#if this inspires you to go please see a therapist

[cmdrfupa]

Lifetime

post shibuya!nanami x caregiver!reader

A series dedicated to healing and letting yourself have a second chance in this lifetime.

Inspired by this song that brings me to tears every single time.

content warning: shibuya arc, mentions of death, mental health awareness, angst(eventual comfort), burn victim so expect some detailed imagery.

wc: 4.9k

an: thank you for reading. I love you lots.

I.

Time seemed to trickle as Nanami waited for his physical therapist to arrive.

First at home session since being discharged.

4 days a week, 30 minutes a day.

“Individualized exercise program including rigorous activities as you progress to help you regain your independence.. Sure.” Nanami read from the pamphlet out loud and sighed as he looked over the stack of literature he left the rehab facility with.

He was thankful that he was deemed fit enough to continue his healing at home after 11 weeks in the best facility Gojo could find. While it accommodated every possible concern one could have, he was certain he wouldn’t feel confident in being self sufficient until he was able to put all he had learned into practice at home.

So there he was, sifting through paperwork and sipping his coffee as he awaited his new physical therapist and as Ino finished cleaning his kitchen.

“I think thats it! Lunch is in the black container on the top shelf in the fridge and I’ve prepped dinner for when Gojo comes to cook. Anything else before I’m off?” Takuma grabbed his keys, the jangle bringing Kento out of his reading trance as he looked up.

“Yes, that should be fine. I appreciate you coming over every morning Takuma. But it’s not necessary.”

Takuma scoffed, almost offended at the idea. “Nonsense. Its just a little breakfast and lunch. Its on my way to the school anyway. Consider it a small help.”

He could protest but Takuma would simply find another way to make himself useful. Whether it be taking him to his appointments or coming to slather his injuries: he was going to find a way to be of help.

As he adjusted his cast as best he could, a text popped up from an unsaved number.

>Hello, Mr. Nanami! Currently heading to you. ETA is ten minutes.

Signed with your name, Nanami simply reads the text and reacted to the message with thumbs up.

“Thank you, Takuma. Truly. But I think thats everything. My physical therapist is on their way so I’ll just hang out til then.”

“Alrighty! I’ll be working mostly on campus so just shoot me a text if you need me. Take it easy, Nanami.” with that, Ino grabbed his jacket and proceeded out the front door.

Nanami exhaled and got up to sit at the window. The mid morning sun was gentle but insistent, that soft golden hue brightening everything it touched.

It wasn’t harsh, just warm enough to remind Nanami of the outside world, a quiet promise that time was still moving. The warmth on his right side almost felt foreign as the dust mites danced lazily in the light. He closed his eyes, taking in the fragile sense of something stirring inside of him­— reposeful comfort in the way the sun didn’t have a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy but a soft declaration that he was still here.

Nanami hadn’t had many moments to really think about just how life changing the incident had been. Half of his body littered in 3rd degree burns, a third of that, 4th degree. Loss of hair on one side, an eye patch over his eye and a lack of feeling down his left arm.

He’d looked at himself in the mirror exactly once since the incident and didn’t do it again until he acquired his face prosthetic recently.

It was bulky and itchy, but it alleviated the deformities and more importantly, kept him from being too hard on his own appearance.

The moment felt necessary. Reminding him that the sun remained a constant while other things changed.

“I’ll need to see if I can sit outdoors for a few minutes a day. Would be good for me.” he noted outwardly before a light tapping at the front door had him shuffling towards the foyer.

One moment, please.” he paused a few paces before he reached the door to look down, remembering his shirt had a hole near the hem of it. He didn’t have time to change but only hoped the therapist wouldn’t see him as some undetermined slob with no real concern on how he looked.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Mr. Nanami?”

“That would be me.”

“Perfect! Hello! I was sent by the health and wellness agency as part of your transitioning to home health care. We have an appointment. May I come in?”

No scrubs, no accessories to signify you were a medical professional. Just a badge clip holding your ID with “HHA” boldly sitting under your name.

“Sure. Come on in.” He led you into the house, slowly walking into the living room and nodding towards the couch as you stood next to him.

You grin and sat on the far end of the couch, near the window, “Thank you.” you sat your tote littered in small pins on the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat thick file.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

Shaking your head, you tapped the top of your bag. “No thank you. I have my tumbler. But I appreciate it!”

Nanami slightly bowed his head and sat in the solo chair next to the couch. “Alright so, how do we start this? I was told I’d see you four days a week with one more day possibly if I need to.”

You pursed your lips, looking down at your paperwork before looking back up to meet his neutral gaze.

“I believe that’s your physical therapist that you will be seeing four days out of the week.”

“Then pardon me for being so… impolite. But who are you exactly?”

The laugh that left your lips was a soft one but enough for Kento to lift his lips into a slight smile.

“I realize your discharge team didn’t give you names, faces, or titles. My apologies.”

“It happens.”

You continued. “I’m your Home Health Care Provider. While you were still in recovery, you met with your primary care provider and you spoke of your in home care, correct?”

Nanami nodded. “Yes.”

“Going over the team you’d have for your in housee rehabilitation, you were assigned a home health aide 5 days a week.”

His brow furrowed. “So you are that, I assume?”

“Yes. I will also be the one looking over the full team that provides you with your in-home care.”

“This feels very unnecessary.” The tone in his response was sharp. “I have people who come to help me with my daily needs. Having an entire team sounds like an exhausting back and forth to have coming to my house. A waste of resources.”

Your demeanor remained soft and understanding as you listened to his concerns. “Mr. Nanami. I understand that it sounds overwhelming. If I had to be in the predicament of needing a care team after an incident, I too would be a bit apprehensive.”

“But you aren’t. I am.”

The immediate smile that grew on your face wasn’t one that came from kindness. It was your defense, albeit an understandable one. “You are correct. I’m not. But I implore to at least hear me out on why its important to have us.”

A rush of emotions filled Kento’s chest. He wanted to pull his hair out from sheer frustration. But he remained calm.

His discomfort was obvious to you and you wanted to remedy the ache somehow.

“I want you to have an idea of what this could look like as you approach the first steps of gaining a sense of normalcy. Would you be willing to let me give you an example of what a week may look like for you? And if you don’t like it, we can adjust to a schedule that fits better for you.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Splendid.” You reached into your file and pulled out a thoroughly detailed schedule and turned it for Nanami to look along with you.

“So, this schedule is based loosely on the day to day you had while in the rehab facility. No matter who, anything involving someone from your team wouldn’t be arriving until 10am. This is unless you decide to utilize me. Then I would be here at 7 every morning to aide you with your morning routine.”

“What if I don’t want extensive help?”

“I would respect the boundary.”

Nanami took a closer look at the schedule, seeing the words ‘kitchen prep healing exercise’ highlighted for every Tuesday and Thursday. “What does this entail? Kitchen prep healing.”

“Your passions shouldn’t suffer because of changes. So I created a regimen that would help us get in the kitchen and get busy while making sure we help maintain your range of motion and fine motor skills.”

Nanami looked up at you for a moment, trying to assess just how serious you were about changing what he was uncomfortable with.

“So if I only need you for meal prep and assisting with chores around my house.”

“Then I will only help you with meal prep and assisting with your chores around the house.”

He handed the schedule back to you. “And if it isn’t something that I’ve mentioned?”

Trying to test you. Cute. “If you mention to me that would like me to assist you in going to the grocery store, fixing your bed, helping you get ready for your appointments, then I will. Because my goal is having you confident in yourself and your abilities.”

That nagging feeling of what if filled his chest and mind. Nanami knows he can’t do it alone. But to be a burden is the last thing he wants to ever become.

“I don’t want to become too dependent on you and your teams’ services.” He sat up as best he could, stretching out his legs and wincing at the unexpected intensity of his blood flowing through his left leg.”

Not wanting to lose the momentum, you sat on the edge of the couch alert of and aware of the pain he showed. “Your independence will not falter. We are merely an extension. We are the claw arm that’s in your reach if the jar of pickles are too high up, if you will.”

Nanami tried to stop the half smile on his face but faltered. “I understand.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” You smiled politely.

“A few,” Nanami cleared his throat. “When it comes to changing my dressings..”

“I will be the only one who sees them completely outside of your primary physician.” You answered, as if you were waiting for that specific question.

“Second question: can you properly fold a fitted sheet?”

You laughed, nodding. “The trick is in how you hold the corners. Line up the creases and you’ll always have a perfect fold.”

Nanami nodded. “Interesting.” The intense blood flow in his legs ceased and his body noticeably relaxed. He sat forward. “Final question, if you were to start tomorrow, could we have your start time for 8am? I like having the first hour of the day to myself.”

“If you want me here at 8 am, I will be at the door by 7:55 to knock at 7:59.”

The moment of silence was filled with hope as you realized you got to him. You let him see genuine concern and thats all he wanted. But this was only the beginning. And you were willing to be his guide to a sense of independence all the way through.

___________________________________________

The silence of the early morning was heavier than usual— a quit hum of of the refrigerator reached his room as he slept with his bedroom door open now, a new practice he’s since learned is a response to his trauma.

He sat on the side of his bed, staring down at his slippers that warmly held his feet as the barely visible morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unrelenting.

“I embrace healing.” He spoke out loud, his voice still low, sleep riddened, as he slowly rose from the bed and grabbed his cane.

“We aren’t going to be hard on ourselves because this is still new to you, Kento. Its okay to not know what to do.”

Mornings were more of a drag than he would like for them to be.

His body was more stiff. More rigid. He needed 30 minutes minimum to sit on the side of the bed and stretch just to muster up enough internal energy to get up and grab his cane.

He sounded off, flipping the bathroom light on and adjusting the sink to run warm water. “Today will be a great day.” He washed his hands, meticulously washing between his fingers and flicking the excess off his fingers before he dried them, reaching for a clean towel and letting it soak under the faucet.

“You will be more than okay.” this time, he spoke as if someone would overhear him talking to his self.

Nanami shook his head, lowly chuckling at what he found himself doing.

Yuji began to send him various videos that initiated ‘positive self talk’ and ‘daily affirmations for healing the body.’ Yuji hoped to try and help expedite a process that Megumi told him more than fives times, would take awhile.

Slowly pulled away the dressing on his cheek, Nanami watched small bits of dead tissue peel away from his healing skin. He threw it in the trash hamper, then pumped a small dot of antimicrobial soap on the wet towel he’d soaked and gently began to wash his face.

He looked closely, inspecting every patch he wiped over to take notice of any changes in how his skin looked. He tried very, very hard to not look into his own eyes.

Rinsing and patting to dry, he washed his hands again then reached for the jar of salve, precisely swiping a thin layer over his left cheek and forehead before he placed his transparent face mask on.

Finishing up his morning bathroom routine went without a rush. Going to throw on yet another loose fitting t-shirt and casual pants before sliding his slippers back on.

Slow and steady. Nice and easy.

“I am going to have a great day today.” the rubber end of his walker softly thudded against the wooden floors as he made his was down the hall. “It is a new day. New chances.”

He wasn’t going to confirm or deny if these affirming exercises were doing anything. But he’d admit that saying them aloud was probably the silliest he’d felt ever doing anything.

The living room held a welcoming warmth as he drew the blinds open that faced the street.

The third floor apartment view was always the one thing that made the asking price of his condo worth it to him.

The patchwork of traditional rooftops and modern buildings met the edge of the cities outskirts. Bare branches stood against the pale early morning winter sky, hints of early plum blossoms added a hint of a spring that would soon come and wipe away the muted landscape.

Kento sat on the window seal, taking in the low mountains in the distance. That thin veil of mist hiding the peaks that were still dusted in snow. With a deep inhale, he looked down at the street to see a bundled up pedestrian loading his car with boxes as another, that looked only slightly familiar, was exiting their car in a slow jog to the front steps of his building.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

7:55 am.

“Timely.”

slowly, he went to open the rest of the blinds around the living room, a slow tango that made him a feel like he still had just enough control, timing the last curtain opening perfectly as your soft knock filled the foyer yet again.

He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, before opening the door and stepping aside in a half step to let you in. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but carefully composed, as if he were still deciding how much space to give you in his life.

“Good morning,” you spoke softly, offering a polite smile.

“Morning,” Nanami replied, his voice low and steady. “I was about to make myself a simple breakfast. Coffee too.”

It wasn’t quite an invitation, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was just a statement — a line drawn firmly down the middle.

You nodded. “That sounds good.”

You sat your bag down on the ottoman against the wall and followed his lead. The condo was quiet — too quiet, the kind that felt deliberate. Like he'd stripped the space of anything deemed unnecessary. A few trinkets here and there, clean lines, muted colors.. But the kitchen felt like the homeliest part of the space.

Black stainless steel appliances, cold press juicer and blender sitting on the counter. A top of the line built-in double electric convection wall oven, a display of every herb and spice on a dark mahogany shelf sitting high on the wall.

“You have a very beautiful kitchen.” Your eyes grazed over the quartz cabinets, taking in the light blue finishes until you landed on what you knew to be as the best stand mixer that only experts chefs and bakers would have.

“You have a Bosch… Its even more beautiful in person.” You inspected it as if it were a lost artifact seeing the light for the first time in 500 years.

Nanami cocked his head for a moment. “Are you that taken by a stand mixer?”

“Mr. Nanami, I’d have to work 3 weeks nonstop to not only get the mixer but to financially recover from it.”

Your half suppressed laugh had Kento smiling. “Understandable. It is a big purchase. I use to bake fresh bread for my weekly use.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration one day! Would love to see the Bosch in action.”

Nanami raised his brows. “You think I can get back to that one day?”

The small flick of something resembling hope flecked in the richest parts of his brown eyes.

“We can get you back to that. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded, a silent acceptance of an unspoken challenge. He opened the refrigerator, bearing his weight on the cane as he used his dominant hand to grab the butter, holding it out.

“Do you mind taking things as I pass them to you?”

You reached out, taking the butter and placing it on the counter. “Don’t mind at all.”

A pack of bacon, a jar of jam and an orange followed after and you awaited his next instruction.

“I’m going need your help with peeling orange. I believe I can manage the rest.”

With quiet acknowledgment, you grabbed the orange and began to peel as he placed 2 pieces of bacon in the skillet.

It took less than 10 minutes and Nanami moved to the dining table, a slice of toast placed next to his bacon on a plate and setting out a small dish of fruit with the addition of an apple now. You brought out 2 mugs of coffee, placing his in front of him and sitting across from him with yours.

A butter knife rested awkwardly beside the jar of jam he chose. It was clear he had intended to do more, but something had stopped him.

You didn’t move or say anything, you sipped your coffee and watched as he reached for the jar. His right hand gripped the jar while his left hovered over the lid. His fingers trembled — just slightly — but enough that the lid refused to budge.

You didn’t move at first. You’d quickly learned that Nanami wasn’t the type to appreciate overstepping, even if it came from a place of concern. So you waited, giving him the space to either push through the task or acknowledge the struggle.

After a long moment, his jaw tightened. The jar didn’t budge.

You opened your mouth — not to offer help, but simply to ask if he wanted you to hold the base of the jar steady when his voice cut through the silence.

“Can you…” He paused, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Can you open this for me?”

It wasn’t a whisper, nor was it loud. Just a calm, measured request, but you could hear the effort behind it — the weight of a man who wasn’t used to asking for assistance.

You stood and went to his side of the table and gently placed your hand on the lid. “Turn when you’re ready.”

His hand dropped away, switching his left hand out for the right gripping the glass part and his left fingers curling into a loose fist at his side. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and you set it down in front of him without a word.

He didn’t thank you, but there was a small nod — barely noticeable, but it was there.

“Would you like me to slice the apple for you?” you asked, careful not to overstep.

Nanami shook his head. “No. I can manage.”

You sat back down, sipping your coffee as he asked you more questions about your fascination with his Bosch.

_______________________________________

The morning moved quickly. Breakfast cleanup was a breeze as Nanami continued his light reading and non rigorous solo exercises.

During breakfast, you’d been given what you called the key to the cupboard by Nanami. He uttered, with few words, that he didn’t want to prevent you from doing your job. While he limited what that might be, he was quick to say how appreciative he’d be if his bed could be made up, his laundry started and lunch done. He’d have a friend come by to do the rest.

You happily complied and began working on laundry the moment he sat down post breakfast. And by noon, his physical therapist had arrived to continue his exercise routine and mobility work.

Despite the pain he would occasionally feel from the intense stretches he felt near his ankles, this was Nanami’s favorite part of his rehabilitation. Feeling the tightness dissipate as he stretched his neck and chest together. He closed his eyes, allowing the PT to guide his body on top of the exercise ball.

“Now a slow exhale as you reach your arms over your head. Nice and easy.”

The short man moved the ball under Nanami and he grunted.

“Sorry Mr. Nanami, too much?”

Nanami wheezed a chuckle out, “Not enough. Can we do this one more often?”

The therapist exhaled and smiled. “We can. Your body is reacting as it needs to and it seems to be the best exercise to get a reaction out of you. Does it feel like your body is loosening up?”

He nodded, slowly sitting up with assistance. “Definitely. My skin feels less taut at my hips and chest when I open up my arms like that. It feels.. good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. We’re going to finish off with some hands exercises then your aide will be tagged back in to finish the day off with you.”

His session proceeded and came to an end before he knew it. He walked with a bit more confidence as he escorted his therapist to the door and went to find you in the kitchen finishing lunch.

Nanami watched you sliced the cucumber. He nodded at the precision of the knife movements, impressed with how perfect each little sliced green disc was as you added it to the salad bowl. He waited to speak once you sat the knife down.

“You have some really great knife skills.”

You looked up and smiled, wiping your hand on the dish towel nearby. “4 years of cooking for a group of broke college students as a college student. 2 of those years were spent dating a sous chef who taught me some of what I know.”

“I’m sure this sous chef would be happy to know you use these techniques so well.”

“We could only hope,” Expertly, you avoided giving that a full response that would push the topic of your ex. “Where did you learn to cook, Mr. Nanami? I’m sure you are amazing with a Bosch in your kitchen.”

Nanami walked behind you, reaching for two bowls out of the cabinets and placed them next to you. “My grandfather wanted me to be self sufficient once I moved out on my own.” He slowly opened the silverware drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and knives. “And cooking in itself is its own therapy for me.”

You finished placing the grilled chicken in the salad bowl and handed over the tongs to Nanami. “How does cooking make you feel?”

He looked down at the tongs, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he couldn’t place. His eyes found you. “Do you think I can?”

“I’m right here,” you slid one of the eating bowls directly next to him and smiled. “What does cooking do for you?”

Nanami put his eyes back onto the salad and took a deep breath. He grabbed the tongs, gripping them, feeling the cold stainless steel rest in the part of his palm that still had feeling. “Cooking requires me to pay attention. Smell, sounds, how my food is looking.”

He widened the tongs, lowering them into the salad and tossing it lightly, as if he’d harm the lettuce if he placed any pressure.

“What do you usually cook with?” You noticed his hesitance in squeezing the tong tips together, his grip faltering as he exhaled from frustration. “I’m going to hover my hand below yours. Claw extension. Only if you need it.”

Nanami closed his eyes, slowly breathing out as he tried to not lose his momentum. “Garlic. Fresh minced garlic.” He tried again, slowly working his hands closed until he had salad gripped between the flat tips. He carefully moved it over to the dish, hand shaking but making it with no spillage. “I prefer to mince it and store it in water. Taste great every time.”

You smiled as he looked at you for a hint of validation and gave a nod of acknowledgment.

He moved the tongs back to the serving bowl with a glimmer of determination in the way he rolled his shoulders back. He grabbed more and placed it into the bowl, releasing a with a bit of force before sitting the tongs down. “I think I want a bit more tomato.”

Fork in hand, trying to pin down a slice of tomato so he could cut it. His right hand hovered awkwardly, meant to steady the cutting board, but his left — the one gripping the fork — trembled just enough to betray him.

The fork slipped.

The tomato skidded to the side, smearing juice across the surface. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

You didn’t speak either. You knew better than to rush in with help he hadn’t asked for yet.

He reset the slice, pressing the fork down again. His grip was too tight — his knuckles pale from the strain — but the tremor in his fingers wouldn’t let up. The fork scraped against the board, missing the tomato entirely this time.

A sharp pain ran through his forefinger and he dropped the fork, cursing under his breath as he massaged his purlicue.

His gaze stayed locked on the tomato, his shoulders tense.

“You did good. You and the tongs are quite the dynamic duo.”

Nanami felt a heated tear well in his eye before he sucked it back in. “This. Its all so hard sometimes. A fork? I can’t hold a damn fork and its been months.”

He needed to let the frustrations out. It was going to be the only way he could get over those hurdles to feeling whole again.

You stood in silence for a moment, giving him space to process and feel. “Don’t give yourself a timeline but do give yourself grace.”

“Is this all worth it?” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself until he took a few steps back and leaned against the counter looking at you. “Will I be the same person I was before all this? Because I feel like even when I’m giving 200%, I’m failing with no progress.”

“This feels like it’s never going to get better,” Nanami said, his voice low — almost too calm, but there was an edge to it. A rare crack in the carefully composed man standing next to you.

The words hung between you both, heavier than the silence.

You gave him a moment before you spoke. “It’s frustrating,” you said softly. “I know.”

Nanami’s jaw shifted, his lips pressing into a firm line. He didn’t respond right away, as if letting the admission sit out in the open was already more than he was prepared for.

His hand flexed at his side — open, then closed — before, at last, he exhaled through his nose. “Can you help me?”

The question was quiet, but it felt like a victory in its own right.

You nodded, letting him take a few steps forward before stepping in slowly so he had the chance to pull back if he wanted. When he didn’t, you picked up the fork, steadying the tomato with your other hand. The prongs sank into the skin with a soft pop — a simple act, but weighted with everything unspoken.

Nanami’s hand hovered near yours for a moment, then dropped back to his side.

He didn’t thank you, but the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave was enough.

You didn’t push for more words. Instead, you handed him the knife, stepping back just far enough to let him reclaim some of the space —he had let you stand just a little closer, and it was a sign that he was willing to let you in to help.

[spirals-within-spirals]

Reason Why Lyrren is Fucking Awful #2: the League

Getting this one out of the way now, because I know very well I'll get people who are like "Yeah, but it's worth it! H4rdc0r3!" because travelling one of the most fucking remote and dangerous regions in the world is fine if it lets you take part in, as that one fucking mewtuber called it "The Secret Hardcore League They Don't Want You to Know About!"

Can you tell I'm peeved about this part?

Like everything, the reality is more complicated. Lyrren's league is hard, yeah, but especially for foreigners it's not a kind of difficulty that's any kind of fun.

First of all, the league is deeply important to Lyrren in many ways. For one it's part of their Journey, which is significantly more significant there than it is elsewhere. The paper I read estimated that something like 80% of people there go on one at 15. I shouldn't need to mention that that's a truly ridiculous number, the statistics I've dug up for Sinnoh are closer to half that. Back home it's pretty important too yeah, but in Lyrren it's considered a major milestone in their life, the transition from childhood to adulthood, and evolved directly from a literal pilgrimage.

And there was I, blundering in because I thought it sounded fun.

The sheer fucking vibes of "YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE" in every step of my journey there did a number on me, even without all the straight-up xenophobia. I'm honestly surprised they even let foreigners participate, might just be because they don't have a way to legally differentiate us from locals.

The second way is very literal. Lyrren is one of the few nations that still has League Rule absolutism, AKA the league is the government. It also serves as an absolutely spectacular argument against that form of government because holy fuck. It's about as competent in governing as you'd expect for a bunch of people selected for their battling skills. Way it got that way is a long story but let's just say there was a massive power vacuum, and the league was the only entity capable of even vaguely filling it.

So, an exercise for the reader. You are the head of the Elite Four. Your region has been torn apart by war, the champion is dead and no one has replaced them yet, the government is essentially gone and you've somehow found yourself the closest thing your region has to a leader. What is the first thing you do?

Cement your own power by any means that won't get the population to revolt, of course. If someone manages to climb their way through the league and beat you, they'll become your boss, and we can't have that. There has not been a champion of Lyrren in almost fifty years.

As a result of that philosophy, I've seen gym regulation in Lyrren summed up as "don't let too many trainers through." Not joking, they have one guy, and his only job is to make sure the gyms aren't too easy. And like, yes, the gyms are very difficult because of that, but not in the way other regions are. Leagues elsewhere are meant to be a challenge, but in the end it's intended that a competent trainer be able to progress through it. Lyrren's league exists to stop people from reaching its elite. It's designed to be unfair. Plus there's an age-old law against anyone with under 8 badges even setting foot on Ticsi Island, the home of the league. Which is also the seat of their fucking government. Do you smell the corruption yet?

As for the gym battles themselves, while their standards for each badge are significantly higher than most places (gym leader I challenged for the first badge had a fucking Metang), difficulty spikes and dips because the leaders decide themselves what mons they want to use for which level, doesn't matter to the league as long as not too many people get through, and apart from using weaker mons they do not fucking go easy on you. 6v6 battles from badge 2, I almost lost that one because the gym leader used several techniques I'm pretty sure would be illegal anywhere else, including painting the walls with horrific war imagery and revealing it mid-battle.

Also, because gyms are, like most things in Lyrren, handled almost entirely locally the gyms themselves can be... strange. The gym puzzle of Chaca City involves fighting a gym trainer. Like, not with pokémon. Steel-type specialists too, I didn't even dare to try. Watched it a bit, but there's only so much of adults beating up teens you can take. On top of that, apparently gym leaders often look at how you complete the puzzle to determine who they rig the match against if they need to get some wins to pump up their stats, and also whoop for me because being a foreigner pretty much automatically puts you on that list.

So let me walk you though a few steps of my hell. I arrived in Xochi City, the only port in Lyrren that allows foreign ships, and went straight to its gym, grass type. Take most of the day to finish the puzzle, a maze where you need to answer questions I assume are obvious to the Lyrrenese but I had no clue about, before getting to the leader. Fun fact: Lyrrenese badges are not internationally recognized, but apparently Lyrrenese gyms can decide to recognize international ones if they want to? Not sure if that's how it works or if he was just fucking with me. So there I was, seven-badger from Sinnoh cluelessly walking into an eighth-badge match. Another fun fact: in an eighth-badge match, Lyrrenese gym leaders are required to use their personal teams. Yet another fun fact: the gym leader of Xochi City used to be an Elite Four member. And as a side note, the Elite Four of Lyrren are sometimes called the Four Champions, and that's not an empty title.

So yeah. I got fucking annihilated. Didn't even beat his Ludicolo.

Like, I've gotten top 8 in the Lily of the Valley since then, and I still know I 100% would lose like a chump even now. From what I've read he's one of the three gym leaders people there make sure not to leave for last because their personal teams are nearly impossible to beat.

Sounds fair, right?

So let's say you make it past that. You're strong enough to get past eight gyms that are stacked against you and all the other fucking hurdles in your way (will get into more in later posts, but it's a lot), and you make it to the Spring's End Tournament. You just need to win that, and you get to challenge the Elite Four, and beat them and you become the champion of Lyrren. Hard, but possible right?

Well too bad, your journey ends there.

I could go into the caliber of trainer who participates in Spring's End (I recommend looking up recordings sometime, picture quality's shit but the battling is not), but I don't need to. Of the four foreign participants in Spring's End I've been able to find concrete evidence of, three were disqualified on the first day of the tournament for "poor sportsmanship" (read: We Don't Want You Here) and the last, some poor idiot from Unova, just straight up disappeared. I don't think they even bothered looking for the body. The league may not want anyone to have a fair shot at the championship, but, and I can't emphasize this part enough, no one wants a foreigner to become champion.

And for the record, the Elite Four matches are also incredibly stacked against the challenger. Once one is beaten the next steps in immediately to continue the fight, so not only do you have to beat four of the strongest trainers in the world, you need to beat them in a row without resting. Apparently a good two thirds of challengers lose to the first, and there's like three occurrences of anyone beating the second. The third crushed all of them within minutes of stepping onto the field. Frankly I seriously doubt any trainer alive could take on that challenge unless they got a high legend or something to join them.

So yeah. I'd call it less of a hardcore challenge, more butting in on a century-old tradition centered around a fucking mess of a system that's had a hatchet taken to it in order to fuck it up even further. Still sound worth it?

[channieskies]

𝓇𝑒𝓋𝓊𝑒

🔺Pairing: Chris/Bang Chan x FEM!|Reader 🔺Summary: Finding yourself as a bridesmaid once again, you're dragged along to a male review where each dancer is just as charming as the next. But what happens when you're trapped in the main events' magnetizing spell? 🔺WC: 14,600+ {40-60 min reading time} 🔺AU: Stripper AU, Bridesmaid Au 🔺Genre: Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Non-Idol AU 🔺Nets: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society 🔺Warning(s)⚠️: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost to other sites. Unprotected sex [please wrap it before you tap it. This is fiction, and I control the narrative. Real life is scary, so please be safe], dom and sub undertones, creampie, oral (male and female receiving), choking, slight exhibitionism, fingering (fem receiving), light spanking, mentions of self hate, mentions of cheating. (please let me know if I missed any) 🔺Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction. 🔺Authors note: Hi! This has been a story in the making for over a yeah now. I wrote and intended to publish this back in Oct 2023, but I never finished it. With new found inspiration, I found myself able to finally push through and publish this. I hope you enjoy this (old ass) story! Special thanks to @therhythmafterthesummer &@bunnliix for beta'ing this for me. I really appreciate it!!

Once a bridesmaid, always a bridesmaid. This was your third wedding this year. Meaning, it was soon to be your third unflattering dress. Your third time smiling uncomfortably in pictures. This would probably be your third time getting stuck dancing with the handsy uncle who always smelled like aqua velva and cheap liquor. You conclusively loathe attending weddings, but absolutely loved and adored your friends. So when asked for the third time this year to be a bridesmaid, of course, you agreed. Because, what else are friends for? 

A party bus full of late twenties and early thirty somethings, pre-gaming after pre-gaming, sounded like a setup for a god-awful lifetime movie. One where the bride gives some lucky stranger her goods after the bachelorette party and before the wedding. But you hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Imogen had been planning this wedding for four years now, and it was finally coming to fruition. She was the type to never let anything get in her way, and that included herself.

“I’m going to slide down that man and ride him till he calls me mama!” You chuckled as your friend struggled on the pole pushing her party city veil out of her face. “He won’t see it coming. He has no idea what kind of freak he's about to call his wife.” She’d been abstinent since her last relationship, so naturally, her and her fiance were celibate. That meant neither of them had dusted off the cobwebs in over four years. Couldn’t be you, but if she liked it, you loved it for her.

But you guessed forced celibacy was just as bad as actually vowing to not have sex. You were in a no-man’s-land. Pussy drier than the sonoran desert. Truthfully, if anyone did touch you, you were sure an actual cloud of dust would puff out of your cunt. It was terrible, really. Your last relationship ended with him cheating, after wholly decimating your confidence. Making your answer to ‘But He’s a photographer, he sees pretty, skinny girls all the time. What would stop him from cheating on you?’ totally irrelevant. 

You caught them in your bed, on your Egyptian cotton sheets. Three hundred thread count sheets that you let him keep, since you knew you couldn’t wash the filth out of them. To make matters worse, she was much younger -barely legal-, and half your size. It was just your luck that her billboards were posted all over town. A fucking model. Yeah, that was a never ending cycle of self-denigrating that you had to unpack with your therapist. You swore up and down you'd never let it happen again. 

But you were better now. Well, at least you hated yourself less. It took some time, a LOT of therapy, and the help of loved ones letting you know you were loved. Plus you have learned how to love and take care of yourself better. You’d given that man all of you and expected nothing of him and you know what they say about expectations right? Keep them low and you’ll never be disappointed. Bullshit. Even if you don’t have any, expect to be disappointed. 

The bus rolled to a stop. The neon lights  wrapped the building and entrance. Large posters of scantily dressed, well-oiled men stood stories tall. Big burly guards stood out front of the entrance, you guessed, to drag any woman who got too handsy with the dancers, out and off the premises. You all piled off the bus, bride and her maid of honor first. All of you, except the bride in her tight white dress, were in an array of green. 

Your dress was a dark emerald color. The satin dress hugged your body just right, hitting you mid-thigh, with ruching around the stomach to hide anything you didn’t want to show. Like your tummy. You stood back, not too excited to see sweaty men gyrating in your face. But your thoroughly plastered friends would beg to differ. “Party for Standfield.” 

One of the guards checked his tablet and nodded. He talked into his earpiece and opened the velvet rope. “Your host will meet you inside. Enjoy your stay at Taste, Male Revue.” He gave a knowing smile as your group sauntered past him and into the red glow of the front door. You were blasted by air as you entered. Rosemary and bergamot invade your senses almost immediately. 

“It smells like a man in here.” One of your friends noted as she swooned.

“Acqua Di Giò, it was what my ex used to wear to be exact.” You were perturbed. You wanted to have fun tonight, let down your hair. Not be reminded of the insufferable douche you thought was the one. 

“Great nose you have there ma’am.” You jumped as you were greeted by the host. He smiled. His features made him look like a fox, he was absolutely adorable. He looked way too young to be associated with a den of sin. What was he doing here? “We pump the fragrance into our system, it’s one of the owners favorites.” He nodded and bowed, greeting your party officially. “Welcome to Taste, male revue. I am your host for the night, Ian.”

You squinted at his name tag that clearly had the letters ‘i’ and ‘n’ written on it. You wanted to speak up about it, but when you looked around at your friends you realized it wasn’t worth the concern. “We have set up the v.i.p lounge for your party. Your bartender is starting on your first round of drinks as we speak. Your food will be served after the first hour of performances. Any booked solo time will be conducted after dinner and dessert. Please make sure to reserve your favorite dancer for any solo time before the conclusion of dessert.” He nodded, giving you all a once over, as if counting the party. 

“It seems everyone is accounted for. Please follow me so we can kick this night off.” The main club area was a huge space with white tables and chairs that contrasted with the black carpet flooring. The stage was black, but shiny, making it a smooth surface for the dancers to glide over. The main stage area was packed. An oiled up dancer was grinding on some pretty blonde girl while she giggled. 

"Must be nice.." you mumbled under your breath as you watched her get flipped upside down, her barely clothed vagina now in the dancer's face, her face in his crotch. The scene disappeared from view as you were ushered into the v.i.p area. Over the door it read "The Chapel", The tall frosted glass door looked like it had been hit with a blast chiller. I.N led the group past the doors, an odd but pleasant smile on his face. The floors were still black, but everything else was white and silver. Light lines the floor to help people navigate the darkness. 

By the looks of the room the theme had to have something to do with ice. There was a bar that was made from glass that was back-lit with blue and white lights to give the illusion of frost. The ceiling was mirrored and also lined with lights around the perimeter. "Dibs on the seat next to Imogen!" Your friends clamored as they practically raced to the front near the stage. There was a chair sitting directly in front of the stage, a sash with the silvery letter of "bride" written on it.

"You want to sit next to me, Y/n?" Imogen asked as she grabbed your hand. The two of you had been friends for so long that she could tell when something wasn't completely right with you. She squeezed your hand to get you to look at her. "If you feel even a little uncomfortable here, let me know, okay?" She smiled and you reciprocated.

"I'm fine Imogen. Plus, this night is about you. One last night of free looks before you're tied to Jerry from accounting forever." She laughed.

"That doesn't mean I don't want my girls to enjoy the night too. Honestly that's what I want the most out of it. So, sit next to me. Okay? Allana said the guys here are extremely hot" You hesitantly nodded. There was no way you would have picked a seat that close for yourself, but this was about what she wanted. So, naturally you would agree.

His days never started before noon. Anything before two pm was entirely too early for him. Days always shifted into night and then into the wee hours of the morning. So sleeping until the sun was high in the sky was a must for him. 

Chris reached out to the other side of his bed, feeling the cool sheets against his hands. It had been a while since someone occupied that side, his last relationship ended over a year ago. But they were still close friends, since it ended amicably. 

He groaned, forcing himself to roll over and swing his legs off the side of the bed. His hair was messy, curls pointing in different directions, face and lips a little swollen from activities the night before. Also known as late night ramen with his best friend, Changbin. His phone buzzed on the night table, alerting him that it was time to wake up. "I know, I know." He groaned, shutting it off.

He eventually forced himself to leave the comforts of his bed and padded to the bathroom right outside his room. After showering and grooming, he made breakfast for him and his roommates, as well as pre-workout shakes. The three of them headed off to the gym a few blocks away from their apartment, together. He loved the atmosphere there. People were kind and supportive and it was never too crowded. He put on his playlist and zoned out.

After a good shower and lunch, he and his friends headed to work. You'd think after coming home so late at night they wouldn't be ready to go back.  But they loved their job. It was fun to interact with people and dance. Getting to see the smiles on clients' faces made everything worthwhile. Plus it didn't hurt that he had some of the highest requests. Becoming so well known that he had danced at parties for some elite celebrity clientele. He couldn't tell you who though, he signed a n.d.a for that very reason.

"Alright, A team, we have a bachelorette party coming up tonight. They requested all six of team A. The maid of honor said and I quote, 'Give us all of them. We all like something different.' So, be ready for a wild night and a lot of bookings." Jeongin, the club manager and host stated. Bachelorette parties were always a mixed bag. It could either be a group of tame women who let go when they got a few drinks in the system. Or wild women who got even wilder after a few drinks. Or it could be the ones who ended up with their photos posted in the hall of shame. Those were the ones no one could let back in because they caused so much of a ruckus.

A year and a half ago, Chris had an encounter with a hall of shame inductee. She thought it would be a good idea to sneak backstage and hide in his dressing room. He was taking off his make-up when she popped out from behind his clothes rack completely naked. Telling him how she saw how he looked at her and that she knew she was just his type. He tried to talk her down, but no wasn’t in her vocabulary. It took two guards and Jeongin to pull her off him. She scratched his arm up so bad that even when it healed he had to get a tattoo to cover it.

But thankfully, hall of shamers were a rare occurrence. "Chan, they asked you to be the headliner for the night. Maid of honor says you're just the bride's type. So make sure to work your magic on the bride to be." He nodded. Once their briefing was over he headed to the dressing room to get ready for the night. 

"Did you see the pictures of the bridesmaids?" Changbin asked as he caught up with him in the hall. "I wonder how many are single. Because the bride has some gorgeous friends." He showed him the folder with their pictures in it, just a few random girls on top. Folders were usually provided for parties that might be willing to spend a little extra to get "special" treatment. Not all the dancers participated, but they had rooms past the party lounge, just for extra services. Changbin frequented the rooms, especially if he found a party goer that really caught his eye.

Chan used the rooms at first. But he felt cheap everytime he saw the extra money on his check. It felt like he lost a part of himself each time he did it. So, eventually he just stopped. The owner understood, telling him that he didn’t need to force himself. He didn’t look back and had no desire to.

The hours had quickly passed him by. It was nearly showtime. The guys could see the bridal party shuffling in, taking their seats. A few of them battling over the two open seats next to the bride. The bride was off to the side talking to another woman he couldn't see, before she dragged her along to one of the seats next to her. The house lights dimmed just as the woman was about to step into view, so he didn't see her face. "Alright guys, it's showtime." He spoke to the room. He pat Minho's back, since he was the first one up. Minho simply smirked as he headed out of their waiting room and to the curtain for countdown.

A few of Imogen's sorority sisters were giving you death glares. She chose you and her maid of honor, her sister Allana, to sit at her sides. The rest were situated in comfortable white arm chairs. Drinks had been served, not that the ladies in this party needed any more to drink. They were already inebriated. Minus you, also known as pedestrian Pattie, because of your one drink policy. The lights on the stage slowly brightened, revealing the host from earlier in the center of the stage. His outfit had changed completely. The suit he wore before was traded in for a black mesh shirt with a cassock. A matching black stole with silver and white crosses on it. Dress pants and boots. He was a priest, and this was his chapel.

"I hope you ladies are ready to get on your knees... and pray." A few of your friends screamed, exhibiting just how ready they were. "The temptations will be high tonight, let's see if you can survive it and join me on the other side. I hope our first performer can tempt you to let go of your inhibitions and pull you to the dark side." He moved from the center off to the side, "Anyone need their pipes cleaned? Welcome to the stage, Lee Know." 

Thirsty by Taemin started to flow through the speakers. You could hear the little water droplets at the beginning of the song. From the line I.N threw out about cleaning pipes and the water drops, you knew exactly what the theme would be. Plumber. As the lights focused on the performer, you noticed how handsome he looked. Worn jeans with rips in them. Working boots and tool belt. Long hair that covered his eyes added to his mysterious charm. He wore a white tank top and his arms were so well oiled you could almost see your reflection. 

Was this what male revues were like? He slid to the end of the stage, right in front of you and Imogen. Your eyes were wide, hands unconsciously moving to cover your chest. He ripped the shirt, but not completely. He left a little of it to cover some of his abs. He reached a hand down slowly as he thrusted, practiced fingers making quick work of his button and zipper. His body rolls were immaculate. You swallowed hard and he noticed, winking his eye in your direction. A girl behind you squealed thinking it was meant for her, but his eye contact told you differently. He smirked and stood, jumping down right in front of Imogen. He grabbed her hand trailing it down his torso to where his pants were undone. 

Her mouth dropped as she blushed furiously. She shook her head profusely, adamant about not even touching a man that wasn't her fiancé. He smiled, and it was one of the most dazzling things you had ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. His eyes landed on you and you stiffened. He smirked again, clearly sensing your hesitancy. He moved to the girl who screamed for him earlier and by all that was holy you were glad it wasn't you. If he fucked anything like he danced, some lucky someone was definitely walking out if here pregnant tonight.

 He had somehow removed his jeans without taking off his boots, a feat in itself. You had no idea where he pulled a water bottle from, but his ripped shirt and tight boxer briefs were soaked. The way his body moved, his thick thighs, the devilish smile he wore, all of it was heart attack inducing. No wonder they called this room the chapel, it was aptly named. You were certainly in need of prayer after witnessing him work his magic. From him picking her up to bounce her on her like he was fucking her while standing. To him putting her down and grinding into her rear. This first dance was surely an eye opening experience.

Once the song ended, I.N made his way back to the stage, sly smirk on his face. "You've been blessed by Lee Know. But are you ready for the next performer? Or do you ladies need some holy water?" He eyed the crowd. "It seems like you're in the mood for something sweet after quenching your thirst. Anyone like….. peaches?" He moved to exit the stage again. "Welcome to the stage, Lix." 

The names seemed to get stranger as time went by, first an Ian that was spelled I.N. Then Lee Know, who clearly knew a lot, judging by how his body moved. Now a Lix? Was he going to show tongue tricks? The room filled with fog, the lights fading from white to peach as Kai's Peaches started to flow through the speakers. You excused yourself, letting Imogen know you were taking a break. You headed past the bar, making eye contact with the bartender, who tipped his head at you. You returned the gesture with a smile before smacking dead into a hard chest. 

"Oh- sorry." Hands flew to your waist as an assurance that you wouldn't fall. You let your eyes travel to the man in front of you. He had on black boots, slacks, and a black tank tucked into them. A sleeve of tattoos that you glanced over, but couldn't help but immediately noticed the snarling wolf on his hand, while brushing your eyes quickly over the rest. He had a stud in his beautifully large nose, messy smokey eyeshadow. His hair was styled in an unkempt way, but it looked attractive on him. 

"It's my fault, I should have been looking where I was going." The accent threw you through a loop. He let you go, taking a step back. "Are you with the bridal party?" He nodded towards the small crowd who were cheering for Lix. It was now the hallway guy’s turn to give you the once over and truth be told you had to press your thighs together at how his eyes lingered on your lower half as he bit on his bottom lip.

"If they continue like this, yes. But if they somehow cause trouble while I'm away… I've never met those people in my life." Your little joke caused him to laugh, putting his pretty smile and dimples on display.

"Are you enjoying the show?" His brow rose as he leaned against the wall. It was almost as if he had all the time in the world to chat you up in this corridor.

"Yeah. I mean, this is my first time at a male revue, so it's a little different. Takes a little time getting used to seeing male bodies gyrating in your face." You looked back at Lix who now had one of Imogen's sorority sisters grinding on his lap. You quickly looked away and back at the confidently relaxed man in front of you.

"As opposed to a female, I'm guessing?" His voice seemed to deepen with his question.

You hummed, "I've been to a few strip clubs. My close friend invited me to his bachelor party a few months ago, and I've been back a few times since then. But Allana, the maid of honor, she's been here a couple of times, so she decided to book this for her sister." He nodded slowly, taking in your words.

"But are you enjoying it?" He tilted his head to the side.

"I mean.. it's different." You chuckled, "It has its charms. The dancers so far have been different from the last, so that's good."

"So, I take it you haven't found a dancer you like yet, is what you're saying." He had this smug look on his face as he said it.

"I liked the first guy, he was cool." 

He hummed, nodding to himself. "Cool, huh?" He smirked, "Okay. So, what can be done to make this a good experience for you?" You tilted your head as you looked at him. Why was he asking you this? This was a night for Imogen to enjoy, you were just here in support.

"For me?" You purse your lips in thought, softly humming. "As long as Imogen- well, the bride to be is happy, so am I." He shook his head, not liking how you answered for your friend and not for yourself.

"Taste is an experience for all of his patrons, brides, bridesmaids, and whoever else comes in here. So, I'll ask again.” He plastered on the most charming, panty melting smile he could manage. Dimples on full display. “What can be done to make this a good experience for you?" He leaned in towards you, your faces a mere breath away from the other as he looked you square in the eyes. “What would have you coming back for more?”

"It would be nice to see someone get flipped around, I guess." You shrugged. He asked, so you threw it out there. “I saw someone getting thrown around on the mainstage as we made our way back here. They were practically sixty-nining on stage. That was pretty cool.”

"See someone get flipped around, yeah?" he nodded as he leaned back to his original spot against the wall. "Not willing to be the one getting flipped?" You laughed unexpectedly, taking both you and him by surprise. You cleared your throat as a way to cover up the abrupt chortle.

"Do you have Hercules or Captain America back there or something?" You nodded to the door that had a small 'restricted access' sign on it.

He shook his head. "No. But I -" You cut him off again, this time with a piteous sigh and a shake of your head.

"Do you see all of me or is your vision half off like the happy hour drinks?” You clasped your hands together as you tried to find the words to explain how insane he sounded. “It's cute that you want to try, it really is. But, sweetie, you'll throw your back out trying to flip me around." You moved next to him and pointed towards your group," You have all of them to choose from. Pick one that you can handle." You pat his shoulder. "Break a leg." You left him there stunned. 

You quickly made your way to the bathroom to freshen up. That man was hot, absolutely everything about him was attractive. His accent, his eyes, lips, nose, dimples, tattoos, the way he stood there, that ass that you noticed as you passed by him, every single last thing. Too bad he had delusions of grandeur for thinking he could handle a woman like you.

Chan had a routine and for the most part he stuck to it. He'd put on the bottom part of his stage outfit, do his hair and makeup, then scope the crowd for whomever his victim would be for the night. The poor unsuspecting soul would never see it coming, until he was in their face seducing him.

He usually watched the crowd, to see how they reacted to the dancers before him. He noticed a few of the women in the party were down for anything. That could be fun, but they usually ended up wanting more than just a private dance. A few were reserved, only dancing a tiny bit in their chairs to the music. 

Then there was you. The one who looked in awe of everything that was happening, like this was a totally foreign concept to you. Like you were having your male stripper cherry popped, so to speak. As if this was an eye opening experience. He eyed your expressions before his eyes traveled down your body. Every last inch that he could see of you was stunning. As if he didn't already have you as his pick for the night, you pulled him even more with your radiating beauty. 

Plus it helped to see that you were clearly on edge. The way you kept shifting in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs let him know you were aroused by the show. He could make good use of this information. He was told to go for the bride, since he was her type. 

But by the way she was redirecting dancers to her friends, knowing exactly who would be the best candidate for each dancer, says she is loyal and might be the best wingwoman in town. He needed to make good on his promise to approach her first, and hopefully she would direct him right to you.

Bumping into you was purely coincidental. He usually didn't make contact with his person for the night until he locked eyes with them on stage, he liked for things to seem organic. But talking to you only made the fire inside of him grow hotter. He was desperate to prove you wrong. To show you that he just simply needed to be Chris to flip you around or do whatever else it is you fancied.

You were confident, he'd give you that. You knew what you wanted. He liked that. But what he didn't like was you dismissing him like that. Hercules? Captain America? It absolutely boggled his mind that you thought you were incapable of receiving what that girl on the main stage received just because you had a few more curves. He settled at the bar and nodded to the bartender. He always took a ceremonial shot before his stage, tonight would be no different.

"What's on your mind?" Seungmin asked as he placed the empty shot glass in front of Chan. "Because I can see you overthinking from here." He poured the top shelf tequila into his glass then slid it closer.

"The woman who passed by here not too long ago, did you get a good look at her?" He really didn't know why he was asking, it was like Seungmin had photographic memory, he could probably tell him what time you passed by and everything.

"I did. Why?" He narrowed his eyes, "Don't tell me you're going back on your rule." Chan took the shot, shaking his head as the liquid burned down his throat.

"No. I just.." He sighed as he slid the shot glass back across the bar. "Do you think I'm strong enough to you know… flip her? Because she has me second guessing myself." 

"Possibly." Seungmin shrugged. "You know Changbin hyung is the better candidate to answer that question." When he didn't say anything further, he knew he was done with the conversation.

"Thanks, Seungmin." The bartender nodded, getting back to making another round of drinks for the party goers.

Chan headed back backstage, passing you again as you exited the bathroom and headed to the bar. You didn’t even spare him a glance, sending him even further into the abyss that was self doubt. 

Chan found Changbin in his dressing room, exercising before his set. "Bin. Question." Chan flopped on the couch, not too far away from his friend. "You scoped all of the bridal party, right?" 

Changbin grunted and stopped his bicep curls. "You know I did. Gotta pick my person for the night." He grabbed a weight to do bicep curls, he had to make sure his muscles looked good under the lights. "Why? What's up? You look a little worried."

Chan was chewing on his lip nervously, not even realizing he was a bit frazzled by her comments. "There is this girl -" He stopped mid-sentence as Changbin nearly dropped his weight. 

"A girl- wait- seriously?" He carefully put his weight down so he didn't accidentally injure himself with any more news. "You plan on… you know.. Going back on your rule?" 

"No- why do people keep asking me that?" He sighed exasperatedly. "Where is the folder?" Changbin nodded towards the makeup table. Chan grabbed the folder and skimmed through the photos until he found yours. "Her." He gave his friend the photo, you didn’t have many full body pictures, so Allana provided them with the best one she possibly could. "Do you think it would be possible for me to flip her?" Changbin eyed the picture for what seemed like forever.

"Yeah. I think you can do it. Why are you asking this suddenly? This isn't like you." He slid the picture back into the folder.

"She said I couldn't."

"You felt challenged, huh?" Changbin laughed.

"I- I did and I don't normally let things like that get to me. But- I felt like she dismissed the thought before she'd even seen me work. She told me I'd throw my back out trying to flip her. Then told me to 'break a leg.'" He mocked your tone while rolling his eyes.

Changbin laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his stomach from the pain of it.

"It's not funny!" Chan usually had unwavering confidence when it came to stage presence, for him to be shaking in his boots over one little comment was the highlight of Changbin's day.

"You're right, it's not funny. It's hilarious. I like this girl. She managed to shake the unshakable Bang Chan.” He smirked and Chris groaned. “But seriously bro, just prove her wrong. Pull her on stage, seduce her, then flip her. Simple."

"But I'm supposed to go after the bride." Chan protested, his face somewhere in between a scowl and a pout.

"Forget that. Minho already said she's denying dances for herself. So go after the friend." He picked his weight back up. "Now get out so I can get ready. I can hear Hyunjin's music playing and I'm up next."

Chan nodded and took his leave. Taking everything his friend said into account. He was going to win her over. He was going to give her exactly what she wished for and a little more.

Bored. That's exactly what you were at the moment. You didn't want anyone to take it the wrong way, these men were talented, there was no doubt in that. They were also too pretty to be real. Like somehow they were all AI generated. You flashed a smile at the unbelievably pretty man on stage as he made eye contact with you. His flowing black locks were mostly pulled into a ponytail, showing off his alarmingly beautiful face.

You figured his theme was that of a prince and honestly, he fit the bill. Regal looking from head to toe. You sipped your drink as he rolled his surprisingly toned body. You appreciated the view even if your usual type was a little bit beefier. You preferred a man that could pick you up, toss you around a little bit. And truth be told, you looked like you could break him just by looking at him. Him, the cute chubby cheeked boy before him and the small fairy-like blonde named Lix. At least the first guy, Lee Know, looked like he'd put up a fight. His thighs at least made him look sturdy. Plus he looked like he might be into a little pain, and you liked that.

You weren't even going to think about the cocky guy from the hallway. Sure, he had nice shoulders and an even nicer ass. But the mere thought that he thought he could flip you was laughable. He didn't look strong enough to flip a table to be honest. You were too caught in your own thoughts to notice that the prince had vacated the stage and I.N. was announcing the next performer. It wasn't until the lights changed from the pretty, calming, pale blue, to the fiery red that consumed the whole room. Alarm bells rung, pulling everyone's attention to the stage. Smoke snaked its way from behind the large white panel that covered the expanse of the back of the stage, giving a hazy feel to the room. “What's my name?” 

A few of the ladies must have been paying attention to I.n. seeing that they replied with a roaring “Changbin!”. That included Allana, who wasn't sitting not too far away from you. His voice was gruff, sexy. Your eyes hadn't moved from the stage since the atmosphere changed. His silhouette was the first thing you saw of him. This thick, muscular man. Everything from head to toe looked sturdy and well crafted. You sat up, gripping the armrests of your chair. A smooth r&b track flowed through the speakers as he sauntered out. A fireman. His pants sat low, suspenders keeping them in Place. His Coat was slung over his shoulders, his hat pulled down over his eyes. This man was sexy.

He tossed his coat out into the crowd. He literally fanned the flames of tension between two girls as they started fighting over it, both tugging on the yellow fireman's cloth. What was this effect he seemed to have on all the women, that included you. He held eye contact with Imogen with every step he took off stage. You could see the faint blush on her cheeks as he got closer and closer. 

Even he seemed to have a pull on her and that alone spoke volumes. He straddled her legs and grabbed her hand putting it right between his peck before making them dance. She covered her face with her free hand, giggling like some adolescent schoolgirl. You'd only seen her like this a few times in college, but this had to be a first, at least since she'd met her fiancé. He slid her hand down his oiled torso as he body rolled. She was as red as a tomato and you were just as or even more green with envy. 

She'd been adamant all night about keeping her hands to herself, what changed? You sighed, deciding to push your jealousy to the side. You took the final sip of your drink. Opting to let the cool liquid calm your nerves. He stepped back, and grabbed Imogen's hand, pulling her to the stage. Maybe she'd had one too many drinks and forgotten the strict rules she had set for herself? Either way, this was her party, something to celebrate her and her upcoming marriage, so you had no ground to stand on when it came to being upset.

But it did look fun. The smile on her face and blush on her cheeks said it all. He picked her up and carried her to stage, all while she covered her face out of sheer embarrassment. Some girls really had all the luck.

Nerves. They weren't something he was used to dealing with before a show and any he did feel would be washed away by the shot he took beforehand. Not today. Chris was beyond just nervous, he was two seconds away from having a full blown panic attack and it was all because of you. You and your words. He knew better than anyone just what he was capable of, but you had him second guessing himself at every turn. Turning to others for advice and reassurance, which was very unlike him.

He looked out at the crowd while Changbin did his thing, taking one for the team and seducing the bride to be, so Chris could have a little more of an opportunity to try and get to you. He eyed your expressions, your movements. Noticed the slight grimace on your face as you looked on at your friend and Changbin with what looked like jealousy. “Ah, so that's your type.” He couldn't help the little smirk that formed on his lips. He and Changbin were gym buddies and even though they had very different body types, they still did the same things when working out. He had this in the bag.

Chan usually fluffed his cock before a show. Though he looked pretty decent without it, fluffing before he went on stage ensured he looked just as above average as he was. He went back into his dressing room to finish getting ready. He took his usual routine, pulling up a video, locking the door so he wouldn't be interrupted. He landed on a video he liked and started to stroke himself. But his cock seemed uninterested in something that had gotten him off time and time again. To say he was frustrated, would be the understatement of his lifetime. You insinuating that he couldn't handle you kept flashing in his head in big, red, neon letters. 

What is the off chance that you were right? That he really couldn't handle you. That he'd make a fool of himself and you in the process? What if he dropped you? He'd never be able to forgive himself. He'd never be able to show his face here or anywhere for that matter. What if this followed him for the rest of his life. Like somehow everyone knew he dropped a girl who told him he couldn't handle her. He groaned loudly, so loud he almost missed the knock on his door. “Five minutes.” He sighed. There was no use, his dick was disheartened. He tucked himself back into his boxers and pants and threw on the rest of his outfit. 

He did a self check. Breath. Minty fresh. Outfit. Every detail in place. Makeup. Subtle, mostly just a tinted moisturizer and an alluring smoky eye. Hair, straightened and pushed up and back out of his face. He nodded to himself in the mirror. “You got this.” He hit his chest a few times to really pump himself up before heading out towards the stage. It was almost as if everything went mute. He couldn't hear the crowd screaming Changbin's name, practically begging for an encore. 

He couldn't hear I.N. trying his best to calm them down so he could announce Chris as the next performer. He couldn't hear the stage hand telling him to wait. He snapped out of it as the young woman touched his chest. “Are you even listening? I.N hasn't announced your name yet.”  she rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by him at the moment.

“I'm so sorry. You know what it's like when I'm in the zone.” He gave her an apologetic look. She sighed and nodded, deciding to let things go. Chris tried his best not to look out at the crowd, he didn't need anything knocking the confidence he'd built up. But he couldn't help himself. He peeked out, finding you and your friends fanning yourselves while giggling. Probably still giddy about Changbin's performance. He couldn't understand why, but that gave him a little confidence boost.

While Changbin was a wonderful performer, Chris was in the top stop for a reason. He couldn't wait to shock the crowd with the routine he had planned. “You ladies have been very naughty tonight. You know that? Now that the flames have been put out, I think it's time we arrest the culprit behind it all. Don't you-” Sirens filled the room again, but this time it was police Sirens. “Oh no, the cops are coming. Is that…” I.N. pretended to look off in the distance as if this was a totally believable bit. His dedication to the scene was impeccable. “It's officer Bang. Be careful ladies, I've heard he's a very bad boy with a badge. I hope you all are ready to submit or be charged.”

The stage hand nodded and Chris finally walked out on stage. With one hand on his belt, the other twirling the cuffs, he walked out to the middle of the stage and stopped. His lips curled into a smirk as he looked over the crowd. He made it to the end of the stage and pointed at a still flustered Imogen. She covered her face and shook her head. 

Changbin had clearly done some work on her, if she was back to refusing dances. She glanced from her sister to her best friend as if she was contemplating which one to pick, between the two. She grabbed your hand lifting it into the air, declaring you the winner of the lap dance from officer Bang. Much to his delight and your chagrin.

He extended a hand towards you, a slick smile on his face, while you visibly panicked. “Go, Y/n. Have fun. For me, yeah?” It was like she said magic words. You closed your eyes and sighed. It was for Imogen. That is the reason you relented. At least that's what you tried to tell yourself.  You took his hand and he held it until you made your way up the tiny staircase to the stage. 

“Before we get started, do I have your consent to do what I need for entertainment purposes?” Your eyes scanned his face before darting to Imogen who nodded profusely. 

You sighed again, shoulders falling slightly in defeat. “Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it.” You waved him off just for him to catch your wrist, slapping the cuff around it.

“Then, you're under arrest.”

“What's the charge officer?” One of the ladies yelled from the back. She was a lawyer, so this was probably very familiar for her.

“Underestimating me.” He once again invaded your space, his face dangerously close to your own. You could smell the fresh mint toothpaste on his breath. “You're guilty, until I prove you wrong.” You were so distracted by the alluring look in his eyes that you didn't feel him grab and cuff your other hand until you heard the faint click. “Play my music.” He yelled back at the dj. You felt this overwhelming sense of embarrassment. Was this man about to do what you knew he couldn't?

He bent you over, with your cuffed hands placed on the back of a chair that you hadn't realized had been put on stage. “I can't take you in until I frisk you. So spread those legs for me.” You did as told, spreading your legs a little, feeling your dress ride up the backs of your thighs and settling right in the undercuff of your booty.

 You tried not to be self conscious about slightly exposing yourself to not only your friends but a bunch of strangers in the process. You felt the warmth of his hand on the small of your back as he pushed it down ever so lightly, making you arch. The fabric covering your ass was hanging on by a thin thread.

You could have sworn you heard him curse behind you as he rubbed your sides softly. “You aren't hiding anything, are you?” You couldn't see his face, but he was trying his best to continue playing his role. The way your curves looked in this dress was already tugging at the strings to make him come undone. You, bent over like this, this was causing the frayed ends of his sanity pull as well.

“No.” You sighed heavily. You couldn't look at the crowd. To you they could only be responding in either two ways. Disgust or bewilderment. There was no in between in your mind. 

“I'm going to pat you down to make sure you don't have anything on you to hurt me.” He knew that was a lie. You'd already hurt him. You couldn't possibly do more damage than you already did to his ego. Or so he thought. With both hands situated on your hips, he ground his own hips into your backside before letting his hands slip down to your thighs. 

He dropped to his knees, his hands traveling down with him over the outside and then the over inside of your parted legs. He was immediately faced with more pain than he could possibly manage. He was face to face with the wet patch in your lace panties and it immediately threw him off guard.

 It wasn't that he didn’t know you were wet, he'd figured that out much earlier in the night. No, it was because it was much worse than you just being merely wet, you were soaked, panties clinging to your pussy for dear life he was desperately doing to his sanity.

You felt exposed. Chewing on your lip, just waiting for the moment you could finally sit down. The rest of the girls who were danced on were seemingly having the time of their lives and that included Imogen. Why couldn't you just get out of your head? Whether he could flip you or not could be pushed to the back of your mind for the time being.

You just wanted to relax and enjoy the moment. Because when was the next time you'd get a dude to touch you like this? You were more than touch starved for a reason. In a perpetual dry spell. Plus, it didn't hurt to admit that there was this overall sexiness about this man. You sighed, arching your back a little more, spreading your legs a little more. Giving him more of the view he didn't know he needed.

He had to calm himself. The view he had in front of him right now, had to be one of the best things he'd ever seen in his life. It almost felt as if he was receiving the lap dance instead of you. He shook his head lightly, bringing himself back from being too distracted by you. He ran his hands down the outsides of your legs then moved between them to rub back up. 

Standing back up, he grabbed your hips once again to grind into you, hands moving up your sides slowly, then up your back to the nap of your neck. He grabbed tight, not tight enough to hurt and pulled you back to him. Your back now flush to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, hips still moving sensually against your own. You could feel his steady breaths against your neck, as if he wasn't doing a routine. As if his heart beating quickly in his chest wasn't enough to alert you to how he was feeling. 

“Turn around for me.” You took a moment, but complied. You couldn't have him thinking you were eager enough to comply immediately. You waited a beat before turning around and facing him. He didn't let go of you, but he gave enough slack in his arms for you to move freely enough. Your chest rose and fell with each of your panicked breaths. Being this close in proximity to such a handsome man was making you nervous. 

It'd truly been that long since you've been touched? Yes. You were genuinely surprised he wasn't covered in cobwebs from the contact. He hooked his hand under your thigh, lifting it, settling it againsts hip. His other hand sat  firmly right above your ass just to keep you in place. You could feel his bulge against your heat, just the thought of his proximity made you salivate. And it turned out that he didn’t need fap material when you were in his presence. He'd recovered just fine after not being able to get it up with his usual means.

From where the audience was sitting, it looked like the two of you were caught in a passionate moment, unaware of the spectators. He ran his nose over your jaw as he pulled you in even closer. There was little to no room between the two of you. It took everything in him to pull away. There was the magnetism you held that made him not only curious about you, but made him want to stick to you. “Why don't you sit down for me, huh?” You sucked in a shaky breath and gave him a faint nod.

He let you go, even if his instincts told him to keep holding on. He took a step back as you took a seat. He tossed his hat to the side of the stage and took his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt. He threw the garment to Imogen who surprised the heck out of you as.she sniffed it. She mouthed an “Oh my gosh he's so fucking fine.” To you while fanning herself, successfully making you giggle. 

But those sweet giggles were soon replaced by A gasp as Officer Bang stood shirtless in front of you. You finally got to see the full extent of his tattoo placement. Random little red and yellow flowers, some flags, a cute portrait of a dog. None of it matched his almost sinister hand tattoo. That snarling wolf that looked as if it was staring you down, ready to rip you to shreds.

He leaned into your face once again, pulling you away from ogling his half naked, tattooed body. His finger hooked under your chin so that you'd look up at him. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Something about the way he looked at you as the sensual sounds of the Cuff It remix playing in the background made you press your legs together in an effort to stop your pussy from getting any wetter, as if it could. You were undoubtedly soaked, you knew that and unbeknownst to you, so did he.

“Never.” You whispered to him, a smirk spreading on your lips. “You'd have to earn that, Officer Bang.” You leaned back in the chair, his hand falling from your face and back to his side. The music playing in the background drowned out the conversation the two of you were having.

“Earn it, huh? Alright, bet.” He was putting on an air of confidence, he wanted you, if no one else, to think he was as confident as they came. Even if his feelings had been wavering all night. He took your cuffed hands and placed them on his stomach as he rolled his body. Your fingers slid until they caught onto his belt. He moved in, straddling your legs while towering over you.

“Take it off for me.” His voice was clear and commanding. He watched you carefully as you unbuckled his belt. Your brows were furrowed, lips tucked between your teeth. The amount of concentration exerted just undo his belt, let him know that your mind was working ten steps ahead of you right now. Even the look of innocence you gave him after you completed your task did not negate the fact.

“Thought you weren't going to be a good girl for me?” He whipped the belt through the loops then folded the belt in half. “What happened to me earning it? Huh?” He tapped the leather accessory under your chin. His eyes were so piercing they almost broke the barrier of your confident facade.

“How does that make me a good girl? Maybe I just want to see you with less on. Did that thought occur?” He chuckled, grabbing the back of your head while grinding towards your face. You flashed him that innocent look again, but with your adjacency to his crotch and you darting your tongue out to wet your lips, there was nothing innocent about you. 

If anything you straddled the line between playful and something deeply sensual, with little to no effort. You knew what you were doing. You were teasing him, and he loved to be teased almost as much as he loved teasing. “It did. But you're a little too eager for it to be just that.” He stepped back again, hands moving to your thighs again. He pushed them open and lifted them, letting your legs rest around his waist. He grabbed the back of the chair with one hand, the other was placed on your hip. “Just admit you want me. It'd make things easier for you.” The way he ground his hips into you had a moan slipping past your lips

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just give in to me.” He moved in like he was going to kiss you. At least to your hazy visions that's what it looked like. He fit so perfectly between your thick thighs and the way he moved against you was dizzying. Your friends were on the edge of their seats as they watched this dance. It was flirting with being hardcore pornography on the stage. The way your wetness was now dampening the front of his trousers. How your legs wrapped around him, pulling him in with the sharp heels of your shoes.

You moaned again, nails dragging down his stomach. “I could do much more to you if you let me. Just give in to me.” He was staring into your soul. He was touching you, but just barely and yet it felt as if every nerve ending of yours was on fire. As if another part of you was reacting, you nodded. It had to be that part of your brain that was too horny to function. The touch-starved beast that was desperately seeking attention from this beautiful specimen of a man that had you pent down to a chair in front of your friends.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. “Good girl.” He unhooked your legs from around his waist and moved them to his shoulders. His smirked shifted into a cocky smile as he left open mouth kisses down your clothed frame till he was right above your heat. He stealthily placed a kiss to your exposed panties, eyes still focused on yours, but now with a playful glint in them. He placed kisses on your thighs then nipped at the skin.  

Chris had never been this drawn to a client before. He wanted to feel your skin for real. To feel your touch, maybe even to taste you, if you'd let him. With him this close to you, he could smell your sweet scent. And if he was honest, he'd tell you just how tempting you were. But, the man had a job to do. He was meant to entertain, and he had no reason not to fulfill that task. 

He switched your position, your thighs were once again around his waist. “Put your arms around me.” You didn't hesitate. You looped your arms over his head, letting your arms settle around his shoulder, fingers accidentally threading into the damp patch of hair on the back of his head. He lifted you up, almost as if you weighed nothing to him. The look of shock on your face said enough. 

He chuckled, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place. “Hold on tight, okay? I got you.” He used the grip on your ass to swing you back and forth, your hips crashing into his crotch, like he was fucking you. Your hold on his neck tightened. A bit of fear he'd drop you was creeping back up into the back of your mind, no matter how much you tried to trample it down. 

“I won't drop you, I promise.” He smiled, “If I do, you can take it out on me however you like…. Deal?” That however you like sat with you. You almost wanted him to drop you, just so you could take it out on him. You nodded in agreement and relaxed your body, so that he could do what he wanted. “Plus, I don't plan on flipping you in front of all these people.” You looked at him confused, what was he even saying?

“That should be something done in private.” The next thing you know, your back is pressed against the cold stage and his hips are giving you a barrage of quick fire strokes just to slow it down once again. Now all he needed to do was a few finishing moves to close out the show, then things would come to a close. That would be the end of his time with you. For some reason, that just didn’t sit right with him. 

He wanted to at least know your name. He’d tell you his name in return. He didn’t want to leave off with you knowing him as Officer Bang or Bang Chan. He wanted you to meet Chris. He placed your leg on his shoulder, feeling from your ankle down to your thigh. You don't know how but he turned you quickly on your stomach and maneuvered himself back between your legs. Rolling his hips into yours. You had nowhere to run, and truthfully you liked feeling him pressed against you.

You were flustered, face slightly damp with sweat. Chest rising and falling rapidly. Body racing with adrenaline. Loving the feeling of his hips grinding in circles against yours once again, making the heat of lust crawl back up your body once again. Fogging your mind until you couldn’t think of anything else but the way he felt moving against you. The lights dimmed, music faded, your friends roared loudly as they cheered from the crowd. You’d forgotten they were there, mind too gone with the man that was still on top of you, though his routine had ended. 

“Come back stage with me?” He asked in your ear, voice hoarse from speaking over the music so you could hear. You nodded, too aroused to actually verbalize an answer. “Was.. was that a yes?” He chuckled lightly as he sat up. He grabbed your hips, helping you to get up from the floor, knowing it'd be pretty hard to do with your hands still cuffed. He stood to his feet before helping you and leading you carefully off stage, hand in hand.

That part was still dark and he didn't want you to take a tumble. You squinted as the darkness turned to light once behind the curtain. He pulled you off to the side, retrieving the key from his pocket. “You did great, by the way.” He kept your hand in his as he tried to unlock your cuffs. “It felt.. natural.” He wouldn't look in your eyes, at least not for long.

“I should be saying that to you, honestly. You're an amazing dancer.” You nodded, but noticed just how shy he got. He was still shakily trying to put the key in the hole, biting down on his bottom lip. “Take your time…” You encouraged him. “I'm sure Imogen still wants to party while a few of the girls.. you know.. partake in the other services offered here.” You didn't know why, but the thought of one of your friends asking to sleep with him bothered you immensely.

“And… What about you? What are your plans… if I ever get you uncuffed?” He was cursing himself out in his mind, how hard was it to take off a cuff? He'd done this many times before. Why was he so nervous?

“I'm down for whatever. I mean, I have to wait for my ride, right?” You chuckled. “Plus I'm sure one of the girls is booking you as we speak. Especially after that performance. I only saw a few of them from my peripherals, but they were beyond impressed. I think you got a standing ovation.” You chuckled half heartedly, the thoughts of him and one of the girls was still swimming around in your head. Leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Ah- yeah, nah. I don't offer those kinds of services. I leave that up to the rest of the guys.” He finally heard the click of the cuff and sighed out of relief. “Fucking.. finally.” He removed them and placed them in his pocket, then grabbed your wrists to message away the little indents left by them. “It doesn't hurt, does it?” His eyes were fully focused on your wrists.

“Not really. Rope burn is far worse, in my opinion.” You shrugged. “The marks will be gone within the hour.”

“Rope Burn- heh. Is it?” God, you were still doing things to his mind. His erection hadn't calmed down yet, either. “Are you.. Ya’know.. into that type of thing?” He could hear his heart in his head, beating loudly.

“I'm into all types of things, Officer Bang.” You teased.

He had to look up to the ceiling to gather himself. The image of you tied in rope, just waiting there for him almost made him cum in his trousers. He cleared his throat, focusing his attention back on you, “Chris. You can call me Chris.”

You smirked, “Chris, huh? Are you expecting me to tell you my name now…. Chris?” It was something in the way you said his name that almost made his knees give out.

“That would be nice. But it's not necessary, not if you don't want to tell me.” He was sweet, you recognized that. He finally let your wrists go, and you immediately missed the contact.

“Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous.” You gave him a soft smile, “I'm Y/n. It's nice to meet you, Chris.” You didn't ask or hesitate, you just took his hand in yours, giving it a shake. But he took you off guard when he pulled you hand to his mouth, giving you a kiss on the back of it.

“Pleasures all mine.” That mischievous glint was back in his eyes as they traveled from your face down to your chest and back up.

“It's not. But it could be.” You don't know who broke first, but you were suddenly engaged in a kiss, your back pressed against the hallway wall that you first met him at. He had you boxed in, a hand on each side of your head. Your hands started at his waist and worked their way up his abs to his pecks.

He needed to feel more of you. Just your lips touching was not even close to being enough to satisfy this growing need he had for you. He pressed his body yours, moving one hand to grip one of your thick thighs, resting it at his waist. You could feel him against your core, the contact igniting something within you.

He moved his kisses from your lips to your neck, taking his precious time with leaving his mark behind. He didn't know who needed to know, but he wanted people to know he'd been there. You moaned as his teeth grazed over the most sensitive spot on your neck. “There, yeah?” He ran his tongue over the bite, just to suck a hickey into the spot. 

“Turn around for me.” Letting your leg fall from his side, he took a step back, watching you carefully as you turned to face the wall. Face and chest pressed to the faux brick. “Fuck…” Your dress had ridden up, but not far enough in his humble opinion. He grabbed the fabric and pulled it up over your ass, watching your ass drop-out of the material. The glimpse he'd gotten earlier didn't do you justice, not in the least bit.

He landed a smack to your ass, gripping that same spot before smacking it again. You looked back at him, lust dripping off of your expression. “Don't look at me like that.” He could feel his cheeks flush, his ear burning.

“Like what?” You asked, genuinely curious as to what your expression looked like to him. There was still lust burning in your eyes.

“Like you want me to fuck you. Right here, right now.” He had taken hold of your hips again, his body pressed to yours once more.

“I wouldn't object, if you're asking.” His fingers dug into your hips lightly. He leaned his head on your shoulder and let out an exasperated sigh. He was convinced you were sent to get him to back out of everything he'd once vowed he'd never do again. Maybe Changbin sent you. An agent of chaos.

“You don't seem like the reckless type and that… would be very reckless.” He felt as if he was on the edge of desperation. “You aren't a bad girl, are you?” You whimpered. He hadn't realized you were feeling just as desperate as he was. “You don't want to be a good girl for me? Haven't I earned it?”

He was breaking you down with every word utter from his beautifully plump mouth. “Can't I be both for you?” He nodded against your shoulder.

“Yes, yes you can. Yes, you absolutely can, baby.” His fingers toyed with the lacey waistband of your thong. “As long as I'm offered the same courtesy.” He traced along it until he got to the string sitting snugly between your cheeks. “May I?” He pulled away, just to get another glimpse at your ass.

“Go right ahead.” You by all accounts, were a straight shooter. You usually told it like it was, especially when you'd had a drink or two. But being this bold? With a stranger? Never. This was far from who you usually were. He pulled your panties to the side, taking in the glorious sight before him.

“Fuck…. I've been waiting to see this all night.” He spread your cheeks to get a better view and the visual was almost too much to take in. Your pussy was already ready for him. Your puffy lips were smeared with wetness that had collected throughout the night. He ran his fingers over your lips, shuddering from the warmth of your slickness. 

You moaned feeling his skin make contact with yours. It'd been so long since you'd been touched that you'd almost forgotten what it felt like. “I want to tease you so bad…” His voice was breathy, fingers running up and down your slit, “But you're so fucking wet I can barely contain myself. Your pussy is begging me to fuck it.” He slipped a finger in. You were wet, but he could still feel resistance. He groaned. His mind filled with how wet and tight you were. 

He added a second, knowing almost immediately that he'd have to stretch your pussy out if he expected to fit. If he even made it that far. You  clenched around his two digits as he slid into your wetness. You bit down on your bottom lip, to stifle the moan that was rising in your throat. He gave you no time to adjust, his fingers pleasantly grazing against your walls, in and out. Your eyes fluttered shut, you were numb to any of your surroundings that weren't him

He twisted his fingers, palm now facing down, the eye of a snarling wolf on his hand now watching your back. He was intoxicated by the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of you. Imagination running wild with the thoughts of what it would feel like to be deep inside of you. To feel your tightness squeezing his length, wetness coating it. To see just how your fat little cunt swallowed him.

He needed to add a third, for his sanity. Just as he slipped that third finger in, people rounded the corner. He stuffed them inside of you, covering your mouth with a kiss as he shielded your lower half with his own. You couldn't even comprehend how indecent this was. Your mind is completely consumed with lust.

“Oh- didn't mean to interrupt.” Allana giggled, hands wrapped tightly around Changbin's arm. Changbin gave his friend a knowing look, a smirk dancing across his lips.

“The lounge is free. All the guys booked tonight.” He smiled, patting his shoulder before toting off his client for the night.

“We can't stay here.” Chris spoke lowly into your ear. “Come with me, yeah?” He pulled his fingers from your grip and couldn't stop himself from getting a taste. The way your wetness coated his fingers like the sweetest drips of ice cream from a melting cone, he truly couldn't resist. 

He indulged in sweetness while you adjusted your dress, pulling it down to make you look presentable once again. He was still licking his fingers even after you were done. Needing more than just a taste, he grabbed your hand and tugged you gently along to the lounge. It was a shared space, but with his dressing room being too small and him not having a designated room anymore, the lounge would have to do.

Chris made sure to lock the door. “I don't know how much time we ha-” He was stopped mid-sentence by your lips on his. You pulled him by the belt loops on his pants to the plush white sofa in the middle of the room. Pushing him down on it, you quickly straddled his lap and wrapped your arms around him, resuming the kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, mingling with the lingering minty freshness. 

Everything was telling him to be a gentleman, to be responsible. To find out how you'd get home if your friends left. He'd gladly take you, but he knew how it would look if he knew your address. Most people wouldn't be comfortable with that, he understood. “Get out of your head.” You spoke against his lips. You could tell he was thinking? That it had nothing to do with the nasty things his other head had been thinking for hours now? “Hey.” Pulling away from the kiss, you grabbed his face, making him look at you. “Whatever it is, worry about it later. I feel like I’ve been edged all night and I really need to be fucked stupid. Okay?”

He chuckled, “Okay.” Your little not so peppy-talk seemed to do it for him. Any and all thoughts not pertaining to this moment he was sharing with you were now out of the window. He needed to see you in all your glory, and thought he appreciated the way that dress fit you, he would much rather see it on the floor. He slipped the straps off your arms, fingers gently trailing down your skin, leaving little goosebumps in its wake.  You let it fall, pulling your arms out. Next to go was your strapless bra, expert fingers quickly rid you of the garment, tossing it somewhere in the vicinity. “You’re perfect.” His thumbs traced over your collarbones, before his fingers joined in over your chest and down to your breast.

“Hardly. But I know how to take a compliment.” You joked, “Thank you.” He touched you like he was trying his best to savor the moment, not wanting it to end. He shook his head, cupping your breast, feeling the weight of them.

“You look perfect to me.” You just hummed, not wanting to argue him down about it. It wasn't worth it and you wanted to stay in the moment. He kissed your sternum, “Get up for me for a second.” You were taken off guard, but you moved off his lap and stood up. He laid down flat on the sofa and beckoned you over with his finger. “Sit on my face. I want to taste you.” It took a second for your brain to catch up with his words.

“Look, just because you might be capable of flipping me does not mean I wouldn't suffocate you-” He groaned, interrupting you.

“I didn't ask. Just come sit on my fucking face.” Your eyes went wide, not expecting him to talk to you like that. But you would be the first to admit it kind of turned you on. You moved with haste, kneeling next to his head before straddling his face. “Good girl.” You were beginning to really like the sound of him calling you that.

You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest, careful not to put all your weight on him, keeping most of it on your knees. Chris grew impatient the way you were hovering over him, after pulling your panties to the side once again, he roughly grabbed your hips pulling you down on top of him. His face made the perfect seat for you, enveloped between your cheeks, nose and mouth slotted between your lower lips. His tongue immediately went to work, making you squirm on top of him.

You bit back your moans, even with the other guys being otherwise occupied, you didn’t want to risk being too loud. A hard smack landed on your ass, making you jump and squeeze your thighs around his head. Deft hands spread your cheek; that gave him a little more room to move between the thickness of your ass and pussy lips. Not wanting to be the only one to receive pleasure, you leaned forward, sliding a hand into his pants. You gripped his member with one hand and pushed his boxers under his balls with the other.

You gasped at the sight of his thick cock; mouth immediately salivating. He slid his thumb into your cunt, making your grip on him tighten. He groaned against your clit, stopping for a second just to commence his torture of your pussy. But two could play that game, right? You went to work, testing out the waters first.  Seeing just how much of his big cock you could take. You spit on it, letting it dribble down his length. “Good girl.” He spoke between your folds.

Making sure his member was completely wet, you gripped the shaft with two hands and took him back in your mouth. Your mouth and hands moving simultaneously on his dick made him sigh with pleasure. It'd been a while since he'd been touched by anyone besides himself and he needed the relief more than you knew. Your mouth was the perfect amount of wet and the way you slurped was the perfect amount of nasty. He replaced his thumb with his index and middle fingers, going slow at first before quickening his pace to match yours. 

Wet noises replaced the background club noise that filled the room earlier. Chris loved the way you tasted on his tongue but he needed to get his dick wet with more than saliva. With a hard smack to your ass, he spoke up, “Turn around for me.” He had figured out that in order to get his point across with you he needed to be assertive. He was normally polite, but politeness could wait for later. “I need to be inside of you.” 

You were so needy you didn’t even think twice about his request. You let his cock go with some resistance, a small pop resounding through the room as you pulled him from your mouth. You must have been moving a little too slow for his liking, because the next thing you knew, you were flipped over onto your back, legs spread but also close to your chest as his cock slid between your folds. “I don’t mean to be impatient…” He paused, groaning as the back of his tip brushed over your clit, sending chills through his body. You were beyond wet, more especially now that he’d added his saliva to the mix. “I need you.”

You could feel the heat travel from the center of your chest, up your neck, to your face. His words felt genuine, even under the circumstances. He leaned in, kissing your lips, distracting you from him lining himself up with your entrance. The kiss was intoxicating. Enough so that it made your hip buck up into his, the tip of his cock consequently sliding into you. Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back at the unexpected stretch. “Patience is a virtue, beautiful.” He chuckled darkly. Was this the same man who couldn’t even give you time to flip around yourself? He was now telling you that patience was indeed a virtue, but it was clearly something neither of you had. “Fuck you feel so good..” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since he flipped you over, and honestly, he didn’t know if he would be able to. You were gorgeous to him. Every single last inch. The wet sound of his hips harshly slamming into your filled the room, tuning out the muffled club music.

The way he was filling you up, stretching your walls deliciously, was absolutely mind boggling. He felt so good inside of you that you almost didn’t know what was up or down. Your nails dug into his forearms. Your jaw was slack, eyes threatening to close. “Fuck…. Yes.. there…” He had readjusted his hips, digging his knees into the couch, pushing your legs towards your armpits. You’d never been stretched like this, and you meant that in more than one way. He focused his eyes on the mess that was accumulating between the two of you. Your wetness was accompanied by your cream, his cock was dripping with your essence. The sound, the sight, the smell, the taste, everything was getting to him. You moaned loud, eyes glossed over, unable to hide your feelings from him anymore.

Your eyes were just as dark as his, both of you caught in the torrent of ecstasy. He leaned in, pecked at your lips, then your jaw, over your neck and chest, to your breast , draggin his tongue across the flesh before haphazardly sucking the pebbled bud into his mouth. Your hands flew to his hair. Fingers tugging on the sweat slicked curls at his nape. He moaned and that sent you barreling towards orgasm. You spread your legs wider, begging to feel more of him. He picked up his speed, his wet mouth dragging across your chest to give your other tit the same treatment. His ability to multitask was truly astounding.

Normally you’d put in some type of effort, hell-bent on not being some random man's pillow princess, but the way this man was putting in work all you could do was lie there and take it. You squeezed your already tight walls around him, making his hips stutter. “Don’t play games you know you won’t win.” He spoke gruffly, lips still pressed to your feverish skin. “Quit while you're ahead, baby.” That felt like a challenge. Part of you wanted to know just what he planned to do if you didn’t ‘quit while you were ahead’. So you tested it.

Every drag out of your cunt earned a clench. The first time he let it go, but the second time caused him to groan, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “You’re fucking killing me…” He grumbled, doing a few shallow and quick thrusts just to throw you off. He pulled out completely, tapping his slick riddled cock against your clit. A tiny drizzle of cum shooting from his tip and landing on your already messy pussy. “Look at how wet you have my dick. You even have me cumming a little already… fuck… you're perfect” He bit down on his swollen bottom lip, teasing you with just the tip of his dick. He enjoyed the way your cunt looked wrapped around him. You tried to wrap your legs around him, groaning when he caught on, pushing your legs back towards your chest.

“Nuh-huh, you think after all of that I’ll let that pretty pussy of yours get what it wants?” The sinister look he gave you as his lips curled into a smile would have been terrifying if it didn’t turn you on. “Not a chance, sweetheart.” He laughed innocently as if he didn’t just stuff you full of cock moments ago. “You’ll be lucky if I let you come.” He smirked, sitting back on his legs, he grabbed at your hips, swiftly turning you around. You didn’t even get a chance to protest. It happened faster than your mind could process. A few throw pillows were stuffed up under your stomach, successfully elevating your hips. “Fuck… would you look at that?”

You didn’t even know him well, but you could tell he was pleased with himself. He smacked both your cheeks before spreading them wide. Wild thoughts were running through his mind at the sight. He spit on your pussy before using his tongue to lap up all of the cream that was spread over it, your asshole, and your thighs. A man starved. That's what he ate like. It was your turn for your eyes to roll back, you gripped at the armrest, pushing your hips further into his face. Those plush lips in combination with that thick tongue? Heavenly. You could feel the coil in the bottom of your belly twist up and just as it was about to snap, hell pulled away with a soft chuckle.

You whined. You needed that release. “My turn…” You don't know what exactly came over him, but it was like he snapped. He slid back into your wanton cunt, causing your pussy to queef from suddenly being filled to the brim. You squealed, not used to your body making that sound. He placed his hand over the lower part of your back, just above your butt, pressing down to make you arch for him. And that's when all hell broke loose. This man had to be the spawn of the devil with the way he was after your soul. He was desperately trying to snatch your life force right out of your body with every deep thrust he gave you. Your walls fluttered around him, he moved his hands to your hips, nails digging into your skin as a way to ground himself. He was muttering things to himself, it honestly sounded like a bunch of gibberish to you. But then again, it was hard to concentrate on anything other than how hard he felt inside of you. “Fuck… this pussy is so good.” He groaned, pressing his hips flush against yours, hitting the deepest spot inside of you.

Your toes curled, vision turning white from the sensation. You didn’t even realize you were cumming until he pulled all the way out. “Please… please put it back in.” You begged, hole begging to be filled again, even though you just came. He obliged. He wanted to get off just as you had, but this time he wasn’t out for revenge, he slowly entered you, letting you feel every inch and vein. It had been a while since you last had some, and then it wasn’t much to write home about. This? Him? You’d shout it from the rooftops if you had to, this man’s dick game was impeccable. You moaned and writhed under him. He trached a hand up your sweat slick back, grabbing ahold of your neck and pulling you up and back towards him. His other arm wrapped around your tummy as he drug his lips over your shoulder, speaking a melange of your name and several curse words. He was in heaven. His heart pounded hard against his chest, any sounds but the ones that reverberated off the walls in this room were a non factor to him. He was here, at this moment, with the beautiful woman he spotted out in the crowd.

You hoped there was a hidden camera in this room that could pinpoint your time of death, because you could have sworn you ascended. Your tongue was hanging out of your mouth, eyes slightly closed, a severely fucked out expression on your face. You were dripping wet, walls still quivering around him, and he loved every bit of it. “You’re so fucking good, baby… so tight.. Wet… fuck..” His voice progressively got whinier, his end was near.  His hand moved from the back of your neck to the front, squeezing lightly. His conclusion was right on the tip of his tongue, the words begging to fall from his lips. His hips stuttered, his arm around your middle pulling you impossibly close. He gave a few sharp thrusts, “Fuck- baby, I-I’m gonna come… I’m gonna..” He cried out, once against pushing his pelvis completely against yours as he spilled his seed inside of your begging cunt. You moaned, the feeling of his warm cum painting your walls was enough to make them quiver again, threatening to overstimulate him. “Fuck, baby.. Too tight..” He spoke, while thrusting his cum deeper into your cunt. It took a spell of labored breaths and soft whimpers before he came down enough to pull his softening cock from inside of you. If he let you go right now you were sure you would fall face first into the cushions of this couch. 

You were blissed and fucked out, a crooked smile set on your face. He laid you down gently, watching your cunt to see if any of his seed dripped out, to see if he indeed fucked it deep enough. He smirked to himself when the only proof that he came inside of you was the small snail trail he broke when he pulled out. The room was silent for a while, the sound of the muted club music was no longer drowned out by the sound of sex. You’d close your eyes, honestly ready to knock out for the next couple hours if he let you.  He on the other hand had his eyes focused right on your pussy, still wet from the night's events. “My gosh… you are a dangerous, dangerous woman.” His dick twitched when you pulled your knees together to get a little more comfortable. He sighed, this just wouldn’t do. “I don’t usually do this… but.. I honestly don’t think I’m done with you for the night.” His words caused you to quickly open your eyes and turn around. Your eyes traveled from his face to check if he was serious, down to his semi-hard dick. “Would you mind… coming back to my place for.. Round two… or three?” 

Your eyes were wide. There was no way this man was serious. “Only if you are down. If not, we can hit the showers and I can escort you back to you-” You stopped him with a sensual kiss.

“Yes.” You spoke against his lips. Maybe being a bridesmaid paid off this time.

FIN

[almostempty]

self esteem part 2 - want you bad (joel x f!reader)

wc: 4.8k | masterlist | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 |

part 3 ⎯ part 4

Summary: Joel ignores you at the lake until he can't. Loosely inspired by the song Want You Bad by The Offspring (to stay on theme, ya know?).

tags/arnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), smash and dash, get railed against a truck, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, dirt, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak,

a/n: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

thanks: major thanks to everyone who read part 1, as well as my muse @auteurdelabre , and my co-chair of the horny4joel club @lovely-vamp-princess for encouraging me

Your fingers hover over the brightly lit screen of your phone. Your friend, Katie, invited you to a barbecue at Toad Lake and assured you it would be a relaxed group. Just food, drinks, sun, and swimming. But how can it be relaxing if Joel is going to be there? If he was even invited. If he even shows up. He drives you insane. It’s her fault anyway. 

Katie’s boyfriend was friends with Tommy. Tommy invited Joel to some karaoke night at a bar a few months back. That was the catalyst for your personal hell. You don’t even know why he showed up; he refused to sing anything. But he did offer to give you a ride home so Katie could leave with her man. 

You were surprised by the gesture. The way he’d barely said anything to you all night made you think he wasn’t interested in remembering your name. But the way his shoulders filled out the green flannel he wore and then when he rolled up the sleeves? He was like The Brawny Man come to life. And that paper towel mascot lookalike was so your type. In fact, the way he nearly flat-out ignored you was also a turn-on but not one you thought your therapist would approve of. So when he offered a ride, you accepted. 

You tested the waters on the ride home, attempting to make some small talk. He was different one on one. Charmed you with his sharp wit and some flirty compliments. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, his hands, his arms, his profile, and his dark features in the glow of the streetlights. You lingered when he pulled up to the curb in front of your place. 

“I’m glad you drove me home,” you said, “it was nice to get to know you a little bit.” 

“Was nice,” he agreed dragging his thumb under his bottom lip, pulling your attention to his mouth,  “I’d like to get to know you a little more.” 

You felt your cheeks warm at that and smiled back. “Would you like to come inside?” you floated the offer, and the look on his face sealed the deal. 

But today, you haven’t heard from Joel in over a week. He doesn’t usually last much longer than two weeks before you find him at your door. He disappears just long enough that you start to build up the courage to tell him off for being a flake. The only reliable thing about Joel, though, is that when he does show up, he always leaves you feeling completely spent. What’s the harm in enjoying what he can do with his body? You don’t think you spend an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming about him. 

You don’t want to anticipate seeing him at the lake and get disappointed if he’s a no-show. Instead, you’d rather your chest constrict with anxiety until Saturday while you debate sending him a text to ask him yourself. You decide against it. You don’t want to double-text since he never answered your last message anyway. 

Saturday arrives quickly, and it’s the perfect day to be at the lake. Clear skies and hot sun. Your car is an oven as you slide your beach bag and cooler backpack into the backseat. You sit in the driver’s seat and roll down all the windows. You flip down the visor to look in the little mirror at your reflection.  

It’s casual, you remind yourself. Just friends, food, and floating in the lake. You put on some waterproof mascara anyway, definitely not because Joel might be there. You look casual. You found your favorite black bikini last night and tried it on to make sure it still fits the way you like. Basic triangle top and bottoms with strings that tie on your hips. It still fits snugly but without cutting into your back or shoulders. It hugs everything in the right places and displays all the right skin. For your friends. At the casual barbecue. 

You stare at yourself, practically pointing a finger at your reflection to drill the idea into your head. If he’s there, it doesn’t mean anything. If he wants to be nonchalant, you’ll be nonchalant even harder. And you’ll look good as you do. Give him a taste of the same rejection you keep experiencing. 

Toad Lake is almost a secret. It’s small, outside of town, and private except for one small area with access to swimming and a small dock. When you and Katie lived together, you used to hit it up after work. Jumping off the dock unless there were people fishing. Or just floating near the shore with pool noodles while debriefing about the day. 

You pull off the main road onto the winding gravel road that takes you to the public access. It’s dense with trees and full of potholes. You bounce along in your car, listening to the gravel crunch under the tires. 

Parking is tight. The first lot only fits five or six cars on the gravel spots, and past that, maybe another seven or eight would fit in the dirt spots. You recognize most of the cars already parked as you pull into one of the furthest spots. You don’t see Joel’s truck, and your stomach drops with a wave of disappointment as you pull in between someone else’s truck and a jeep. You don’t want to think about him or feel let down. 

There’s a short but steep and winding path that leads to the water. You round the corner, finally able to see through the trees to the beach, and recognize him immediately. The unmistakable frame of Joel Miller. The shape of his body and that signature stance. You’d recognize him by the back of his head in a crowd with one eye closed. Butterflies stir in your stomach, and at the same time, your throat feels dry. 

He’s such a dick, you think as you trudge down the path in your sandals. Maybe you should ask him if his phone still works. No. That would blow up in your face. You’d just be broadcasting that it hurts when he rejects you. You do not want to face that fear. Maybe coming here was a total mistake. Regret and fear claw viciously at your throat with each step you take. 

Joel seems to dance around you, just avoiding being on your path as you greet everyone and catch up. Tommy is friendly and chats with you for a moment before getting Joel’s attention, forcing you to interact. 

“You remember Joel, right?” he asks. 

You laugh brightly. “Of course, the one and only,” you say with a smile. 

Joel nods at you. Doesn’t even say a fucking word. His dark brown eyes just bore into you for the longest second before giving you a curt smile. Tommy laughs at something while Joel turns away to find something to look busy with. Or someone. You gawk briefly as you watch him turn to chat with some woman you don’t know. 

Blowing you off on your attempts at dates is one thing, but acting like he doesn’t even know you? What the fuck is with this guy? Who’s the woman he seems so friendly with? 

You remember how to close your mouth and decide to set up your spot along the beach. You strip off your T-shirt and adjust the straps on your bikini. Rifling through your bag for some sunscreen, you find the lotion first. Smiling to yourself, you imagine asking Joel to help get your back. Would he refuse? Would his lady friend be jealous? You actually don’t want to know. You dig around until you find the spray sunscreen. You don’t need a man applying any cream to your back. 

You swear you feel his eyes burning into you, but when you look around, he’s turned and talking to her. Whatever. You figure it’s safest for your sanity to head straight for the water. You grab your pool float and start to blow it up. You feel that burning sensation again, but you turn, and he’s busy swigging down a drink. You grab one for yourself, and with a drink in one hand and the pool float under the other arm, you march right into the water. It’s perfect. Just warm enough, it doesn’t shock your system. Cool enough to ease the oppressing heat of the sun. 

“The water is perfect! Why am I the only one in here?” you call to Katie. 

“Alright, I’m coming!” she calls back. 

You laze in the water for most of the afternoon. Chatting with friends, cheering on a wobbly friend learning to stand on a paddleboard, and just resting peacefully. 

Joel sits in a beach chair, observing. You stare back under your sunglasses, hoping it’s not noticeable. Your thoughts spiral again. What is his issue? You aren’t good enough? He doesn’t wanna get caught talking to you? You consider cornering Tommy to dig up some dirt, but it’s too late. Joel is pulling his shirt over his head. You’re locked on. You fight to keep from reacting. His sun-kissed frame strolls towards the lakeshore. You watch as he gets waist-deep before he pushes off and glides through the water. When his head re-emerges, and he shakes the water from his hair, you feel your mouth drop open. You quickly fill it with the beverage in your hand. 

You keep staring. Watching the beads of water roll down his shoulders. You’d like to sink your teeth into the skin on his neck. You’d like to wrap your legs around his hips under the water—“oh, shit!” you yelp. 

A kid swimming behind you got a little too excited, kicking water and splashing it all over your face. You grimace. You didn’t mean to swear at the kid. It was just the shock of it. No big deal. Since your hair is wet now anyway, you might as well get all the way in the water. 

You drop off your floaty and empty drink on your blanket. Tossing your sunglasses off, too. You walk back into the water and dive under yourself. It’s refreshing. You’re close to Joel when you pop up again. He looks at you this time. Acknowledges you’re a real, live human in front of him. 

“All wet now, huh?” he smirks. 

“Oh, fuck off, Joel,” you scoff at him. You swim away before he can say anything else. 

You lay out, letting the sun dry your wet skin. Until you’re ready to leave. The idea of a shower and aircon sounds pretty good to you. You gather your things, say your goodbyes, and hike up the path to your car. 

With your bags in the backseat, you grab your towel. Your bikini and hair are still dripping wet. You squeeze your hair with the towel when you hear someone approaching. You look over your shoulder, and of course, it’s him. You turn away, continuing to towel at your hair. You can feel his body hovering behind yours. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, low and syrupy.

“Are you joking?” you spew incredulously, not bothering to look at him. “Where’s your girlfriend?” 

“My what?” 

“I didn’t catch her name.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, baby. It’s not like that.” His large hands wrap around either side of your hips. “Y’look nice in this,” he coos, ignoring your spite and toying with the strings tied at your hips. You turn and shove at his chest. He leans against the truck behind him. 

“Why are you up here, Joel? You want to ignore me around our friends, then follow me to my car like a dog? You’ve got fuckin’ problems, man. Why are you looking at me like that?” 

He’s smiling at you like it’s endearing that you’re telling him off. 

“Oh my god, let me guess. You think I look sexy when I’m mad?” 

“No,” he defends and steps closer. He runs his fingers under the strap on your shoulder. His touch burns white hot against your skin, branding you. You shiver. “You always look sexy,” he rasps. It’s not charming. He’s still an ass. But it feels so good when he says it. He’s so close you can smell the sunscreen and sweat on his skin. Everything about his presence chips away at your defenses. 

“Could barely stand watching you in the water,” he adds. When did his mouth get so close to you? His hot breath runs over the shell of your ear. “Want you bad.” 

“Liar,” you argue with less venom. 

“Am not,” he hums. A hand slides up your neck, thumb under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His eyes are heavy with lust. He’s still smiling. You wonder if that’s how he’d look if you woke up next to him. A dreamy smile with his tousled hair and scruffy cheeks. 

He takes your hand, so delicate compared to his. Slowly, he brings it towards his body and wraps it around the stiff bulge in his swim trunks. “Feel like I’m lying?” He watches the tiny muscles in your face twitch as you suppress your reaction. Then your brows pull together, and you glare. 

“You think you can just follow me up here, get your hands on me, and then what? You’ll have me on my knees in the dirt for you? You think I wanna catch some dirty lake water disease from your cock in my mouth?” 

He squeezes your hand harder like his dick will argue for him. Maybe you’d hear it out. 

“You gonna tell me you don’t want this?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, “bet you’re wet from more than just the lake, pretty baby.” He’s not wrong, but you’re not going to admit it. Wait, did he say pretty? A laugh, shriek, and loud splash from the lake below breaks you out of his trance. Your tunnel vision expands. You pull your hand from his grip. 

“Why are you up here, Joel?”

“Couldn’t just watch you leave.” 

You scoff at him and whip back around. You’re quick, but he’s bigger and stronger. His hands pull at your hips, slamming your body back into his. The damp skin of his chest sticks to your back. 

“We’re not fucking in the parking lot,” you snap. You can feel how hard he is. Pressed against the curve of your ass. His swim trunks and your wet Lycra bikini are the only barriers between you. 

“Maybe s’what you get for being a filthy fuckin’ tease,” his gravelly voice rumbles in your ear. 

“How am I a tease?” you squirm against him, but the friction only makes both of you more pathetic as you gasp and he groans.

“Wearing this.” He pulls at the string of your bikini on one shoulder and lets it snap back. “Laying on that towel, ass up, like you were waiting for me to fill it,” he squeezes a cheek for emphasis, “floating in the water with these perfect tits barely hidden.” He pulls at the triangles of fabric covering them, sliding them apart until your breasts pop out. Exposing you under the shade of the trees. 

“You’re delusional,” you accuse. But all the venom is gone. The words come out breathy. His body is wrapped around you, constricting. His hand travels down your stomach, slipping under the bikini and between your legs. His fingers find exactly what they were searching for. Your slick folds part easily, welcoming his fingers deeper. 

“Doesn’t feel like a delusion to me, baby.” Wretched man. Always has to prove a point. You’re running out of the mental fortitude to argue. You also feel ridiculous, standing between someone’s truck and your car, tits out, his hand between your legs. 

“Isn’t someone gonna wonder where you are?” you try to find a reason you should stop. 

“No, said I had to make a call.” 

“A call? So your phone does work,” you chide, using your last brain cell. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy, effectively shutting you up. A moan is the only noise you can form. 

“Thought I already taught you to quit arguing with me.” His irritation is muffled by his lips pressed into the skin of your neck. 

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“You wanna try askin’ nicely?” he goads in your ear. His fingers curl as he drags them in and out of you. You let yourself focus on the sensation. Your head falls, chin to your chest, and you watch the muscles and tendons in his arm flexing and rippling while he works you into a needy mess. It’s hot. His arm is firm and tan from days spent working in the hot sun. Against the soft, cushiony flesh of your curves, it’s almost menacing, but it provides you with support. Like he could balance you forever against his one arm. He might have to if your knees give out. 

The noises coming from you both are obscene. You feel his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades, slowing down time. Joel moves shamelessly, his hips roll and grind into the swell of your ass. He’s curled around you like a wild beast claiming his prize in the forest. It gives you some kind of sick ego trip; he hurt you, but now he’s here attached to you with desperate want. You slide a hand behind your head, feeling for his soft, damp hair on the back of his head, confirming this whole perverse scenario is real. You tug at his hair, eliciting a rough groan from his lips. He seems to have forgotten his own question, entranced by you. 

Joel watches the sweat beading on your chest and runs his hot tongue up your neck into the hinge of your jaw. He savors your sweat-salted taste with a deep hum that vibrates from his chest into your spine. It lights sparks along your nerves. 

You grind back against him as his palm presses firmly into your clit, and his fingers keep stroking at just the right spot. The pressure building feels overwhelming. He’s all consuming the way he surrounds you. The sound of his breath, his scent, the way your skin sticks against one another, it floods your senses. Your breath quickens, and your muscles coil tight with tension, buzzing with need. 

“Give it to me,” his words scrape across gravel. The tension in your core snaps, abdomen spasming, and your pussy clenching at his fingers for more. The hand you have on the back of his neck clings tightly for support. He loosens his grip around you and slows his movements as you start to take deeper and deeper breaths of air. Fresh air. Because you’re in the parking lot at the lake. Your senses sharpen, and your vision clears. You fix your bikini top in a rush, adjusting the fabric and straps fighting through your tangled mess of limbs crossed with Joel’s. 

You can hear other footsteps on the path. Turning to face Joel, you flash a smile on your flushed face at him. 

“Good timing,” you quip as you look beyond Joel and past the bed of the truck to see who’s coming up the path. You wave at a couple of friends as they carry their bags to their vehicle. Joel doesn’t turn to look. Doesn’t seem to move a muscle. You look back at his face. 

One brow raised; he looks like he knows something you don’t. A frown pulls at your face. He executes his maneuver before you can devise a retort for his expression. He yanks hard on the ends of the bows that tie your bikini bottoms together. Your jaw drops as the fabric falls. Your hand flies out to slap his chest at the audacity, but he grips your wrist in his hand. 

“Not nice to hit people, baby,” he condescends as if you were the one in the wrong. You’re fuming. Blood boiling. 

“What–” you’re cut off by his other hand grabbing your jaw with a vice grip. 

“Quiet,” he snaps. You hear the sounds of the car backing out and pulling away. Tires kicking up a cloud of dust. You can’t see past Joel’s wide frame as he holds your head in place. You grab at his forearm, but it’s useless. You’re defenseless in his grip. Vulnerable between the vehicles and the trees. Why does that make your cunt ache and throb? You squirm. “You gonna behave?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question. 

“Uhuh,” you respond through your clenched teeth, your lips unnaturally squished and parted between his fingers and thumb. You give up on prying at his arm and run your hand down his bare chest towards his swim trunks instead. Your touch brings a smirk to his face. 

“Yeah, you are,” he agrees. Reading your sordid motives like a love letter, he carries on. He drops your jaw and readjusts your positioning. Joel moves you with ease. He lifts you and backs you into the window to the backseat of the truck, his hands under your thighs. If you had any sense left, you might consider it vulgar to be fucked wide open in a parking lot, but the animalistic expression on Joel’s face wipes your mind blank. You lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck as if he were the one caught in your trap. He looks at you like he’s trying to etch all the details of you in this position into his mind. It stirs that depraved sense of pride in your chest. 

“Take it out,” he orders. You obey. Snaking a hand between your bodies to free his cock from his swim trunks. Both of you watch, chins tucked to your chests as your hand wraps around his stiff shaft. The sight makes your mouth water. He seems similarly affected. You think you’ll have hand-shaped bruises on the back of your legs the way his grip tightens and his fingertips dig into your skin. He leans closer, seeking your slick, wet entrance. You guide his leaking tip with your own pleasure in mind instead. He watches as you use him like a toy. You swirl the head of his cock around your swollen clit. The pressure and heat blur your vision. You slip him through your folds until he’s coated in your glossy arousal. You keep playing, creating lewd noises between your legs. He’s talking to you, you realize, and tune back in. 

“Keep teasin’ like that. Gonna fuck you til you can’t walk. Give it to this needy little pussy the way no one else can, right, baby? Stretch you out and fill you up. Send you home dripping.” He rambles on with his threats. They make you dumb. 

“Fuck, please, please, please,” you respond with tight exhales. 

His head shoots up. 

“You hear that?” he asks, and you freeze. Straining to listen. You can hear the birds in the trees. The muffled voices down at the lakeshore. You listen for voices or footsteps getting closer, but they don’t exist. 

“Hear what?” you pant. 

“The sound of you begging for my cock.”

Your face heats. You feel another surge of arousal flood your already-soaked center. 

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

“It’s a pretty sound, baby. Want you to be bad.” His words light something fierce inside of you. You need him inside you, now. He doesn’t help as you wiggle in his grip, trying to slip him inside of you. He exhales a puff of air in amusement at your struggle.

“Do it again. Beg.”  

“Please, Joel.” 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, fuck me. Need you to fuck me hard.” A twisted wave of humiliation and need for approval courses through you. Begging for him, trying to tug him closer. You’re a mess for him. 

“There she is,” he smiles. It’s devious, but it makes your heart flutter and your pussy throb even harder. 

You line him up with your entrance, and he fills you in one motion. 

“Fuck,” you mouth as your head slides back against the truck. He fulfills his threats and splits you around his cock over and over. His hips snap into you with a force that sends shockwaves rippling across your body. Joel fucks you like a man possessed. Driving into you brutally, rocking the truck behind you. You try to stifle the cries pouring out of your throat, focusing on breathing, squeezing your eyes shut, and digging your nails into his shoulders. Pinning you with his body frees his hand, and he wastes no time using it to grope at every inch of you he can. 

He slows and rocks into you more tenderly, confusing you. He peers around the cab and waves at someone. Oh, shit. They can’t see you through the cab windows, right? Fuck. 

“Hey, put me down,” you hiss. 

“It’s just Tommy,” he replies. How is that better? 

Then you hear him calling to Joel.

“Hey, you see my sunglasses on the dash?”

Joel looks through into the driver’s window as if you didn’t even exist. 

“Yeah, you want ‘em?” Joel calls back to Tommy. 

“Yeah, you comin' back down?” 

“Yep, be there in a minute if you want me to bring them.” He calls back to Tommy. Still rolling against you, just grinding at a mind-numbingly slow speed. 

“You’re sick,” you whisper at Joel while you grind back into him, and Tommy shouts a thank you in the distance. Joel thrusts up into you more harshly. Your breath catches as his eyes lock onto yours with his full attention. 

“Felt to me like you enjoyed the risk.” His voice sounds like a taunt, but he’s not wrong. Joel talking to Tommy like you weren’t wrapped around his cock sent a rush through your veins. You decide not to admit that out loud. 

“This is Tommy’s truck?” you ask between gasps. 

“Yep.” 

You had some snarky comment to make, but you give up as he resumes his pace, and your thoughts fade away. Joel’s filthy stream of consciousness starts up again between low grunts and groans. His voice and the noises he makes bounce around in your skull. He makes you feel weightless. 

Each time his hips meet the cradle of your pelvis, you nearly burst, complimenting his movements with an enthusiastic rhythm. You arch your spine, angling just a little deeper, chanting out breathy prayers of fuck, fuck, fuck, and yes, yes, yes, when he slips a hand down to draw circles around your clit. 

“That’s it. Let me feel it,” he demands as you writhe. 

You give in, and it drives him crazy. The way your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows pinch, your mouth hangs open, and your body involuntarily shudders against him. He feels the way you start to relax, but your body jerks and clings tighter to him a few more times. He can’t slow down. It fuels his unbridled urge to come inside you as deep as he can. 

“That’s my baby,” he husks. My baby? You feel butterflies as you try to catch your breath while he ramps up his force. 

“Gonna fill you up. Fuck you full.” 

“Yes,” you reply, not sure he’s even listening with the intensity of his look as he barrels towards his release. When he stills, and you feel it, you can’t stifle the sounds in your throat. You feel his cock pulsing inside you, and his hips lurch into you as if he could fuck his come any deeper. He smothers you as he comes down. With his chest crushing you into the truck, you can feel when his breathing starts to slow. You rake your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and breathing him in. Your pussy might be sore for a day, but your ego is full, and you feel sated. 

Joel pulls out of you with a barely audible pained noise and asks if you can stand before releasing you fully from his grip. 

“I still have two legs,” you joke. But you look like you might topple over if he lets go. He hugs you into him for a tender kiss; it’s quick, but you drown in it. He props you up and presses another kiss to your sweaty temple. 

Then it’s happening again. He pulls his shorts back up, opens the truck, and grabs Tommy’s sunglasses. You grab your towel to wrap around your naked lower half. The truck door slams, and you turn. He’s already walking away. 

“Drive safe,” he calls over his shoulder while you pick up your bikini bottoms from the dirt. 

An empty feeling starts to shroud your satisfied glow as the sound of his footsteps fades away. He did call you “my baby,” though. He doesn’t say that to just anyone, right? 

-> NEXT

[marie-swriting]

Here For You - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Emily claims she doing fine after everything she's been through but you know the truth and you let her know you're here for her.

Warnings : based on 7x12, mention of Doyle and Emily dying, Emily struggling, angst, hurt/comfort.

Word count : 1.2k

French version

Song inspiration : Let Me by Jade LeMac

Comfortably in Morpheus’ arms, you turn around and unconsciously start searching for Emily’s arms without any success. With difficulty, you open one eye and find an empty spot next to you, lightly illuminated by the corridor light. Not knowing where your girlfriend is, you quickly get out of bed. Since she came back from the dead, Emily acts differently which is understandable, but it also means you’re even more stressed than before. Emily has always been secretive, now it’s just worse. You can’t decipher her anymore and you fear the worst. You trot around, following the light and you find Emily in the kitchen, her back facing you. You hear sniffing as soon as you call her name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Emily says, faking a smile.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I was just thirsty.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask her, worried.

“No, it’s been two weeks since my last one as you know.”

“You know, you shouldn’t feel ashamed if you still have some, especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Please, don’t start,” she sharply retorts. “I’m already seeing my therapist tomorrow, it’s enough… Sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.” She then adds with a softer tone.

“It’s okay.”

“I was just thirsty.” Emily affirms, putting her glass in the sink though you can see right through her. “I’m fine, I swear. Let’s go to sleep.”

Without replying, you take her hand she’s holding out and you walk back to your shared room. As you lay in bed, Emily gets closer to you and puts her head on your chest. It’s a habit she has had since she came back. Emily needs to hear your heartbeats to make sure she isn’t alone. Emily’s muscles relax when you start stroking her hair. The second Emily’s head gets heavier, you finally allow yourself to fall asleep, holding her close to you as if she’d disappear in the next second.

Yet, this is what happens the next morning. Emily left earlier because she has therapy before going on a case. You sigh, noticing her absence, though you know it’s for the best. It reassures you to know Emily is talking to a professional after everything that’s happened, you just wished she would have said goodbye before leaving.

You try to regain control of your emotions during work. You have to take care of a class of thirty seven-year-old students, you have to be focused. However, it doesn’t mean you don’t check your phone at every occasion, hoping to see a text from Emily.

It’s at the end of the day, after you finished eating, that your girlfriend finally calls you and without wasting a second, you pick up the phone. 

“Hey, Em’, how are you? Is the case complicated?”

“Always a bit at the beginning, but we have some leads. What about you? How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, I had to explain the same thing fifteen times, a kid sneezed on my sweatshirt and another one said I was pretty even if I was old. Nothing new.” you say lightly while Emily laughs.

“Another eventful day.”

“How did it go with your therapist?”

“She said everything was alright, she cleared me for work.” she informs you after taking a breath.

“Good. I mean, if it’s the truth.” you add and you can feel Emily rolling her eyes. “I know you, Em’, I know how you struggle to admit it to me when you have a nightmare so I guess it’s harder for you to tell your therapist.”

“It doesn’t affect my job, even Hotch said so.”

“I’m not saying otherwise…” you start carefully, “Look, I know I’d never be able to understand what you went through but I know one doesn't get over this that quickly. You’re allowed to not be okay, to struggle to move on.”

“I’m getting my life back.” she retorts.

“I know and I’m not saying you don’t, however Emily, you only worry about how Derek, Penelope, Spencer and everyone else around you feels since you came back but you don’t worry about the most important person. You. And I’m here for you, to support you. I’m not saying I’ll always have the right words, nonetheless I’ll do my best. You can come to me when you’re not okay.”

“I’m okay.” Emily repeats with a neutral tone.

“Your shrink might believe you when you say it but I know the truth. Emily, stop pushing away the people who love you. Stop pushing me away. You don’t have to go through this alone, especially when you can’t ignore what happened. Let me be here for you.”

Emily stays silent, only her breathing breaks the silence. You hear another voice coming from her end though can’t make out what they’re saying then Emily clears her throat.

“I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Emily hangs up and you sigh with tears in your eyes. You don’t know if what you said will make Emily react, you hope it will. You can’t handle this situation anymore. You know she needs support but how can you do it when she doesn’t ask for it? You don’t like this feeling of powerlessness. You wish you could take all of her scars so she could finally live freely. 

Throughout the case, Emily keeps her distance. She only sends you a text once a day to say she loves you, a habit you’ve had since the beginning of your relationship. Considering her risky job, you never stay a day without saying it to each other, more particularly since Doyle happened. However, when you reply to her message and you try to create a conversation, she quickly cuts it off. 

The more the days go by and the more worried you are for Emily. Something is wrong, you’re sure about it. You wish you could check on her, however you don’t want to be too overbearing. If you keep insisting you might do the opposite of what you want by creating an anxious atmosphere for Emily; therefore, you try to stay at a good distance, close enough to support her but far enough so she doesn’t push you away. 

As a way to distract yourself, you put all your energy on your work, redoing your lessons, correcting exercises. It only works for so long, your mind quickly finds a way to make you think about Emily.

One evening, about a week after Emily left, you’re at the kitchen table, working and eating when you hear the door opening and a bag loudly falling on the ground. Without waiting, you put down your fork and go toward the entrance rapidly. There, you find Emily with sad eyes. You’re about to talk though she beats you to it.

“I’m not okay.” she admits with a trembling voice.

And in a split second, she burst into tears. You run to her and hold her against you, trying to soothe her. You can tell her legs aren’t supporting her anymore, so you make Emily sit down on the floor while keeping her close. You tenderly stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings. Emily’s tears run down her cheeks more and more while instinctively she puts her ear against your chest and listens to your heartbeats. In your arms, Emily finally allows herself to let go of all her emotions and to face all the pain she went through. You both know it’ll take time for Emily to heal but you’ll make sure to be here for her and to support her every step of the way.

Masterlist

[tkomptgoedluv]

girl with one eye.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.4

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader is finally seeing a therapist, established relationship, they’re so so in love i wanna cry, reader just wants a good night sleep, joost just wants to help, a loootttttt of hurt, maybe too much of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,833.

warnings: mention of drugs, very detailed descriptions of SA, very brief allusion to drugging, semi-vague descriptions of a panic attack, rpf.

notes: hello angels! this is veryyyyy overdue but it’s finally here! the ending is a little rushed and i’ve only half-proofread it so please forgive me for any errors. also — this part comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING for those of you that struggle with SA, please do not put yourself at risk by reading if it’s not meant for you!

on a happier note, i’d like to give credits to @spentandpent for drawing that first image of joost in my little header thingy. their fan-art kinda inspired this whole part <3

also i wanna shoutout @howisjoostfanfictionforfree simply because sloane is one of my favourite people on this whole entire app, and she’s been so so supportive of me since my very first fic post. i ♥️ you, sloane my bbyg xx

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you wanted to kick yourself.

genuinely, you felt a little sick whenever you thought about all those years you’ve wasted by being just a little too stubborn for your own good.

all those sweet, early mornings where the sun would peak through the blinds and you’d wake up to find him still curled all around you, and how you would run from them just because they started to feel a little too real. all those nights where you’d leave him still tangled up in the sheets, breathless and wishing you’d stay just a little while longer whilst you were already halfway out the door.

for years all you did was run, and you’re yet to forgive yourself for it. because this — this was heaven and you could have had it so much sooner if only you hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

you blame it all on those three little flings that you had over the years; those three no-more-than-six-weeks-long ‘relationships’ that still, somehow, almost ruined you. the first was a guy that seemed to love his pills and potions more than you, the second was once the ‘love of your life’ before he stuck his dick in someone else, and the third was nothing more than a few too many bad hookups with a guy you couldn’t quite shake.

they were what did it for you, in the end. what convinced you to avoid anything more than the odd one-night-stand here and there. you just weren’t cut out for the whole ‘dating’ thing, apparently, and that was fine. you were fine with that; happy about it, even. as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to go through anymore disappointment, you’d live with it. or without it, rather.

so when you found yourself stood outside in the pouring rain, arguing back and forth with joost about something you can’t even remember anymore, you still thought it to be out of the question. you were refusing to believe that you were anything more than a stress-reliever to him, because that’s all you could ever be. all you ever wanted to be.

whatever it was that you and joost had, it was special. you couldn’t explain it, and you certainly weren’t willing to lose it by feeling all the wrong things for him. you had no idea that he was the one who’d fallen down that rabbit hole, the one who’d started feeling all those wrong things first — not until he kissed you that day.

with the rain soaking the two of you down to the bone, tears pooling in both of your eyes. his chest had been heaving and your throat had felt all scratchy from the yelling; still, he had been so gentle with you. even more so than he usually was. he had his hands cupping your face and the way he’d looked at you, still to this day it gives you goosebumps whenever you think about it.

how lucky you are that for the past six months joost has kissed you just like that, every single day.

every morning now, when you wake up to the sun shining through the blinds and joost’s arms still wrapped around you, you don’t dare to move. you wait until you hear that low grumble in your ear that’s always followed by a sweet kiss to the back of your shoulder, and only then do you roll over to return the favour. sometimes it unravels into something more, other times you’re both able to show some restraint.

the afternoons are always a little more unpredictable with joost’s job being what it was. there were days where he’d say his goodbyes before midday and wouldn’t return until the early hours of the next morning. there were the months where you’d be lucky to even get a whole day together at all. but there were also the days where he’d only be out for a few hours, either at the studio or one of the boys’ houses. on those ones, whether it was your place or his, joost would always come home to you with pastries in his hand and some new art of his to show you.

for the first time in all your years of living, things were finally good. you were happy; you were in love. it was only right to assume that with that, everything else was bound to fall into place.

but you just weren’t sleeping.

you drift off for a while, tucked neatly away into joost’s arms as he engulfs you, him always being so insistent on being the big spoon. for a couple hours you’ll sleep like that, tossing and turning until you’re all the way over on the other side of the bed, and it’s there that you wake up struggling to catch your breath, shaking like a leaf.

usually, it’s just bits and pieces of that night all jumbled up that you see. quick ‘flashes’ of his face, the bloodied crack in the bathroom mirror, the feeling of the porcelain sink digging into your stomach as he bent you over it. nothing truly coherent, but enough to still wake you up in a panic at three o’clock in the morning. then it becomes a gamble as to whether or not you’re able to fall back asleep. most of the time, you’re still laying there wide awake when the sun starts to rise, still far too afraid to close your eyes again.

though for whatever reason, tonight’s dream had been particularly awful. you could’ve sworn that you were actually back there this time, relieving the whole thing. you could feel his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing, keeping you pinned down. you could feel your skirt all in a bunch around your waist again and your tights barely hanging on from how he’d ripped them to near shreds.

and now you were here, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry too loud whilst the clock ticked closer and closer to dawn. it was almost five o’clock in the morning so really, it should’ve felt as though you’d gotten at least a couple hours of good sleep. instead, you were exhausted; wide awake with your heart pounding inside your chest, but exhausted as tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

this wasn’t what you expected, not when joost had painted such a beautiful picture that therapy was the be all and end all cure for any and every problem. it had you convinced that by the time you were a few months into your sessions, things would’ve gotten at least a little bit easier. perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up the way that you did.

you were trying to keep it quiet, your crying. you hadn’t told joost about what had actually happened that night yet, let alone the nightmares about it. he had a habit of carrying other people’s pain so that they wouldn’t have to themselves — you didn’t want to be one of those people.

after a while though, you didn’t have that choice anymore. there was a bang from outside, nothing more than just an old, cheap car backfiring, and you jumped. you made the bedframe shake a little more than it already was and yelped just loud enough to wake joost up from his sleep. you swore underneath your breath as he grumbled something you couldn’t quite hear before looking back over his shoulder at you.

“you heard that too?”

when you didn’t say anything he turned over fully, the sheets rusting and the mattress creaking as he moved.

you heard him whisper your name, just in case you really were still asleep, but even in the dark he could see that your eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. it was a quiet sniffle that gave you away in the end, because the dark did well at hiding the wetness in your eyes. still, it couldn’t conceal the quick wipe of your nose; even in the dark and without his glasses on, joost could still see that.

“hey, are you crying?”

you didn’t mean to flinch when he went to brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, and you didn’t mean to worry him by doing so. it made his eyebrows furrow as he pulled his hand back and sat up slightly, propping himself up on one of his elbows.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just…i’m just being a bit stupid. i’m fine; you can go back to sleep.”

maybe if there wasn’t that waiver in your voice you would’ve gotten away with it. joost would’ve mumbled something of an ‘okay’ and kissed you goodnight before rolling back over. you would’ve been left alone to wait for the sunrise, a cold sweat coating your skin despite the warm summer air that was rolling in through your open windows.

but even if he was half blind without his glasses on, joost’s ears worked just fine. he heard the waiver in your voice as well as the sniffle in your nose, and he knew.

joost wasn’t stupid; he noticed things. noticed the way the bags under your eyes had been growing heavier over the past couple months, and saw how even the smallest things were making you jump out of your skin. he knew what you were like though, knew better than to try and ask you about it. all he could really do was hope that the therapist you had now would be enough.

but he’d found you near-sobbing at five o’clock in the morning now; heard the fear in your voice, saw the tears in your eyes. it didn’t surprise you to see him immediately sit up and reach over, switching on his bedside light before turning back to face you. but it did bring on a wave of sickness to your stomach, the kind that made your hands feel clammy.

“no, you’re not fine. what happened?”

you wiped at your nose again, and then at your eyes. as you spoke you refused to look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling because you truly did believe that all of this was stupid. your tears, the heavy beating of your heart — all of it.

“just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

you heard a soft sigh from bedside you and felt gentle fingers in your hair, finally tucking that one strand behind your ear. this time, you didn’t flinch. you leaned into the touch, letting a single tear slip down your cheek as you realised that soon, this might be the last time he’ll ever want to touch you.

“anything i can do?”

you really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you needed to.

“can i…can i talk about it? you know, about what happened that night?”

joost didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t — not when this was such a rarity for you. he nodded and laid back down, his tired eyes watching as you rolled over until your back was facing him. he couldn’t bring himself to ask why you wouldn’t look at him, just listened quietly as you sucked in a deep breath and watched as you curled yourself into a ball.

“the guy, he was nice at first; saw that i was on my own and wanted to know how i ended up there, i guess. he seemed normal, like he just wanted to get to know me.”

your voice was shaking as you spoke, and you were struggling to breathe through your stuffed up nose.

“i should’ve known that something was wrong when i started to feel like, drunk drunk, after only a couple of drinks. maybe he slipped something in one of them, i don’t know, but when he asked if i wanted to do a line with him i didn’t think i could say no.”

a large hand squeezed your hip from over the covers when you paused for a moment, a few tears getting caught in your throat when you tried to swallow them down.

“i uh, i followed him into the bathroom and i let him lock the door behind us, and i did the line he racked up for me. he promised me that it was a gift, that he didn’t want anything for it; he knew i didn’t have any money to pay him and he said it was fine. but when i tried to leave he told me that he’d changed his mind, said i could pay him back another way.”

joost’s hand fell from your hip when you slipped out from underneath it and curled in further on yourself. it meant that all he could do was watch from the other side of the bed as your shoulders began to shake from the small, pathetic sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

“i said no, joost. he got me up against the door, tried to reach underneath my skirt, but i said no. he didn’t like that — didn’t like it when i hit him, either. he…he bent me over the sink, hit my head against the mirror, told me that i owed him for what he’d given me.”

you had to fight to get the words out through all of your blubbering; through each of the hiccups and all of the gagging. you truly were in a bit of a state now, spiralling further and further down into the memory, but you needed to do this. no matter how much it hurt, you just needed to get it out.

“he held me down by my neck and he…he laughed when i told him i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t move, joost, i couldn’t get him off so i just…”

when you started to trail off, a pair of arms scooped you up and gently pulled you across the bed until you were flat again joost’s chest. you felt him rest his head in the crook of your neck, a dozen salty tears of his own dripping down onto your shoulder. for a while, neither of you said anything else; you’d gotten yourself too worked up to find the rest of your words and quite frankly, joost didn’t need to hear anything else. he had an imagination, he knew what happened next.

you caught him off guard when after a couple minutes, just after the silence had settled, you started to apologise over and over again. like a child too consumed with guilt, you were spewing out desperate ‘i’m so sorry’s one after the other until the words all slurred together.

“hey, hey, hey, stop that. you don’t need to do that.” you felt him kiss the back of your ear, your neck, your shoulder. “i’m never gonna blame you for it, okay? — it’ll never be your fault.”

joost’s grip on you tightened when you began to cry harder, your tears soaking the pale, bare skin of his arm. he nuzzled his face deeper into the dip of your neck, listening to the unsteady beat of your pulse as you breathed in quick, shallow breaths.

“i-i’m sorry.”

“shhh, hey, it’s alright. just focus on breathing, honey. that’s all you need to do.”

it took you until little drops of sun were spilling through the blinds to finally relax enough to breathe right. neither of you had moved an inch, you were both still all wrapped up in each other, only now the tears had dried and your eyes were growing heavier.

carefully, you twisted in his arms until you were facing his chest, and it was there that you curled up again. you felt him leave kisses all along your crown; in your hair and on your forehead. as you hooked a leg over his, he used an arm to pull you closer, only satisfied once you were as close to being under his skin as you could be.

the warm summer air was still blowing in through your bedroom windows. it made the whole room hot and sticky, making you sweat even more than you always were from being so close to joost. beads of sweat were gathering along your hairline as well as his, and the bedsheets were beginning to cling to your skin. it was clammy and uncomfortable — still, you wouldn’t move.

“thank you, by the way.”

it was the sound of your own voice to break the silence again, but it was your words that made joost shift a little, only to tilt his head down to get a better look at you. when he met your eyes he saw that you were already staring up at him with something of a smile tugging at corners of your lips.

“for what, baby?”

“for letting me talk about it…and for not running away afterwards.”

with his eyes drooping and his breathing slow, joost simply scoffed. his hands danced their way up to your jaw and cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking along the pink blush of your cheeks.

“i could never run away from you.”

[llendrinall]

Smoke and mirrors. On a predator’s social manipulation

I have been following Neil Gaiman’s case from a distance these past few months while also thinking a lot about manipulation of public’s perception. You can read my thoughts about smear campaigns in this post.

I see people going back over his published works looking for “clues” of his abhorrent behavior, but considering that Gaiman preyed on fans, I think it’s more useful to think about his public engagement with fans. Gaiman crafted a kind and compassionate public persona that allowed him to get closer to his victims and to enjoy an aura of credibility as an advocate and ally. Let’s see how he did it. .

1.) False advertising

I first followed Gaiman’s tumblr account because it meant having access to a professional writer and I like reading and writing. For intellectual property reasons, writers can’t engage too much with fans about future projects, but they can talk about their craft: how to revise a manuscript, how to decide on a title, etc.

But that’s not what you get following his blog. It dawned on me when the first allegations came and he stopped updating the blog. I didn’t notice his absence; I didn’t miss the content... because I was skipping over it.

I distinctly remember him giving writing advice and encouragement at some point. But slowly, over the las few years, he pivoted on to giving life advice. He had the perfect excuse, too. He received many asks, so many that he couldn't and didn’t sort through them and we know that tumblr works in clunky ways. If the posts about writing and creating dried up and were substituted by “Please, Papa Gaiman, tell me everything will be all right” posts… Well, that wasn’t on him, was it? It was the fans who massively sent those asks.

The last few years people have been in desperate need of reassurance, so it’s likely that he didn’t have to go out of his way to choose the asks that allowed him to build his compassionate persona. Still, it’s interesting in retrospect how he was less of a writer/creator and more of an online therapist.

2.) Oh, but I come from a long line of plucky little heroes.

Have you heard the story of Neil Gaiman’s Jewish grand cousin Helen? The Jewish woman who survived the Warsaw ghetto? The plucky Jewish young woman who would read books aloud to her fellow persecuted Jewish folk? It’s a great story, masterfully told.

Gaiman has openly stated that he is not a practicing Jew. I think he may have even said he does not consider himself Jewish, something like “Judaism is my family’s religion”. He would often talk about his heritage, though, about the persecution Jewish people have faced, about discrimination. Now, this is perfectly all right and understandable. Talking about your ancestors while not belonging 100 % to that group is fine. Nothing to see here. Each one deals with their family’s history as they see fit.

But it turns into a completely different color when you learn that the Gaiman family (parents, sisters and first wive) all belong to the Church of Scientology.

The relatively frequent mentions of the heroic Jewish cousin against the almost zero mention of his active-in-a-cult close family does arise the suspicion that he was commodifying his family history. By being and not being Jewish, Gaiman belonged to a persecuted group when convenient. He could inspire and request sympathy and he could position himself as someone who naturally understands discrimination, something that specially resonates with a LGTBI fanbase.

I want to make this very clear, talking about your family history and finding pride in your roots is not a red flag. It’s the contrast, it's reaching far back in the famlity tree and bringign to the light small pieces while keeping in the dark something very big.

3.) A prince among the common folk

This is about class division. The rich and famous sit at the top and us common folk crawl at the bottom, with little to no contact among the groups. Common folk look up in admiration and privileged folk look down and occasionally wave.

But not Gaiman. Remember the memes during the last Tumblr Sell? “This is the cringe website, the autistic website, the weirdo website. Oh, there is also Neil Gaiman, don’t mind him, he lives here”. Gaiman jumped the class barrier and hung out in the common folk spaces, like one of us.

However, his posts are designed to remind us that he is not, in fact, one of us. Like a royal boon, he bestowed attention and interaction (that he could sever at any moment if the fans displeased him. The control was always firmly clutched in his fist). He relied on the starstruck effect for his predation, which meant his presence had to be extraordinary, special; his engagement laden with worth. he had to keep his privileged status while also playing coy.

He did this through name dropping. Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adam, Salman Rushdie, Michael Sheen, David Tennant, (especially Tennant because he is more popular than Sheen), Tori Amos.

One way or another, we would know he had access to these famous people, that he got to see them in a different, private, light and that he chose to interact with us instead of with them.

I can’t think of a better way to make someone feel special.

4.) Others

There are other little clues that point at dishonesty and deliberate misdirection:

His assertion that he wrote 50 % of Good Omens and that it’s impossible to tell who wrote what, when anyone familiar with both his and Pratchett’s writing can tell that 80% of the book is Terry Pratchett’s work.

His general insistence that the TV show, especially the second season, was his way of completing T. Pratchett’s unfinished business. Good Omens was published in 1990 and Prachett’s last book came out in 2015. I think if Sir Terry had wanted a sequel of Good Omens out, he would have got it out.

Declaring himself autistic only to use it as an excuse for his behavior just a few months later. What a great way to casually prop a shield in advance.

Conclusion

Neil Gaiman’s public behavior and interactions built the image of a very sympathetic character with multiple built-in defenses against allegations (he is so nice, of course you attack the Jewish man, all these famous people vouch of him, he is just autistic!). This strategy also helped him encourage and exploit parasocial relationships by positioning himself as a special companion. 

Hoepfully, seeing this laid out can help us be more aware of manipulation tactics from regular and famous people both.

Note: I am including cscreenshots rather than links because I want to anonymize the fans. Also, in case his tumblr is deleted.

[lightdancingwords]

Come Find Me - Part Five

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Series Summary: You are a new arrival to Big Sky, Montana, and found gainful employment with the local insurance department next door to the sheriff’s department. A whole new life with your past haunting you, while Beau is still dealing with the entanglements with his ex-wife. Can either of you succeed in overcoming your ghosts?

Word Count: 4,086

Tags/Warnings: Mentions domestic violence, intimate partner violence, police work, very little fluff, lots of fear, angst, escalation of threat

Song Inspiration: My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift.

A/N: Beau’s POV plays stronger here. If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! Yes, the song inspiration was so darned powerful I had to use it as the chapter title.

Divider: credit to @tsunami-of-tears

Chapter Five: My Tears Ricochet

You’d spent quite a few nights at Beau’s trailer since that night he invited you over. It was strictly platonic, with nothing more than a few hugs and sweet cheek caresses. Beau seemed determined to not overstep his boundaries as friend while you found yourself wishing he’d jump that line and then some. You weren’t sure if it was because he was cautious to not rush what was growing between you or if it was, as Doris said, because of his lingering feelings for Carla.

In the end, you decided it didn’t matter. You were okay with how it was progressing, despite the snail’s pace, because you were just so skittish still. Damn Mark. Damn him to hell for eternity.

After that night at Beau’s, you asked Doris for references for a therapist experienced in domestic violence. You needed the help. You knew you needed it. You had to get used to living alone. You had to get used to having an attraction to a man that was actually a good man. Beau was nothing like Mark, yet you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You regretted voicing that out loud once to Doris… because later that week, not only did one shoe drop, so did the other.

“I just… I keep waiting for him to get mad,” you said to Doris during lunch Tuesday afternoon. “To get fed up with me asking to come over and sleep outside.”

Doris arched a brow at you. “Girl, it’s freezing at night and you’re still sleeping on those chairs… outside?”

Sheepishly, you nodded.

“Why the hell won’t you go inside? I’m sure Beau has a pull out in that blasted trailer of his. Or make him sleep outside while you take the bed?”

“Because…” You trailed off. You honestly didn’t know, not really. Then it hit you: “Because I feel like I’m imposing,” you said, your voice small.

“Girl.” Doris was exasperated. It was obvious. You found yourself shrinking into yourself. She saw it and narrowed her dark eyes at you. “Stop that.”

“I can’t help it—”

She lifted a hand and cut you off. “Yes, you can. You feel the fear, want to shrink into yourself, to avoid—” Doris stopped herself and sucked in a breath. “Mark threw things at you, didn’t he? You tried to stand up for yourself. You tried to take space, your rightful space… and he threw things at you.”

You looked down, the fear clutching at you. “Yes,” you whispered.

“Jesus.” Doris took a breath. “Hon, listen to me. I need you to really listen to me.” Doris placed a gentle hand over yours and squeezed. “You told me, word for word, that Beau told you to impose on him, to cut into his routine, didn’t he?”

You nodded meekly.

“Then cut into his life and his routine. Take that bed. That boy is used to sleeping in worse conditions. Comes with the job,” she said with a wry chuckle.

“But Doris…” You pushed through the hesitation. “I actually like sleeping outside. No, really, I do. It’s so beautiful. So peaceful. I… I’ve been sleeping so well, I’m actually amazed.”

“You feel safe,” Doris murmured, studying you with those keen eyes of hers. “And it’s not just because it’s Beau’s home.” You shook your head. “It’s because all you see is land for miles.” You nodded. “I keep forgetting you’re not like me. That, and I’ve had time to get over my Stan. You’re still so newly freed.”

You gave Doris a rueful smile. “I wish I was brave like you, Doris.”

“You are brave.” Her gaze flickered between your eyes. “Oh… you don’t remember.”

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. “Remember what?”

“Now, I told you I saw the files. That I spoke to your landlady.” You nodded. “You fought back. Even as Mark was… well, you fought back.”

“I did?” You were shocked. You honestly don’t remember much of that moment of when Mark was trying to kill you. The therapist said it was normal, that the brain automatically tried to protect against trauma. It’s why so many trauma survivors will have blank spots in their memories.

“Yes,” Doris said, leaning forward, squeezing your hand. “You tried to tear out his eye. He’s got this lovely scar down his face because you kept trying to claw at his face.”

You sat there, floored. Your heartbeat was so loud in your ears. A memory, a snapshot of a moment, flashed in your mind. You had a vague impression of trying to gouge out his eye. Slowly, you nodded, and pulled your hand free of Doris’s comforting grip to stare at your hands. Long fingers, with short nails. You’d fought back.

You didn’t want to die then. Nor did you want to die now. Mark didn’t rob you of that.

“I’m glad,” you said at last. “That I fought back. And I hope he never forgets that.”

Doris smiled at you, proud of your declaration. “Good. Now for the love of God, go sleep inside Beau’s trailer. I don’t want you getting frostbite, hypothermia, or a stiff back. Those damned chairs are uncomfortable.”

You laughed, embarrassed. “You’ve been?”

“Yes. Beau invited us all out for Christmas last year. I spent all of five minutes on those chairs and told Beau I’m an old woman. I need cushion.”

“And how did he respond?” you asked with a grin.

“He went inside, got this big ol’ pile of blankets and set them down as a temporary cushion, apologizing profusely the whole time. That boy is bony as hell,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know how he finds those chairs comfortable. Or you!”

Despite the shaky moment during lunch, you found you were grateful that Doris talked to you about what happened. You admired her so damned much. She was brave and no-nonsense. As you were finishing up paperwork on a phone call, the front door chimed and entered an unknown woman.

She was tall, or at least her heels gave her height. She had dark brown hair and dark eyes. She was in a lovely suit, clearly tailored for her figure, if your assessment of her appearance was correct. She had money, you could tell.

“Hi there! Welcome to The Big Guy,” you said, immediately getting up to offer her your hand. There was something wildly familiar with her, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Hi there, thank you,” she said, taking your hand with a firm grip.

“How can I help you? Please,” you added, gesturing to the chair across from you.

She took it and sat down. “Well, I was looking to switch insurance carriers for my car. I’m having issues with mine and, well, it’s time.”

You nodded, understanding that. It was a common complaint. “Of course. Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m Y/N,” you added.

“Oh.” There was a tone in her voice that had you looking up.

“Um… is—is something wrong?” you asked, confused and more than a little anxious.

“I’m Carla De Lugo,” she said carefully. “Emily’s mother.”

Your stomach dropped. You had no idea what Emily told her mother. You had no idea what Beau might’ve told her. Not to mention what, if any, gossip she might have heard. Doris and Beau reassured you that domestic violence gossip was a no-go, but that didn’t stop the other kind.

“Emily told me you were working here,” Carla went on. “I hope this isn’t going to create problems.”

Confusion rose. “Why would there be problems?”

Carla took a careful breath. “Because of your interest in my ex-husband.”

Oh boy. “Carla,” you said gently, “Beau hasn’t said anything about you to me.” Which was true. Beau skirted talking about Carla as much as he possibly could. The closest you got to anything negative of her came from Emily, but you weren’t going to say that. “He’s kept that to himself.”

Surprise crossed Carla’s face. You wondered if she had that strong of a negative perception of her ex-husband. “He hasn’t said anything?”

“No.”

“I… oh.”

You narrowed your eyes at her slightly. “Carla… I want you to know, nothing is happening between Beau and I.”

“But you’re interested.”

Were you? God, there were days when you were glad nothing was happening, because relationships just felt like too much to handle. “I… yes, I am,” you decided. The way he called you “darlin’”, the way he looked at you…. “Yes. I am.”

Carla nodded, then smiled faintly. “I’m sorry. I ambushed you in the worst ways. I knew who you were, but you didn’t know who I was. Emily told me about you, after the festival. I guess… I just wanted to know who had my daughter raving so excitedly.”

You blinked, surprised. “Emily was… she was?”

“Yeah. I’m… Y/N, I’m a protective mom. After last year…” Her voice tightened, and something dark passed over her face. “It was a bad year. I almost moved back to Texas with Emily. Beau said if we did, he’d come with us, because he didn’t want to lose Emily.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Emily did, actually.”

Your brows rose in surprise.

“Yeah.” Carla smiled a bit at your expression. “Same. But she said that it felt like she’d be running away from everything that scared her. And it…” She paused, clearly being careful in how she chose her next words. “It didn’t change one major fact: her father came and he saved her. Beau kept his promise. He said he’d come for her and he did. So she knew she’d be safe no matter where she went… because he’d be there.”

You felt your heart swell. That was exactly how you felt so far with Beau. He cut through your doubts and kept telling you to mess up his life, impose on him. And he never got mad. Not once. Despite waiting for that to happen, he kept surprising you.

“He’s a good man,” you murmured.

“He really is. I knew no matter what happened between us, I knew Beau would be there when we needed him.”

You smiled, that realization blooming in your heart. Maybe it was time to change the dynamic between you and Beau. If you could gather your nerves. “And now that you’ve met me?”

Carla tilted her head slightly and smiled. “I can see why Emily likes you. I’d like to bring you my business, Y/N, and maybe we can be friends too.”

—

Meanwhile, at the sheriff’s department, Beau was agonizing over a report he had to write. He really didn’t want to. That was the one chore of being a sheriff he honestly hated. He wished he could fob it off on Doris, but he knew he couldn’t. He did the work, the interview, it had to be him that did it. But God, if and when they invent a device that allowed it to transcribe what happened in real time or just took his memory and wrote it down, they’d be billionaires. And then he’d never have to do paperwork again.

He groaned, raked his fingers through his hair. The phone rang, a welcomed interruption, and he reached for it. “Sheriff Beau Arlen,” he said without preamble.

He sat up, the news on the other end ominous. “How long ago?” He paused, then scowled. “Why the fuck did you let him loose? Don’t give me that bullshit! You knew! He nearly killed that girl!”

He saw Doris glance over at him at the rising volume and his profanity.

“Sonvabitch! Get your asses in order and do your job,” he snarled into the phone. “I’ll do my part!” And he slammed the phone down on the receiver.

Doris rushed over, closed the door behind her. She had a look of fearful anticipation. “What happened?”

Beau wanted to flip his table, or possibly throw the lamp. He did neither. It was bad enough he just cussed out Billings PD. “Mark broke bail,” he said with a heavy breath. “They checked his apartment. It’s empty.”

“He’s on the run,” Doris said at once.

“Doris…” Beau swallowed hard. “He knows where she is.”

Doris stared at him, stunned. “Beau… you have to tell her.”

“I know, Doris.” He dreaded it. He didn’t want to see the light that was just beginning to sparkle in Y/N’s eyes fade. He didn’t want to see the fear. “I’ll… I’ll tell her tonight.”

“She’s coming over again?”

Beau fought the blush. The way Doris phrased it made it sound like Beau and Y/N were copulating like bunnies, when he hadn’t even kissed Y/N. Though, God, he really, really wanted to. “Yeah.”

Doris nodded. “You better bring her inside this time, boy.”

“Doris!”

“Bring her inside or no more lasagna.”

He rolled his eyes. “That threat will stop workin’ eventually, you know that?”

“Is it working?”

He muttered something under his breath. Doris nodded with a smirk. It was working.

—

Y/N was so glad the day was over. While meeting Carla had been a shock, it turned into a good one. Carla seemed to be a good person, and you hoped you might be able to be friends. Wouldn’t that be a nice dynamic? You dating Beau, Carla being a friendly ex-wife and Emily….

You froze outside your door, keys in hand. The door was open, just a crack. Your heart stopped, then pounded wildly. You felt stuck in place, your brain screaming at you, but your body wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move.

You don’t know how long it took for you to finally move, to reach for your cellphone, as you ran for your car. Just as you locked the door, Beau picked up.

“Hey darlin’—”

“Beau, someone broke into my house,” you said, your voice shaking badly, interrupting him.

There was a moment of silence, then, firmly: “Stay in your car. I’m on my way. I’ll call Jenny Hoyt. She’s closest to you.” You heard the truck door close, the engine start up. “No, change that. Drive to the sheriff’s department. We got cameras there. Jenny’ll meet you there.”

“O-okay.”

“Darlin’,” he said firmly. “You’re safe. You’re gonna stay safe.”

You suddenly remembered what Carla said. That Beau would do everything to keep his family safe. Did that also include you? You wanted so badly to believe that Beau would raise Heaven and Hell to keep you safe.

“Okay,” you said, your voice teary-edged.

“I’m on my way, darlin’,” he said, and hung up.

With tears blurring your vision, you started up the car and drove to the sheriff’s department. Somehow you got there without a car accident. Somehow you got there intact. The moment you pulled into a parking spot and put the car in park, the tears came. You sobbed, gripping the steering wheel, unable to stop shaking.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, weeping, when Jenny gently knocked on your window. You gasped, looked up, and relaxed at the sight of the deputy. You turned the car on long enough to roll down the window.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Jenny asked, her brows knitted in concern.

“You mean besides my home being broken into?” you asked, wiping at the tears.

“Yeah, that was a dumb question. Sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the area, before turning her gaze back to you. “Beau called me. He wants me to stay here with you until we get the all clear.”

“O-okay,” you said, hating how your voice couldn’t stop shaking. “God.”

“Hey. There’s no shame in being afraid.” Jenny grabbed your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not trained like us. You did the right thing by going to the car and calling Beau, okay?”

You stared at Jenny, then absurdly: “Deputy Hoyt—”

“Jenny, please.”

“Jenny.” You actually smiled, just a bit. “Do you… teach self-defense?”

She tilted her head at you. “I can do private lessons if you’re interested.”

“I am,” you said. You decided then and there that you wanted to learn how to defend yourself. Not just some lucky attack. No… you wanted to really learn.

Jenny smiled. “Twice a week. There’s a gym three blocks down from here. They let me use a room on the side if I need it. We’ll use it there. Sound like a plan?”

“It… it does.” You studied her for a long moment. “Jenny… how long did it take you to learn to hit back instead of cringing in fear?”

“Honestly? It takes a lot of practice. Even then, in the heat of it, instincts are hard for us to break. My instincts, when I’m in a fight, is to hit back. To defend myself. Whatever your reactions may be… don’t hate them. They’re a part of you.”

“So… what do you suggest then?” Your instincts had always been to cringe, to make yourself smaller. You were tired of being afraid.

“Lean into it. Use that fear. If your fear is to make yourself smaller, do it—then, when your attacker comes at you, punch up.” Jenny demonstrated on the parking lot. You watched as she made herself smaller, as though cringing against an attacker, and then doing an upper cut.

You took that in, and wondered how Mark would handle that. You decided he wouldn’t expect it, and determined to follow through the next time you ran into him. Or… anyone else.

Jenny’s cellphone rang and she reached for it. “Hoyt.”

You watched her as she walked away for a moment, her voice low and indistinct. A few moments later, she came back. “Beau’s at your place. He needs you to come with me and see if there’s anything missing. You up for it?”

“Yes,” you said firmly.

“Come on. You’re riding with me.”

—

You got to your rental and stared. There were several sheriff vehicles, all unmarked, but with their portable lights on the dashboards. You hadn’t expected that.

“Did Beau call all the deputies within driving distance?”

Jenny shot you a smile. “It sure looks like it, doesn’t it?” She pulled up to curb just as Beau came out of your rental. His expression was grim, dark, and you were terrified of what could bring that man down.

“Deputy,” Beau said with a nod to Jenny. “Ms. Y/N, I need you to come with me.”

He was so distant, formal. You know immediately he had to be on duty and that meant being business first. You took a breath, vowed to not take it personally. You walked alongside him as he took you inside.

“We searched the perimeter, checked windows, the back door,” Beau said, keeping a hand behind your back. “There’s no other sign of forced entry. What I need you to do is tell me if anything looks moved, disturbed, missing. I know you can’t search the whole place, but first impressions is a start.”

You bit your lip, nodded. You looked over the living room, stopped when you came to an end table. “There’s a photo missing.”

Beau’s expression darkened. “What was on the photo?”

“M-me,” you said, thinking. “And my parents. I was… I was 18, just graduated. High school graduation photo.”

He nodded, noting it on a small memo pad. “Keep going, darlin’,” he said, his voice low. You glanced at him as he slipped with the endearment.

It took an hour. Every photo you had up was gone. Even the one of just your cats when you were a child, one you loved dearly. Nothing else was disturbed, nothing else was missing. Beau noted every single one of them down while a forensic team checked for fingerprints, checked the door for damage.

Then it was done.

You sat on the sofa as Beau did a final check around the home. Jenny was the only one of the deputies to stay behind. She stood by the front door, watching both the interior and the exterior.

“You doing all right?” she asked kindly.

“Why would he take the photos?” you asked, the question having been on your mind for hours. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“To hurt you, is my guess.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Break you down, piece by piece. Sentimental pieces at a time.”

“God.” You rubbed your face.

“You can’t stay here,” Jenny said firmly.

“You’re right, she can’t,” Beau said, stepping right up to the front door. “Not until we find him.”

Jenny nodded. “What about the Blue Bird outside of town?”

“That works. It’s down the way from my trailer,” Beau said.

You looked at both of them, confused. “The what where?”

“Blue Bird Motel. Ridiculous name I ever heard,” Beau said, glancing at you. “Pack a go bag, darlin’. Tomorrow, I’m goin’ through this whole place, top to bottom, make sure nothin’ is hidin’.”

“Beau,” Jenny said quietly, grabbing his arm. He glanced at her and she tugged at him to go outside. You heard their voice, low, heated, but not the words.

You hesitated, then decided to go just pack a bag. You grabbed a few sets of clothing, underwear, socks, and even a change of shoes. Then you packed your toiletries. You debated what else you’d need for the next few days. Like a book or music.

“Cell charger,” Beau said gently at your bedroom door.

You whipped around, startled.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping inside. He glanced around your room, at the simple setup. “Nice. I dunno why but I always thought your room would be full of flowers.”

“Flowers?” you echoed in surprised.

“Yeah. Flower… what is it… motifs. Paintings. Duvet.” He shook his head. “You deserve flowers, darlin’. Every day.”

You smiled faintly. “Why?”

“You just do,” he murmured, touching your cheek for a brief moment.

You stared at him, heart pounding. Something soft and dark passed in his green eyes, then quickly concealed once more.

“Poppernak’s here,” Jenny said, poking her head into the room.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“He’s takin’ you to your car,” Beau explained. “I’m gonna follow you there. Then you follow me to the Blue Bird.”

Relief flooded you as you realized that Beau was going to be with you at every step of the way. You felt the knot inside you loosen. “Okay.”

—

The Blue Bird was… quaint. That was the most respectful way you could describe it. It was two stories, with the most obnoxious, giant blue bird sign you’d ever seen. You parked next to Beau’s truck and he walked you inside the front lobby to check in.

Everything went smoothly until it was time to pay. Beau stopped you and offered the cashier his card.

“Beau,” you whispered, confused.

“It’s on the Big Sky sheriff department,” he said in explanation.

That made you pause. You hadn’t expected that. “But…”

“I ordered you outta your house, darlin’, at least I could do is cover the motel bill,” he said with a faint smile.

The cashier quirked a brow at him and you fought a blush. Did Beau not realize how that sounded? It took everything you had to just let him pay, take the receipt and handed you the motel key. You followed alongside him in silence as he escorted you to the room.

“You gonna be okay here, darlin’?” he asked as you walked into the simple motel room. It was a queen sized bed flanked by two night stands, a television set on top of a dresser, and a small table with two chairs. It wasn’t much, but it’d do. You only wished it was his trailer, not some strange motel room.

“Not my favorite idea, but… yeah, I’ll be okay,” you said, glancing around with an internal sigh.

“I’ll find him, darlin’,” he said firmly, holding your gaze.

You gave him a shaky nod. “Thank you, Beau.”

He went up to you, cupped your face, and your breath hitched in your throat. For a brief moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, then he leaned down, pressed his lips against your forehead. “Anytime, darlin’,” he whispered. “Get some sleep.”

When he left, you stood there, shaking. After you finally got into gear, changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, you decided to check through the peephole. That’s when you did a double-take. Beau was outside, in his truck, fast asleep in the driver side.

Absurdly, you smiled, and despite being in a strange bed and in a strange room, you actually slept.

Tag List: @spxideyver

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Zhihn moya -Oneshot

**I’m pulling some inspiration from a previous short story/long oneshot I wrote before.  Hope you like it!** *zhihn moya: my life Word count: 4471

Y/N first met Bucky after he’d returned to the States to join the Avengers.  He’d been rehabilitated in Wakanda, officially freed from the Winter Soldier programming.  The trigger words no longer worked.  Overall he was fine, but sometimes he wasn’t.

The nightmares never ceased, they were just…quieter now.  And sometimes he would lose track of where he was, who he was with, and have bouts of memory lapses, like he was on autopilot.  It didn’t really affect his work with the Avengers, but after a mission where he’d gone too far in capturing a bad guy, almost killing him, Sam knew he needed more help than the government-assigned therapist with a bad attitude could give.

With Fury’s help they had found a woman who had been found during an old Hydra base raid.  Y/N Y/L/N was born with the ability to read and manipulate thoughts and feelings in others, had been found by Hydra and then experimented on to see how far they could push or use her abilities.  The experiments had made her abilities stronger, and once she was found she had been rehabilitated and gone through years of therapy.  Fury figured that with a shared past with Hydra, she would be helpful in not only understanding and relating to Bucky, but her abilities could help ground him back to reality.

Bucky was hesitant when he first met her.  “I don’t need another person in my head,” he said gruffly.

“She won’t be in your head, Barnes, just helping you snap out of these lapses you’ve been having,” Fury said.  

“That’s not the point,” Bucky sighed.  He looked at Y/N.  “I’m sure you’re great.  But nobody needs to see what’s going on in my mind.”

“She was taken by Hydra, too, Buck,” Sam interjected.  “She knows what it’s like to be–”

“I can speak for myself,” Y/N said loudly.  They all looked at her in surprise.  “If you don’t want my help then I’ll leave.  I won’t waste my time fighting someone who doesn’t want or think they need me.”

“No, wait, please,” Sam said, raising his hands and then turning to Bucky.  “Can you just try meeting with her once?  For my peace of mind?  Please?”

Bucky stared at Sam for a moment, then sighed heavily and closed his eyes.  “Fine,” he said, then looked at her sharply.  “You won’t like what you see.”

“I’ve seen a lot, Sergeant Barnes,” Y/N said, her chin rising in challenge at him.  “You won’t surprise me.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh at her.  “You say that now.”

A week later they were in the room she was given to stay at the compound.  Y/N was sitting criss-cross on a large, comfortable chair across from Bucky who sat on a long couch.  He looked her over, analyzing and scrutinizing.  She was pretty, her curvy body reminding him of the old pin-ups that were actually curvy from his army days, not the ones the other men usually liked, even while she was covered by a comfortable sweater and sweatpant outfit.  They stared at each other for a moment, silently daring one another to speak first.  She analyzed him back, her head tilting as she watched him.  “You’re feeling a lot of things right now,” she said quietly.

“Get out of my head,” Bucky snarled.

“I’m not in your head,” Y/N sneered back.  “Feelings are just loud.”

He frowned.  “What does that mean?”

Y/N settled back into her chair, leaning her head on her hand propped up on the arm rest.  “Reading minds takes effort and focus for me.  Always has, even after Hydra experimented on me.  But feelings, emotions, they’re like…” She paused, frowning as her eyes searched the room in thought.  “Vibes, literally vibrating off people’s bodies.”

“Okay, then what am I feeling?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Anxiety,” Y/N replied easily.  “Worry.  Fear.  Curiosity.  Sadness.  Anger.  And…missing someone,” she said, her face softening.

Bucky’s lips tightened.  “They said you could manipulate emotions, too.”  She nodded.  “Why would you do that?” he asked.  “How would that help me?”

Y/N smirked.  “It would be easier for me to show you than tell you.”

Bucky immediately tensed.  “What are you going to do?”

Y/N sighed.  “Relax, Bucky, it’s nothing crazy or painful.  All I need to do is touch you.  Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Bucky scrutinized her, watching her face carefully for signs of trickery or lies.  “Touch me where?”  

“Preferably your chest, just over your heart,” Y/N said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward in her chair.  “But anywhere works.”

Bucky’s anxiety spiked.  He was much more open to touching people now, but was hesitant over what she was capable of.  He nodded and she stood up, walking over to him, then surprised him by kneeling down in front of him between his legs.  His eyes widened at how close she was, his jaw ticking as he swallowed harshly, trying to keep his panic at bay.  “Relax, Bucky,” Y/N said, her voice sounding much more soft and caring than earlier.  “I won’t read your mind.  All I’m going to do is put my hand on your chest.  You don’t need to do anything but relax.  Okay?”

Bucky tried to steady his breathing, nodding as his hands clenched on top of his knees.  Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, then slowly lifted her left hand toward his chest.  He watched her, his eyes flicking from her face to her hand repeatedly.  When her palm settled over his heart he tensed again.  “I won’t hurt you,” Y/N whispered.  His eyes focused back on her face.  Her eyes were kind, soft, and she was looking at him like she could see right through him, being able to read him without even trying.  Sam and Fury had said she had been used by Hydra, just like him, that she understood.  He blinked rapidly and nodded again.

Her hand pressed into his chest a little more firmly, and after a moment of silence Bucky felt a strange sensation.  He looked down and saw her palm glowing, and he gasped as he felt a warmth spread where her hand laid on his chest.  It felt like honey, oozing through his skin slowly and then seeping into his veins, firing synapses along its path.  It enveloped him, almost tingling when it reached the top of his head.  Bucky sighed heavily, his head hanging down, his hands unclenching.  The worry, fear, anger, all the things she had said he was feeling all slipped away from his mind and his heart, the anxiety being replaced by the warmth.  It felt like…peace.  Calm.  It felt like the first time he’d been able to relax after overcoming the Winter Soldier programming.  Like the times he and Steve had been laughing at baseball games.  It felt like she was injecting him with the opposite of all the emotions he felt before.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but after a little while the feeling began to recede just as slowly as it had come.  When the warmth returned to under her palm and the glow fizzled out it was like he woke up, his eyes snapping open and seeing her again.  Y/N was crying, and it took him a second to realize he was crying, too.  He also didn’t realize that his metal hand was holding her hand to his chest still.  “I’m so sorry for all that they put you through,” she whispered, her hand turning over in his metal one and holding it against his chest.  “So much pain.  You didn’t deserve that.  But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay?”  Bucky absentmindedly nodded as she stood up on her knees to be at eye level with him.  “No human being could have withstood all you have,” she said quietly, her free hand moving up and wiping away his tears.  “You are stronger than you know, Bucky, in mind, body and spirit.  I can feel it,” she tapped her fingers against his chest.  “Your mind will be in a state of healing for the rest of your life.  But your friends, your chosen family, will always be there to pick up where your mind leaves off.  And I…I will be there for you, if you let me.”

Bucky stared at her in amazement.  He sniffed and swallowed harshly, nodding at her hopefully.  Maybe she would be able to help pull him out of his head when he got lost on missions.  She smiled at him, and he had a feeling that she would very quickly become his favorite person.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, an urgent call incoming for you from Sam Wilson,” Friday’s voice chimed overhead.

Y/N frowned and looked up at the ceiling.  “Answer,” she instructed, and listened as the phone line opened up to frantic breathing.  “Sam?” she called out.

“Y/N!  Thank god,” Sam panted.  “Something’s wrong with Buck.”

Her eyes widened.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” he said, sounding like he was exhausted.  “We were almost done and then he just…shut down.  He looks like,” he paused, and she could hear him audibly gulp.  “He looks like the Winter Soldier.”

She gasped.  “Has he done anything?”

“No, he’s just standing there, with that staring problem,” he said.  “So far he’s done as we asked, but if anyone gets close to him he reacts defensively.  Forcefully pushing us away.  It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

“Are you almost here?” Y/N asked, getting up and pacing her room as she thought through a plan of action.

“10 minutes away,” he replied.

“Okay.  When you land, let him get off first, and follow him to see where he goes.  Then we can figure out what to do next based on what it is his subconscious mind is directing him to do,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding appreciative that at least somebody had an idea of what to do.  “We’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Y/N said.  She tried to calm herself.  Panicking would do nothing to help fix the situation.  They had come a long way over the past year since she’d come to the compound to help Bucky with his mind issues.  But every once in a while there was a hiccup like today.  They would all have to tread carefully to find the best way to help him through this episode.  He would be kicked off missions again for a while, she thought, which he would love and hate at the same time.

Ten minutes later she got a text from Sam.

Just landed.  He’s on the move.

She waited, sending him a thumbs up emoji.  

Heading to the personal rooms.

She tried to even her breathing.

Passed his door, I think we’re coming to you?

Y/N frowned at the text, then a few seconds later heard a knock on her door.  She looked at her door in shock, slowly walking over and unlocking it.  She opened the door and peeked around it to find Bucky standing there, ramrod straight with a frown on his face.  But his expression didn’t meet his eyes.  They looked empty, devoid of emotion.  This wasn’t Bucky.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.  “We’ve had to use the word ‘Soldat’ to get him to respond,” Sam said quietly behind him, looking ashamed at even having to say it.

She nodded and looked up at him.  “Soldat?” she asked.  His eyes looked down at her, the only part of him that was moving other than his chest as he breathed.  “Mission complete,” she said, unsure of how to proceed.  

He still didn’t move, just watched her intently, before his lips parted.  “Zhihn moya,” he murmured with a slight nod. Joaquin took a step forward.  “Maybe if we get a Russian speaker–”

Bucky whipped around, punching Joaquin in the stomach with his flesh hand, sending him flying back into the wall opposite Y/N’s door.  Sam raised a taser at Bucky while Bucky backed up and covered Y/N with his body, his metal arm protectively holding her behind him.  She gasped at everything happening so fast, her hands reactively holding onto his metal arm.  “Soldat!” she cried out, and he barely turned his head, glancing at her before glaring back at Sam.  “It’s okay,” she said, reaching one of her hands up to his shoulder, trying to pull him away.  “They’re your partners.  They aren’t here to hurt you, or me.”  She looked at Sam who sighed then reluctantly holstered the taser.  

“I think you’re his new mission, Y/N,” Sam said, turning back and checking on Joaquin, who had the wind knocked out of him.  “He’s not gonna hurt you.  But if something happens you tell Friday and we’ll come running.  Use your abilities on him.  Wake him up.”

She nodded, pulling Bucky back another step.  She and Sam exchanged a knowing look before she closed the door, enclosing her in with the Winter Soldier.  Bucky’s stance didn’t let up at first, until he could hear Sam and Joaquin move away from beyond the door.  After a few minutes he stood straight again, turning and looking at her.  His dead eyes scared her, and she tried to think of what to do next.  He seemed very protective of her, so she decided to play into that.

“Thank you for protecting me,” she said quietly.  “Your mission is complete now.”  He didn’t respond, just staring at her.  She was normally able to feel his emotions easily, but now it was just…silent.  She had never come across someone who felt literally nothing.  Y/N took a deep breath and took a step toward him.  He watched her as she took another step, then reached a hand up toward his face.  She went slowly, not wanting to spook him, and when her hand cupped his cheek he merely blinked.  Confusion rolled off of him in waves, and she felt a little comfort at finally feeling something from him.  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, her other hand gesturing to her bed.

He frowned, more confusion bristling under the surface.  His eyes snapped to the bed then back to her.  Y/N frowned then remembered, sighing heavily.  “Sit down on the bed,” she instructed.  His frown relaxed and he immediately walked over to her bed and sat on the end of it, waiting for her next instruction.  Y/N rubbed her face tiredly.  This was gonna take a while.  She turned to face him, looking him over for any injuries from the mission.  She couldn’t see anything, and took a step toward him.  “Take off your tactical suit,” she said firmly.  

Bucky started unbuckling and unzipping everything, focusing on the task until he was able to strip it off and set it down on the floor, leaving him in a black undershirt and his pants before looking up at her again.  She slowly approached until she was standing right in front of him.  His confusion came back mixed with a hesitation that made her heart break.  She kneeled in front of him like that first day when she had worked with him, then looked up at him.  “I’m going to touch your chest,” she said in forewarning.  He didn’t react, but she could feel his heart rate spike, the hesitation getting worse.  She slowly raised her right hand and set it over his heart, his chest slightly flinching at her touch.  She swallowed harshly then let her power flow through her hand.  She could feel his panic as his eyes flaked down to her hand and back at her face in alarm.  She gave him a small, reassuring smile.  The power flicked its way over his body, his eyelids fluttering as it relaxed him.  A small flicker of something in his eyes gave her hope.  It looked like recognition, and his frown returned as he stared at her, his left eye slightly twitching as his mind worked to try and figure out what was going on.

Y/N sat up on her knees, her left hand reaching up toward his face.  “Feel, Soldat,” she instructed him.  Her left thumb settled on the spot between his eyebrows, her left index finger on his temple as her other fingers and hand settled on his face.  Both those fingers started to glow like her palm, and they both gasped as her power injected itself into his mind.  Y/N closed her eyes and searched through his head for Bucky.  It felt like she was clawing through old memories, haunting images of blood, pain and death intermingling with old days with Steve, Wakanda, Sam and her face popping up more often.  She couldn’t help but smile as she dug through until she came across, at the center the spider web of synapses, the huddled body of Bucky, shivering and crying as his one arm covered his head, his left metal arm missing.

“Bucky,” she called out to him.

He froze, slowly raising his head until he could see her, his eyes wide as he choked back a sob.  “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she said, crawling toward him.  There was a strange pull at her ankles, like something was trying to keep her away from him.  She reached her hand out.  “Come back to me, Buck.”

Bucky crawled to her, losing his balance with only one arm, reaching his hand out.  “I don’t know why I’m here.  I don’t know how he pushed me back.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Y/N said, her fingers barely skimming his fingertips.  “We’ll figure it out together.  But first you have to come back to yourself.  Come back to me.”

The thing at her ankles tried to pull her back more harshly, and she had to concentrate her power more and push forward, kicking at whatever it was.  Bucky gritted his teeth, his fingers gripping her more firmly.  With a big burst of energy, Y/N used both her hands to pull his hand, and he flew up toward her.  She embraced him, wrapping her arms and legs around him.  What felt like a pull in her gut sent them both whooshing back to the present until she gasped and opened her eyes just as Bucky did the same.  Her hands were still where they’d been when she entered his mind, but now Bucky’s body looked sweaty, his face red with effort.  His wide eyes stared at her, his panted breaths fanning her face.  His metal hand was holding her right hand over his heart again, his flesh hand gripping her wrist near his face tightly.

“Y/N?” he rasped.

“Yes, it’s me,” she nodded, her hand on his face moving to cup his cheek comfortingly.  “You’re back.  It’s okay, I’ve got you.”  His eyes flicked back and forth between hers for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe it.  The hand holding her wrist let go and shakily reached toward her face.  She let go of his face and moved that hand to cup her cheek, nuzzling her face into his palm.  “You’re here.  I’m here.  You came back to me.”

Bucky’s face fell, and he broke down crying.  He fell off the bed and kneeled with her, hugging her close to him with his arms around her waist, his face nestled into the crook of her neck.  Y/N held him, twisting her body so that she was leaning against the end of the bed while sitting on the floor, making him sit with her like she was cradling him.  His legs curled up tight at her side as he held her, crying hard against her shoulder as his hands fisted her shirt at her back.  “I thought I had gotten rid of him,” he sobbed.  “Why is this happening to me?”

Y/N felt herself crying with him, turning her head to kiss the side of his head.  “I don’t know Buck,” she replied quietly.  “But we’re going to figure it out together, like I said.  I promise.  No matter how long it takes.  You will heal.”

He cried harder at her words, his tears dripping down her chest.  Y/N continued to hold him, rocking back and forth as her fingers ran through his hair.  She started to hum a song from the 40’s she had heard him listen to repeatedly.  She didn’t know how long they stayed there, but she wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“Miss Y/L/N, Sam Wilson would like a progress report.”

Bucky flinched at Friday’s voice interrupting their moment, and Y/N sighed before looking up at the ceiling.  “Just tell him Bucky’s back and I’ll talk to him later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky sighed, reluctantly pulling away from her.  “I’m sorry,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face as he got off of her.  “I’m sorry for all this.  I’ll go, I just–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said quickly, taking his hand.  “You can stay here as long as you like.”  His jaw ticked, his eyes filling with tears once again as he peered up at her.  “What you just went through was traumatic.  No one expects you to just shrug it off and go on with business as usual.  Stay,” she urged, squeezing his hand.  “Rest.”

Bucky blinked rapidly, more tears falling as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

***

Later that night after Y/N had made sure Bucky was fed and showered before settling into her bed, she held him against her chest as he started to fall asleep.  He kept jerking awake, afraid of slipping back into the Winter Soldier, but she kept reassuring him she would be able to feel it if it happened and wake him up to help him out of it.  She mulled over the events of the day, coming up with a game plan of how to handle his treatment in the coming days.

“Bucky?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“What does zhihn moya mean?”

He stiffened then looked up at her curiously.  “Why?”

“I heard it recently and was wondering what it meant,” she said, trying to play it off as a simple question.

He stared at her, his eyes softening.  “My life.”

Y/N inhaled shakily then nodded.  “That’s beautiful.”  She broke eye contact with him and moved his head back to settle against her chest.  She didn’t need to talk about that with him right now.  She contemplated what that meant.  He had recognized her even within Winter Soldier mode, and something within even the emotionless husk in his brain told him that she was something special that needed to be protected.  “My life,” she thought, a small smile spreading on her face.  

***

Bucky woke the next morning against the comfiest pillow he’d ever felt.  He snuggled further into it before realizing the pillow was moving…breathing.  His mind struggled to catch up to what was happening as he slightly pulled away and looked up to see Y/N, her face smooshed into her pillow as she breathed deeply through her mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids as she dreamed.  He smiled, taking a deep breath and burrowing back into her chest.  Her sleep dress had shifted in her sleep, revealing quite a lot of cleavage to him that he tried to ignore as his arms tightened around her.  He was still exhausted from the events of the day before, of which he was desperately trying not to think about.  He just wanted to be present, right here and now in this moment of calm and peace.

It was still dark out when he awoke, and he used the cover of darkness that most people wouldn’t be able to see in to look her over.  The sleep dress was hiked up to her hips, her legs tangled with his under the covers.  His metal arm felt from her lower back over her hip, hiking her leg up over his hip more comfortably.  As that hand moved back to her lower back, pulling her lower half closer to him, his face pressed against her chest, nuzzling her breasts until he could get comfortable.  At least, that was his reasoning behind him being a creep in the moment.  They had been close before, falling asleep in the same bed after she had helped him with hard days, but never like this.

Bucky was extremely appreciative of her saving him yesterday from the Winter Soldier.  As invasive as it had been for her to have to dig through his mind to rescue him, he couldn’t describe the elation he’d felt at seeing her face in the deepest, darkest recesses of his head.  He absentmindedly kissed the swell of each breast, his lips skimming over the skin of her sternum up to her throat.

Stop it, she wouldn’t want this.

She shifted against him, her breathing quickened and her hand in his hair scratching at his scalp.  Y/N hummed, holding his head against her neck.  “Buck?  Are you okay?”

He silently cursed himself for waking her up.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, clearing her throat before pulling away just enough to look at him.  “It’s okay.”

He shook his head and shut his eyes tight, unable to meet her kind eyes.  His hands tightened in her shirt.  “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment, then her hand moved from his head to his chin, pulling him up to look at her.  He didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid that he would see her disappointment in him.  Instead he felt her breath fan over his face, then the brush of her lips against his.  His eyes snapped open at that, his eyes flickering over her face, blinking rapidly.  “I can feel you,” she smirked at him.  “I like you, too.”  He let out the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, a small smile pulling at his lips.  “Though I think we should take things slow,” she added with an arched eyebrow at him.

Bucky chuckled and nodded.  “You’re right, as always,” he agreed, nuzzling her nose with his.

“And don’t you forget it,” Y/N said, nuzzling him back.

“Never, zhihn moya,” he replied cheekily.

Her smirk softened to an adoring smile.  She dipped her head down and kissed his lips softly.  Bucky inhaled sharply as their lips finally met.  It felt so easy, all the pent up emotions and worry all for nothing.  He hummed as he kissed her back, deepening it as he angled his head slightly, but not pushing for too much more.  When she pulled away to look at him again she sighed happily.

“My life.”

[violetasteracademic]

Velaris Memorial Hospital

A Grey's Anatomy x TTPD inspired Three Brothers and Three Sisters Three Part Fanfiction

Hey. Life is horrible and scary. I want to share a teaser for a project I have been pouring my heart and soul into that I hope some of you might find some joy and reprieve in.

These stories are tightly woven together and designed to be read in order. Fesyand, Nessian, and Elriel's journey's will be posted individually and chronologically, and occur on an overlapping but staggered timeline. However, there are incredibly heavy themes and topics that may not be suitable for all readers. I will do my best to ensure each individual story can be enjoyed on its own if there are topics you would rather avoid. Please read the content warning for all three stories and take care of yourself first. This collection is coming soon if I can pull myself out of this black hole, but here is a synopsis of each story ahead!

Part One:

Feyre Archeron is an art therapist for the children's cancer wing at Velaris Memorial Hospital. After leaving her abusive fiancé and moving back in with her sisters, her plans to heal and move on with peace and privacy go up in flames when women begin to come forward with sexual harassment allegations against her ex, Tamlin Thornwood.

If she doesn't come forward with her own story of abuse and testify against the man who harmed her and so many other women, he stands a chance at winning his countersuit for defamation and wrongful termination. Terrified of what her patient's families will think of her if they find out the truth, struggling to forgive herself, and suprised to be falling for the absolute wrong man, Feyre has to dig deeper than she ever has before to find her strength.

Rhysand Noctis is the owner and CEO of Eventide Enterprises. After losing his mother to cancer, he has felt adrift. No amount of money and acclaim has been able to give him the sense of home and belonging he has lost.

When an old family rival, Tamlin Thornwood, is tangled up in a scandal and lawsuits, Rhysand learns that Velaris Memorial Hospital is in trouble. The only non-profit hospital in Velaris and the place that cared for his mother has lost all of their donors and board members. Rhys decides to purchase the hospital and dedicate his time to restoring its reputation and making it a safe place for women and the community of Velaris to work and receive affordable care.

A chance encounter sends Feyre and Rhys colliding towards each other before they realize how inextricably their personal and professional lives are already intertwined.

CW: Domestic violence, sexual assault, sexual harassment, child death, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

*Additional note: I don't typically like to use the term "anti" in this fandom, but it is best to be exceptionally clear that this is an abundantly anti-Tamlin piece. If seeing this character portrayed as a serial abuser makes you feel upset or uncomfortable in any way, please protect yourself (and me) by skipping this one.

Part Two:

Nesta Archeron doesn't need anyone to take care of her. After losing both her parents at age eighteen and becoming legal guardian to her two younger sisters, she gave up her dreams of going to law school and worked her way up from from an assistant with nothing more than a high school diploma and unmatched grit to become the head of public relations at Velaris Memorial Hospital.

When her younger sisters ex-fiancé scandalizes the hospital and leaves them without funding or a board of directors, she has to work closely with the new ownership, Eventide Enterprises, to save the hospital and prevent it from becoming for-profit like SkyView, their rival hospital in the financial district. She has full confidence in herself and her plan. However, Eris Vanserra, the head of PR and legacy staff at SkyView, is out for blood after Nesta won over the youngest Vanserra to Velaris Memorial and got an op ed published on the negative outcomes associated with for-profit care. That, and she now has to answer to Cassian- a man she has already sworn to hate before learning who he was, and is making her job- and life- an absolute pain in the ass.

Cassian is the lead financial strategist and project manager after Eventide Enterprises purchased Velaris Memorial Hospital. After having to drop out of college before sophomore year to deal with the death of his mother, he struggles to overcome the chip on his shoulder being in an industry where name, money, and education is everything. Restoring the reputation and the financial security of Velaris Memorial Hospital is not only personal, but professionally the largest responsibility he has had in his career thus far. Everything is on the line.

Complicating matters is his reliance on Nesta Archeron, the steely and fiery PR director working side by side with him to ensure the Starfall Ball is a massive success and wins back the hospitals donors. There is no denying that the difficulty maintaining their professional lines is fueled by both hate and attraction. But as they continue to work closely together, the layers peel back and they learn that they have more in common than they thought. Family secrets, generational trauma, and their deepest shames are somehow safe in each other's hands. However, lines are crossed that might be impossible to come back from.

CW: Extortion, blackmail, discussions of suicide, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

Part Three:

Elain Archeron has always strived for perfection. After competing in pageants her entire childhood and teen years, she shocked everyone by using her scholarship to relentlessly pursue a career in the medical field as a labor and delivery nurse instead of fulfilling her mothers dream to go on to compete in the Miss Universe pageant.

She spent her early twenties working instead of dating, but her plan to get married and start a family is back on track now that has the "perfect" fiancé, Graysen Nolan.

However- the grueling hours, cracks in her relationship, and anxiety over what her life will look like when she becomes a Nolan begins to sink in. It's not easy for Elain to change her plans or take a leap, but when a tragic accident sends her life into a tailspin, she is forced to pick apart the shattered pieces of her soul and learn what unrealized dreams are truly hers and what belongs to the ghosts of her past.

Azriel Singer is an award winning photojournalist who has spent his life travelling the world. He has lived for the thrill of never knowing what comes next, being on the front lines of danger and history in the making. He is used to going to sleep in one city and waking up with a contract on the other side of the world, not knowing if he'll be headed into a war zone or march for justice.

When his brother Rhysand hires him for a six month corporate contract as the photographer on retainer for Velaris Memorial Hospital as they rebuild their image, his path crosses with Elain Archeron. In so many ways, she is his opposite. She has always wanted to travel, but has never left Velaris. She has always wanted to start a family, a thought that has only ever given Azriel night sweats. And she is engaged.

Azriel and Elain wind up forming a deep friendship, creating bets with each other to help push them outside of their respective comfort zones. The more they get to know each other more deeply than anyone has before, the more they question who they are. No amount of planning and on-paper perfection could have prepared them for a connection that pushes them both beyond the narratives they've written for themselves before meeting someone who can challenge them in all the most terrifying and most fulfilling ways.

CW: Fertility issues, child abuse, infant death, parent death, medical trauma associated with car accidents, birth, and premature birth, explicit sexual content.

This is my first time writing modern AU and contemporary romance. Thank you so much to @nikachansstuff and @rosanna-writer for offering to beta!

I truly hope I do it justice. I also want to reiterate that these are dark and very emotionally heavy stories. The characters will be dealing with issues that are deeply personal to me. They will sometimes be hard to understand and harder to love.

While I am not a mental health professional, I am a huge mental health advocate and that will come through in a blend of my own personal experiences and research, but mental health is extremely personal and not one size fits all. Nothing should be taken as mental health advice. Please reach out for professional help if you need, and don't give up.

This is by far the most terrifying but meaningful work I have done, and I am scared shitless and deeply excited to share it with you. This will not be for everyone, but I hope it will find where it is meant to go.

[jade-len]

guys, guys.

be honest with me. would anybody be willing to read any SVSSS x reader stuff (or, just SVSSS with reader fanfics in general?) like please i'm being so deadass right now. i am very willing to write, it's just that i have no clue if anyone would want to read that???

i know that the people in this fandom don't necessarily have any x or & readers, but i'm sad and pathetic and have a weird emotional attachment to the characters. like hear me out guys.

i present to you all a few ideas i have:

1. reader transmigrates into SVSSS and decides, fuck it, let's become a counselor/therapist/emotional support service pal. half of the conflicts in the novel would've been prevented if therapy, communication, and simple observation existed! mu qingfan, give me a chance!! i promise this will lower the qi deviation rates by at least 50%.

liu qingge? alright, let's work on learning identifying your feelings better and not respond via violence to every situation. shen jiu? hey, hey, it's okay to be vulnerable! no- please don't go self projecting yourself onto an innocent 14 year old. luo binghe? *pulls out 5 different documents* heavens, where do we even start? like, gods forbid any of them have a proper support system, or at least be able to express their feelings and deal with them in a healthy manner!

2. liu qingge x reader where he gradually stops painfully pining and gets the love that he deserves. he gets his pretty face cupped gently and kisses all over it. that's it. that's the fic idea.

3. bingge, the original luo binghe, gets sent back in time.. all the way back to right when his mother died. he believes that he's been given a chance to re-enact his revenge, play it smart all the way from the start and have an upper hand now that he has to relive this! however, that quickly changes when this random fucking person (aka, reader) just wont stop bothering him?? what the hell do they want??? (for this one, i'm not sure if reader should be a transmigrator who believes they're in SVSSS instead of PIDW and is unaware of the whole bingge thing, or just some npc that proves him wrong about kindness).

4. SVSSS hater (or someone who just has a very complicated relationship with it!) reader transmigrates into it after tweeting "stupid author, stupid novels". they then proceed to accidentally collect two husbands they were so actively against before. ugh! now that i'm here, i guess i'll try to help out with their relationship and give my advice so that they won't have so much conflict, ones that were super frustrating to even hear about!! shen qingqiu, that dense ass guy and unhealthily codependent luo binghe! wait, what? what do you mean they both want me to be part of their marriage now??

sincerely, very much inspired by this tweet (reader most likely isn't going to be an anti, though);

low-key might combine the first and fourth fanfic idea? will make reader gender neutral (or even male!) though. but overall idk. idk if people will even wanna see that at all, man. ok please give thoughts. or not lol

(10-11-23 edit: i'm currently writing the bingge one rn!)

[ollie-lolly]

Royal treatment (18+) Diavolo x gender neutral reader

Note: HUGE thanks to @l3viat8an8an for giving me the inspiration to write this! (My dyslectic ass is dying HELP).

started and finished on: 13th of march 2023

Media: Obey me

Relationship: Diavolo x gender neutral reader

Warnings: This contains very suggestive content, minors please don't interact

This is part one. part two part three

Word count: 963

He just was so attractive, you could never quite put a finger on why you made that conclusion. Maybe it was his smile, the way he carried himself or it was his great round a-. "Mc what is going on in your little mind?" Diavolo's voice halted your train of thoughts. You quickly scrambled to keep the conversation going. His eyes seemed so innocent but had a dark playfulness to it, like he could exactly read whatever you were pondering about. "I was just reminiscing on an event that happened this month". Diavolo leaned in "Do tell". "W- Well I saw this really pretty ring in a jewelry store and it has not left my mind since". "It must be very special to you". "I suppose so! I have been working my butt off in Ristorante Six just to even get a chance of-". 

"Sweet, sweet little human, why didn't you come to me earlier?". "For wha-" He came to your side. "Barbatos!΅. Barbatos being the great butler he is, came just around the corner. "Yes my lord?". "Could you get me something?". He gently put a hand on your back. "Go on, show him what you want". You shakingly grabbed your phone trying to maintain a normal breathing pattern. Desperately searching for the picture through your camera roll, when Diavolo's hand slowly went downwards. Eventually resting on your lower back. "H- here" You showed it to Diavolo first. "You have wonderful taste, would you like anything engraved on the inside?". "Your name would be lovely lord Diavolo". 

You turned the phone towards Barbatos, he quickly eased the sexual tension "I'll be back within an hour or so" He bowed and gracefully left. "I-  i am sorry i panicked, i didn't mean to say your name Lord Diavolo I-" Diavolo chuckled and softly grabbed your face. "Do you regret it? I can call him back if you want ". You felt your face heat up. "N- n- no i thought it was improper of me i am so sor- ". He softly placed the finger of his other hand on your lips, "Shhh, please don't be. I already rather enjoy the sound of your idea. Besides this is just a small gift, see it as a beginning of something new"

From then on, you found a small pile of gifts resting on the top of your bed almost every night. Each with a special note attached. You heard a notification:

Chat

Diavolo: Do you like the new gifts I sent you?

MC: Are you sure you sent this to the right person?

Diavolo: You humans have a lovely sense of humor!

MC: Lord Diavolo I was not joking, how could I repay you for all this?

Diavolo: Please sweet human, this is just play money. You deserve this and much for fundamentally serving as the avatars family therapist. With me you can finally have peace from such hard labor. Repaying me is really unnecessary, but if that's what you desire you are welcome to visit me tomorrow.

MC: I am looking forward to it!

Diavolo: So am i.

You had no idea how much he loved spoiling you. All of his belongings meant nothing to him next to you. His heart broke when he saw you the next day. "My little one you have been really quiet, are you okay?" 

You looked up from your tea "Well, there is something bothering me. Remember back when you gave me the ring?". Diavolo looked at you, his hands neatly folded "Yes of course i remember". "Well" you looked at the very ring trying to form your sentence. "You said it was the start of something new. What did you mean by that? What did you wish for?". He laughed "Before we continue could you do me a favor?".  "Yes sir".  "Could you call your work for me?". Now that was something you did not expect. "There is something I have to discuss with the owner". You grabbed your phone, called your work and gave it to him, still finding it weird that he didn't use his own phone. "Hello i have come to say that MC is quitting their job, good day" you were left speechless. 

"Now to come back to your topic and why I did that. I wish to change our relationship." 

He opened a small drawer under the table. Revealing a small piece of paper with beautiful handwriting. He grabbed a small pot of ink with its matching quill. "This is what I want us to be. Recently I did some research and I found something that would suit us quite nicely. If you give me your treasured blessing, you will be my sugar baby from this point onward. Not much will change if that is what you wish. I will keep giving whatever your heart desires and you don't have to work for a single minute for it. 

In return you give me your time and whatever romantic advancements you are comfortable with. Now I know this is a very important decision, you can take your time with your deci-". He got cut off by the quick scratching sounds of the quill hitting the fine paper. "I accept" Now it was his turn to be taken aback. "I- I guess we are moving on to the next step, how intimate do you want our relationship to be?" You put the quill neatly back in the ink pot. "Well if i call you daddy, does that answer your question?" His eyes widened "Well this is a pleasant surprise. My first request begins." He opened another drawer in the table and revealed a small wrapped gift. Proceeding to push it towards your direction. "Go change into this. Daddy will wait here, my little monarch".

[genesisgrace]

my year of rest and relaxation without rotting and ravaging

Truth be told seeing a person with healthy habits, an organised life and a graceful personality and suggesting that this lifestyle is easy to accomplish is absolutely misleading, because it's not.

We're watching short videos of morning routines created by patrick batemans. We're reading inspirational prompts and quotes from the safety of our couch. We're scrolling through pinterest creating lists destined to dust on our profiles.

I came to the conclusion that the self improvement movement can be just as toxic as self destruction and there is a high risk for developing a depression and/or OCD (failing your goals and ambitions can push you into a downward spiral of rotting and ravaging).

» visualise activites for your relaxation

take a piece of paper and write down what is relaxing for you personally without being to critical towards yourself. If someone tells you journaling is relaxing it doesn't mean it has to be for you. Take your time and take notes whenever you are doing something that lightens your mood. If sitting on a bench and watching people is your way of relaxation suit yourself. Do not choose activites only by the appeal towards your desired aesthetic.

» stay true to yourself

Stay true to yourself and don't neglect your own personality. Self improvement is not about becoming a better version of yourself, it's about finding and refecting yourself in this abyss of modern society. Please be kind towards yourself and do not misconstrue self improvement as perfection, because that's definitely not the same. Considering self improvement as a life lesson and experience is a way healthier approach.

» resting ≠ sinning

Having a long and extended nap, as a treat. Binge watching your current favorite tv show, as a treat. Have a cheat meal, as a treat. Go on a spa day, as a treat - you get the point. Please consider that habits are only healthy if they are in balance. Don't restrict and torture yourself if you feel the need to rest. Professional athletes know, that without resting there is no rising.

» It's ok not to be okay, but it's not okay to stay that way

We all have our past, we all have our skeletons. Previous experiences that shaped our personality are like pieces of clothing that are not fitting anymore but you're afraid to throw them away because of the emotional bond. Fun fact, if your warderobe is full, ypu don't have enough room for new garments. If you cannot let go it's time to clean out your clothes. I'm recommending you to seek professional help through a therapist if your past seems overwhelming or if your feeling mentally unease.

» the sixth sense of relaxing

focus on your senses before or after they are stimulated for a long amount of time by letting them relax. Try sensory exercises (for example breathing exercises), focus on something tacticle with your hands, catch the sunrise/sunset, go into a tea shop and smell the herbs, do yoga, drink water, take a bubble bath, listen to asmr or a new album. Whatever is stimulating your senses in a positive way helps to reduce stress.

Bisous!

[livesworthlivingau]

Memory of Lost Letters

Spoilers for ISAT and Two Hats below! CW: Panic Attacks, Suicidal/Death Ideation, Unhealthy Obsession, Grief/Loss

Yet another memories chapter! Heavily inspired by this fic I read recently and I realized it would be prime angst to make an LWL version of the idea, 30 years of 'lost letters' to Loop.

("… Hello?… Are you there Loop?… Does this still work?")

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

("Thank you again, Loop... I don't know if you can hear me, but I think I can still feel you somehow... I can't wait to see you again, whenever you're ready!")

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("Loop... I understand if you need some time, you can take all the time you need, I'll be there for you whenever you want it... but please say something, anything... I just want to know you're okay...")

...

(Sigh)

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("We're gonna be leaving Dormont soon, last chance to come accept everyone's thanks in person, if you want... We're heading to Bambouche so uhh... hopefully we'll see you there if not.")

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("... It still doesn't feel real... leaving Dormont, being out of the loops... I can only imagine how it might feel for you... I miss you Loop...")

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("PLEASE JUST ANSWER ME!! I CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!")

|"Sif, please hold on a second-!"|

("NO! YOU DON'T GET IT!! NO ONE GETS IT!! ONLY THEY DO!!! WHY WON'T THEY ANSWER ME?!?! I KNOW THEY'RE THERE!! WHY-")

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("I can't do this… I can't do this anymore Loop… I don't deserve them, I don't deserve any of this… You do. You should be here, not me… Please come home. Please take it all back… Please…" Stifled sobbing)

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(Deep breath "... I'm sorry Loop, it's been... a lot to deal with... I think I'm doing a bit better now... We met Nille finally, she's really nice, tough too, I think you'd like her." Chuckles "... If you don't want me to call you anymore, all you gotta do is say so, I'd understand, I promise...")

...

(Sigh "Thanks again for everything...")

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("Happy birthday Loop!... At least I think it's our birthday, can't know for sure, can we?... I hope it's a good one for you!")

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("Everyone helped me find a therapist, a really nice one too... Would you mind if I... told them... about you? 'Us'? They said it's all confidential, they wouldn't tell anyone else if I don't want them too... It would help me explain everything a bit more to them... I promise I won't tell anyone else, not without you...")

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

("I TOLD THEM! I TOLD THEM AND I'M SORRY!!")

...

("... Is it bad that I kinda wanted you to scream at me for that?... at least I'd hear your voice again... They actually recommended that I write letters to you, as a little therapy exercise... I told them I was kinda already doing that, heh... They also said I should start being more true to my feelings and tell people what they mean to me so... I love you Loop... I really hope you're okay.")

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

("They're throwing some big gala for the saviors back in Dormont soon. It's gonna be really weird going back there, but I think it might be good for us... You're invited too of course, we wouldn't have saved everyone without you after all! So we'll be back in Dormont in... 33 days, if you're still there or wanna meet up... I love you Loop.")

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("... I'm at the favor tree... I told myself no more wishes... I told myself it's a bad idea and would only bring more pain... b-but..." Heavy sobbing "I-I found a leaf... a-and it looks like you Loop... I just want to see you again... please stop me Loop... please... I-I...")

|"Siiiiiiiif? Siiiiiif, where'd you go?"|

("No... Not now... I need you! YOU PROMISED LOOP! YOU SUPER DUPER PROMISED!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!")

|"SIFFRIN?!"|

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("... Why didn't you do it Loop?... Why didn't you kill me?... You should have, you know... You deserve it all, not me... I... I love you Loop...")

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

("...")

(Soft snoring)

("Mnffff..." Yaaawwwwn-)

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("Sorry... about the other night... I thought I was doing better but... My therapist warned me it's common to have a relapse now and then, especially so close to the source of trauma... I ruined everyone else's night, I'm sorry I had to ruin yours too... Thank you again Loop, I love you...")

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

("Heh... I'm so pathetic Loop... I can't even see a shooting star now without crying... Thought you'd get a chuckle out of that at least... I love you Loop.")

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("Happy birthday Loop! Hehe~! Odile-" Hiccup "Odile bought some reaaally nice Ka Buan liquor, and IIIII'm drunk~!" Hiccup "Heh... Remember how you said you didn't know what you looked like? Well just between you and me... You were reaaaal pretty as a star~." Hiccup "Is it weird that I kinda wanted to kiss you~? Hah! I wonder if it'd tingle... Do you even have a mouth? Heh... I loooove you Loooooop~.")

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("... Stars I really hope you can't actually hear these...")

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(Sigh "Still thinking about you... I love you, Loop.")

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("Happy birthday Loop! So much has been changing around here, I don't know if you really wanna hear about it all, but life's been good! Still think about you a lot though... I'm in Jouvente now if you ever wanna stop by! Just look for the 'Savior's Style' shop and you'll find us! I love you, Loop!")

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("LOOP!?... Loop?... I thought I heard you, are you there?... Was it just a dream?...")

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("Happy birthday Loop. Sorry I haven't been calling more, but I'm sure you're sick of hearing from me anyways. Everyone says hi by the way! I haven't told them your secret, don't worry, but they got curious why I kept sneaking off for a little bit every year, so I told the truth, just a little ritual of mine to stay connected with you in some way... I love you, Loop!")

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("Okay, now!")

{|<=-"HEY LOOP!"-=>|}

("Hehe, everyone wanted to say hi themselves this year! Nille too! I love you, Loop! And happy birthday!")

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("Mmmm.. Happy birthday Loop... Long busy day, so had to sneak it in before bed..." Yaaaaawn "Good night, Loop. I love you...")

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("Happy birthday Loop! You know you're still more than welcome to come visit anytime, right? Just wanted to make sure you knew. I love you!")

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("Happy birthday Loop! I love you!")

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("Happy birthday Loop... I miss you... Love you...")

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("I love you Loop, hope you're having a good birthday.")

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("I hope you're not sick of this yet because you bet I'm gonna do it every year, only way to stop me is to come and make me~! So happy birthday Loop! I love you!")

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("I love you, Loop. Happy Birthday.")

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("Happy birthday Loop... I hope you're doing well, really. I love you, so much Loop.")

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("Happy Birthday Loop... I love you...")

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("... I miss you so blinding much Loop..." Shaky breaths "B-But I think I need to let you go... for both our sakes... I really hope you found the peace you were looking for... I love you, Loop... Happy Birthday...")

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...

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[...]

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...

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("Loop... It's Odile... She..." Choking up "She's not doing well... I-I don't think she has long left... I-I just thought you should know... I love you, Loop...")

[marigoldwriter]

NOBODY ASKED, BUT I DID IT!

Incorrect quotes from Descendants! Specifically with characters from my fanfic!! (read here)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Letty: I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.

Corwin: Ok.

Letty: Wait, why such a muted reaction? Did that not sound cool?

(I saw someone doing this with Red and all I could think of was Letty, like mother like daughter)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Murderer: Any last words?

Cherise: Do you think I'm cute? Be honest.

(little by little they will understand that she isn't afraid of death, not even a little bit)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Micah, looking at the Hearts's children: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

(it's a spoiler, yes, but no one will understand)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Manon: Just be yourself. Say something nice to her.

Letty: Which one? I can't do both.

(I should put Letty as red, she's so her mother)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Corwin: Do you have a self-care routine?

Rosa: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.

(In Riddles, French, Spanish, and a british accent, to be precise)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Arley, about Letty: She’s speaking some kind of French.

Rosa: Let me handle it. I speak Spanish. It's the same thing.

(Nobody knows who Arley is, but I'm going to put her here anyway. And this is very canon)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Letty, to Eva: If you see Corwin, give him this message *makes a neutral face*.

Letty: He'll know what it means.

*Later*

Eva: oh, and Letty said to give you a message.

Eva: *makes a neutral face*

Corwin: Oh no. The neutral face of displeasure.

(NOBODY KNOWS WHO EVA IS BUT— yeah, you'll understand)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Montreal: If we don’t get out of this alive… If we’re both about to die… I love you, Letty!

*Neither of them die*

Letty: …

Montreal: …

Montreal: So do you wanna talk about somethi-

Letty: No thanks.

(Spoiler, maybe, but that would happen. AND YOU WILL KNOW SOON WHO MONTREAL IS)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Cherise: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!

(Dearest, you've been like this since you were ten, please, you'll break another bone if you stay like this)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Mal: While I’m gone, you’re in charge, baby dragon.

Micah: Yes!!!

Mal, whispering: You’re secretly in charge, little dragon.

Manon: Obviously.

(THERE’S NO OTHER COLOR FOR THEM OTHER THAN PURPLE. I'll do this to Hearts family if I do this again)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Red: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Letty: *looking at Chloe out of the corner of her eye* How tall is she?

(this will probably happen, at some point, out of sight of the readers)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Eva, banging on the door: Letty! Open up!

Letty: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Micah: No, she meant-

Corwim: Let she finish. I'll be next.

(it would be funny if they didn't really need therapy)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

Cherise: *Gently taps table*

Rosa: *Taps back*

Corwin: What are they doing?

Letty: Morse code.

Rosa: *Aggressively taps table*

Cherise: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

(They were arguing about who won the card game last time)

—-–—‐–—‐–—‐–——-–—‐–—‐–—‐–—

That's it! I was really inspired by @ronance4everbrainrot to make this post, I just wanted to have some level of interaction about my fanfic and for it to be fun.

[sweetiemiller]

MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT. kind of.

Joel Miller!AU x Reader.

hi again! so im doing it! ive read over it a million times and if there’s any mistakes please do forgive me. but here’s the full chapter of the start of my spiteful fic lmao.

kidding. im actually really excited to try something different and being embraced by a lot of you has been so great. so thank you everyone who sent a nice word or even just liked the post!

this will probably NSFW at some point. im still deciding when and how it’ll happen in the story but it’s going to be a lot of fun. the POV’s will jump around from chapter to chapter.

thanks to @highinmiamiii sending me the fic i was looking for! thank you! like i said before this fic is heavily inspired by https://www.tumblr.com/tokkiwrites/771944052123959296/game-show-hostjoel-miller-x-contestant-f

and the enjoyment of au!writing. it’s so freeing and let’s us explore characters in different ways. everyone please go read this story, it’s so good and they deserve every single bit of support.

ill stop yappin now and just post it!!

warnings— swearing. referring to killing Tommy Miller (will happen a lot), little bit of fluff for now. future warnings to come!

enjoy—

Chapter 1.

Joel’s POV—

Tommy Miller is a dead man. Joel thinks as he promises to whoever and whatever is above and below that he will personally kill him with his bare hands.

Those same bare hands that are clasped together so tight behind his back as he stands at the top of the aisle. His eyes were boring into Tommy’s who is currently standing up from his seat in the front row with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Yeah. He’s going to kill him.

The lights and the cameras are starting to make the skin on his neck prickle. The people behind the camera’s making him feel tense as his eyes flicker around the room.

He can feel jaw ticking and clenching as his eyes keep looking around the room and catching a few of the eyes of seeing the unknown bride to be’s family are staring at him too. Looking… well, friendly enough. For now anyway.

He can see their eyes scanning him.

Up and down, up and down.

From his slightly greying hair that is just sprinkling through his thick coarse hair. Right down to the black patent dress shoes on his feet that a woman named Jane from production had brought him along with this black three piece suit.

He thinks he looks good. But—

He doesn’t really care and if he was asked to give an honest answer right at this second he’d say exactly that. However, for the first time in a long time he willing to admit that he doesn’t look that rough around the edges.

Which is good, because in about 30 seconds his new wife is about to walk down the aisle.

Not legally of course. But for the sake of the show, he’s contracted to act like it is.

26 seconds.

Why Tommy thought that signing him onto goddamn Married At First Sight he’ll never understand. But the promise of a new Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 and 60% of whatever income from the promotion the construction company will get from being on the show is more than enough to go along with it.

For now anyway.

14 seconds.

He just hopes whoever you are, you’re not one of those absolutely insane people who go on reality television just to cause drama. Because he will walk, cameras and contracts be damned.

He’ll buy his own Harley.

If he’s lucky he’ll get matched with someone who wants to promote their business as well and maybe they can come to some sort of agreement about this whole thing.

9 seconds.

Because who actually goes on a television show to look for love? Who genuinely believes that anyone could even fall in love under these conditions. Cameras. TV therapists. A group full of people who are desperate for their 10 minutes of fame.

It’s just not realistic.

5 seconds.

Joel snaps out his thoughts as he spots Tommy giving him a look. A look that Joel knows means, ‘Dude’, his eyes flicker back and forward before Joel realises what he’s saying. You’re coming down the aisle—

1 second.

Joel hears the doors cracking open and the music starting as soon as his eyes meet the huge white double doors at the end of the room. His hands clenching again as he keeps his focus on the door that’s opening and revealing who he is going to be stuck with for as long as he can handle in this absolutely ridiculous situation his brother has landed him in.

He see’s you walking through the doors. And he genuinely feels his breath get caught in his throat as he see’s your face for the first time.

Your eyes almost immediately meet his as you walk into the wedding hall with who he presumes is your mother. An older woman who’s eyes don’t even attempt to look at him, focused on you.

You look nervous. Terrified even.

Which, to his annoyance, makes him feel something in his chest as he watches you slowly making your way down to him.

He has to admit to himself. You’re genuinely beautiful.

And with that thought, all of a sudden he feels himself starting to panic. He realises wasn’t really expecting to find you attractive. He was fully preparing himself to be putting on his best face and foot forward during this process. His mind focused on that moment he has his first ride of his new Harley-Davidson the entire time.

But now, he’s going to have to focus on that damn bike to stop himself from doing anything goddamn stupid.

The closer you get to the bottom of the aisle, the harder he’s having to hold back a glare that is itching to aim straight for Tommy. But he doesn’t. Because he knows his pain in the ass little brother is going to have an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face now that he’s seen you.

It’s not until you’re kissing your assumed mother on the cheek and whispering something to her that he finally see’s you up close for the first time. His eyes feeling like they’re bouncing around his head as he takes you in.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph— he’s fucked.

The hair. The eyes. The nose. The goddamn lips. The white dress.

It’s not at all what he was picturing. He was fully imagining you and expecting you to go all out and look like princess cake topper. The show is paying for everything after all.

But no, you’re dressed in a long flowing silk dress. With little cap sleeves and the front of your dress making your tits look round and soft—

He has to stop.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But you’re already beating him to it with the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

“I like your suit,” you say, the words falling from your lips like they were dragged out of you. Which admittedly— is very cute.

He lets a short puff of air escape his nose as he doesn’t quite laugh but, almost an amused look crosses his face as he looks down at you.

“I like your dress,” he says back, quietly but loud enough for you to hear. Or that least he hopes you do. Because he does like your dress, he likes it a lot actually, which surprises him.

He’s not a man to even care about dresses. Or anything stupid like that. A woman is a woman, he doesn’t care what they’re dressed in. But this dress on you? He’s struggling. Badly.

He watches you blush a little as you look down at your dress, running a hand over the front of it. The silk moving under your finger tips, almost hypnotising him for a moment before your soft laugh breaks him out his trance.

“Thanks. They gave my mom free reign in the dress shop,” you say with a soft, nearly genuine smile as you jut your thumb over your shoulder towards the woman who was walking you down the aisle now sitting in the front row behind you.

Ah, so he was right.

Joel smiles a little as he nods his head at your mom, being respectful for as long as he can handle this experiment.

Oh God he’s going to have to actually interact with your family.

He looks back at you, watching as your other hand is clutching your bouquet of sunflowers so tightly he’s actually a bit worried the stems might snap in half right here.

“She has good taste,” he says as his eyes travel back up to your face. He feels something twist in his chest again as he sees how nervous you look, and before he can open his mouth to give you just a little reassurance.

Knowing that the cameras and lights are probably making you just as nervous as him, someone clears their throat. Making you jump a little as his head turns almost too quickly to the sound tensing up a little until he see’s it’s just the very real officiant for this very real wedding.

God, what is he doing?

He hears her asking the both of you if you’re ready to begin and he just nods. He looks down at you and taking the chance to grab your free hand just right there. Temping him already.

He smiles a little bit as he sees the warmth spread on your cheeks and your almost wide-eyed facial expressions looking up at him.

Beautiful. He can’t help but let the thought sit at the front of his brain for a moment.

“You ready?,” he whispers to you, his own eyes going a little wide too from how fast his heart rate is going as he tightens his grip slightly as he watches you nod and breath out a soft, yeah.

He nods back as he turns back to the wedding officiant, taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on what the woman is starting to say, her very real speech.

Oh sweet Jesus, he needs to read the vows that Tommy wrote him.

This is going to be a nightmare.