lips, all while trying to keep his body functioning with her teasing him. 

“You wanna come?” Yn asked when she felt his hips start to leave the mattress again eagerly searching for her warm mouth. 

“Please, Liebling. Please, let me come,” it was almost like a plea, and it fueled Yn to start again her game, this time, ready to let him explode on her tongue. 

And that he did. The second Yn pumped what she couldn’t fit inside and contracted her throat with his invasion. Mick couldn’t help but dissolve into pleasure. His salty seeds filled her mouth and spilled onto her chin. Yn smiled proudly and kissed his head, helping him ride the climax road. 

It didn’t take longer for her to reach her second orgasm too. It was easy with all the stimulus on her body and his own. It was hot seeing him come, and it was hot when he did so in her mouth. For some reason, her pussy loved it. And so Yn when Yn came for the second time that night, her breath hitches, and she can’t hold her weight, so she falls on top of his thighs. Spent and satisfied. 

They both take a second or two to even their breaths, before Mick brings her to his side, kissing her forehead, jaw, and, then finally, her lips, tasting each other. Yn purrs and shakily pulls him towards her, deepening the kiss. 

“Thank you,” Mick mumbles, starting a path of kisses to her collarbones

Yn sighs concently, “Thank you.” She feels him smile against her skin, his teeth sinking into some parts of her flesh, and then nipping and kissing it. 

“You wanna talk about your day?” he asks now facing her. 

And that she does. In fact, she almost cries while telling him she only got to take one sip from her coffee before someone crashed into her spilling it into her blouse, she tells him how she forgot her charger and had to walk with sore feet to the subway, and she lists a couple of stressful people she had to deal with at work. When she’s done spilling out her feelings, to which Mick only agrees -knowing that sometimes she doesn’t wanna hear anything back, just sharing everything already helps-. He starts his trails of kissing, biting, and nipping again, and Yn is so spent and tired after her long day and two delicious orgasms that she can’t help but fall asleep. 

When she wakes up, stretching her body on the comfortable matters, Mick is in front of her, a boyish grin gracing his features. 

“I got you your favorite, though it’s decaf. But this time, you’ll drink without someone spilling,” and sure enough, he’s holding her favorite coffee with one hand and a snack in the other, expectantly looking at her. 

Yn can feel a wave of pleasure wash over her. The pleasure she gets whenever something reinforces his love for her, just like going all the way just to get her favorite coffee after she had a bad day. And sure enough, she sips on her coffee watching Mick with heart eyes. When their eyes meet, she’s sipping his love too, and enjoying how sweet it tastes. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Don’t forget to water a plant and water this account too (you water this account by reblogging and leaving me a message if you’re comfortable, it means a lot to me, and makes my imagination bloom just like a flower would) *forehead kiss*

taglist: @sachaa-ff @dalsuwaha @mellowpizzapuppy @mishaandthebrits @mickslover @crimeshowjunkie @iloveyou3000morgan @formulakay3 @carojasmin2204 @saintslewis @wondergirl101ks @fdl305 @chaoticevilbakugo @shhhchriss @smiithys @f1kota @lunnnix @leclercsluv @babyiscrying @uuuseeerrr12 @karmabyfernando @balekane_mohafe @crashingwavesofeuphoria @81astri

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

[prolix-yuy]

Hello friends! It's been way way way way WAY too long since we chatted, and to be honest I've been taking an embarrassingly long time to write this update post because godDAMN life just gets you sometimes and you go on an impromptu hiatus that gets super messy. So let's get into what's been going on and what to look forward to!

Pedro Tax for this long-ass post.

(We're gonna get into some personal stuff, but if you're just here for what's coming up skip down to WHAT'S NEXT for the tl;dr version)

So beyond work getting hectic from January to March, which was the catalyst for everything getting wacky, I experienced a weird emotional turn that I wasn't expecting. It made me get a little introspective, which I blame some of my productivity slump on.

As I was finishing up the Bangathon entries, I noticed a sharp decline in interaction. I'm a fairly young fic writer on Tumblr, but I was a little baffled as to why stories I'd posted only a week before got a nice bit of interaction yet the newer ones were only getting half to a quarter of what I expected. For a minute I thought I had been shadowbanned (I was not) or I hadn't tagged the posts (I had) or my taglists weren't working (they were). People were already talking about interaction being lower, so I sat back and tried to go with the flow and not let it bother me. I posted Decoherence, which has a more niche audience, but I was definitely missing and wishing for some of the comments and reblogs I thought I might get.

All this led up to one of the least favorite voices in my head saying something that stuck around:

"Well, you were right not to become a writer if your motivation is this closely tied to feedback."

If you're new here or I haven't talked about it much recently, I initially was planning to be a writer. Went to school for it and everything. While I was there I felt like I hadn't found the stories I wanted to tell yet. My colleagues were developing in their niches and writing "the great American novel" and I didn't feel like I fit in. My stories had a lukewarm reception, and I never felt like anyone was excited about anything I was trying to say. So I wrote myself into burnout by the time I graduated with not much to show for it. I ended up doing a career switch, which I love to this day, but I stopped writing for almost 10 years.

Coming to Tumblr, I felt that spark of excitement writing again, and some of that was definitely due to people commenting and being excited or interested in the stories I was sharing. That truly revived something in me I thought was long gone, and reflecting back on the last two years that I've been sharing stories with this community makes me wildly emotional. I didn't know how much I missed of the life I left behind, and how much joy it brought me to share stories again.

Which is why it was SUPREMELY FRUSTRATING to have that shitty little voice pulverize my productivity and excitement over something as silly as interaction. But I'm sure most of you know how hard it is to get that voice out of your head. I worked to write things I found fun and less stressful than the series I already felt bad for not updating. And while I still love those stories, it felt like I was pulling them from an inauthentic place and finishing them wasn't as satisfying as I'd hoped.

Thus the hiatus! I stopped writing and turned my attentions to consuming and creating in other ways. I watched some shows I'd been meaning to catch up on, started planning to buy a house, worked my butt off at the day job. And I was starting to feel like inspiration was coming back. I didn't want to spook it so I took my time and promised myself I was going to start small and not stress about getting stories out for a bit.

Top that off with some medical surprises, an upcoming surgery, and a little re-evaluation of life moving forward and things have been wild. But I've been missing the daily joy I get from being part of this fandom, and I'm getting back into being here more because I miss you guys! AND! I have stories I want to share and fun to be had. So let's shake off all the heavy shit and get to the fun stuff!

WHAT'S NEXT!

The big thing I'm getting ready to post (after teasing it for so long) is the 2024 Bangathon! This one is different from last year's because instead of requesting stories from me, the Bangathon is open to anyone who wants to participate! There will be a randomizer to play with, and some fun bonuses for those who participate. The announcement will be coming out soon, stay tuned!

As for fics, here are some updates on what's in my WIPs:

Series:

I Think of You: I spent some time rewatching Mando for the newest installment, and I've finally gotten the thread of where to go next thought out. It's been a long time coming so this one's gonna be BEEFY to make up for it.

SW!Frankie: I am crushed to realize it's been over a year since I posted any SW!Frankie! I've got a new story about him and Ms J moving in together I need to finish, then some more asks that are getting into new story arcs I'm excited to share!

Best Laid Plans: Dieter and Murch's first date is bouncing around in my head and I NEED to get it on paper. There's much fun to be had, and I've been binge listening to my playlist for them to get into the headspace.

Midnight Alley: I got all up in my own head about continuing the story with these two and lost a little steam, so I'm going to ease off my "big plans" and start smaller with some oneshots instead. I think it'll help me find out where I want this story to go.

One Shots in Progress:

Decoherence Follow-Up

Incubus!Dieter Ask

You know, laying it out like that makes it feel much more manageable than my brain was telling me! I'm also planning to prioritize more fic reading while I'm getting these updates in ship-shape. Reading your stories always helps get my creative juices flowing, and there are so many good ones lingering in my TBR list that I need to devour.

This has been a rollercoaster of emotions, so thank you for coming on the ride with me. I'm excited to bring more of myself back to Tumblr and have fun with all of you again! To many more stories!

[jeneseoquoi]

nct 127 | '95 line + bad days

(note: johnny & yuta went to support taeyong’s shalala mucore prerecording so i had to take the moment to write a little something about my favorite trio. hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! if you enjoyed it, tell me in the tags/comments/ask box. and if you want me to write it for any of the other members, let me know and i'll try my best to get it done! a little long so most of it is under the cut.)

johnny: "are you okay?" you questioned, cornering the tall man in the kitchen.

johnny had barely spoken to you when you got home from work which was odd. it was even more odd when he spent the past fifteen minutes slamming any and every drawer & cabinet door in the apartment.

"i'm fine." he says, grabbing a random pot from the cabinet and pushing past you.

"are you suuuuure?" you ask as he opens and slams yet another drawer. "you seem a litt-"

"i said i'm fine!" he cut you off sharply causing you to furrow your brows at his obvious passive aggressiveness and tone of his voice.

"okay look, i know you well enough to tell that you're not fine. i get if you don't want to talk about it right now, but you could just say that instead of slamming around everything in our house and raising your voice at me."

he stayed silent, opting to gaze at the floor to avoid your glare.

"i'll be in our bedroom if and when you're ready to talk." you say, pushing past him toward the hallway.

it's less than an hour before you hear a faint set of knocks, followed by the bedroom door creaking open. you look up from your position on the bed to see your sheepish looking man. closing the book in front of you to acknowledge his presence, you wait for him to speak first.

"i'm sorry." he pouts, "i had a shitty day at work, but i shouldn't have taken it out on you." you nod accepting his apology before opening your arms to him.

"come here. you wanna tell me what happened?" he nods, making his over to the bed and settling into your arms. he tells you about his day, snuggling in closer as you thread your fingers through his hair.

"thank you for listening babe. i really needed this."

"of course baby," you cup his cheeks, "i'm always here for you no matter what."

he smiles, leaning up toward you. "i love you."

you smile back at him, before pressing your lips to his.

"i love you."

taeyong: "tae?" you called, slowly opening the door to the bedroom you share. he doesn't answer, but the blanket on your guys' bed clearly outlines his frame under it. making your way over, you carefully pull back the blanket to see your boyfriend face first into his pillow.

"is everything okay love?" you gently nudge him, taking a seat on the bedside. he finally turns to face you, revealing his puffy, red eyes. a clear sign he's been crying.

"oh my god! taeyong! what happened?!" he shakes his head, letting you know he doesn't want to talk about it, but you know it's weighing heavy on his heart by the sheer sadness in his eyes.

you take the moment to hold your hand out to him which he hesitantly takes. "come on." you say as he allows you to drag him out of the bed, and into the bathroom.

you turn on the shower, undressing before stepping in, and he follows suit. you face him, watching as the water cascades down his shoulders and you know he's trying so hard to keep the tears at bay.

"it's okay. you can cry in here and nobody will know. not even me."

as if your words broke the dam, tears start to spill from his eyes as the sobs rack through his body. you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

it's a while before taeyong finally settles into your embrace, his sobs turning to quiet sniffles. he buries his face further into your neck as if to muffle his next words, but you hear it clearly.

"thank you."

yuta: you know he had a bad day. he'd practically said as much when he got home. still, he was doing his best to keep up a happy persona.

tonight was your guys' monthly date night and you know how much yuta (and you) look forward to spending the much needed time together. see, even though you guys finally live together, it's not often the both of you get to do something special with each other due to his pretty strict, busy schedule. that's why early on in your relationship, you made a pact that no matter what, unless he was away on tour, you guys would have at least one night a month dedicated to a special date night.

these nights mean the most to yuta, so you could understand how he would be frustrated that of all days for him to have a bad one, it had to be on day night. yet, even though it was evident to you in his mannerisms and eyes, he refused to let on that he was even a tiny bit upset. which, to be honest, was making you feel a little worse. you never want your partner to suppress his feelings for your sake.

throughout dinner you tried to subtly ask him about his day or how he was feeling, but knowing your tactics, he brushed them off or just plainly changed the subject.

dinner and dessert went by with no luck of getting yuta to open up, and before you knew it, you guys were walking out of the restaurant and toward his car to make the journey home.

he opened the passenger door for you, before shutting it and making his way around to get into the driver's side seat.

"yuta." you called. he hummed in response, letting you know that he was listening. "can you look at me?"

he turned his head to face you, confusion present on his face. you reached over the center console to lace your fingers with his and continued.

"i know you had a bad day. and i know you think by hiding it, you're saving our date night, but i want you to know that you never have to pretend you're okay with me. i appreciate you trying your best to be happy for tonight, but i'd much rather you stay true to how you're really feeling, even if it's date night."

he sighs deeply, squeezing your hand, then bringing it up to his lips.

"you're right. i shouldn't and won't hide from you. i promise to tell you all about it on our way home."

[olderthannetfic]

seeing the hatred and fake-claiming makes me... sad, for lack of a better word. I have been a system for a very, very long time; I had the first inklings of it in middleschool when I was so severely depressed and lonely and shrouded in feelings of worthlessness that my brain did literally whatever if could to let me survive. I didn't tell anybody, because i was solidly convinced it was JUST an overactive imagination, and i definitely couldn't be one of those ~sick~ people who ~REALLY~ had mpd. because my only real exposure to the idea had been fucked up jokes and horror movies, and i was an athiest at the time(so the more spiritual explanations didn't sound real to me), it seemed too far away to be possible. in highschool the mental dam broke. i got FLOODED with headmates after the idea of "it's not normal for your ~imaginary friends~ to act on their own and occasionally take control of your body for you" finally sunk in, and it was scary, and i STILL stayed silent on it outside of a very small friend group, because i was terrified - above all else - that i would be sent to the looney bin. because that's what you DID with mpd, right? even if it wasn't hurting anybody? because they're crazy? well, i've spent most of my adult life learning more about how different systems operate and how MINE operates, and I have to say.... it's the best thing that could have happened for my mental health. yes, it was scary. because of how we are TREATED by the media and the average person. yes, it is a little odd seeing youngsters be so open about it in such a celebratory way, because i don't understand how they aren't scared. but i am GLAD they aren't. my system is my family, moreso than the blood i share in meatspace, and they keep me safe and loved when everything is falling to pieces. and if that hasn't been your own experience, i am genuinely sorry that you're going through that, and i hope you can all learn to live together more peacefully as time passes. but fuck no i am not going to tell the kid with 18 sonics in their head that they're ~definitely faking~ just because they're fucking excited to share it. there are much worse characters to introject over and over again, and every introjection has its reasoning; even the shitty ones who makes your life harder. my early life was eaten up by my TRAUMA and my DEPRESSION, not the fucking headmates that helped me get through it. and i am so, so thankful that my therapist understands that, and i wish every system young and old that you be safe and in a good place to heal. and most of all, i hope if you're a system reading this - DID, OSDD, undiagnosed, reincarnation, whatever - that you don't believe the singlet bullshit that they push on us. full integration is not a realistic goal for most of us, and that is not just okay - for those who have learned to work together, it can be better that you'll never be one solid person. stay safe, stay loved, and keep your bitter comments to yourselves.

--

[lovelybucky1]

Jonathan Crane taking the reader hostage after a drug deal gone wrong (thinking of the "buyer beware" scene from the Dark Knight Trilogy, here: https://youtu.be/Wu-Jj8xRiEI?feature=shared - like how cocky he is here xD) and I'll let you take it from here 👉👈

my inbox is open for cillian characters!

warnings: gender neutral!reader (no pronouns or physical description) mentions of drug use/addicton, kidnapping, shitty boyfriends, creep!jonathan, dubcon, implied smut, degradation

masterlist

you knew it was a bad idea going to a drug deal with your boyfriend. you hadn’t even been dating that long, there was no reason for you to let him drag you into this life. he had just wanted a little, enough for a week to help him study for finals. you tried to talk him out of it, telling him that getting high off some mystery stimulant wasn’t going to help him, but he refused to listen

it was after midnight when the two of you went out. you followed his lead, and you eventually ended up in a dark alleyway between a liquor store and a furniture store. a cliché scene, but unfortunately it was real and not some shitty movie.

you and your boyfriend waited and waited, and just as you suggested to leave, a white van pulled to the end of the alley. a man in a burlap mask climbed out of the drivers seat and approached the two of you.

“i see you brought a friend this time,” the man in the mask said. you inched behind your boyfriend, trying to keep a distance between you and the man. you wondered what he meant by this time.

“where’s the stuff?” your boyfriend asked instead of acknowledging his comment

“not a fan of a small talk i take it? fine, fine,” the man huffed. “five hundred dollars.”

“what!?” your boyfriend exclaimed. “i dont have that kind of money.”

“the price is the price.”

“last time it was only a hundred.”

“last time you got coke. this stuff is more expensive,” the man spits, and even through the mask you can imagine the sneer that’s evident in his voice. “do you want it or not?”

your boyfriend huffs and scrubs his hand down his face. “yes..”

“but?”

“but i don’t have that kind of money.”

the man stands still, almost unnaturally so for a moment before turning to look at you. the only visible part of his face is his eyes, and his stare chills you to the bone.

“i think we can come to some kind of an arrangement,” he says, looking bad at your boyfriend. “i don’t usually trade, but you’ve been a loyal customer for a while now.”

“what do you want?” your boyfriend asks, and there’s a sick feeling in your stomach that tells you exactly what he wants.

“them,” the masked man says, pointing a long, thin finger at you.

you gasp in horror and cling to your boyfriend, but he doesn’t offer any comfort. “they’ll cover all of it?”

the man chuckles. “i’ll even give you a discount on your next purchase.”

your stomach churns. how could your boyfriend actually consider giving you to this lunatic just for some drugs?

“okay,” your boyfriend says, extending his hand for the man to shake, but he doesn’t. your boyfriend then grabs you and pushes you forward towards the man.

“what the fuck? let me go, asshole! you can’t fucking do this to me!” you shout, but neither man seem to care

the man grabs you by the shoulders and turns you to face him. you’re looking right at his mask, and from this close, you can see bits of his skin through the holes in the fabric. you struggle against his hold but his grip is firm.

“what a pretty thing,” he says. he then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a vile of clear liquid. he hands it to your boyfriend with a chuckle. “buyer beware.”

the man takes you by the wrist and drags you towards the van, ignoring your protests and screams for help. you shouldn’t be surprised that no one came to help, though. this is gotham, after all.

the man slides the door to the van open and pushes you inside, sending you tumbling onto the vehicle’s floor. he climbs in after you and shuts the door behind him, putting you in complete darkness.

through the car door, you can hear muffled screams of terror coming from outside. you shake with fear and you feel the lump in your throat growing as the reality of the situation hits you.

suddenly, a light turns on and you can see the inside of the empty van, save for the man that sits in front of you.

“would you like me to take off my mask?” he asks. you’re not sure what you want. the mask is frightening, but you’re afraid that what lies underneath is even worse. “not a talker, huh?”

the man pulls off his mask anyway, and reveals an unmarred face. he has sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, plush lips and piercing eyes. if it wasn’t for the mask and the kidnapping, you’d think he was a regular guy. an attractive guy.

the man grins at you as he watches you take in his appearance. clearly he knows he’s good looking, because he preens at the attention.

“since we’ll be spending a lot of time together, why don’t you tell me your name?”

you dont answer, instead you lean back against the wall, trying to stay away from him. unfortunately, he leans forward so your attempts were futile.

“i’ll go first. my name is jonathan, but you can call me whatever you want,” he smirks

“asshole,” you spit.

“this is the part where you tell me your name.”

again, you refuse to answer. the less he knows about you the better.

jonathan sighs. “it wouldn’t take me much effort to figure it out. but unless you want me to uncover every single detail of your life, identify, dirty secrets… i suggest you tell me.”

you tell him, gritting your name out between your teeth. he grins back at you, all teeth and he looks like a predator about to eat his prey.

“i’m sure you know that i didn’t trade you for my very expensive formula just to learn your name”

“what are you going to do to me?” you ask, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice

“so eager,” he licks his bottom lip. “i was thinking we could get to know each other a little better.”

jonathan places his hand on your thigh and you flinch, which makes him chuckle.

“i’ll scream,” you say.

jonathan leans close to your face. “and no one will hear you,” he spits. “even if they did, do you think they’d give a shit? you know how many people are murdered in this city every day? no one would bat an eye at a stupid little slut screaming for help in an alleyway. hell, they probably won’t even notice you’re gone.”

his harsh words make tears well up in your eyes. you try to fight them back, not wanting to cry in front of him, but before you can stop them, they’re spilling down your cheeks.

“you poor little thing,” he says, tone now gentle as he strokes your cheek, wiping away your tears. you can’t help but lean into his touch. his hand is large and comforting, and his fingertips are cool on your hot cheeks. “let me make you feel better.”

before you can answer, jonathan is leaning in and pressing his soft lips to yours. you resist at first, but when he deepens the kiss, you melt into it. he’s dominant, claiming your mouth for his own as he explores you with his tongue, and for some reason, you let him.

he finally breaks the kiss and looks at you with wide, lust-blown pupils. “we’re going to have lots of fun together.”

his hand creeps towards your groin, but you slap his hand away. he grabs your wrists in either hand and holds you tightly so you can’t move them. “you’re not going to stockholm syndrome me,” you say.

“oh, of course not. it’s much more fun when you hate me. i’d much rather you struggle than give in.”

his tone sparks fear inside you, but along with that fear comes a strange pang of arousal.

“i’m going to break you,” he grins, pushing you back against the van wall.

part 2!

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Prologue

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 2,225

A/N: Welcome to the start of The Guest House! This little bitty came to me while I was staying at a lake house and relaxing, so really excited to dive in.

Chapters will be posted weekly on Wednesdays.

If you would like to be tagged in the series, just leave a comment or shoot me a message and I'll get you added.

Enjoy!

You dig your nails into your fingertips as they sit in your lap underneath the table. Your heart was finally leveling off as your review was coming to an end. So far your marks had been glowing; your metrics were up, your peer reviews were stellar, all that was left was to hear if they would be promoting you.

You’ve been working for that next step for a year and a half now. After most of your team quit, you took the opportunity to show your bosses that you could run the department with a can-do attitude and hard work. You’ve brought up a promotion a few times at your check-ins with your boss, and she assured you it would be a topic of conversation at your next review, which would be ending in the next few minutes. 

With a polite smile, you look across the table at your direct manager and her boss.

“Any questions?” Your boss asks plainly, and your brow furrows as you look between them. If you didn’t know any better, it sounded like they were wrapping up the meeting.

Your lips fall apart and your heart jumps into your throat as you realize what’s about to happen.

“Uh,” you start as you squeeze your fists together. “I was hoping to discuss my possible promotion.” You loosen your smile as you try to keep your eye contact divided between both of them.  

The two share a small look. 

You’re not getting promoted. Is what that looks says. 

Your boss’ boss clears his throat as he readjusts in his seat. 

“After reviewing your performance, we do not feel a promotion is appropriate at this time.” He says with a tinge of forced sorrow. 

Your stomach plummets as your jaw clenches. 

How could they not be promoting you? You’ve been working the job of at least three people for over a year now without complaint. You’ve spent countless days staying late and making sure projects didn’t fall wayside while the company took their sweet ass time looking for replacements for your team.To their own admission, your metrics were good, so why the hell wasn’t your hard work being recognized?

“I don’t understand.” You swallow to keep your voice from shaking. You never pushed back on your bosses. Ever. But you thought today was the day you were finally going to be rewarded for everything you’ve done for them. 

“You just said that my metrics were up and I was performing above expectations. What is hindering him from getting a promotion then?” 

The two look at each other again and you can feel yourself beginning to shake as they bide their time for an excuse. 

“Y/N, you have performed well this past year for the most part, but there were concerns with your performance in January.” Your boss folds her tanned hands on the faux wood tabletop as she speaks up. “You let things fall through the cracks and were distant from your work. We feel that is not reflective of someone who should hold a Senior Management position.” She offers a soft smile and a shitty excuse. 

It takes your brain a moment to catch up with what they were talking about; January. Two months ago. Your aunt passed away suddenly from a heart attack as she was making dinner. You can still hear your mother’s cries over the phone as she called to tell you the news that her sister was dead. And at only 52. 

You were only able to take one day off from work for her funeral, as you were in the middle of a project launch and it was all hands on deck. When you returned, yeah, you were “distant.” You were mourning the loss of a woman you loved dearly while trying to help your mother and cousins navigate their grief as well. Your aunt’s passing also made you scared for your own mother, who is a few years older, and some night’s you couldn’t sleep as you thought about life without your best friend. It took you weeks to shake free from the heartbreak and anxiety that had engulfed you, but you came back strong and started excelling once more. 

And there your bosses sat, in the all-glass meeting room of the shared workspace your company rented out because they were too cheap to get a full-blown office, throwing your aunt’s death in your face and using it as the excuse as to why they would not be promoting you after more than eighteen months of slaving away for them with barely a thank you. 

You laugh through your nose and shake your head as you swallow hard.

“We’re happy to talk more about this in a few months at your next check-in.” Your boss jumps in, and you bite down on your lip. “We know you’re committed to this company and role, and we want to make sure we help you get to the next level.” She smiles at you like she actually believes the bullshit she’s spouting. 

You take a deep breath and genuinely smile back. You always prided yourself on keeping a cool head, especially at work. But a line had crossed, and even for you, enough was now enough. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Your boss ticks her head at your words. “Because I quit.” You stand up and smile down at the two asshats you gave everything for, and now realize, you would never get anything in return from them. 

Both of their mouths fall open as they share a shocked look between them.

“Y/N, let’s not do anything rash.” Your boss’ boss stands as well, holding his hands up. “There’s no need to jump to something like this. I’m sure there’s something we can work out” 

You push your chair in, your smile not wavering.

“I feel that this review is not reflective of a company I want to work for anymore.” You throw their words back to them. “I’ll have no issue finding a new role that values my hard work and dedication, and won’t use a family member’s death as a reason to squirrel out of a rightful promotion.”

“Best of luck filling my role.” You turn on your heel and hurry down the hallway to your shared office. A few coworkers glance up at your haste entrance, but you ignore them as you grab your purse and start grabbing the few personal effects that would fit on your tiny, shared desktop; just a single, unframed picture of you, your parents, and your brother, a few fidget toys, and your favorite pens. The rest belonged to the company, just like you had. 

Without a word, you fling your purse onto your shoulder and with your head held high, carry yourself out of the office without a single glance back. As you step onto the elevator, you smirk as you watch through the all-glass walls as your bosses shout at one another before the doors close.

“You what?” Your mother gasps through the phone at your news. You knew your parents weren’t going to take this well, and you were prepared for it.

“I quit.” You repeat, even though you know she heard you the first time.

“Y/N, what on God’s green earth would make you quit without another job lined up?” She huffs. 

You think about your Aunt Rose, how your bosses used your grief as an excuse not to give you a well-earned promotion. She was always free spirited, having career-jumped her whole life. She started as a bartender, then worked as a sous chef for a catering company before she decided she wanted to be a radio DJ. Years before she died, she had gotten her real estate license and was working as an agent right up until she passed. You had always been the opposite, very much a mirror of your mother. You went to a good college and got a business degree. You had worked for a few companies over the years, but you always stayed in the same field, working your way up the ladder. You never wanted to take a risk with your career, you had worked too hard. But working hard got you nothing but late nights and a bullshit yearly review. 

To say you were exhausted was an understatement. And you can barely recall the last time you got together with your friends, let alone a date. You had married your job and it had been a toxic and loveless relationship. 

It was time to start fresh and take some time for yourself. Which is exactly why you had seventeen tabs of house rentals open on your laptop screen as you half-listen to your mother as she continues to admonish your rash decision. 

“It’s going to be good for me, mom.” You cut her off once you’ve finally had enough of her harping. You loved the woman to death, but my god once you wind her up, she doesn’t stop. 

“I have enough savings to comfortably get me through six months without a job. I’m going to take a few weeks off to reset, then I’ll hit the ground running with the job search.” You cross your legs as you languidly swipe through rental photos. 

After a few more minutes, you finally hang up the phone and start seriously considering your options. 

You wanted to get away upstate, not so far away that you couldn’t get back for anything important, but far enough to feel like the city wasn’t in your rearview mirror. You figured a month would be the perfect time. Four weeks of a quiet town to relax and rediscover your love of reading and writing. It’s been ages since you actually sat down and read a good book. You were never good at art, but maybe you’d even find a studio to do some painting or finally give pottery a try. For the first time in your life, your time would be your own to sleep in and do whatever you wanted with your days. 

As you click through listings, you notice one that is significantly cheaper than the rest. Curiously, you click the link and a gray-sided cabin with a red tin-looking roof brightens up in front of you.

NEW LISTING! Private Guest House, Hot tub included.

One bedroom guest house available for rent. Relax in the peacefulness of upstate while being a short driving distance to town. The guest house has a full bathroom, complete with tub. There is also a hot tub on the patio that is for guest enjoyment. 10 minutes from downtown with plenty of bars and shops to keep you busy. The owner lives on the main property, but will keep to themself unless you need anything. Perfect for anyone looking to getaway! 

As you click through the photos, you’re greeted with a warm, wooden interior, a wood burning stove, a fairly updated kitchen, and a queen bed with an adjacent master bath. 

The cabin feels a little too good to be true for the price, and you click “Contact Owner” at the bottom of the page.

“Hello,” You start your chat. “I’m interested in potentially renting your guest cabin for four weeks. The place looks lovely but I wanted to ask if there are any issues I should be aware of since the price is so much more reasonable than other listings on this site.” 

You were hoping there were no gimmicks, you’ve heard horror stories before, and with no reviews, you wanted to do your due diligence. 

After you send the chat, you step away to make a quick dinner, chicken and ramen, comfy and warm, before you settle back onto the couch to watch your favorite reality show. You’re about to press play when you notice a response in your inbox. 

“Hi there. Totally understand your concern. I just put the listing up today and am offering a discounted rate for the first few renters to help get traffic to our rental and start getting reviews. Let me know if you have any questions.” You shrug at the perfectly reasonable response and you click on the circular picture of the brunette next to the message, opening the owner’s profile.

LISA BRAEDEN (Host)

0 Reviews | 1 Month Renting

Lisa’s confirmed information

Identity ✓

Email address ✓

Phone number✓

Proud wife and owner of a unique property. I am a certified yoga instructor and have been teaching and practicing for over 15 years. I love a good glass of wine, a well-cooked meal, and traveling to new places. 

You stare at the picture of the smiling, long-haired, tanned brunette. She’s absolutely beautiful. Probably a few years older than you and seems down to earth in a regular tshirt. 

Honestly, considering you were out of a job, the discounted price would really come in handy. Then you wouldn’t feel so guilty taking a full month off before you started your job hunt. 

You click back to the rental’s profile and put in your dates. You take a deep breath before clicking RESERVE and putting in your payment details.  Your rental has been confirmed. The message pops up. With a thousand-watt smile, you shut your laptop and settle into your couch. In just a few days, you would be on your way to a new beginning.  

Keep Reading

A/N: Fun fact, the first half of this was inspired by true events. Sadly, I didn't quit on the spot, but I did shortly after with a 10x better job.

And know we didn't get to see Dean yet, but I promise he will be in the next chapter!

Anywho, stealing this from the lovely @zepskies

NEXT TIME:

“I’m calling the cops!” She shouts, her phone in hand, music blaring from the speaker as her fingers are ready to press the three numbers as she stares at him with fear in her Y/C/E eyes.

“Take it easy,” Dean holds his hands up, and the woman looks like she’s going to have a heart attack as she notices the gun in his right hand. Realizing his mistake, he quickly tucks it away into his waistband and holds his empty hands out to her, wanting her to know he’s not a threat.

“First off,” Dean holds up a finger at her. “If anyone should be calling the cops, it’s me.” He points back to himself. “Secondly, what are you doing in my house?” 

“Your house?” Her voice drips with confusion as her brow furrows.

“Yes my house.” He echoes, emphasizing his ownership. She continues to frown.  

“Well if it’s your house, you would know I’m renting your guest house for the next four weeks.” She crosses her arms defiantly, confusion and fear gone as she challenges him. 

“What are you talking about?” Now it’s Dean’s turn to be confused. He’s never rented the guest house out, nor would he ever. 

Tag List

Forever 

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213

TGH

@suckitands33 @deans-baby-momma @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @spnbaby-67 @jackles010378 @itsdesiree86 @becca-rebel38

[artiststarme]

Ex-fucking-cuse you

Thank you to @carlyv for the title idea! I don’t know if I really like whatever this is but other people seem to so I’ll leave it be. Let me know what you guys are thinking in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Whenever he had shared his feelings in the past, he’d had them stomped on. From crushes to life goals, anyone he’d ever confided in had laughed in his face. The first memorable time had been when he told Tommy about his crush on Heath Sellers at recess in fourth grade. Tommy H. told him that he wouldn’t be friends with a fag and if he ever mentioned liking a dude again, he’d kick his ass. That circumstance really showed Steve that he couldn’t trust anyone. If he couldn’t share what he was thinking with his best friend, who else could he tell?

The second time was with Nancy Wheeler. Steve told her he loved her even though he knew it was too early into their relationship and he knew she was still grieving Barb. But he still told her and all she did for the first few times was call him an idiot afterwards. Steve loved too much and too hard. Sure, after a few weeks she said it back but Steve could tell it wasn’t genuine and was most likely said out of pity.

The fact that she called him bullshit just two weeks later kind of cemented that fact in his mind.

It made him feel sort of hypocritical. He told the kids to be open and honest, prided them on their communication. And then he neglected to do the same. He hid his nightmares and semi-suicidal thoughts behind an impenetrable wall that no one in the Party could breach.

Until Eddie.

For months, Steve hated Eddie because it felt like he was stealing the kids away from him. He was jealous that they shared a common interest that he couldn’t understand and was gearing up for the kids to leave him behind. But then, Eddie told him that the kids worshiped him and he’d been jealous too. Jealous of the cool babysitter that influenced their actions in DnD and could do no wrong.

Steve felt like Eddie could truly see him, could understand Steve, and liked what he saw. He could tell that Eddie was going to be a great friend of his, or more. He liked more.

But when he ran back to the trailer park after flambéing Vecna, he saw a blood soaked Eddie being cradled by Dustin. His slow paced jog turned into a full blown sprint. Steve yanked Eddie out of Dustin’s arms and made a mad dash towards the portal in his trailer. He wasn’t going to lose the one guy that made him feel more understood than anyone else had ever made him feel.

The girls and Dustin tearfully followed them but Steve couldn’t spare them any attention. He was solely focused on the sluggish bleeding of Eddie’s wounds.

“Ow, Harrington. Calm the fuck down.”

“Eddie?!” The metalhead’s eyes were blurry but somewhat focused on Steve’s face. “Hey man, you have to stay awake. When we get out of here, you can teach me all about your shitty yelling music and nerd game, okay?”

The blurriness lifted slightly as pure offense filled his face, “ex-fucking-cuse you. That “shitty yelling” is true music unlike your Tears for Fears garbage or whatever the hell else you listen to. I have taste. And yeah, Harrington. I will be teaching you Dungeons & Dragons when we get out of here. Lugging my body out of here when I was trying to make a noble sacrifice is disgraceful.”

“You’re not allowed to die, Eddie.” Steve said, panting with exertion and stress.

“That’s not up to you,” and then he passed out.

“Fuck!” Steve screamed. That fucking dramatic shit, if those were his last words, Steve would bring him back just to kill him again.

Steve’s feelings were threatening to overcome him as his hands shook while he put Eddie into the car. Nancy held one of them and gave him a look of meaning. “I’ll drive.”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Okay, thanks. Henderson! Keep pressure on his wounds. We need to stop the bleeding.” He desperately put pressure on the worst of the wounds on his torso and prayed to a god he no longer believed in.

And then they sped towards the hospital.

Steve was there when Eddie woke up, just as he had been in the four days he’d been unconscious while recovering from shock. He was trying to read the dancing letters in The Hobbit but when he looked up and met Eddie’s eyes, the book dropped from his hands.

“Didn’t take you for a fantasy nerd, Harrington.” Eddie mumbled, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

“We need to talk about your theatrics, man. You almost gave me a heart attack, Eddie.”

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? If I’d known all I had to do was risk my life to be in King Steve’s court, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” Eddie smirked at him.

“I’m not a king anymore.” Steve said and shook his head. It’d been a long time since anyone had called him that and he didn’t like the way it sounded on Eddie’s lips either.

“My apologies, Steve. You’re not a king, you’re a paladin. And that’s better than any noble.” Eddie said wisely.

Steve had no idea what the fuck any of that meant or what a pal-man was but he could listen to Eddie rant at him for hours as long as he kept looking at him like that. His face was fond and his lips, though scarred with a vicious bite marring their softness, smiled softly at Steve.

He coughed a bit to clear his throat and tore his eyes from Eddie’s lips to his amused eyes. “Um, do you said you were going to explain your screamy metal shit?”

That got Steve his desired reaction and Eddie squawked. “You motherfucker-”

As Steve listened to his enraged ranting, he made himself a promise. He was going to be more like Eddie. He was going to be more free with his feelings and he would find a way to talk to his friends about them. But for now, he’d listen to Eddie’s virtriolic soliloquy about the merits of metal artists and the importance on nonconformist music in “this sweaty armpit of a state”. And Steve couldn’t be happier.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @carlyv

[peachm1lkk]

『 A Special Donation 』

Synopsis — Marcus gets a unique requests regarding his favorite-least-favorite pain pig

Warnings — NONCON, Size Difference, Belly Bulge, you wear a Collar, Degradation, reference to past Torture, choking, Abusive Relationships, past Stalking mentioned, Mild Painplay, Face Slapping, Canon-Typical Behavior, Porn Without Plot, Facials, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, He cums in your hair, Verbal Humiliation, You're not a good person lol

Pairing — Marcus x Reader

A/N — Cross posted this on AO3, I love Marcus so much... My second favorite ball of hatred who'd I'd let break all my bones.. Can you tell this is loosely based off his Patreon Audio?? Maybe

It's uncomfortable, you note— The collar snugly tied around your neck. Another thing you note, other than the fact that you probably missed a ton of work in your classes, was that he hasn't been back in a while. You weren't really used to this… silence, that overcame the apartment when you weren't sobbing or pleading with him not to hurt you.

You glances down at the amateur attempt to wrap broken fingers, your begging never really worked. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you stand up, wobbling slightly from the bit of malnutrition you've been experiencing from eating only microwave meals and cup noodles— the brief dizziness isn't helped by the fact that you usually don't eat much anyway.

On the bright side, if you can even call it that, you've been picking up baking! Making a variety of sweets whenever he wasn't paying attention to you, those days tended to be the best because other than a few random photos he left you to your own devices.

Just as you were about to walk to the living room, the door to their shared dorm rattled, a few frustrated attempts being made before Marcus finally opened it. He was probably fumbling with the keys.

“U-uh… welcome home,” you softly said, keeping your eyes on the floor.

Marcus grunted in response, tossing his backpack onto the couch. “Your friend asked where you were today.” He informed, walking up to what used to be your camera to examine how long its been recording. A hint of a smile on his face as he hit the mute button, “It's actually kinda funny how worried she seemed… Do you think she knows that she used to be featured on your blog?”

Oh he’s in that mood it seems like, you don't even know what to say. What could you say? Usually any time you spoke— whether it be to apologize or say some shitty excuse it ended with you on the floor crying.

Thankfully, he seemed content with your silence, “You can speak y’know, they can't hear us speak right now… you're little white knight saviors I mean.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and constricted by the collar. you kept your gaze fixed on the floor, afraid to meet Marcus's eyes.

"I... I don't know," you whispered, your voice hoarse from disuse. "I never told anyone about it."

Marcus chuckled darkly, stepping closer. You instinctively flinched away, but the wall behind you left nowhere for you to retreat.

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't," he said, reaching out to run a finger along your collar. "Our little secret, right?" His touch made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to remain still. Any reaction could set him off.

"You know," Marcus continued conversationally, "Someone made a donation today— A uh, what do you call it again? A commission, right.” you eyed him nervously as he walked over to the computer reading over past comments and forums regarding the live stream.

“Hey Piggy, you ever had sex before?” The question was as sudden as it was startling, “Pardon..?”

“I'm assuming you've had sex at least once since you have an ex and all that, but y'know… you're also you so I wouldn't be surprised if you've only seen two dicks in your life.” He goes on, much too casually for how personal the subject was— But maybe you didn't have a right to complain about privacy, god knows how many other people's privacy you've violated on those now privated posts.

“Hey pig, answer me.” The irritation in his voice has you tripping over your own words to get an answer out "You're right u-uhm… only done it with my ex.” you stammered, messing with the hem of your shirt with your good hand. “ No one else after that…”

Marcus's eyes gleamed with a mix of cruelty and excitement that made You's stomach churn. You could sense something terrible was coming. "You know how many times I thought about killing you when I found your little stalker forum?” He said changing subjects, grabbing the camera perched upon its stand. “I mean— It's disgusting, even now I still think about strangling you to death… Just the thought that you probably touched yourself to my photos makes me sick.” He takes a deep breath, his finger hitting a button on the camera that you couldn't remember the function for.

“How many times have you cum at the thought of my dick inside you?”

You felt sick, knowing that he wasn't entirely wrong “M-Marcus I'm sorry,” you whispered, even knowing it was futile you can never get rid of the instinct.

"Well, looks like today's your lucky day," he said with a smirk. "Our generous donor wants to see you fucked." Your eyes widened in horror. "What," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I-I can't...”

Marcus ignored your plea, grabbing your arm roughly. “And even if I can't kill you— I might as well fuck you like I'm gonna, right?”

He dragged you towards the bedroom, You stumbling behind him as you tried to resist. But months of captivity and malnourishment had left your weak and unsteady.

"Please, Marcus," you begged as he shoved you onto the bed. “I’m sorry I'm so sorry— please don't do this."Marcus laughed coldly as he loomed over your trembling form on the bed. "Sorry? You're sorry?” He mocked, “Sorry doesn't fucking pay for all the gross ass photos you’ve taken of me does it, pig?"

He set up the camera on the nightstand, angling it to capture the entire bed. Your heart raced as you heard the telltale beep of it starting to record.

“C'mon, Let's give our viewers a good show, I know how much you love their attention after all." Marcus whispered against the shell of your ear, You shuddered as Marcus's breath ghosted across your skin. Your mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare, but you were trapped - physically and psychologically. Months of captivity and abuse had worn away your defenses.

"Please," you whimpered one last time, even as Marcus began pulling at your clothes.

He ignored your feeble protests, methodically stripping your bare. The camera's unblinking eye recorded every moment of your humiliation. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to retreat into yourself, to find some quiet corner of your mind that this wasn't happening. But Marcus wouldn't allow you that small mercy. He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. "Eyes open," he growled. "I want you to see exactly who's doing this to you."

Tears streamed down You's cheeks as Marcus positioned himself over your. Tugging his own pants down to let his thickness free, “Ha… ha— You're just meat…” He mumbles slowly stroking himself to full hardness, “Meat that was born to be taken advantage of, it was only a matter of time before someone found out… I was just the less cruel option.”

You choked back a sob as Marcus's words cut through your like knives. you wanted to argue, to insist that you weren't just "meat," that you were a person with hopes and dreams and dignity. But Maybe he was right. Maybe this was all you deserved. Marcus lined himself up, his eyes locked on You's tear-streaked face. "Remember," he whispered, "you brought this on yourself."

With that, he thrust forward brutally, burying himself inside your unprepared body. You cried out in pain, your back arching off the bed. It hurt - oh god, it hurt so much. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of shame and despair.

"That's it," Marcus grunted, placing a hand on your lower stomach "Cry for the camera. Show everyone what good rape bait you are.” He cooed, setting a brutal pace forcing his cock as far as your gummy walls allowed it — “ For once you being small is actually a plus,” he panted in between thrusts, watching the small bump in your stomach appear and disappear in time with each thrust.

His eyes glanced over at the camera, a part of him feeling truly disgusted at the type of people watching— But at the same time it made his dick throb so much harder, “You like that? Showing everyone that you're just a flesh light, hm?”

Your body shook with each brutal thrust, pain radiating through your core. Despising how despite the pain his deep fucking was enough to tickle the instinct out, to pull wetness that with each slap of his pelvis pressing against your ass a damned embarrassing wet squelch was made.

"Answer me," he snarled, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back. "Tell the camera how much you love being used like the worthless cum dump you are."

A strangled whimper escaped You's lips. "I-I..." you gasped, barely able to form words through the pain and humiliation. "I luh—love being- being u-used."

Marcus's pace grew even more frantic, his grip on your hips bruising. "That's right," he panted. "This is all you're good for. Just meat to stick my dick in…” Holding your hips up with one hand his free hand snakes down to your throat- applying pressure slowly

“Meat that doesn't need to—shit—breathe.” He mumbles, You's vision begins to blur as Marcus's hand tightens around your throat. Her lungs burned, desperately craving oxygen. Panic overwhelmed you as darkness crept in at the edges of your sight. Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, Marcus released his grip. You gasped and coughed, gulping in air. The brief respite was short-lived as Marcus resumed his relentless assault on your body.

"Fuck," he grunted, his thrusts loosing pace and becoming erratic. “You felt so tight just then, do you really get off to me raping you? Are you that cock hungry?” He teased, letting his hand fall to your puffy clit- rubbing cruel circles all over the ball of nerves “Fuck… I'm close. Where do you want it, pig? Where should I mark you as mine?"

You couldn't answer, still struggling to catch your breath. Her silence seemed to anger Marcus further. The burning sensation of his hand registering first before you realized he'd slap you, cruel fingers digging into your cheek, forcing you to look at him. "I asked you a question," he snarled. "Where. Do. You. Want. It?"

With pained moans you refused to believe came from genuine pleasure you stammered out a shaky response, “O-out— puh-please, not in- in me.” you sobbed,

Marcus's eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "Not inside, huh? Well, since you asked so nicely..." With a final brutal thrust, he pulled out of your abused body. You barely had time to feel relief before he was straddling your chest, his hand gripping your jaw tightly.

"Open wide," he commanded, stroking himself furiously. Too broken to resist, You parted your lips. Marcus groaned as he reached his climax, his release splattering across your face and into your open mouth. You gagged at the thickness and slimy texture, but Marcus held your still until he was finished.

"There," he panted, wiping himself clean on your hair. "Now everyone can see what a filthy little whore you really are."

He climbed off your, tucking himself into his pants. And walking over to the camera to stop the recording, leaving You trembling and soiled on the bed. you curled into yourself, trying your best to tune it all out and just go to bed.

“Oh, piggy—” He started grabbing your attention, “You have an essay due or something, your professor stopped me earlier today to tell you that.” He casually explained, as if he didn't just rape you.

“I should probably go work on that project... Pretty sure it's due soon,” He said to himself, lifting the camera up to eye level. You flinched at the familiar clicking sound of the camera, trying to keep your soft crying to a minimum even after hearing him mumble something about the picture probably not printing well. You lay motionless on the bed, your mind struggling to process the trauma you had just endured. Every part of you ached - your body from the brutal assault, your throat from Marcus's choking, your very soul from the depths of degradation you had been forced to.

you could hear Marcus moving around the apartment, the casual sounds of everyday life a stark contrast to the horror of what had just transpired. The urge to scrub yourself clean was overwhelming, but You couldn't bring yourself to move. you feared any motion might shatter what was left of your fragile psyche.

Time passed in a haze. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your exhausted mind seeking escape in fitful snatches of sleep. You were vaguely aware of Marcus returning to the bedroom at some point, muttering about needing his textbook.

"You should really get started on that essay," he remarked “It's due in a few days.”