#i just feel like it will bring up so much that i’ll feel a lot worse before i feel better and idk if i’m in the right state for that now

[tojiizm]

ENOUGH.

—

jjk! men || cw: allusions to suicide and depression. gn! reader. angst/fluff. hurt/comfort. mental health. very short. i think thats it.

an: i am in no way glorifying depression. please reach out if you’re ever feeling down. my dms are always open and i’m here. you’re loved. i love you all.

—

he had noticed you changed. he noticed when you started puttng things off because “you could do them later.” but you never did. he noticed when you brush him off when he asked if you were okay with a “just tired.” he noticed when you didn’t eat anything and watched as you lied to his face about it. he noticed when you wouldn’t come out of your room and would stay in bed all day. it worried him, a lot.

he comes through the front door, to a silent home. it claws at his chest and he could feel his heart breaking. he remembers when you would be in the kitchen, making dinner or in the living room, watching tv. he sets his things down before making his way to your shared bedroom. he quietly opens the door, seeing you still in bed and in the same clothes from a couple days ago. it breaks his heart but he holds it together. your back was facing the door, he knew you could hear him.

you feel the bed dip behind you. “hi baby.” he says in a soft, quiet voice. you turn towards him, “hi.” your voice is quiet. “you okay?” he asks as he brings a hand to your cheek and strokes it. you could hear the concern in his voice. yeah, it’s the same question he asks all the time but this time, something in you breaks. you feel your eyes well up with tears as you shake your head. his heart breaks even more at the sight, he pulls you into a hug when you sit up. “it’s okay, baby.” he mumbles into your hair. he’s pressing little kisses to your head and it makes you sob even more.

“i know, baby. i know.” and he’s holding you, tight, as if you’re going to disappear if he lets you go.

you don’t even know why you’re sad, all you know is that you are. you had always dealt with these things on your own and you always came out okay. but this time it felt different. it felt much more heavier and at one point, you actually thought you would go through with it. and it never went away. every single day, that thought was stuck in your head and it weighed you down. to the point you were bed bound. you just didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. but you were grateful for your husband even though you didn’t tell the truth. he cared.

you two stay like that until you stop crying and all that is heard is your breathing. your heart feels less heavy but guilt is starting to form. you’re the first to pull away. “i’m sorry-“ “no. don’t do that. you’ve got nothing to be sorry about, okay? i love you so much. please talk to me, you can tell me anything. or you can tell me nothing and just cry in my arms. i’ll always be here for you, okay?” he’s got both of his hands cradling your tear-stained face. you nod, afraid that if you speak, you might burst out in tears again.

he pulls you in again, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you, sweetheart. don’t forget that.”

“i love you too.”

[cheolieji]

unspoken pt 2 - choi seungcheol

wc: 4,534

idol au

14th member fic

angst angst angst and angst, did I mention angst?

guide for requesting on my page [17] please check it out before requesting!!

Scarlet's Masterlist

unspoken pt1

A/N: is it bad that I cried while writing this? oopsie lol

A/N2 : sorry this took a bit I dislocated my shoulder a while ago and after that I was too lazy to write hehe

The next morning, he tries again.

You’re in the kitchen, minding your own business, trying to act like you’re not shaking just holding a stupid glass of water. Everyone else is keeping their distance. Probably heard the fight. Probably heard the silence after. But not him. Of course not him.

He stands by the counter, arms crossed, but his face is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“Hey,” he says, like you’re not avoiding him on purpose. “Look, about yesterday…”

You don’t even blink.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Really. I was an idiot. More than usual.”

You turn away. Start rinsing your glass even though it’s already clean.

“I was pissed off. And I took it out on you. I said stuff I didn’t mean. Stuff I knew would hurt. And I’m sorry. That’s not… that’s not who I want to be. Especially not with you.”

He follows when you move to put the glass away. He keeps going.

“I heard what you said to Jeonghan. I shouldn’t have. But I did. And it messed me up. Not because I don’t feel the same but because I do. I do, and it scared the hell out of me.”

You walk past him toward your room. He follows. Again.

“You think I didn’t notice you pulling away first? You think I didn’t see how you stopped looking at me when you thought I wasn’t watching? It killed me. And instead of being honest, I picked a fight. Like a dumbass.”

You reach your door, hand on the knob. He stops right behind you.

“You’re not selfish,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re not. I am. I’ve always been so focused on keeping everything together, I forgot about you. About us. That’s on me. I get it.”

You say nothing. The silence is so loud it drowns him out.

“I know you’re mad. You should be. You should hate me right now. I hate me right now. But I’m not giving up on you.”

He exhales, frustrated, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not good at this. I’m not good at talking when it actually matters. But I’m trying. For you.”

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry. For every single word. For being a coward. For making you feel like you don’t belong here. You do. You always have.”

You open the door. About to step inside.

“I like you,” he says quickly. “A lot. More than I know how to handle sometimes. And I don’t want to lose you like this. Not like this.”

Your hand tightens on the handle.

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes,” he says. “I’ll say it until you believe me. Until you let me fix this. Please.”

But you step inside anyway. Quiet. Done.

He doesn’t follow this time.

But his voice comes soft through the door.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He keeps trying.

That same night, your phone lights up.

cheol [22:42]: are you okay?

You ignore it.

cheol [22:58]: i know you’re not

cheol [23:05]: i’m sorry

cheol [23:10]: please talk to me

You mute the notifications.

The next day, he’s already waiting in the kitchen when you get up. He’s sitting there like he didn’t sleep, like maybe he’s been there all night. His eyes go to you the second you step in. You pretend not to see him.

“Morning,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

“Did you sleep at all?” he tries again. “You need to eat.”

You walk past him like he’s air.

When you leave, you hear him sigh. Not annoyed. Just tired. Just sad.

Later that day, another message.

cheol [15:26]: you left your jacket in the practice room

cheol [15:27]: i’ll bring it to your door

cheol [15:28]: i won’t bother you. just thought you’d want it back

You open the door five minutes later. The jacket is folded neatly on the floor. He’s nowhere in sight.

That night, you hear a knock.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, soft. “I’m not here to force you to talk. Just… I was thinking. About how much I miss hearing you laugh. How much I miss you sitting next to me even when we’re not saying anything.”

You close your eyes, leaning back against the door. His words feel like they sink straight through you.

“I hate that I made you feel like this,” he says. “I hate that I’m the reason you’re shutting me out. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You hear him sit down. Right there, on the other side of the door.

“I’ll sit here as long as it takes,” he mumbles. “I’m stubborn. You know that.”

He stays for a while. Talking quietly. Just him and the wall between you.

When you finally open the door, long after he’s gone, there’s a little post-it stuck to it.

I’ll be here tomorrow too.

The days keep passing like that.

He texts you every morning.

cheol [08:12]: hope today feels a little less heavy

cheol [08:13]: even if you don’t wanna talk to me yet

cheol [08:14]: i’ll wait

You keep ignoring him. But he keeps showing up.

In the practice room, he’s careful. Never raises his voice. Never gets too close. But his eyes find you. Every time. Always that same look. Full of regret. Full of something he can’t say out loud anymore.

When you stay late to practice alone, you hear the door open. You don’t look, but you know it’s him.

“I’m not here to get in your way,” he says. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

You leave without a word. When you check your phone later, there’s a message.

cheol [23:02]: text me when you’re back safe?

cheol [23:20]: or don’t. just. please be careful.

You don’t reply.

But you know he waited for you to come back. You saw his shoes by the door. Still there. Still waiting.

The worst part is he never gets angry. Not anymore. Not when you ignore him. Not when you leave rooms just because he walked in. He takes all of it. Quiet. Patient. Like he thinks this is what he deserves.

And maybe it is.

But it still hurts to see him like that.

It hurts more to admit you want to forgive him. That a part of you misses him so much it physically aches. But you can’t forget what he said. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You go to bed thinking about the way he said your name. Like it broke him to even say it.

The next morning, another text.

cheol [07:58]: it’s okay if you hate me right now

cheol [07:59]: i’m still not going anywhere

--

It happens after practice.

You’re already exhausted. The weight of pretending is suffocating. And then there he is again. Waiting outside the room like always. Watching you. Following you. Keeping his distance but never really leaving.

You snap.

“What do you want from me?” you spit, whirling around to face him. Your voice is sharp. Loud. It startles him.

He freezes. “I… I just wanted to—”

“To what, Seungcheol? Apologise again? Say sorry for the hundredth time? You already said it. Over and over. What do you want me to do with that?”

He takes a step closer. You take one back.

“I’m trying,” he says quietly.

“Yeah? You’re trying? You should have tried before you said all that shit to me. You should have thought about how it would feel to be treated like I was nothing to you.”

His face twists. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. You don’t let him speak.

“You made me feel like garbage, Seungcheol. Like I wasn’t even part of this team. Like I was a burden. Like I was disposable. And now you’re standing here acting like sorry is going to erase that?”

Your voice cracks. You hate that it does. You hate that he sees it.

“I know I messed up,” he says, desperate. “I know. You don’t have to remind me. I’ve been thinking about it every second since.”

“You should feel bad!” you shout. “Because I can’t stop hearing your voice in my head, repeating every awful thing you said. And it hurts. It hurts so much and you’re the one who put that there.”

Tears spill over. You wipe them away harshly, frustrated with yourself, frustrated with him, with everything.

“I hate you for this,” you choke out. “I hate you for knowing exactly how to break me. And still doing it anyway.”

His face falls. Completely. He looks wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I was angry and I was scared and I handled it the worst way possible.”

“You think that changes anything?” you snap. “You think that fixes it?”

“I know it doesn’t,” he says. “But I’m still going to keep apologising. Because you deserve that. Because I was wrong.”

He steps closer.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice gets softer with every word. “I’m sorry for the fight. I’m sorry for not saying how I felt sooner. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for every single time I made you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, but he keeps going.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you. For not choosing you when it mattered. For saying things I didn’t mean. For not stopping when I should have. For hurting you when all I ever wanted was to be close to you.”

Your chest feels tight. Your hands are clenched so hard they hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He reaches for you like you’re made of glass.

“I’m so sorry. Please. Please let me fix this. Please let me try.”

Your breath comes out in a sob.

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” you admit, broken.

“That’s okay,” he says right away. “That’s okay. Take your time. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He says it again.

“I’m sorry.”

He repeats it until his voice goes hoarse.

And for the first time, you don’t walk away.

[autrytonic]

Arthur brings back a lovely orchid from his travels to reader and oh gosh she loves him so much and- wait where did their clothes go? 😉

Oh, my dear Twola. You cheeky, cheeky thing xx

You ask, you shall receive 🌸

Content under the cut, 18+/MDNI!

Bloom • Autrytonic Birthday Exclusive

The flap of the tent rustles open, and there he is; boots heavy with dust, broad shoulders shadowing the entrance, and a strange softness on his rugged face. He steps in slow, like he’s unsure, like he’s bringing something fragile into a world too rough to hold it.

“Y/N?” Arthur asks, voice low and scratchy from the trail.

You rise from your cot, brushing your hands on your skirt. “Right here.”

He kneels, rummages carefully through his saddlebag, and pulls out something wrapped in a damp cloth. When he peels it back, your breath catches.

A bloom in the color of soft lavender with streaks of gold and magenta, delicate as rain on silk.

“Orchid,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “Saw it growin’ near the ridge past Annesburg. Thought you might like it. Don’t reckon they grow ‘round here too often.”

Your hands fly to your mouth. It’s so lovely, so out of place in this world of blood, gunpowder, and grime. And yet... it’s exactly like Arthur— something tender and beautiful, buried beneath grit and violence.

You take it gently, cradling the bloom. “Arthur, it’s beautiful.”

He shrugs, suddenly bashful. “Ain’t much, but—”

You throw your arms around him before he can finish, nearly knocking him back on his haunches. You bury your face in his neck, inhale the smell of tobacco, pine, and sweat.

“You brought me a beautiful bloom,” you whisper, lips brushing his throat.

Arthur chuckles, the sound rumbling against your chest. “That I did. Hopin’ it’d earn me a kiss, at least.”

You pull back just enough to look into those blue eyes of his. “Oh, it’s gonna earn you a whole lot more than that.”

You don’t know when your hands started working his shirt open, or when his fingers slid up beneath your blouse, calloused but reverent. The orchid lies forgotten on the crate by the bedroll, swaying gently in the lantern’s light.

He kisses you deep, slow like molasses, like he’s got all night and wants to savor every second of it. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt, breath hitching as his hands slide along your hips, dragging your skirts up with rough need.

“Goddamn,” Arthur breathes against your throat. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

Your fingers curl in his hair as he lowers you to the bedroll, blankets rustling under your weight. He settles between your thighs, warm and solid and aching. There’s no rush, not with him— just a building pressure, a smoldering heat that makes your belly twist.

When he finally slides into you, slow and thick, a moan tears from your lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs, but he's grinning, teeth bared. “We’re supposed to be layin’ low, remember?”

You wrap your legs around his hips and drag him deeper. “Make me forget.”

Arthur moves with purpose now, hips grinding slow and deep, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, sweat slick between your bodies as you rock together in rhythm with the crickets outside.

“Say my name,” he groans, his breath hitching as your walls flutter around him.

“Arthur,” you whimper, dizzy with need. “Please don’t stop.”

“Never could,” he growls, thrusting harder, lips crashing against yours, claiming your mouth with tongue and teeth. You’re lost in him; in the way he feels, the way he tastes, the way he fills every aching part of you.

Pleasure crests like a wave, and when it breaks, you cry out his name again, nails dragging down his back. He follows moments later, hips stuttering, jaw clenched as he spills into you with a groan like thunder.

He collapses beside you, panting, pulling you into his arms like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You trace his collarbone, lips brushing his shoulder. “That orchid’s gonna wilt if we keep this up.”

Arthur snorts. “I’ll find you another. Hell, I’ll find you a whole damn meadow.”

You grin, pressing your face into his chest.

“Reckon I’m already bloomin’, cowboy.”

[alltimecharlo]

brat mack being all possessive over will in some club fic?? (Its giving miss possessive by tate mcrae...)

ooo of course!! 🤭🩵 fic under the cut!!!

The music in the club is too loud and the lights are too much, but Will wanted to come out and Mack is incapable of saying no to him.

He’s still not sure how that happened.

One minute he was rolling his eyes at Eky chirping Will for spending another Friday night with Mack instead of doing anything remotely social. The next, Will was leaning over the back of the couch, arms braced on either side of Mack’s shoulders, grinning down at him like a dare.

"Let’s go out," he’d said.

Mack should’ve said no. Should’ve told him that they had practice tomorrow and that Will needed rest. That Mack himself would rather gouge out an eye than spend three hours in a sweaty club filled with overpriced drinks and Sharks fans trying to get photos in the dark.

But then Will tilted his head and said, "Come on, dude. Don’t make me go alone."

And that was it. Game over.

Now they’re three vodka sodas deep, and Will is glowing under the strobing lights, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead and that wide, dazzling smile aimed at everyone and no one as he dances in the middle of the floor.

Mack is not smiling.

He’s got one hand around his drink, the other clenched on the back of the booth, eyes locked on the guy who just got a little too close to Will. Hands too familiar. A grin too cocky.

Will laughs at something the guy says and tilts his head back, exposing his throat.

Mack is out of his seat before he thinks about it. Elbowing through the crowd with a single-mindedness that probably makes him look insane. He doesn’t care.

Will turns just as Mack reaches him, eyes wide and pleased. "Hey! You came to dance!"

Mack hooks a hand around Will’s waist and yanks him back, away from the guy whose hands were still halfway to Will’s hips. "No," Mack says shortly. "I came to get you."

The guy raises an eyebrow. "You his boyfriend or something?"

"Something," Mack says, with enough heat to fry the words.

Will blinks up at him. "Mack—"

"Let’s go," Mack says. Not a request.

He feels Will go still for a second, then lean in just slightly. Like he’s testing the edges of this mood. Then he tilts his chin up, all challenge. "Or what? You gonna drag me out like a caveman?"

Mack leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of Will’s ear. "If you don’t start walking, I’ll carry you."

Will shivers. Mack feels it.

"You wouldn’t."

Mack tugs him in tighter. "Try me."

Will laughs, breathless and delighted. "Jesus, you’re a menace."

"You love it," Mack mutters, already guiding him through the crowd.

Will doesn’t argue.

They make it to the quieter lounge area near the back, where the lights are lower and the crowd thinner. Mack doesn’t stop until they’re in a shadowy corner, back pressed against the wall and Will pinned in front of him.

"You were enjoying yourself," Will says, just a touch smug. "Could’ve let me keep dancing."

Mack growls, low in his throat. "That guy had his hands on you."

"It’s a club, Mack. That’s what happens in clubs."

"Not to you."

Will arches an eyebrow. "Possessive much?"

"Yeah," Mack says, and there’s no hesitation in it. "You’re mine."

Will’s breath stutters. "That right?"

Mack cups the back of his neck, firm but gentle, and brings their foreheads together. "Yeah. That’s right."

Will tilts his mouth up, and Mack kisses him. It’s not soft. It’s not chaste. It’s claiming. It's a little bit messy, a lot hot, and it leaves Will clutching Mack’s shoulders like he might fall over if he doesn’t hold on.

"God," Will mutters when they break apart, flushed and dazed, "you get like this and you think I’m gonna say no to you."

Mack brushes his thumb over Will’s jaw. "You should. I’m the worst."

"You’re so hot when you’re mad," Will says dreamily. "You’re such a brat."

Mack beams. "Yeah, but I’m your brat."

Will kisses him again because what the hell else is he supposed to do with that?

Somewhere across the club, Eky sees them and groans loud enough to be heard over the bass.

"Oh my god," he says to Toff, "they're gonna make out in every corner of this city, aren't they?"

Toff just lifts his beer. "Better than all that pining, man. Let him have this."

Let him have Will, Mack thinks later, dragging Will back to the booth with one hand on the small of his back and a smug little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Yeah.

He’ll take all of it.

♡

[saveahorserideaneddie]

I wish I had remained as cautious as you this season cause I feel stupid for getting sucked in and having expectations.

listen i won’t lie and say that i am exempt from making exceptions too… im a pessimist- i got that from the amount of times i’ve been burned by network shows before, but even i have that small part of my brain that is like “but what if” which means even though i know something probably wont happen in an episode, i still get disappointed when it doesn’t

the thing is tho that i think fans should have expectations… this whole flying by the seat of tim’s pants thing that he does in terms of writing is something unique to this show and not in a good way (well- maybe not unique but definitely most prevalent here) it’s not fair to cast, crew, or fans, and to me it shows a lack of dedication to the craft, and in my honest opinion should get him blacklisted.

like- if he hates putting in effort on the show so much, why doesn’t he just leave? (we know why bc he’s a narcissistic pig, but ANYWAY)

i think what they’ve done with press this week **if nothing concrete happens with buddie (again- i’m literally stuck in limbo on whether or not i think smth’s happening) is really shitty and my hope is that fans start contacting abc executives, starting petitions, etc. to show them that we aren’t just here for whatever pops into tim’s brain. yes- to an extent there are things that we don’t expect and they work out and can be really good moments, i’m not saying he should do every little thing the fandom wants bc that would make a boring show (and only cause more derision among fans), but what i’m saying is that we need to show them that we are done falling for this formula of “oh, we need to build up ratings/viewership, lets write a buddie plot that really seems to stir the pot, tease it in interviews after the fact, and then completely drop it once we got what we want.”

something i personally find a little funny is that so many people this week have been going “if they wanted to shut buddie down they wouldn’t do all this” and im like…. but they dont want to shut buddie down… if they did that they’d lose too much of their main audience… they want to keep us around which is why they pull stunts like this. queerbaiting is an unfortunate part of media and it unfortunately is effective in what it’s used for, and abc, tim minear, oliver stark, and ryan guzman (no matter how much we love and want to trust them) are not exempt from doing it. i know they say they are, but lets be real who would actually own up to queerbaiting?

i love ryan and oliver but even i have to wake up and smell the roses that at the end of the day this is their job, and while they do genuinely love their characters, regardless of what their feelings are towards buddie or any other storyline, theybare going to do and say what they are told because it’s their job to do so- even if it means lying to our faces about buddie. it’s unfortunate, but it’s true.

i’m not gonna watch the episode live bc i’ll be in rehearsal, and honestly? i’m kinda glad bc even if something buddie does happen, i’d rather have the confirmation either way then forcing myself to nervously watch and getting disappointed in real time (again IF we don’t get anything)

i just feel like the fandom as a whole needs to realize that you can be optimistic and positive without placing complete faith in these people who in all actuality do not care about our feelings, and they need to understand that tim isn’t in this for the characters, he’s not in it for the fans, he’s in it for the massive paycheck disney gives him, and as long as they allow him to work unsupervised, the show is gonna be what he wants it to be

i don’t mean to bring anyone’s spirits down- i don’t want that to be my brand on here, but i do think this fandom can be a little (a lot) naive sometimes and while it’s okay and even sometimes beneficial to carry that bit of naivety, when you create expectations based purely on trusting a capitalist broadcasting company, you’re bound to be disappointed

i would not wish for ANYONE to have the viewing experience i donbc being entirely honest the way i navigated this season was utter HELL for me, and like most other people were having the time of their lives up until a couple weeks ago

so i say all of this not to be like “everyone should doom and close on buddie and never watch the show again” bc i don’t want that- i love this show and i want it to continue… but if it does continue then there NEEDS to be a change and i feel like fandom has to be the catalyst for that.

TLDR; don’t be like me, but everyone should learn to temper their expectations when it comes to queer ships on network television

sorry for kinda hijacking your ask 😭😭 i started yapping and a lot just spilled out

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey!! I absolutely love your character analysis, especially on the golden trio.

I know this ask is rather well.. unusual cuz I don't think people normally send you full scenes to analyse. But I felt this one kinda reveals something about the trio as characters and I couldn't quite figure out what, so I wanted your opinion.

"He can have it,” Harry went on, “after we’ve used it on all of the Horcruxes. I’ll make sure he gets it then. I’ll keep my word.”

“But that could be years!” said Hermione.

“I know that, but he needn’t. I won’t be lying . . .really.”

Harry met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and shame. He remembered the words that had been engraved over the gateway to Nurmengard: For the Greater Good. He pushed the idea away. What choice did they have?

“I don’t like it,” said Hermione.

“Nor do I, much,” Harry admitted.

“Well, I think it’s genius,” said Ron, standing up again. “Let’s go and tell him.”

DH, Chapter 25

My best guess is that this shows to what extent the characters are comfortable with deception. But it doesn't quite add up because Harry is known to lie and manipulate without hesitation several times. Yet here, he is willing to do it because that's what the situation requires but he doesn't seem to like it one bit. What do you think this scene reveals about the three of them? I totally understand if you find this ask strange and I know you get a lot of asks, so please don't feel pressured to answer, feel free to skip this one if it's not to your liking. But if you could provide even a penny for your thoughts, I'd be glad to hear it. (or just let me know if I'm looking too deep into it cuz I tend to do that!)

I think you did a pretty good job of analyzing the scene yourself. The scene definitely showcases Ron and Hermiones' opinions about deciding a goblin who is an innocent. (Hermione is willing to lie and decive plenty, she's just a bit of a hypocrite).

What I would say about Harry is that what makes Harry uncomfortable isn't the deception itself, but what it says about him that he's willing to do it. This is after he learned about Dumbledore, when he's already in a crisis about the path he is one. Thinking he is doing moral questionable things (as Hermione brings up) for his goal is too similar to Dumbledore for him at that moment. That's why he brings up "for the greater good". The shame is for the association with Dumbledore's secrets, lies, and past with Grindelwald, not inherently for the deception. At least, that's my take on it.

(Also, Harry in DH is the least ruthless Harry in the series in some ways, which is weird since you would've thought it'll be the opposite. But this is a Doyolist qualm)

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Recovery

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~ (John's POV)

***This piece contains DARK SEXUAL CONTENT. If the warnings make you uncomfortable, LEAVE. If you are under the age of 18, GET OUT***

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, noncon recording, noncon touching/groping, kidnapping, blood, AU typical violence, panic attacks, separation anxiety, trauma

Word Count: 4.1k

Author's Note: Oh boy. Yeah we get angsty up in here. Next couple parts are gonna be more of the same, HOWEVER they will be coming out much later because your girl is going on a VACATION!!! Yippee!

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Sixteen coming soon

Enjoy?

***

It starts with a feeling. 

The feeling. At the base of his skull, itching and burning with something dark and unsettling. It’s what wakes him up before he usually does, before the time you usually come crawling into bed beside him. It’s nagging at him as he lies awake, staring up at the ceiling waiting for you to come home.

4:15am. You’re not home yet. No text, no call, no roaring Chevelle. He calls, but it rings to voicemail. He’s getting nervous. You’re a creature of habit, always putting that car in park as the clock turns to 4:10. His knee bounces as he sits on the edge of the bed. In his mind he wars between going to the diner and just ignoring it completely. You’re a grown woman, his woman, his Tempest who can handle herself. He’d hate to smother you. Not like he hasn’t already, with how often he comes to you once he spots that cherry red in the parking lot of wherever you may be.

4:25am. He calls. No answer. 

By 4:30 he’s in the diner’s parking lot, your Chevelle abandoned in its stall. He asks the current crew if they’d seen you. After you handed them the store keys, you were out as per the usual. They didn’t hear your car, but they never really do over the sounds in the kitchen as they prepare for the day. It doesn’t help that the employee parking is out back, where you can’t see from inside. 

His blood begins to boil, fear creeps into his veins.

He finds your phone in the gravel, notifications from himself still on the lock screen. Immediately he knows what happened, and who’s responsible. Five minutes and he’s in the station with Simon, Kate on the phone as he texts Johnny and Kyle to come in. It only takes them three minutes to show up, worry and rage lining their expressions.

“Ye got anythin’ yet, cap?” He shakes his head, putting Kate on speaker so she can talk to the group. Her voice is even, unaffected and strong, something John tries to cling to because he can’t go into this hot-headed. It could get you killed.

“Graves was released yesterday. The diner camera caught it, he showed up and knocked her clean out with a bat, discarded her phone, then packed her into his car. I’ve been cashing in favors all over the place, but I need more time to find where he took her. For now, try your best to prepare, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.” The line goes quiet, and so does the room. The tension is palpable, stress and anger and a sickening fear making the air thick. Kyle comes over and lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard.

“We’re going to find her, John. We’ll bring her home.” His head feels so heavy when he nods. There’s a guilt clawing at his chest, threatening to rip it open and cleave his heart clean out. He should’ve known Graves would pull something. You never should have been left alone. Hell, the first time he posed a threat he’d had the boys with you every night for two weeks. He should have done it again, should have been there for you, with you. 

You’d still be here if he had.

“John.” He blinks, meeting Kyle’s concerned gaze. “It’s not your fault. This is an escalation, and nobody would have thought it’d go this way after two whole years. Nobody can predict a kidnapping.” He supposes he’s right. But wallowing in it won’t help you now. 

“Right. Right, let’s gear up. He shouldn’t have access to firearms but we can’t be sure. Everyone wears a vest, everyone carries a sidearm. Wherever they are, Graves doesn’t walk out.” There’s a collective breath, rage pulled taut in the air, all of their minds on the same wavelength. No mistakes, no wasted time, no arrests. Just carnage. Wherever you may be, he knows you’ll stay alive. You’ll stay alive out of pure spite, refusing to die at the hands of Phillip Graves. He knows you’ll fight like hell, and he knows you can take one hell of a beating.

There’s one other thing John knows for sure: Graves made the worst mistake of his life taking you alone. If he wanted to live to see his next birthday, he’d have tried to take care of all five of them before daring to touch you again. 

The sun is already dipping low in the sky when Kate calls. The afternoon sun is just starting to lose its sharp, blinding heat. His nerves haven’t settled for a single moment, every inch of his body feels like it’s been doused in acid and scrubbed down to the muscle. There’s a visceral fear scraping at his ribs, gnawing from inside his chest cavity. 

“Tell me you have something.” He’s desperate. It’s been twelve hours. All the supplies have been ready for ten of those hours. He tries not to imagine the worst-case scenarios, the ones where you have no choice but to bleed out because Graves doesn’t really know what he’s doing. No, he has to believe you’re still alive. He needs to believe he’d know instinctively if you were dead. 

“I’ve got a location. Don’t ask how, don’t ask why, I can’t give any specifics. I’ve sent the address to your phones. Go get our girl back.” She doesn’t have to tell them twice. They’ve all got their vests and guns and speed out of town like a tornado, three cars going well above the speed limit to cut their three-hour drive down to two. The sirens keep any possibility of interference to zero. It doesn’t matter that Graves will hear their engines roar as they pull in, it doesn’t matter that the door frame splinters completely when Simon kicks it in and it rings through the bare house they’d tracked you to out in the middle of nowhere.

The only thing that matters is getting to you.

When he calls for you, you answer, and the flood of relief in his bones nearly puts him on his knees. Basement. They make their way there in seconds, and what he sees when he lands at the bottom of the stairs has his skin scalding, blood broiling in every capillary. There’s a large slice up your right thigh paired with raised welts, bruising and bleeding and still fresh. Your shirt has been cut open, your jeans are gone, a heap of denim beside the two chairs and he immediately knows what kind of torture you’ve endured. It makes his heart shatter, and he hopes and prays to every deity he can think of that Graves had only gotten as far as threats. Just the thought of it has his throat constricting around his windpipe.

There’s a bruise on your right temple, another on your left cheek, and there are two bites in your left shoulder, both bruising and swelling with blood dried over your skin. Your whole throat is a noose of black and blue. Blood decorates too much of your skin.

Graves dies today.

“Don’t move, or she bleeds out. Wouldn’t want your precious wife hurt, now would you?” Every muscle in his body coils tight. He’s using you as a damn human shield. But he’s not ready for you to bite his hand and toss him over your shoulder. He watches with satisfaction as you lay into Graves after he gets his jacket over you, and when you give him a clear pathway to your kidnapper he’s letting every ounce of calculated wrath out of his body. It’s been building all day alongside the anxiety. There’s a sharp crack when his fist meets Graves’ cheek, and when his breath wheezes from the knee to his gut he’s feeling a little lighter, a little less like the world’s about to cave in on itself. 

“I hope you don’t divorce knowing I was knuckle deep in your wife’s cunt.” The words have John halting completely in his tracks. Knuckle deep. The confirmation that he’d gotten that far has him frozen in his spot from the sheer horror of what you’ve been subjected to. He almost doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to believe you’ve been forced to endure something so cruel. It aches in his bones, sorrow nesting into the spongy marrow and festering. 

You reach Graves first, his head cracking thrice on the wall and twisting that knife into his shoulder before you send him tumbling forward, and John reacts in a split second, slamming his arm into his throat and sending him skull-first to the concrete floor. He’s blinded by his rage, throwing his fists into Grave’s face until he’s unrecognizable and then hits him some more. He wouldn’t have stopped, he doesn’t want to stop, but there’s a weak voice calling out to him and it has all the fear coming back as he whips around to look at you. You look broken. Eyes sunken, shoulders sagging from an exhaustion that only comes from trauma. Your whole body trembles, but not from the anger he’s used to seeing. Fear swirls in your eyes, tears ready to fall, and your hands shake violently as you reach out to him. 

The red fog is gone, replaced with a sick gray that rises to suffocate you where you stand.

Nothing else matters. 

He’s on you in a single breath, cradling you against his chest while you sob and fall apart completely. Your wails have his heart aching, squeezing sharp behind his ribcage, and he slumps against the wall so he can just hold you. Simon approaches, eyes sharp and dark as he nods over to the body on the ground then glances down at you in his arms with something softer, something sad before it flickers out.

We’ll get the body. Take care of your wife.

John nods, threads his fingers into your hair as the three silently get to work. It’s at least an hour that you spend in his arms, crying until your throat is raw and your limbs go weak. The sorrow clashes heavily with the sheer relief in his bloodstream. His fingers are soaking in the heat of your skin, feeling your body as it trembles against his, alive. Even when you run dry, you still hiccup and whimper and cling to him. His heart breaks with every shattered gasp and weak whine, then heals a little knowing you’re still breathing. A small part of him hopes Graves is still alive, just so he can torture him to death and then bring him back from the brink just to do it all over again. He wants to kill the man a hundred times over for his transgressions against you. 

Getting home takes too damn long. You’ve been reduced to a fearful shell, and he can feel your fingers trembling as you cling to him for comfort. He watches as you scrub your skin raw, ignoring the pain that makes you wince when you reopen all of your wounds trying to get clean. He’s sure you can still feel Grave’s corrupted touch all over you. You don’t sleep that night, or the next, not until your body has had enough and you pass out from exhaustion and poor nourishment. You don’t eat much without throwing it all back up.

There’s a stark change in how he needs to exist around you, now. Hugging or holding you from behind isn’t an option anymore. The morning after he’d gotten you back home, he tried to come and hug you from behind but you’d freaked. Screamed and thrashed and cried until he came around and got your attention, made you look at his face and let you know it was him, it was your husband. You cried into his chest for what feels like the hundredth time in less than 24 hours. Coming up behind you is avoided like the plague until you can find a way to heal from the trauma. You hadn’t told him what happened, and he doesn’t dare ask, but he can only imagine what could have rattled you this much. 

Despite that, you cling to him. You don’t dare separate. You’ve both cashed in some vacation hours for the next couple weeks just to stay together day in and out. It’s been six days since the kidnapping and he can’t bear to be away from you any more than you can. Neither of you wants to let the other out of their sight, but you relent when the pantry and fridge start to empty. You haven’t dared to step foot out of the house, and he doesn’t want to make you, so he offers to go to the grocer. It’s not easy. You cling to him, your body desperately holding on while you war in your mind. Not a single word is spoken while you battle yourself, it takes nearly ten minutes, but eventually you let him go when he promises to be quick. 

His nerves are on fire the whole twenty minutes it takes him to go to the grocer, gather the items, then drive back home to you. He can’t get the image of Graves holding you captive out of his head. Every time he shuts his eyes he sees your phone in the gravel, your car with a cold engine, then you with a knife to your throat. Whenever he lets you out of his sight, all he can imagine is you being stolen away again.

Phillip Graves is dead. 

He’s repeated that damn sentence a hundred times in his mind.

You break down when he manages to get back, trembling and weak in his arms. You barely let him bring all the groceries inside before going eerily silent for a full hour, then quietly crying while you look off into dead space. His heart doesn’t heal between breaks, scar tissue knotting his chest as he wars between seeing you so broken but seeing you still standing and breathing.

Recovery isn’t linear. He knows this. It doesn’t make it any easier to watch you suffer.

When he gets a call from Johnny, he doesn’t let you hear.

“This better be important.” He’d gone to the hallway, but stayed where you could see him. 

“We found something while we scrubbed the house he’d taken her to. You’re going to want to see this, and you’re going to want to see it now.” Bloody fucking hell. 

“I’ll be there in five.” He ends the call, then goes to you where you sit in the blankets. He doesn’t want to tell you he’s leaving, he doesn’t want to leave, but if they’ve called him to come in then they’ve found something essential. Your skin is warm, soft under his fingers when he holds your hands. 

“I have to go to the station, my love. I won’t be long.” Your eyes meet his, and he thinks maybe you’re feeling a little better today. You’re looking at him, instead of through him. You nod slowly.

“Can you call Celeste?” Of course he can. It’s a quick call, and she’s immediately on her way. The day after getting you back she’d showed up at the station and Kyle filled her in with the barest of summaries. She didn’t pry, didn’t barge in to offer her comfort and shoulder. He’s silently grateful for that, he’s not sure how you’d have felt if your closest friend were to see the fragile state you were in. Especially when you’d always been the one to help her out, always been the tougher of the two. 

It was a coin toss until now.

“Why are you going?” He blinks, coming back to himself after the call ends.

“The boys found something when they were scraping the house.” You nod, tugging at his fingers, toying with his wedding ring. 

“It’s a recording.” What the fuck?

“How can you be so sure?”

“There was a camera.” You don’t elaborate, don’t give anything else. You don’t need to. The thought makes him ill, makes his skin tinge green with sick, maes his stomach curl in on itself. He isn’t sure he wants to see it, doesn’t want to witness your deterioration in real time. He isn’t sure he can bear it, watching his wife be broken down.

“If it’s a video, I’ll tell them to delete it. We won’t watch.” You shake your head, tears gathering in your lashes and you finally look him in the eyes.

“I can’t tell you what he did to me. I just can’t. Reliving it all would kill me. But you deserve to know, especially when I’m so different now.” Oh, my sweet wife.

“It doesn’t matter if I know or not, sweetheart. You’re different, sure, but you’re still my wife.” Your hands find his, and you squeeze with whatever strength you have.

“I want you to know. I want you to know why you can’t hold me from behind anymore. I want you to know why I can’t sit in a chair normally anymore. I want you to know why I can’t bear to go downstairs and hit the bag like I used to.” You look up at him desperately, pleading with your eyes for him to hear your words. As if he’d ever stop listening to you, sweet precious woman you are. His woman. 

“Are you sure, Tempest? The others are going to see as well.” You nod.

“I trust them. I trust you.” Your chest is starting to heave with a slight panic, tears spilling over to soak your shirt. “I wish I could just tell you because it’d be easier to hear than to witness. You shouldn’t have to watch it all happen.” He can’t bear to see you cry, not because of this. It’s easy to hold you to his chest and let you weep into his shirt.

“It’s going to be alright, Tempest. Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about us.” Truthfully, he thinks you’re right. He shouldn’t have to witness you being tortured in the most vile of ways. He shouldn’t need to see the horror you’ve been subjected to. It’s not because of you that he needs to see it. It’s because of Graves. He should have let you kill the bastard two years ago so this was never a dilemma you would need to face. 

He doesn’t want to see you break. He hopes they haven’t found a video like you’ve said.

He doesn’t get much of a choice when he walks into the station and the computer is set up with a USB drive plugged into the port. Kate’s there too.

Your image is on the screen, frozen still as you’re bound to a chair, unconscious. It’s a recording. Of course it’s a fucking recording. Sick bastard Graves is. Whether he was going to use it as bait, leverage, or a personal video, it all made nausea curl in his stomach. Nausea, and rage. 

“We haven’t seen it yet. Waited for you to get here.” There’s a conflict in his mind. They waited so he would be there, and he’s grateful they preserved your dignity, but now nobody knows just what they’re about to witness. There's tension, reluctance and uncertainty in the air. Kyle hits the play button, but nothing happens. There’s a solid few hours of just you unconscious, the footage raw and unedited, so he scrolls through it until something shows up. John’s blood boils in his veins when Graves crowds your space, and as he watches everything play out he’s seething. The way your threats die out, the way you’re forced into submission, the way he grabs you from behind. 

The audio only makes everything worse, hearing the way he’s taunting and threatening you. It makes him nauseous, watching it all happen. When you tear a chunk of his ear off, a small flame of satisfaction lights in John’s chest. He disappears to take care of the bloodied ear and it’s just you in that basement, crying to yourself. It feels like a jagged stab wound to his heart, watching you cry all alone and soothe yourself so your captor can’t see it. It’s just you in that chair for a long while. But that’s nowhere near the end. They all know it isn’t, because your clothes are still intact. Bile is forming in his throat when the footage is skipped to when the grimy bastard returns. There’s a knife, there’s blood, there’s his grating fucking voice. He can’t bear to watch once he shoves that hand down between your legs and you scream bloody murder, hitting the spacebar to freeze the video.

 Johnny’s already got his face against the wall, his fist clenched tight. Kyle’s about to break the damn computer chair. Simon may as well be breathing fire. Kate’s eerily calm, her gaze hard as steel as she glares at the ground.

He knows now why he can’t hold you from behind. It sends you right back to that damned basement. He understands now, what’s caused your spikes of fear in certain settings. He hates the man that did it. He’s going to see you suffering, hear your screams, in every nightmare for the rest of his life. Guilt gnaws at the base of his skull, eats his stomach away from the inside. He should have found you sooner. He should have gone to work with you for days, shouldn’t have waited so damn long for Graves to make a move. 

He can see the anger boiling between four bodies. All of them look about ready to murder. In the two years you’ve been married, they’ve grown protective of you the same way they’re protective of each other. You’re one of them, been sucked into their little bubble, and they’re seething about one of their own being fucked with like this. Simon’s voice is tight, gravel-rough.

“There’s more.” He blinks, studies the image despite the bile. Your jeans are still on you. He’s not done.

He has to swallow down the nausea as he watches you scream at Graves with his hand between your thighs. When he vanishes, a phone being answered, you break down again. Alone. Tied to that fucking chair. There’s another stint where you’re alone, this time for much longer, the blood drying on your skin and he watches as you nod off only to jolt awake at the sound of footsteps. 

When he kneels and puts his hands back on you– back in you– John wants to peel his own damn skin off his body. He doesn’t know exactly what it felt like when you’d scrubbed your body so harshly, but he thinks he gets why you’d desperately needed it. When the belt comes off and you start breaking, his head starts to spin.

It’s when you start to beg that Kyle’s leaned over the trash bin and empties the contents of his stomach. 

And then he hears it. John. It’s whimpered out, sad and desperate as you call out for him through tears and terror. It’s something he never wished he’d be hearing. You’ve always been able to handle yourself, been proud to dish out your hellfire retribution. Fear he’d never imagine in his darkest nightmares comes through in your plea, sharp as a scalpel, pressed tight to his jugular.

You were calling out for him, crying for him to help you. To save you. 

 The room spins, blood drains down to his feet, his legs give out beneath him. One knee hits the floor, his palms soaking up the chill of the tile while he steadies himself. Scar tissue twists behind his ribs, heart shredding in his chest.

Johnny stops the replay when they come barging in. He looks just as sick as Kyle. It feels like the entire room vibrates with rage, the air tinting red. Johnny’s shaking where he stands, fists tight. Kyle’s out of the chair pacing, slowly, methodically, breathing through what he’s sure is another bout of nausea.

His own stomach is threatening to empty itself onto the tile.

Simon’s made his way over, a heavy hand solid between John’s shoulder blades.

“We’ve got her, Price. We got her back, and the bastard's dead.” He’s dead. The words echo in his skull, insistent, almost desperate, like he doesn’t quite believe it. Not when he’s watching the way that sick fuck pulled you apart. Not when you’re still piecing yourself back together.

He’s dead. 

Phillip Graves is dead.

He needs to see you. He needs to hold you.

Nobody even tries to stop him when he bolts from the station and speeds home to his wife.

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Better Kind of Best Friend [1]

Summary: Shauna asks you to fake date her to make Jackie jealous. 3.3k words. (fem reader)

Warnings: not proofread

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

“I want you to fake being my girlfriend.”

“What?”

You were sitting on your bed, working on a project for your English class when Shauna suddenly asked you to be her fake girlfriend. The question came out of nowhere, and it caught you completely off guard. 

“Pretend to date me, you know. To make someone else jealous.” She shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. And you guess it isn’t, at least not to her. Why would it be? It would all be fake. 

You give her a look, stretching your legs out. “Yeah, I got that. But why me? Who are we making jealous? Is there an upside to this for me?”

Shauna rolls her eyes, finally looking up from her book. “I know you, and we’re friends, but Jackie really doesn’t. Perfect for a fake relationship, no one’s going to think anything of it.”

“You still haven’t answered my other questions, Shauna.”

“Jackie, okay? I want to make Jackie jealous.”

“I have more questions now, actually.”

“Just agree, it’s not a big deal.” “Shauna, this shit is crazy. I’m not just going to say yes because you asked me to.  So answer my questions, and maybe I’ll say yes,” you urge, waiting for her to give you permission to ask more of your questions. 

“Fine, okay.”

“Great. Why are we making Jackie jealous?”

“I think you know the answer to that question, dumbass.”

“Yeah, duh, you’re into her. But why now? Is she doing something that makes you want to make her jealous, or..?”

She sighs, sitting up. “She’s been super in my face about Jeff lately. More than usual. And I can’t deal with that. It feels like she’s trying to make me jealous.”

“Well, clearly it’s working.”

She shoots you a glare, and you hold your hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, okay. Low blow, I get it. So fake dating me is going to make her jealous because..?”

“She’s going to think she’s not my top priority anymore. She’ll realize how much she actually likes me once I have someone else, and she’ll lay off with the Jeff shit. Maybe she’ll even break up with him.”

“So, you don’t even want to date her?” You’re confused now, feeling like Shauna’s reasoning is a bit off. There’s no way this plan is going to end up working out for her, and you hope she realizes that soon, or you may actually be stuck fake dating her.

“Of course I want to date her.”

“But you just said you just want her to lay off with the Jeff shit.”

“Yeah, I do. But I don’t really expect her to break up with him and immediately start dating me.”

You look at Shauna, assessing her. “You know this plan is shit, right?”

She glares at you, clearly annoyed by the callout. “Yeah, okay. It is. But she’s also been fucking nagging me to start dating. Every time we talk, she brings it up, and she’s always suggesting the worst guys.”

“Does she not know you’re bi? I thought that was like, common knowledge. She’s not throwing in any girls?”

“She knows I’m bi, she just thinks it would be better for double dates with her and Jeff if I was dating a guy. I guess so Jeff has someone to talk to.Plus, all her sorority friends are straight. She has talked about setting me up with girls before, it’s just a lot of guys recently.”

“So you’re telling me I’d not only have to fake date you, but I’d also have to go on double dates with Jackie and Jeff where I’d be stuck talking to Jeff. And don’t say I won’t, because everyone knows that you and Jackie get lost in your own little bubble when you’re together. This literally sounds like my nightmare scenario. Is there no one else you could ask? You’re on a fucking girl’s soccer team, there has to be at least a few gay people.”

“None that I’m really close to. And Jackie would freak out if she thought I was dating anyone on the team. She’s weird about that shit, even though like half of us have hooked up by now.”

“If I say yes, will you at least admit that this is a horrible idea? And I’m not taking any credit for it. Like at all.”

She nods, looking at you expectantly. As much as you want to say no, tell her to find some other girl to fake date, you know you aren’t going to. You really weren’t getting anything out of it, but you weren’t losing anything, either. Everyone knew you were gay, and you did like Shauna as a person, even if the two of you weren’t super close. 

“How committed are we going to be here? Like, obviously we’ll be pretending around Jackie, so we’ll have to pretend to like, everyone we know. But like, what about dates? Kissing? PDA and all that?” If you were going to say yes, you were at least going to figure out how much she wanted you to put into this. 

“We’ll go out once a week to parties or whatever, plus a one-on-one date once a month, I guess? Plus just like, normal hanging out. And whatever Jackie wants to do with the double dates. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“What do you want to do about PDA?”

“No cuddling or whatever. Couples that do that piss me off. Holding hands is fine.On dates we can do kisses on the lips, I guess. We’ll probably have to actually make out at parties, at least to make it believable. Depends on the situation. Shit changes depending on who we’re with. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. You should probably do the same.”

She nods, mentally noting down everything that you’re saying. “That sounds fair.”

“And you’re paying for dates.” If you were going to fake date someone, you were at least going to get a free dinner out of it. Sue you. 

“Fine.” Shauna doesn’t sound happy about it, but she knows this was her idea, and she needed you to agree. 

You smile, somewhat satisfied. “When do we start this?”

“A couple weeks? A month? I have to convince Jackie I actually have a crush on you, and that I asked you out. She won’t believe it if I just show up with a girlfriend tomorrow.”

“Okay, that works. Just like, let me know the exact day. And warn me when I first have to meet Jackie. I need to brush up on my acting skills. If I’m doing this, I’m making it believable.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month later, you were sitting with Jackie and Shauna in one of the cafes on campus, Shauna’s hand on your knee. Jeff wasn’t there, thank God, but the whole thing was still unbearably awkward. You knew Jackie, of course, but only through Shauna. 

There was also the aspect of being in a fake relationship. That wasn’t super easy for you to ignore. 

You and Shauna had only gone on one “date” so far, but you’d had to commit to a decent amount of buildup. Going to parties or bars so you could flirt with Shauna where Jackie could see her, hanging out with Shauna alone so Jackie really believed she liked you. It was fucking exhausting.

Two days after your first real “date” (although Jackie thought you’d been on more), Shauna had told you that Jackie wanted to meet you for real. So there you were, in what was possibly the most awkward situation of your life. 

“Shauna hasn’t shut up about you in like months, you know,” Jackie chattered, clearly trying to make you feel secure in your relationship. You highly doubted Shauna talked about you that often, and especially didn’t believe she’d been talking about you for months. 

Instead of telling Jackie that, you smiled, looking at her before turning to Shauna. “Good to know.”

Shauna, to her credit, does blush at this. It’s faint, but noticeable. She was a better actress than you originally thought. 

Jackie laughs, and you relax a bit. She was nice, if a bit energetic. You could see why Shauna liked her. Maybe she wasn’t exactly your type, but you saw the appeal. They’d make a cute couple, if Shauna’s plan did end up working. 

The issue was, Jackie didn’t seem jealous at all. Shauna had been telling you how excited Jackie had been when she told her about her crush on you, and you’d noticed her looking happy when you fake flirted with Shauna at parties. It was cute, really, but Shauna’s plan didn’t seem to be working out for her. 

“Shauna says you’re majoring in communications,” you say, looking up at Jackie. 

“Yep!”

“And you’re in a sorority, right?”

Jackie absolutely beams at this, clearly happy that you know a little bit about her. “Shauna’s told you a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, she has.” You laugh, squeezing Shauna’s hand under the table. She hasn’t said much since you’d gotten there, and you were starting to worry. 

“I had to brief her on you, Jax. I couldn’t let her walk in blind.”

All three of you laugh at that, and you feel better now. Shauna’d finally spoken, which relived you of some of your anxiety. It still wasn’t your idea of fun, but it wasn’t complete torture, either. You’d be able to deal with whatever this was until: A) Shauna’s fake dating plan worked, or B) she got bored. 

“Well, thanks,” you reply, grinning at Shauna. “But I don’t think I needed a briefing. Jackie’s great.”

It was weird to say, but you did really like Jackie. She seemed sweet, and very supportive. Maybe a little over the top sometimes, but it worked on her. 

They both seem happy when you say that, Jackie especially. “Thank you! Shauna, she’s really sweet. I can’t believe we haven’t really talked before.”

“She’s been keeping you away from me on purpose, I swear. She thinks you’re going to tell me embarrassing stories from when you guys were little.”

Shauna looks at you, slightly annoyed look on her face. You know she doesn’t really mean it. “I didn’t mean to, you guys are always free at different times.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it,” you reply, still smiling at her. 

Jackie giggles, and Shauna looks exasperated. “You guys are ganging up on me.”

You and Jackie exchange a look, both used to Shauna’s antics by now. You couldn’t tell if she was being serious, though. She was hard to read sometimes, especially times like these, when you couldn’t just ask. 

“Relax, Shipman. We’re just messing with you.” Jackie looks only somewhat apologetic.

“I’m relaxed.”

You squeeze her hand, letting her know that you could go whenever she wanted to. “We’ll stop, okay?”

Shauna takes a moment to collect herself, regretting bringing you to meet Jackie so soon. It was an experience she wasn’t used to. She’d never seriously dated anyone before, which meant she’d never had to introduce someone to Jackie. Maybe the first time being fake wasn’t exactly her best idea. “It’s fine.”

You can tell she wants you to drop it, so you do. Instead, you focus on just talking with both of them, trying to get to know Jackie, and trying to understand the dynamic between the two girls. 

“You guys met when you were in like, kindergarten, right?”

They both nod, and Jackie gets super excited when you bring it up. “We’re from a kind of small town in New Jersey, which you probably already knew. Anyways, we met in Kindergarten, but didn’t really become friends until second grade. But we’ve been inseparable since!”

“Yeah, I had fallen or something, I don’t remember, but she came up to me and told me that I shouldn’t be sad because there were a bunch of worms in the dirt that we could play with.”

You laugh at that, turning to face Jackie. “You don’t strike me as much of a tomboy.”

Jackie laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not, now. But I used to love all of that stuff. I used to spend hours in my mom’s garden looking for worms.”

You nod, sipping your coffee. Trying to imagine Jackie as a little girl searching for worms was difficult. It didn’t match the image of her you’d created, not even a little. “Did Shauna join you?”

“Never. She’d sit next to me, nose stuck in a book. That hasn’t really changed.”

“I can appreciate that.”

Shauna smiles at you, more sweetly than you’d anticipated. “I’m consistent, at least.”

“You’re also an English major, right? That’s how you two met?”

“Yeah, we were in a few classes together last semester and got to talking. Then it just kind of snowballed into this.”

Jackie smiles. “She seriously would just not shut up about you. Still doesn’t. Literally, she’s brought you up to me every day since you met. I’d never seen her so interested in someone before.”

She had to have been lying. This whole thing, your whole relationship with Shauna, it was all fake. You were sure it was purely platonic. Either way, though, it was sweet that Shauna liked you enough to tell Jackie all about you. 

“Okay, don’t exaggerate, it’s not every day.” Shauna looked sheepish, like you weren’t supposed to know that. 

“Shipman, she’s already dating you. I don’t think you have to pretend like you’re uninterested.”

Shauna just rolls her eyes, looking apologetic. You’re not sure why. Yeah, Jackie said she talked about you a lot, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. You talked about your friends all the time, too. If anything, you thought it was sweet. Maybe the two of you were closer than you’d originally thought. 

The three of you keep talking, bringing up childhood stories, talking about professors, how it was living in the dorms, how you all couldn’t wait to move into an apartment next year. It was nice, honestly. You did really like both of them. There were a couple times where you felt like a third wheel, but that was to be expected when you were talking to people who’d known each other since childhood. In all honesty, they were really good at including you, and you appreciated that. 

“One of the frats is throwing a party tonight, you should come!” Jackie looked directly at you, hoping you’d join her. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just planning to stay in. Watch a movie, catch up on some homework. Maybe next week.”

Jackie looked disappointed, but smiled at you anyway. “Well, if you change your mind, just let Shauna know. The more the merrier!”

You nodded, turning to Shauna and silently asking her if she wanted you to be there. Subtly, she shook her head, enough that you knew she didn’t mind. You’d feel more guilty if she were actually your girlfriend, but she seemed fine with you not going. 

“Do you want me to stay home with you?” She asked, really seeming interested.

“Nah, you and Jackie already planned to go out. I don’t want to fuck that up for you.”

“I’m sure Jackie won’t care if I stay in tonight.” Shauna was much more committed to this than you thought, which was throwing you off a bit.

“Shauna, it’s fine. Seriously. I don’t mind being by myself.”

She let it go, finally. “Just tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will, I will.”

Jackie watched your entire exchange intently, trying to figure out the dynamic between you and Shauna. She seemed to be wondering what her best friend acts like when dating someone, and you wonder if you’re Shauna’s first serious relationship. Sure, it was fake, but Jackie was supposed to think it was real. Shauna hadn’t said anything about you being her first serious relationship, but she didn’t have to disclose that to you. None of it was real, there was no pressure for that sort of deep conversation. 

Suddenly, Jackie spoke up. “Shit. I’m gonna be late. It was nice meeting you!” 

She stands up, giving Shauna a hug goodbye before hurrying out of the coffee shop. You assume she has a sorority thing, or maybe had a date with Jeff. Either way, it wasn’t that big of a deal. You’d already spent a couple hours together. 

“Sorry I sprung this on you.”

You shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. “It’s fine. Low stakes, just Jackie. I knew it would have to happen at some point.”

“She’s definitely buying it, which is good. Only a matter of time until she ropes us into a double date.” Shauna looks mildly worried at the prospect of this.

“It’ll be fine. She already believes us, and Jeff is absolutely stupider than she is. You could tell him the sky is green and he’d believe you.”

“I know, I just don’t want him to be weird about me dating a girl. Well, not really dating, but he won’t know that.”

“Well, if Jackie’s dating a homophobe, I’m sure you would’ve known by now. And if you didn’t, maybe that’ll be the reason Jackie breaks up with him. Has Jeff ever been a dick before? To you, specifically, I mean.”

Shauna shakes her head, taking a drink of her tea. It must have gone cold by now, but she didn’t seem to care. “No, not really. At least not on purpose. He’s said stupid shit, but only because he’s ignorant, not because he’s an ass on purpose.”

“It’ll be fine, then. She hasn’t even asked about a double date yet, anyway. You have plenty of time to let him know you’re with a girl.”

“You’re right. I’m just stressed.”

“This was your plan, you know. We can call it off whenever.” You don’t tell her that Jackie doesn’t seem jealous at all. If she can’t tell already, she’s probably beyond saving. 

“We can’t just quit a week in. Jackie would get suspicious.”

“Yeah, true. But if this doesn’t work after a couple months, I’m out. I don’t have time to be fake dating you for longer than that. I’d like to find an actual partner, you know.”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She knows you’re being serious, even if she doesn’t want you to be. Her whole plan was proving harder to pull off than she’d originally thought.

“Yeah, okay.”

You finish your coffee, standing up from the table. “If you want an out for this party, we could watch a movie. You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to go.”

“Jackie might kill me if I skip.”

“Blame me. That’ll really make her jealous.”

Shauna smiles for a moment, then her face falls. “You said you didn’t want me to stay in with you. She heard that.”

“I changed my mind. Just go back to your dorm, tell her that after she left, we talked about it and I want you to stay in with me. It’s a double win for you. You don’t have to go to the party, and you have another chance to make Jackie jealous.”

She stands up, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great. I’ll see you tonight.”

You don’t hug, or kiss, instead electing to just go your own ways. If Jackie asked, Shauna could just say she walked you back to your dorm. She didn’t need to actually do it. 

On your way home, you kept replaying the day in your head. You didn’t know what it felt like, not really. On one hand, you felt like you were just hanging out with two of your friends. On the other, it almost did feel like Jackie was third wheeling a date between you and Shauna. The whole thing was confusing and annoying. 

Whatever. You’d power through, even if you couldn’t place your finger on why you were so dedicated.

[spoonfulofmilo]

Contestant Number 3's Introduction

updates will be tues, wed and thursday my time at 7pm aest!

love y'all

the bachelor masterlist is here

part 1 is here

---

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

Y/N had his makeup touched up and his microphone adjusted as he thought about Logan. He was aware of the car sitting just around the corner, the new guy waiting in the car for the go ahead.

The producer in Y/N’s ear reminded him to smile. He forgot how much he was being watched, not just by the cameras, but by the entire crew.

The touch ups were finished and the next guy was given the green light as the cameras started rolling and Y/N noticed the guy wandering around the corner towards him.

Y/N felt his heart pound slightly faster as the figure emerged. The familiar nerves crept up his spine, but this time there was something different, a sense of curiosity mixed with a hint of anticipation.

Maybe it was a bit extreme to call Logan sunkissed, even though compared to Kimi he was. But this guy was definitely tanned. His smile was knowing, like they were already in on the same joke. He had dark curly brown hair, and scruff on his chin as if it was a rugged but polished look.

Logan's energy had been light, almost like a breeze. But this guy, there was something undeniably grounded about him, his smile inviting but his eyes carrying a depth that felt less playful, more serious.

He was carrying a helmet in his hand, as if he’d gotten off a motorbike, and as he approached Y/N for a hug, he hugged him with the helmet in his hands.

Y/N saw him before he heard him, the way the black suit clung to broad shoulders, the collar unbuttoned just enough to make Y/N's pulse stutter.

He blinked, forcing himself to look away.

Not your type.

Too confident. Too perfect. Too... hot.

“Howdy.”

The accent hit Y/N like a second punch.

Y/N was so fucked.

“I’m Daniel. Thought I’d rock up with a little somethin’.” He held out the helmet with a grin. “Not sure how much dirt you’ve played in outside the karting stuff, but I’m a bit of a two-wheel guy. So if you're up for it, this one’s got your initials on it, literally.”

Y/N laughed, taking the helmet. “No way, that’s awesome. It’s got my initials and everything.”

Daniel winked. “Of course, mate. Gotta come prepared.”

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“Alright, rapid-fire style? Thirty-three, Aussie made, professional camera clicker these days, but honestly I’ll take any excuse to jump on a dirt bike or mess about outside. I’ve got a soft spot for sunsets, Italian food, and people who laugh with their whole face.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What actually brings you here, to the mansion?”

Daniel tilted his head slightly, scratching the back of his neck with a little smirk. “To be honest? Curiosity. Hope. Bit of chaos, maybe. I mean, yeah, I want something real, but I’m also not here to force it. If it clicks, it clicks, y’know? Just tryna stay open to it all.”

“What’s your idea of a perfect first date?”

“Ohh, alright. Let’s go picnic under the stars, something chill, y’know? Or, if you’re brave, we can hit some dirt trails, get messy, maybe fall off once or twice. Makes for a good story. I'm flexible, it's more about the vibe than the plan.”

Y/N hesitated, then asked, “Do you like to travel? It’s kind of a dealbreaker for me.”

Daniel nodded quickly, eyes lighting up. “Absolutely. I’ve done my fair share. Hard to pick a fave, but I reckon I’m supposed to say Perth. That’s home. Grew up there, quiet, spread out, beaches that’ll make you cry they’re so good. But I love discovering new places. Food, people, dodgy airports, all of it. Sure, long flights suck, but I’m always tryin’ to see the good in it.”

He leaned in, elbows loose, casual. “Alright, your turn, where’s your happy place?”

Y/N gave his answer,

“Hmmmm, my happy place, I think I like that idea more than the idea of a favourite city. Cause I feel like I can have multiple happy places. And the second I find somewhere in a city, like a book cafe, I’m happy, I’m in my happy place. And I think that, that’s almost better than having a home, or a favourite city. Being able to find a spot in every city you go to, that, that is important for me.”

 Daniel nodded slowly, listening.

Then he nudged, grinning. “Okay okay, philosopher, now gimme a real place. C’mon. City, race weekend, something that actually got into your bones.”

They went back and forth, Austin, music, moments that stuck. Then Y/N asked, “What’s the best advice you’ve ever given?”

Daniel paused. Then his eyes softened. “Can I level with you? No producers, no fancy edits, just me talking like a bloke in your kitchen.”

He reached for Y/N’s hands. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was honest. Grounded.

“Alright. Here's the deal. Enjoy the butterflies, yeah? Let yourself be nervous, bit wide-eyed. That stuff means you care. Don’t feel like you gotta peak in the first five minutes. Let it build. Let people see you grow into it.”

He chuckled, a little bashful now. “You’re already amazing, but you’ve got more to give, I can see it. So meet people properly, laugh heaps, learn stuff, even if it’s just how someone takes their coffee or how they recover from tripping over their own ego. And don’t go it alone, yeah? Bring your mates, call your mum, take your support crew with you. It’s meant to be shared.”

He shrugged. “That’s it. Cheesy as… I know. Was that alright?”

Y/N’s smile broke open, wide and real. “I think that’s the best advice I’ve ever been given.”

Daniel beamed. “Nailed it, then. Let’s goooo.”

(cut to Y/N’s interview)

"That one shook me a little. I wasn’t expecting him. Not like that. Daniel walked in like he already knew who I was. Not just the suit, the setup, the camera version of me. Like, me, me. And I don’t know if that’s terrifying or comforting, but it was definitely... something. There’s this thing he said, about enjoying the butterflies, not rushing to the top so fast you forget to look around. I think that’s the first time tonight I really let my guard down. I didn’t plan to get that emotional this early. I’m usually the one asking the questions, keeping the energy light. But he flipped it. He made it about something deeper without trying too hard. I don’t know if Daniel’s dangerous in the romantic sense or the existential sense yet. But... I’m not brushing that one off."

(cut to Daniel’s interview)

"Y/N’s the real deal. You know when someone walks into a room and you're not sure if they're about to change your night or your life? Yeah. It felt a bit like that. I wasn’t trying to do anything clever. I just wanted to give him something honest. Maybe I’ve spent too much time with people who perform their feelings, so I’ve learned to spot the difference. Y/N doesn’t perform. He... invites you in. I brought him a helmet. Thought it might make him laugh, or at least give us something to talk about. But the moment I touched his hands… Yeah. That wasn’t nothing. I’m not saying this is it, not yet. But if I get the chance to keep showing him who I am, I will. I didn’t walk in here planning to feel this way. But now? I’m in it."

taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life, @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @fate-posts, @evelyn-4034, @jupiter-je-taime, @redcrescentmoons, @youraveragebritishamerican, @v3lnys, @thatonesblog, @bangbangdevotee, @annegrey, @pear-1206, @alchemxx, @koalapastries, @saucy-apples, @milessunflowers, @dramaticpiratellamas, @bunnisgreen, @jamesiesposts, @tammyfortis, @sleutherclaw, @blazecosplay

[tunastime]

Hello tuna tunastime mayhaps a number 34 for Spotify wrapped :>

Hi everyone, wow!! Since I'd already done 34 (All Eyes on Me, Fox Stevenson) I figured I'd do the next best! All Eyes on Me by Phoenix! I had a lot of fun with this one, especially catered for resident tangtho enjoyer ethosiab <333 enjoy y'all! (574 words)

Tango wriggles free of the wall of the snow fort, flakes and slush clinging to his fur-lined coat and hair, knees damp, only turning to fill back the space he’d crawled out from. He smooths his gloved hands over the patched spot of snow. The world is still daylight light-grey, especially here up the side of the mountain and through thick, old-growth pines. He sighs out, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his cheeks and ears, and his breath makes a faint, foggy cloud. 

He sees Etho a moment later as he turns back to him, shoulders hunched, eyebrows furrowed. He’s hunkered down in his water-wicking coat, hat pulled over his ears, hands in his pockets. His expression is tight. It makes something turn in his stomach, sickly and uncomfortable. The background static of anger lingers in the base of his throat, warm and prickly. Tango scowls, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. He drags his tongue over his teeth, sighs, and lets his tail flick miserably.

Etho is following him. Tango is about to guess as to why.

“So,” He starts, throwing his voice over his shoulder, snorting lightly. He hears Etho’s footsteps behind him still in his brief pause. “What’s goin’ on, E?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he says, raising his eyebrows, folding his arms a little tighter around himself. “That doesn’t seem like a whole lotta nothin’. Bdubs just—” he sighs, gritting his teeth, whipping around. “What, I gotta do the lifting around here, for him, or somethin’? Listen, man, I—I love you to pieces, but I only have so many—”

Etho frowns, eyebrows furrowing.

“You’ve got plenty of lives, Tango,” he says, spreading his hands. Tango recoils, blinking. His stomach turns again, twisting into knots in his abdomen. He scoffs.

“Hey, now, that’s not fair,” he ekes out. Etho’s eyes flick down as he tilts his chin to his chest, back up to Tango’s face, and immediately back down. He shrugs. His hands stay, fidgeting, in his pockets.

“Bdubs,” Etho shrugs again, even smaller, voice quiet. “Bdubs is my partner.”

“What am I?”

Etho swallows, barely visible besides the work of his jaw behind his black mask.

“You’re…” he starts, stops. Then, whispering:  “I don’t know.”

Tango barks out a laugh, shocked. He blinks rapidly. Something in his stomach demands to be outside of him. Bile threatens his throat.

“You dunno?” he manages, hurt coloring his tone too much to mask. Etho’s head jerks up. He stutters forward, yanking his hands from his pockets.

“Tango—” he starts, but Tango steps back, shirking away from him. He feels his breath catch, eyes locked on Etho’s one, dark, focused eye.

“Etho, I’m not lettin’ you squirrel away from this one, alright?” he laughs out, nervous and pained, heart now-hammering in the column of his throat. He tries to swallow, unsuccessfully, around it. “You can at least be honest and say that the normal rules don’t apply, alright, man? Can you at least give me that?”

Etho folds back into himself like a poorly made paper craft, becoming small, malleable, miserable.

“‘S a death game, T,” he mumbles, quiet and flushed. “Normal rules don’t apply.”

Tango sets his jaw. His tail flicks.

“Thank you,” he sighs, voice still tight with hurt. He turns, only glancing over his shoulder once as he starts to cut his way through newly fallen snow. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?”

He hears Etho shudder out a sigh.

“Sure.”

[sieglinde-freud]

its taking all of my restraint to not just post the whole fucking conversation but they really are so dear to me. this whole scene is soooooo… like for inigo its everything he definitely needed to hear but never got to and for chrom its just kind of that full circle moment of making peace not only with his son but also his own self as someone who is slowly coming to terms with his weaknesses as a ruler (like his anger and his brashness—which inigo also has!) and how he projected his feelings of inadequacy onto inigo and is slowly making up for that. GOD. chrom inigo father son bonding hours. IM EMO

[serenadeofsunshine]

just saw the cutest video of gengen on twt Ohhhhhhh my princess how i miss you. how i wish that 90% of the people who are fans of your media weren’t the worst

[itspileofgoodthings]

there is something about the fragmentary nature of teaching that I hate so much but I think I have to make my peace with because it’s probably where a lot of grace is working/things are operating that I can’t see. In good ways as well as hard ways.

[echojedis]

How do people do OCs, I can never get them to click properly

[archiveofyearning]

.

[sunnysduet]

just ran slightly over 2 miles in 48 mins … as someone who despises running and is generally incredibly out of shape . i’m sort of. idk. i hope i’m allowed to be proud of myself for that