#in and those are just the traumas i remember and i am STILL 18 and that is something i forget often but i never had time to heal from the la | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minranghae · 5 months ago

Text

Taste | 18+

》 pairing: c.san x f!reader

》 genre: fluff, smut, angst if you squint really hard

》 warnings: friend’s brother!san, female reader, general silliness, stubborn reader, san loves to tease, hes a sweetie too ofc, smut, piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pet names (angel, baby, etc.), coworkers, san bites reader one (1) time, barely proofread, unprotected, lmk if i missed any

》 wc: 5.2k

》 hello! i am back from the dead with my second fic and second installment in the senses series. i do apologize that this took so long, but i do plan on releasing more stuff soon-ish. i'm working on a longer series, so who knows what'll hapen lol. finally, i just want to say thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this!

“God, I really can’t stand you, San! Stop following me, pervert!”

“Yeah, whatever, just get in so we can talk,” he yells to you with his arm hanging out the window of his car, an annoyed, yet amused smirk covering his face.

“No way!” You yell over your shoulder, too embarrassed to face him both physically and figuratively.

Really, how could you? Not after you found him with your diary in his hands, reading it like it was his favorite novel. At first, you tried to convince yourself that he didn’t see those pages, but the blush on his cheeks told you otherwise.

And that’s why you’re here: running away from San in the middle of the night.

“I’ll make you a milkshake,” San coos from the car, causing you to turn your head in interest, “You know you love ‘em,” he offers, as if you’re a dog and he’s holding a treat in front of your face.

And god damn it, it works.

“Fine, but I’m not talking to you until I get one,” you say, opening the car door and climbing in.

“You’re talking to me now,” he quips, earning a look from you that he thinks would’ve killed him if it had the ability.

“Alright, tough crowd,” he murmurs to himself with a dry laugh, hoping to earn a giggle- or at least a smile- from you, but to no avail.

The whole situation was so embarrassing. And degrading, and stupid, and embarrassing-

“Stop thinking so much,” he swats at your arm playfully, noticing the clear look of discomfort and sheer, unabashed embarrassment on your face, “you don’t even know what I have to say yet.”

You answer him with a small hum, deciding against giving him a verbal response, because no matter how much you’d like to curl up in a hole and die, you’re still as stubborn as the day San met you.

You officially met him the first day you worked at the diner. Your best friend’s family had owned it since the old owners left, leaving the significantly smaller family of four looking for new employees. College debt had already begun sneaking its way into the back of your mind, and Eunbi needed to work with someone other than her nagging parents or annoying older brother. It was the perfect opportunity for you.

“C’mon! Just try it!” The boy working with you begged.

“I already told you, I have trauma with milkshakes!”

San laughed to himself, trying to hide the amusement evident on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry you found a hair in your milkshake however long ago, but I can assure you that my milkshake is hairless,” he held his little finger up to you, “pinky promise.”

Rolling your eyes, you locked your pinky with his. Your hands lingered together for a moment too long, until San pulled his away to push the drink closer to you.

“San, you know, I’m not really a huge fan of chocolate-”

“Didn’t you and Eunbi make chocolate cupcakes for your birthday though?”

You freeze, cheeks heating up at his question, unsure if it was the fact that he’d caught you in a lie or that he knew and remembered what you and Eunbi had done for your birthday bringing the blush to your face. Attempting to hide your embarrassment, you shot him a small smirk, gently pursing your lips.

“‘Gotcha there, honey.”

Ever since that day, San always had a milkshake waiting for you at the end of each shift. And maybe it was that kindness that made you blush, or maybe it was the fact that his eyes smiled along with his lips every time he greeted you. It could’ve been the way he always knew how to make you giggle, but whatever it was, it was clear that you’d fallen for San.

Which is weird. Weird because he’s older than you, he’s your coworker, he’s out of your league, and worst of all: he’s Eunbi’s brother.

Really? How cliche is that? It’s not even like you could tell Eunbi about it. That would’ve made everything so much worse. It’s embarrassing enough to be so head over heels for a guy who just sees you as his little sister’s best friend, but to have people know about it too? There’d be no coming back from that.

And that’s exactly why you decided to start keeping a diary, or mindful journaling as you called it. That sounded better than keeping a diary.

You originally started it to confess some of your feelings about San. You wrote how embarrassed you were to have a crush on him. You wrote about the milkshakes he made you and the times he defended you against angry customers. You wrote about how stressed you felt about life in general. Your worries, your fears, the moments of your days that you wanted to forget, but your mind wouldn’t let you. You wrote about anything you couldn’t confess to another person.

On particularly late nights full of hopeless pining and horny desperation, you’d write about your fantasies, some involving random celebrities or TV characters, but most involving San.

It was nothing too in depth, it was more about how much you wanted just a taste of him. You knew you could never have him for good, but if you could just feel his strong arms around you or his lips on your skin just once, maybe that’d be good enough. Just a little taste. It felt dirty thinking about him in that sort of way, but who would see it anyways?

Little did you know, San himself would.

It had slipped out of your bag. And being the kind, and relatively organized coworker he is, San picked it up to put it back in your bag for you. The way it landed on the floor, though, left it open on its spine with its pages just begging to be read.

He wasn’t going to read it. That would be an invasion of privacy, and San wasn’t that kind of guy. He wouldn’t do that.

But when he picked it up, he couldn’t help but notice his name on the page. And unfortunately, as it does most of us, curiosity got the best of him.

San tried to stop himself, he really did. But, knowing just how eager you were for him put his head in a spin. He just couldn't help but picture you underneath him, with that adorable blush and shy smile that only appears when he starts teasing you. He wanted so badly to hear how you whimper, to feel how warm you are, to see how sweet you taste. He had a feeling you liked him, but he never would've guessed you reciprocated the feeling so strongly.

He saw this as more of an opportunity for you two. He wasn’t going to tell you what he’d seen; he’d just confess to you one night. And maybe it’d have to be secret for a bit, but eventually you could be his, and he wanted nothing more than that.

No big deal.

But, as soon as he heard a small gasp from the doorway and looked up to see your eyes welling with tears, he knew that plan was well fucked.

San always thought you were pretty. From the moment Eunbi first brought you over, he couldn’t help but notice your expressive eyes and beautiful hair. But what he liked most was that shining smile you had. And seeing that he’d wiped it from your face as soon as you walked in, he just had to chase you.

And so, as you sat across from him in a booth in the dimly lit diner, he studied your face: the embarrassed blush and sweaty gleam sheening your forehead, your pouty lips wrapped around the straw of a chocolate milkshake as your eyebrows furrowed.

Even your beauty was stubborn.

He began softly, so as not to scare you, his fingers drumming against the table in a gentle rhythm, “So… do you like the milkshake?”

You looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked, “Yeah, it’s good.”

San pushed out a sigh at your icy reply, settling back in his seat as he let his palm fall flat against the table. He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t find the words. You broke the silence a moment later.

“Look, we can both pretend like you saw absolutely nothing at all and I’ll ask to work different times of the day so we won’t even have to see each other. I’m not weird, I promise, I just-”

“Shh,” he cooed, grabbing one of your hands, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of it, “you didn’t even let me talk yet.”

San’s gaze scanned your pretty face for a moment, falling onto those eyes and lips he adored. His heart pounded against the back of his ribs, and yet, you seemed so nervous. Had he read it wrong?

“Did you mean it? What you wrote?” he asked, his voice holding a subtle tone of insecurity. His gaze fell to the table where your hands met, his grip tightening just slightly.

You looked up at him, your wide eyes sweeping over his strong face and your breath picking up. Of course you meant it, but did he want you to mean it?

“Why are you asking that?” you mumble, pulling your hand from his shyly. Your entire face was tinged pink from embarrassment and guilt, so anxious. San couldn’t stand it.

He made an effort to grab your hand again, his other hand lifting your chin gently so you’d look at him. He shook your head a little, trying to bring out a tiny smile again.

“You said you needed my face between your thighs…”

Your body went rigid. Out of all the entries, he just had to read that one? You remember writing it after watching him open something with his teeth one day, his jaw flexing as he used his teeth to rip open the plastic packet. Unfortunately, your mind was clouded by unsavory thoughts later that night, and so, into the journal those fantasies went.

“I’m just saying, I’ve needed a taste for a while now, too. Just give me a chance. Don’t run, please,” he pleaded softly, his grip tightening on your hand ever so slightly. He gave you that look, the one where his eyebrows would furrow so gently and his eyes gleamed softly, a desperation hidden in them. San wasn’t one to beg, but he couldn’t let you think he didn’t like you.

To his surprise, the confession didn’t make you smile. Instead, you felt your eyes well up with tears and a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. Slowly, you snaked around the table to San’s side of the booth, immediately wrapping your arms around one of his as you cried into his shoulder. He received you warmly, his free hand coming up to pat your head softly with sweet coos leaving his mouth, calming and affectionate.

“I thought you were gonna hate me forever, Sannie. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, hiccuping softly, no even noticing your snot blotting San’s shirt. Such a mess.

San let out a breathy laugh, guiding your face up and off of his shoulder. He grabbed a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and wiped your nose with it gently, an affectionate air about him. He’d never seen you so emotional, and though his heart constricted seeing your tears, he was just happy to be the one taking care of you: his precious one. In a way, seeing you so worked up over something he saw as no big deal was endearing. Then again, almost everything about you was endearing to San.

He smiled down at you after wiping your nose, mumbling, “Pretty girl.” You could feel your cheeks go red instantly, feeling like it was your first time having a crush all over again.

He continued, his deep voice soft and sweet suddenly, “I could never hate you. Never, never,” he shook his head a bit, leaning in so that your foreheads were pressed together, “what I read only surprised me, but it would never make me hate you. So, don’t apologize for liking me. I like you, too.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat as he said that. In fact, it seemed like cardiac arrest would be the next step if he didn’t stop looking at you with those soft eyes.

“Never knew you had such a dirty mind,” he teased, rubbing your arm with his free hand gently.

And just like that, your eyebrows furrowed again and you hit his arm gently, too embarrassed to be sappy for long.

“Stop that! It’s not good to hold in all your thoughts, you know. You should write your feelings down,” you scolded, face bright red and lips pouting. San took the scolding at first, but it wasn’t much use. He was too focused on how cute your face looked all scrunched up.

And, he couldn’t deny it. Being scolded was pretty hot.

“There you go again,” San interrupted, sighing playfully. He couldn’t help but tease. You stopped mid-sentence, unsure of what you were even scolding him about now.

“Hm? What?” you asked softly, a little pout remaining on your lips.

San giggled a little, his eyes squeezing shut as he threw his head back. It was just too much fun for him. He leaned in closer to your face, close enough that your noses nearly met in the middle, whispering, “You’re too busy being angry to let me give you a taste of me.”

That cocky bastard. Cocky, and teasing, and sexy…

Your eyebrows quirked up and your cheeks burned even hotter as he leaned in closer, his mouth just next to your ear.

“That’s what you wanted, right? What you wrote in your diary… ahem, journal,” he whispered, need dripping from his words.

And yet, you were too embarrassed to speak. Or, maybe flustered was the right word. Either way, your brain didn’t quite work when San teased you normally, and especially not when his hands traveled to your waist, thumbs pressing into you gently.

“W-well, yes, but it was just a fantasy! I was just imagining! If you read more, you’d see I wrote about celebrities also…” you stammered, your hands searching for a place to rest along with your eyes.

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not special?” San asked, biting his lip to hold back a cocky smile.

You gasped a little, hands instinctively finding San’s firm chest, “No, no! I just meant, just,” you panicked a bit, somehow losing your words yet again as San put his hands over yours.

“So, I am special? Am I special enough to have a taste of you?” San asked softly, still teasing, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice, something like an invitation.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Sannie… What would Eunbi think?” You ask softly, eyes round and full of worry. Unintentionally, you leaned further into San’s chest, prompting him to pull you into a hug. He cradled the back of your head, petting your hair softly.

“She doesn’t have to know yet. And you can always say no, baby. I know I tease you a lot, but it’s just because you’re so cute when you’re worked up. We can take things slow if you want. It’s just that journal entry… it made me…” San trailed off towards the end, his own cheeks getting pink now.

Softly, you reached up and ran your fingers through San’s hair, finally offering him a big smile, “Look at you blushing now.”

San blew a bit of air out of his nose, suppressing a shy laugh. “How couldn’t I blush? The thought of you wanting me that way…” He trailed off again, voice high and squeaky now that he was being teased. He pulled you close and buried his face in your neck, letting his lips place a soft kiss before he continued.

“I want to hear you say it, angel. Tell me I’m special and it’s more than just a fantasy. Tell me how you want me,” he mumbled into your neck, using every ounce of self restraint to stop himself from kissing it again.

And, in that moment, months of yearning for, pining over, and wanting San in every way came back to you. Your heart ached a bit, and so did the space between your legs. Everything you had imagined and told yourself was just a dream was coming true. It was true that it would be difficult to hide this whole thing considering Eunbi could read you like a book, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go.

“God, San, I want you in every way possible,” you breathed out, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. As soon as you did, he latched on to it, sucking a small bruise into it. You trembled a little, involuntarily letting a tiny whimper cross your lips as you whispered, “But I really need you to fuck me right now.”

“That’s all I need to hear, baby. Here,” he murmured, detaching himself from you quickly. He swiftly switched spots with you, leaving the booth seat and pulling you to the edge of it. He kneeled in front of you, one hand on your thigh and the other gripping the table still. Pushing the table towards the other side of the booth, San ran his hands up and down your thighs, eyes pleading and lust filled. “It’s alright if I taste you?”

“Please, need it so bad, Sannie,” you pleaded as he slowly undid your jeans, pulling them off your legs along with your panties in one fatal swoop. You were already dripping onto the seat and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

San pressed gentle kisses up your bare thighs, using a thumb to rub gentle circles into your clit. You gripped the top of the seat, already feeling a pulsing need in your heat as San’s mouth inched closer to it. His breath tickled the area, making your squirm, but what was worse was the look in his eyes. He stopped just in front of your cunt and looked up at you with dark, lustful eyes. In that moment, you understood San wanted this just as much as you did.

It was true. San couldn’t even recount the amount of times he pumped his fist in bed or in the shower thinking about you and your sweet pussy. And as much as it made him blush just thinking about it, he wanted nothing more in life than to bury his face in between your thighs some days, making you squirm and hearing what noises he could pull out of you. He wanted to have you, to know you on a deeper level. And what was more intimate than knowing the way a person tastes?

“Pretty,” he murmured into his direct line to heaven, his nose nudging your clit

gently. A long, hot stripe was licked up your pussy, making you twitch expectantly. Instantly, your mind began to grow foggy and your hips bucked, San whispering, “It’s alright, just relax, baby.”

And so, you did. You let your torso fall all the way back against the booth seat and your fingers tangle in his hair, a soft grunt leaving him as he dove in deeper. His tongue swirled around your entrance, dipping inside every once in a while as a quiet hum vibrated against you. He kept up his agonizingly slow pace on your clit with his thumb, savoring that way you tasted on his tongue.

Soon, though, San needed more of you. He needed to see you squirm more, hear you moan just for him. He pulled you even closer to the edge of the booth, another grunt leaving him as he had to pull his face away for a moment. He hoisted your legs up onto his broad shoulders, instantly attaching his lips to your clit, kissing it softly before sucking it.

A thick finger found its way inside of you, knuckle deep and wriggling. You squirmed, unable to hold back your noises. Even with just one finger, he filled you up better than you’d ever been before. He added a second finger a moment later, getting familiar with your body inside and out. Scissoring his fingers, he stretched your pussy out, mumbling something about how perfect it was.

“Fuck, San, even your fingers are big,” you slurred, back arching up in the air. San answered with another hum against your pussy, one you could tell was a shy giggle. He curled his fingers, letting his lips pulse around your clit now that he could tell you would finish soon. He slowed his pace down for a second, lifting his head to look up at you.

“You wanna cum? Want Sannie to make you cum?” He asked with a condescending pout, mirroring the one on your own lips. You nodded fervently, but it wasn’t enough for San.

“Gotta hear you say it, angel,” He furthered, eyes darkening as he held back another sly smile. You whined, kicking your legs gently. San tutted, swatting your thigh gently, “Don’t be so stubborn. Just tell Sannie.”

“Please, San, make me cum. Wanna cum all over your tongue,” you relented, hips bucking back up towards San’s face, nudging his chin against your clit. San cooed gently before diving back in. Lapping at your hole, he circled your clit relentlessly with his thumb. He wasn’t going to let you cum anywhere but his tongue.

It didn’t take long for you to do just what you’d asked for. Suddenly, your entire body began to tingle, radiating from the place between your thighs. Your toes curled and your knees tried to squeeze together, locking San’s head in place so that he could lap up every last bit of your essence that was flowing out of you. He made sure he got every last bit, taking his time to lick and kiss every last part of your slick, throbbing cunt.

Eventually, he pried your legs open and helped you sit up, smiling hard at your flushed out face. He swiped his chin with his thumb, bringing it up to his lips before licking off that last bit of you. He sighed, “Could live in that little hole forever, baby.”

You blushed gently, turning away from him shyly, prompting him to sit next to you. He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you onto his lap so your back was flush against his chest. “Hey, you can’t get all shy on me now. Where’s the feisty girl I know, hm?”

“How could I be mean after you just did that to me,” you pouted, making San laugh.

“You’re always mean to me,” he told you dramatically, grabbing your chin and turning your face towards his. Carefully, he grinded his hips up so that you could feel how hard he was. And he was. Just the taste of you had San throbbing, and the only reason he let you cum so quickly was so that he didn’t cum in his own pants.

You gasped softly, feeling San’s cock pulsing against your ass, then again when his thick fingers began circling your clit again. He rested his chin on your shoulder, speaking so softly into your ear, “And what’s really mean is how you made me so hard, I almost came from how good you tasted. You wouldn’t leave me like this, right, baby?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and turning around in San’s lap. His hands went straight to your ass, cupping it and pulling you down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your eyebrows furrowed gently as your hips moved back and forth on him, concentrated huffs falling from your tongue.

“Greedy girl,” he teased, nudging your jaw with the side of his head gently, “you want my cock in you?”

You nodded, pouting at him, “Please, San. Need you in me bad.”

San just laughed, guiding your hands to unzip his pants. He lowered his voice, looking down at where your crotches met, “Alright, you can have it. But, you gotta do the work now. You really tired me out there before.”

You whined again, this time out of pure exhilaration. Wasting no time, you unzipped San’s fly, yanking down his pants and boxers as best as you could. His cock sprung out, hard and red, begging you to take it.

But first, you giggled mischievously as you gave it a few pumps, enjoying its weight in your hand. San groaned, throwing his head back and cursing under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to grow impatient. He grabbed your waist and guided you to sit up better, right above his manhood.

You moved your hips around just to antagonize San as he’d done to you so many times. He let out a frustrated groan, burying his face against your neck yet again, kissing it softly as he pleaded, “Cmon, baby, don’t make me crazy here.”

“Wanted this for so long, Sannie,” you breathed out as you finally sunk down on him, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. San chuckled, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know, baby, read all about it,” he smirked, that smug look on his face melting into a lovesick smile as you swatted at his chest. He couldn’t help but suck another bruise into the side of your neck before chiding, “Just teasing you, been thinkin’ about this for a while, too.”

He rutted up into you, hungry and needy, filling your slick heat completely. Your body twitched with each thrust, languid and deep, San’s silent confession. He was savoring his meal, taking it slowly and enjoying it wholly.

The only sound in the room was that of skin on skin, San’s hips snapping up into yours. He knew just the spot to hit inside of you. You cried out in pleasure, prompting San to speed up. The two of you, hungry and desperate to cum, moved together in a near perfect harmony.

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me,” San stuttered, trying to keep himself inside you, but it was hard with your bouncing and his thrusts, not to mention the wetness you spilled each time he left your body for a moment. San grunted in your ear, biting down on your shoulder a moment later. He was close. It didn’t help that everytime he thrusted up into you, you let out the sweetest sounds. San wanted to listen to them all the time, but even the thought of doing this again with you made him harder.

Honestly, his cock kept getting harder with each second it spent inside you. You were so warm, so tight. San was normally a patient man, but it was hard to take his time with you.

You couldn’t be helped either. As soon as he sunk his teeth into you, you came all over him. Wetness poured out of your cunt, coating San as you cried out his name. He followed suit soon afterwards, pulling out and cumming on your thigh. Quickly, San pulled you into a hug, still heaving as a big hand came up to cradle your head.

For a few minutes, the two of you sat together, your form still tucked into San’s warm embrace as he rocked you back and forth. You both tried to regain your breath, but every little touch made either one of you gasp softly before you turned your head the other way, embarrassingly lovesick.

San was warm, physically and figuratively. Sweat dripped off his forehead and fell onto yours, but you couldn’t care less if it meant being held by him. It was strong, secure, surreal… it was everything you had written about before. There were days when all you needed was a firm hug, to be held without the fear of falling, somewhere warm and safe. San was all of that, and you could feel it now. It wasn’t just something you wrote about anymore. It was real.

San noticed the face you made when you were thinking and his heart rate picked up. Was it not good? Did he disappoint you? He nudged your head with his shoulder, pouting, “What’s wrong? Was it not good?”

“What? No! It was amazing, I just… I like you a lot. And I like that I don’t have to imagine things anymore… Well, that is if you want to continue this,” you trailed off, blabbering embarrassedly. Maybe all he wanted was a hookup. Uneasiness settled into your features while amusement settled into San’s.

“Silly girl,” he scoffed, enamored by everything you were, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows shot up and your heart fluttered. You were never one to get so worked up so easily, but San had a way of making it happen. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you mirrored, acting coy now. San cupped your face, dimples on full display as he smiled at you, meeting your gaze. He leaned in and gave you his first real kiss of the night. Your lips molded together perfectly, San’s tongue swiping across your lower lip occasionally. You felt his warm cheeks against yours, which made you giggle sweetly. San’s heart melted.

The boy pulled away a moment later, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Does that answer your question, baby?”

You snorted in response, shaking your head bashfully. You wanted to hear him say it. San rolled his eyes in response, his hands moving down your back to rest on either side of your ass. Still, he smiled and whispered, “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend.”

You sighed sweetly, unable to hold back the big smile on your face. San delivered a little spank to your ass, playful and teasing, “Happy now?”

You nodded, allowing a little squeal of excitement to leave you. “Very happy, Sannie. Very happy,” you whispered back, laying your head on his shoulder to look around the dark diner.

Just then, your eyes spotted a little red light up in the corner of the diner, seemingly connected to a security camera. You jumped, whisper yelling at San, “Fuck! Fuck, the cameras, San!”

San jumped as soon as you did, following your gaze up to the security camera. He mirrored your panic for just a moment before pulling you further into the booth, pulling his jacket off to cover up your still bare bottom half.

And just as you thought you were going to have a heart attack, San laughed, and somehow, the uneasiness melted away. He ruffled your hair playfully, moving you off his lap and onto the seat before zipping his pants back up. He stood up, leaning down to your level, “I'll go take care of it, honey. Just clean up and get dressed. And finish your shake,” he told you, motioning to the table where your half empty, half melted chocolate shake sat.

But as soon as he turned around, he turned back and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before scurrying off to the office, ready to delete the footage. You couldn’t help but smile knowing San would take care of it. What a dream boy.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #minranghae #san x reader #san smut #ateez imagines #ateez san #san ateez #kpop smut #ateez fluff #kpop fluff #fluff #smut #san #choi san #sensesseries

1K notes · View notes

spicyllewyn · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober 6. - Mirror sex.

Moon system x F!Reader

Tags & warnings. Mirror sex + hair pulling. (+18)

Word count. 2.8k

Summary. Marc got tired of Steven and Jake breaking his rules.

Kinktober masterlist.

So far, the agreement had been going relatively well. You were in a serious relationship with Marc at first, you met in a café like those silly romantic movies, with the small difference that you almost killed him by spilling your cold drink on him and tripping over him.

Neither of you could deny that things were moving very fast, but everything with him was so ridiculously easy that you weren't afraid to give him your all. You told him about the pet you lost when you were young, about the disagreements with your parents, and the occasional traumatic event in your life. He did the same.

When he told you about Steven and Jake, you joked that he was winning the trauma competition, and he could breathe easy knowing that this was not even close to being an obstacle to your relationship. He could trust you.

Things began to get a bit out of control when everything also became easy with Jake and Steven, each with their own personal charm. You never imagined being with three very different guys, but starting to experience it was a real adventure. The problem was that while you were having fun, they had endless discussions about you and the boundaries they set for each other.

Well, the boundaries that Marc set.

The main and biggest one was that marks on your body were prohibited. He understood that all four were part of the relationship equally, but he also used something he liked to call "privileges of having met you first and being the main reason why everyone is together." Or something like that, he always changed the name for it, the thing is he couldn't help but be a jealous man, he hated that Jake and Steven would forget who you belonged to first.

The first one to break the rule was Steven, unconsciously. You didn't know anyone who was a bigger fan of make-out sessions than him, and when his kisses got deeper, more desperate, he had the habit of holding onto your hips as if you were about to run away at any moment, or as if he wanted to verify that you were real and that you were in his arms, devouring his mouth as if you depended on it to live.

That, combined with the fact that he had a terrible habit of forgetting that his muscles were stronger than he thought. You tried to be as discreet as possible when his fingers left marks on your skin, but with someone as touchy as Jake, it was impossible to keep secrets about your body.

He took it as a challenge, of course. If Steven could break the rules, why couldn't he?

The next day, you could be sure that he saw you as a blank canvas because your neck, your shoulders, and even your breasts were covered in bites and hickeys. You didn't remember him being so aggressive, but maybe pleasure had blinded you.

"What is this?" Marc held your chin, turning your face slightly, just enough to get a better view of your neck.

"It was Jake." You chuckled, still distracted by your phone as you let him guide you, without noticing how his jaw clenched, but feeling his fingers tighten on your jaw.

"Darling?"

Your eyes traveled to him.

"Mhm?"

"Will you come with me to the bedroom? We need to talk."

With a furrowed brow, you obeyed because the hand that held your chin ended up in one of your hands, pulling you as if he were a child wanting to show you something very important.

"Am I in trouble?" You joked as you watched him close the door behind you.

"Sit on the bed."

"Am I...?"

His brown eyes on you were enough for you to obey once again.

"Could you explain to me what the hell is this?" His hand in your hair made you turn your gaze away from the mirror you had in front, leaving the marks in plain sight.

You immediately understood who he was talking to.

Or whom.

"Oh, come on, hermano." Jake rolled his eyes in the mirror's reflection, his arms crossed over his chest. "Steven broke it first."

"False!" The mentioned objected after. It seemed like a competition of who could make Marc lose his patience first. "I would never do something like that."

"Check her hips if you don't believe me."

Raising an eyebrow, Marc released your hair.

"Stand up, sweetheart."

If there's one thing you've learned over time in this relationship, it's that it's not worth objecting when one or all three of them are arguing, especially when you don't even know what the problem is. You stood up slowly, wearing Steven's blue sweater that you slept in, which only covered half of your thighs.

He slowly lifted the edge of the fabric, his fingers brushing your thighs and causing a slight shiver. You could swear you heard him growl when he found the damn marks that fit perfectly with the size of his hands. Some of them were covered by your panties but they were pretty visible, already turning to a purple color.

“I-I didn't even notice those were there!”

“Why can Steven do it and I can't? That’s a damn injustice if you ask me.”

“Fortunately, Jake, I'm not asking you.” He rolled his eyes while you tried to imagine what the other two boys responded to him from the headspace. "On your knees."

The cold of the floor on your skin felt good and you had to look up to meet your boyfriend's chocolate gaze. You never had a problem following his orders.

“The problem here…” His fingers ran through your hair slowly, making you close your eyes for a few seconds. “They are forgetting who you belong to. Who do they think they are to mark my girl like this, huh?” He cooed, the gaze of the other two fixed on him.

Your hands went to the hem of his pants, and when he didn't object, you understood well what he wanted. A small smile spread across your lips as you freed him from his tight black jeans, as well as his underwear.

He wasn't completely hard yet until your tongue ran along his entire length from base to tip.

“I want you to show them who was your first, my love.” Your fingers, as if you were an expert, wrapped around his cock, giving it a squeeze before beginning a slow, up-and-down pace. “Who you think about every fucking time you cum.”

You couldn't see it, but in detail you imagined the way Jake was rolling his eyes.

“It's a punishment for all 3 of you, you understand, don't you, honey?” His eyes boring into you as you kissed all around his cock wetly. “What makes you believe you should allow yourself to be treated that way?”

You parted your lips, taking the head inside before starting to suck. That always gave him chills, the way you didn't rush.

“No-oh.” His fingers tangled in your hair, those soft caresses had stopped. One push of his hand and you had half of his erection inside your mouth. He groaned.

Although you enjoyed taking your time and savoring every inch of Marc, he seemed to be in a hurry, you thought that perhaps the clumsy and aggressive way in which he was directing your head movements was part of the supposed punishment.

Were you supposed to not enjoy that?

“Push deeper.” Jake's voice caught Marc's attention, who a few seconds ago had been distracted by the messy and sloppy way you were sucking him off. He could have sworn there was a point where the only sound in the room was your saliva every time he slid over your tongue.

Marc looked at the mirror with a frown.

“Push harder.” He repeated, looking up. “Steven always fucks her mouth until she cries, if you want to prove your point push harder. Right, Steven?"

The other boy received an elbow against his ribs that forced him to look up. It seems he was enchanted by watching the way your left cheek bulged against the pressure of the head of Marc's lenght against it.

Still distracted, he nodded quickly.

It was that what resulted in you suddenly feeling him push your head harder. The brush against your throat brought tears to your eyes and you heard your boyfriend grunt. He was never so rude.

You didn't complain, though.

You tried your best to relax the muscles in your throat around him, but you were so caught off guard that a couple of gags only did the opposite, feeling you squeeze him every few seconds until he guided your head back.

Saliva ran from your lips to your chin, some drops ending up on your neck. You broke the string of saliva that joined his cock to your mouth by licking your lips.

You sniffed, looking up before giving Marc a smile.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” His fingers wrapped around himself so he could hit your tongue with his heavy member. You kept your tongue out, happy to receive it and hear the wet slapping. “Or does Steven do it better?”

Another movement of his hips was so abrupt that you felt your nose eventually collide with his lower abdomen, having to close your eyes as your tears ran down them. Still, you didn't give up, you didn't use your well-known "signal" to ask for some mercy.

Instead you moved your tongue slowly underneath, you only managed to graze his balls with the tip of it but it was enough to get a gasp from his throat. You held on for more seconds than you thought you were capable of before it was Marc himself who pushed you away.

It took you several seconds to even out your desperate breathing, you wiped your lips on the sleeve of Steven's sweater.

"Stand up." He ordered. His chest rising and falling rapidly. Jake's smirk on the other side of the mirror screamed at him that he knew. He knew Marc would finish stupidly quickly if he kept fucking your throat like that.

You swallowed hard before standing on shaky legs, the intense heat between your legs beginning to burn through your entire body, without receiving any kind of attention the only thing you could feel was the way your insides clenched around nothing.

"Turn around." Your cheeks took on a reddish color as you remembered the two pairs of eyes that were on you on the other side of the reflection. You slowly turned your back on him, your fingers gripping the wooden cabinet that held the huge mirror. “You better not close your eyes, I want you to look at them.”

Marc's hands took care of the job, pulling the hem of the sweater up to your waist and pulling your panties down to your ankles. You didn't need instructions to spread your legs and raise your ass for him.

He positioned himself behind your body, holding his cock for help. The tip separated your lips and you flinched when it brushed your swollen clit, it was just a couple of brushes as if he wanted to collect your juices on it in order to make penetration easier.

Although with you dripping and him full of your saliva, at this point it was just his pettiness and his desire to make you beg. You lifted your hips higher.

Marc looked down, his hand positioning itself exactly over Steven's finger marks and with a single movement you felt him slide inside you. Your legs trembled as you received him this deep and rough way, an action that you recognized as more typical of Jake.

“M-Marc, fuck, Marc.” You stammered as your body tried to get used to his size. No matter how many times you had done this, it was like your body insisted on giving him that death grip that drove him crazy.

"That's it." He caught her bottom lip between his teeth in a lousy attempt to silence her gasps. “Louder, baby, remind them who's fucking you.”

Somehow you felt like Jake and Steven's eyes burned into your skin. You couldn't look in the mirror, not while you were babbling Marc's name between moans, with that look that made it obvious how cockdrunk you were with just a couple of thrusts.

When Marc hit that sweet spot that made you vibrate from head to toe, your eyes closed automatically, your head falling downward.

"No." He growled, his hand rising to place it in your hair where he tangled his fingers. The sudden tug he gave to your locks made you snap your head up and let out a loud gasp, your eyes snapping open. "Look at them."

On the other side Jake was leaning slightly so he could be at your face level, analyzing every small expression of pleasure he saw in you. Your cheeks are flushed, your pupils are dilated, and your lips are red from biting them so much.

Steven was too lost in his own thoughts to object anything, the truth is that he was enjoying this new angle he had to see his cock splitting you and making you whimper more than he would like.

“Tell them how good I'm making you feel, honey.” He cooed, his fingers giving your hair a harder tug to force you to keep your head up. “Remind them who was the first to break that tight little pussy.”

You stifled a moan, making your bottom lip bleed with a bite.

“Tell them.” He growled, his fingers squeezing your hips so hard you feared your body was going to give up at any moment.

“I-It was you, Marc.” You whimpered in pleasure as his thrusts pushed your body forward, you were already on your tiptoes so as not to end up with your entire body against the furniture.

“Repeat it, I want them to listen to you.” His entire length remained still inside you, brushing against that spot that made you lose your mind. "Louder."

Your parted lips took in deep gasps of air and you had to swallow hard to recover your voice by moistening your throat a little.

“It’s you M-Marc.” He didn't give your hair a break, he was pulling with his fingers so hard that it was starting to hurt. “Fuck, Marc! A-Ah, fuck. It’s you, it’s you, only you.”

Bold of you to assume that Jake wouldn't have that in mind the next time he had his turn with you.

“Fuck her harder.” Marc looked at the mirror when the opposing voice caught his attention. “Come on, she can take it.” A mocking smile appeared on his lips, only irritating Marc even more.

Still, he obeyed.

You could hear the slapping between your bodies every time he thrusted into you. Your legs were threatening to stop supporting your body weight as they began to shake, your entire body feeling small spasms as you got closer and closer to the end.

“Marc?” Steven's soft voice caught the attention of the other two. His pupils were dilated and there was an adorable blush on hid cheeks. "Touch her."

Marc grunted when he realized that this wasn't the punishment he'd originally thought, but who was he to say no to Steven? The hand that was holding your hip slowly slid between your legs, separating your pussy lips with his fingers and then pressing his thumb against your sensitive clit.

He immediately felt your little hole tighten around him.

“Circles.”

“I know how to touch her, Steven.” He growled in your ear, only reminding you of the pair who were probably enjoying the show. The pleasure you were experiencing was too much to rescue the few grams of shame you might have somewhere on your body.

Your nails scratched the wood of the furniture in front of you.

“Cum all over me, honey.” He managed to whisper between moans. Two more thrusts of his body snatching the air from your lungs. “I bet they’ll like it.”

And that was enough for the wave of pleasure to make your body tingle from head to toe, your walls milking Marc until he followed you immediately after, filling you with his warm, thick liquid, which he pushed deeper inside you with a couple more strokes.

For a few seconds the only thing you heard along with the ringing in your ears was Marc's heavy breathing. After a moment his fingers gripped your hips, drawing your attention.

He gave you one more thrust and you squealed, sensitive, overstimulated.

“Marc.” You complained, looking up at the mirror in front of you once more as you tried to catch your breath.

On the other side, Jake's smile greeted you, almost playful.

“Let's see which name you can shout the loudest, princesa.”

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk @chinglewingledingledong @queerponcho @faretheeoscar @spideyman-peter

Remember to comment if you want to be on the kinktober tag list!! <3

2K notes · View notes

breadvidence · 10 days ago

Text

Why each Jean Valjean can't fuck. And yet...

The Brick: The first time you come on to the man, he smiles. The next time, he gives you money (hey, you're not too proud). Then? He ghosts you. So much for physical prowess; the two of you never made it to first base. Whether out of choice, trauma, or authorial fetish, the man's a committed virgin. And yet... you have to admit, the sweet memories of how those muscles looked during the whole cart debacle have done more for your alone-time than some in-person performances.

'34: The strength, the money, the air of dignity—he's got the same appeal as the original, and if he embodies his sadness with the aesthetic of a melting candle, well, that's a phallic-adjacent image, ain't it? Awful shame he's just as caught up in his penance and his duty, too. With a sorrowful (if somewhat aggrieved) shrug, he's off to the sewers, and that's not any kind of euphemism. And yet... you've seen how he can balance a guy on his back and not bat an eyelash. A person has got to wonder about natural talent.

'35: You think you can get between him and that young woman he raised, do you? And yet... if you did, that's a lot of built-up frustration, isn't it? And he's mediocre handsome; maybe it's all a matter of how lonely the night is.

'48: You hear he's into this identity play, right? Well, you appreciate a man who can play a role. From all you've heard, it'll be as explosive as an inexplicable outbreak of violence in a foundry. He takes out a cane—hell, yeah. Then a pair of sunglasses—well, maybe—no—is he pretending to be blind?—is this ableist—?—you're pretty sure—good grief, this hasn't gone in a direction you expected. And yet... you know he got another guy to enter a hole despite there being zero sense to the thing; maybe the same will happen to you.

'52: There are men who could fuck if they could learn to appreciate what they've got, and this one can't; multiple boyfriends in the wings and what's he got eyes on? That young woman he raised. And yet... something makes Robert come home every night, doesn't it?

'58: What's he look like? what's he say, or do? You can't quite remember. You keep forgetting to add him to your body count. And yet... you can't actually say he can't fuck, with the memory so vague.

'67: This fuckin' party time rolls down the tracks until it drinks too heavy and falls right off. You can't even call it bad so much as absurd, but you can only go so far off-script before it's certainly not good. And yet... how many friends have you told about it, eh?

'72: Fucking a glacier would be a less chilly experience. And yet... he'll give you the silent disappointed daddy look the whole time, if that's your kind of thing.

'78: This fella's wearing a promise ring for someone else. Or, a sacred vow ring? In any case, he's pretty sure all that sweating and grimacing would be bad for his skin. And yet... there's a clueless virgin trope in a certain kind of fiction for a reason, right?

'98: His belief in worker ownership of the means of production and strong ACAB stance might get you in the mood, but this Valjean hasn't gotten to the point in his politics where he's unpacked the impact of heterosexism on his ability to express vulnerability, by which I mean he's absolutely not going down on you. And yet... he survives the story and still has time to learn and grow, and it's hard to beat a sugar daddy who hands out company shares.

'00: No. And yet... no.

'07: The impediment of being a cartoon aside, makes it real hard to be skilled when his mustache mostly stands in for his mouth. And yet... the potential of cartoon physics, am I right?

'12: With that little fluid in his body the only flag this babe's raising is at low tide in a dry-dock. And yet... your nostalgia does a lot to shine a positive light on the performance he can muster.

'18: I've seen what it looks like when he roars into a mattress and can tell you not to bother; nobody's that frustrated who's been having a good time, and he'll pass the energy along. And yet... maybe I would have a different opinion if I'd been viewing him from behind?

#les mis #les misérables #shitpost #jean valjean

65 notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

Text

Am I Making You Feel Sick? | Supernatural Series Rewrite | A doctorbitchcrxft original | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: literally every warning ever, y/n's in a rough ass spot dude, hallucinations, recovering from a sexual assault (PLS HEED THIS WARNING THIS CHAPTER REFERS TO THIS HEAVILY), slightly toxic relationship dynamic, mentions of torture, discussions of religious trauma, discussing parental death, discussing major character death, isolation, depression, discussions of anxiety/not eating bc of it, y/n's personality is changin', man. off the rails fr, canon violence, canon gore, nightmares

Word Count: 6509

A/N: TEEHEE my first original episode!!! this episode is very heavy (obvi bc dean just died) but i still hope you guys enjoy it!!!!

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:

the first episode of season 4 will be published on January 18, 2025 (how is it 2025 already). I do apologize for the delay, but I want to make sure that my writing is absolutely perfect for you guys because I love you very dearly.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

What a curious animal you'd become.

Killing was a part of your job. You danced with death on a daily basis; nothing about the concept was unfamiliar to you. And yet, everything you felt was completely foreign.

Grief: a simple word to encapsulate such a complex feeling. You thought you'd grieved before, and of course, you had. But losing Stephen, your mother, and your father couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of what losing him felt like.

Dean was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

The first day was his funeral. You and Sam refused to let Bobby burn his body; each of you knowing your insistence was due to a desire to go make demon deals yourselves. You were sure Bobby knew, too, but he said nothing. He simply helped Sam fashion a coffin out of a tree they cut down while you tried to piece Dean back together.

Tears fell on the stitches as you worked, water dampening the blood that had dried around the edges of the wounds. You did your best to clean the wounds gingerly, and you briefly laughed at yourself for being so careful when he wasn't even alive anymore. You quickly collapsed in a heap of sobs, biting the side of your hand nearest your pinky to keep yourself quiet.

Brushing his hair back, you would bend down occasionally to press kisses to his forehead. You cradled his head in your lap until the position you were in got uncomfortable. Feeling a lump in the back pocket of your jeans, you took out the wallet that was stowed there and tossed it aside. In the process, the little slip of paper Dean had given you at Christmas fell out.

Remembering what it was, you smiled fondly. It was his "coupon" he'd given you to redeem when he passed. It was a sweet gesture in an incredibly fucked up way, but your heart just hurt as you ran your hand over the pendant still around his neck.

You stared at his handwriting for a while, remembering when he'd jokingly asked you for cursive lessons after watching you write in your journal. His handwriting was admittedly horrendous, but you found it adorable. There was nothing you wouldn't do to see his hands move again.

You kissed the paper, folded it up, and stowed it in the only pocket of his jeans that wasn't ripped. The amulet felt foreign around your neck, but its weight brought you a slight bit of comfort.

Come to think of it, you'd never watched a loved one die. You'd had to kill your parents after they were turned, but that was completely different from watching the life drain from someone you loved with every bit of your soul.

You felt like you'd never leave that day. You'd never stop reliving those last few moments or his last words to you. Dean was never good with words; he showed his love in other ways. But his final profession of love to you was absolutely what you needed to hear, and yet, you felt no sense of closure.

Sam helped Bobby lower the casket into the ground, and you marked it with a cross they'd made from two extra pieces of wood.

As soon as you'd shoveled the last bit of dirt over the casket, you kissed Sam's cheek, then Bobby's, then sped off in one of Bobby's cars aimlessly.

****

You hadn't answered calls from Sam or Bobby since Dean's funeral.

You had forgotten how hard this was; being alone.

From the time your parents died when you were eighteen to the time you met the Winchesters at twenty-six, you'd been almost completely alone. Every day was spent in complete silence. You wouldn't speak unless spoken to, or unless it was necessary to move a case forward. Sure, you enjoyed music on road trips, but the car wasn't filled with laughter or witty chatter.

Hunting wasn't exactly a lively or rewarding profession. It never felt like your life was your own; it was always spent in the service of keeping everyone else safe. As a child, you frequently questioned why that was your responsibility. Your father would always tell you, "Because that's how we've always done it."

As far as you knew, everyone before you in your family had been hunters. You were the last surviving of a long line of hunters that your father always told you dated back to the birth of the first vampire. You weren't quite sure if that was your father over exaggerating, but you grew up believing this was what you were destined for.

As a young woman, you didn't even entertain the idea of doing anything else with your life. You had no skills, no documentation, no money, and no family. Where else could you go aside from diners to search the morning paper for an interesting obituary?

When you met Bobby, you thought that maybe things could be different. He'd found you after a hunt gone wrong against a werewolf, holding your insides together with your hoodie wrapped around your waist. The scariest part of your scrape with death was that you weren't even afraid of dying in that moment.

Steven had been the light of your world. You felt such a maternal relationship with him given the unbelievable amount of time you spent taking care of him while your parents were away, and his death truly hit you the hardest.

Your grief lessened with the passage of time, but you'd learned recently that all you'd done was numb it. You never truly healed from the loss of your parents and brother.

However, despite the tedious and often strife-filled existence you led, you were happy. At least, you believed you were happy, because you hadn't ever known what that felt like; that was, until you met the Winchesters. The little friend group you formed with them was your light in the darkness.

You felt cheated. If there was a god, he was a merciless bastard for giving you the best thing you could've asked for and ripping him away from you so soon.

Over and over, Dean's screams from that horrific night echoed in your mind. No amount of music could drown out the sounds rattling around your head.

That was when you were awake. When you would sleep, though, you’d dream of his experience in Hell.

The first time it’d happened the night after his funeral, you heard Dean screaming yours and Sam’s names over and over again, begging for help. And the next night, it happened again. The dreams of his experience in Hell were only becoming more vivid. Hooks tore through his flesh and kept the skin taut as he dangled over the demons who'd come to torture him. The nightmares were becoming so bad that you were afraid to sleep.

You'd wake with a start to the sound of Dean screaming your name, voice raw and pleading. You couldn't take it anymore.

It was as if he was just out of your reach. You were frozen in space just too far from Dean. Seeing him should have comforted you, but this was only hurting you further. You would have rathered never see him again than continuously watch him go through something so horrific.

The thing that finally broke you completely was a dream you had about Dean talking to you while he was tortured.

"Oh, god, (Y/N)," Dean cried as a demon called Alistair ripped into his flesh, "(Y/N), it hurts, help me, please! God, I can’t fucking take this anymore!"

When you awoke from that dream, you knew what you had to do. Somehow, someway, you were going to get a ticket to the pit, and you'd drag him out yourself. Even if you couldn't, at least you'd get to see him again. You'd tried to make deals, but no one would budge. Thus, you became desperate.

****

You abandoned your phone and laptop and continuously swapped out the cars you stole; only black cars, though, to help conceal you in the night. Every few weeks, you decided you'd switch out the wig you wore. Sometimes, you'd stuff your clothes to make your body shape change or steal a pair of reading glasses from a drug store to skew your appearance further.

After the Mystery Spot in Florida when the trickster made you believe Dean was dead for six months, you weren’t quite ready to go as far as you were willing now. Now, with the assurance that Dean was truly suffering given your recurring, horrible dreams, you were done.

The first stop on your mission was the prison where your life was changed forever. You'd been stalking the man responsible for a little over a week now. Avoiding the watchful eye of the Winchesters' old friend Deacon was difficult, but you managed. At last, the day came where you'd confront him.

In the dark of the guard's home, whose name you'd learned was Evan Kirkpatrick, you waited with a chloroform rag in your hand.

You didn't even allow him to turn the lights on before you were dragging his unconscious body out to the van you'd stolen.

****

In the middle of nowhere in Montana, you'd found a cabin when you were around twenty-two years old. It became your safe house when you needed it. Not even the Winchester brothers knew about it, and you preferred it that way. You knew if you'd told Sam about it, this would’ve been the first place he'd look for you when you first disappeared.

You had the guard securely tied to a chair in the center of the room. You played one of the records that had been left in the cabin and whistled along to it.

Sheets of plastic covered the floor beneath Evan's and your shoes to make for an easy cleanup when you were done with him.

The man before you slowly started to awaken. You remained seated comfortably next to the record player, face unchanged from its numb expression you seemed to permanently wear these days.

The guard groaned, head rolling side to side to try and get his bearings. When his eyes settled on you, he seemed to sober up immediately.

"Oh, fuck," he panicked, immediately trying to yank his way out of his binds.

"Hi," you said nonchalantly. "Remember me?"

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?" he whined. "But this is fucking crazy!"

"Oh, you're sorry," you laughed coldly. You stood and approached the table you set up with all sorts of weapons next to him just out of his reach.

"Lady, look—"

"No, you listen to me," you spat, getting in his face. "We're gonna play a game. Every time you say 'no' or 'stop,' I'll drag it out even longer. Then, maybe, you'll really be sorry."

"I am! I am!" he cried.

"Y'know, for some reason, I don't believe you." You picked up a pair of pliers from the table beside you.

"No, no, please!" the guard wailed.

"What did I say about that word?" you taunted.

****

Hours later, the man in front of you was on the brink of death. His entire body was littered with remnants of your work, and you were ready to deliver the final blow. Seeing this man made you physically ill, and you were just ready for it to be over.

And so, you ended it at point-blank range. You picked up the chair, the plastic mat, his body, and you dragged them outside to be burnt in a clearing outside of the cabin.

You watched it all burn emotionlessly, the numbing having returned to every one of your limbs.

'I'm coming, Dean. I promise.'

****

As you’d mentioned to Dean, your father insisted upon you and Steven learning different methods of torture when you were younger. He thought it would enable you to survive them easier as well as be able to get the information you needed from the various creatures you hunted.

As much as you hated to admit it, you were good at it. As fucked up as it was, your father had taught you how to detach from the reality of what you were putting another human through and focus on getting what you needed.

What you told yourself you needed from the guard was a way to ensure you would make it down to Hell. However, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d done it because you wanted him to suffer just as you were suffering.

You knew you’d need to continuously do horrible things for your plan to work. You hoped that you would attract the attention of a demon you’d allow to use you for a ride downstairs, or a crossroads demon would find you so enticing because of your deeds that they’d make a deal with you.

In truth, you knew that logic wasn’t sound. However, you were so desperate, you needed something, anything, to occupy your time and make you feel you were getting closer to seeing Dean again.

You never considered yourself the emotional type before losing him. The trickster's comparison of you to Full Metal Jacket would sometimes provide you a lifeless laugh given how well he'd predicted all you'd become.

The nightmares were relentless. You tried every form of soothing yourself to sleep— meditation, a sound machine, smoking before bed— anything to possibly change your night terrors, but nothing worked. Every night, Dean was torn apart in front of you brokenly crying yours or Sam’s name.

While you were awake, you would find your reflection staring back at you as you were on the day of your assault. The guard uniform, mussed up ponytail, and scratches on the side of your face had returned; undoubtedly due to your sleep deprivation and rapidly decaying mental state.

You’d see flashes of Dean’s body laying on the ground in the shadows of the cabin with the gashes the Hellhound had given him or the heads of your parents’ monstrous forms. Steven appeared several times with half of his face torn to shreds, just as you’d found him in his car so long ago.

Smoking weed didn’t help; neither did Xanax. Nothing could supply you reprieve from your anxiety-ridden days. Your anxiety was driving you to the point of being unable to eat. Exhausted, high, anxious, and malnourished, you passed out curled up in a ball on the couch. That time, a different dream disrupted your sleep.

You awoke in the middle of a clearing in the woods. The sun streamed through trees of an almost unnatural green, and the grass felt too pillowy soft beneath you.

You sat up to find a bush burning beside you.

"Seriously?" you cursed at the sky. "A burning bush? I'm not fucking Moses."

"You'd do well to mind your tongue in my presence," the bush replied.

"Well, excuse me, but you're a bush. In my dream. I don't have to do what you say," you answered.

"I'm not a bush, (Y/N). And I'm not god, either. My name is Uriel," the voice said.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"It will. I am an angel. I have been sent by god to recruit you for a mission of the utmost importance," Uriel answered.

"Yeah, right. You're an angel," you scoffed. "How come you don't have a harp and fluffy wings?"

"Frankly, your human depictions of us are insulting," replied Uriel. "I cannot show you my true face or true voice; it would blind and deafen you."

"So.. bush..." you trailed off. "Wait, why am I even entertaining this? You're not real; this is just a dream."

"I was told you were stubborn," Uriel said more to himself than you. "How have you been sleeping?"

You scoffed. "If you're a divine being, or whatever, you should already know the answer."

"I do. I am the one who bestowed those visions upon you," Uriel replied.

"Oh! Wonderful." You suddenly had a realization. "Wait, visions? They're not dreams?"

"No, (Y/N). Those were all very real," Uriel explained. "Michael greatly admired your craftsmanship." The angel was undoubtedly referring to your torture of the guard; you hadn’t done anything else in the last month.

"The archangel?" you questioned. "Why would he—?"

"Because that skillset is why you have been chosen for this mission," Uriel replied. "Angels, like demons, need vessels. But we need willing participants. In order for us to carry out our work, we need you to find them. Michael believes your handiwork will help us find these vessels."

You considered. "And what do I get in return?"

"You humans and... reciprocity," the angel remarked disdainfully. "All you need to know is this will help get Dean out of Hell. You know what he's experiencing presently, and I will continue to show it to you until the work is done. Do we understand each other?"

You nodded, stomach turning. "I gotta be honest, though, man, I don't know how much more of seeing Dean like that I can take."

"You will take it for as long as I say you must," he responded forcefully, the bush erupting further into flame with his anger. "Michael believes it will give you incentive to get the job done quicker. This is not up for negotiation."

Your jaw clenched in anger, but you knew better than to argue. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hunt," Uriel responded. "Find suitable vessels. And, if they do not agree to having an angel possess them, use force."

"You've gotta know no one's just gonna agree to that."

"Precisely why we've enlisted your help, (Y/N)," the angel replied monotonously.

"What, do I just pick randoms off the street?" you scoffed.

"You'll know them when you see them," Uriel answered.

"How do I even know this is real anyway?"

Before you could get an answer to your question, you woke up.

You sat up with a start and turned to look out the open window you had certainly closed before you went to sleep. And just outside, a bush you'd never noticed before was burning.

"Great."

****

It was nearly humorous; the times when you'd switch out your car and hear a growling dog, nearly resulting in an innocent animal being shot in the head. You'd then realize you weren't shooting at a Hellhound, and it would all come rushing back to you. Sometimes, you'd flip through the channels of the radio and find the classic rock station and immediately start sobbing. Even saying his name out loud hurt.

No respite from the nightmares was ever granted to you. There was no opportunity for you to dream of those quiet moments with Dean; no escape from the horrible reality of Dean in Hell and you becoming some angel's weapon.

You felt like you were going crazy. You didn't feel entirely convinced to join in Uriel's game— if that had even been real— but you would do anything to help Dean. Night by night, you saw him worn down even further. His resolve was breaking, and his voice was raw from screaming your name. It broke your heart to pieces.

A few days after Uriel's visit, you went out to a town a state over to get groceries. Suddenly, you made brief eye contact with a tall black man. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, but your ears began ringing as soon as you laid eyes on him.

Out of nowhere, you thought, 'Uriel.'

Discreetly, you turned out of the grocery store and began to follow him. Your hands were buried in your hoodie pockets, and you kept your head down low to avoid suspicion.

However, despite the gun you were gripping in your jacket pocket, you knew you couldn't kidnap him now; it was the middle of the day, and people surrounded you.

So you followed him. For a few days, actually. You got to know his and his family's routine and when he was most likely to be alone. Finally, your opportunity arose. His daughter and wife had gone out for the little one's dance class, and night had fallen.

You frantically pounded on his door. You pretended you were having car troubles and were new to town, so you had no friends to call.

You felt horrible because this man was so nice to you, but you would do anything for Dean. Under these circumstances, that definitely scared you.

You took your crowbar and knocked him over the head hard, then shoved him in the backseat of the stolen sedan you drove. Needless to say, you'd have to switch it out urgently.

****

Finally, you got back to your cabin. You dragged the man into it where new sheets of plastic had been laid over the floor and walls.

You securely tired the man to the chair placed in the exact center of the room and waited patiently for him to wake up.

You turned on your favorite of the cabin's records— "Laughing on the Outside" by Bernadette Carroll— and whistled along.

Slowly, the man came to.

"Sorry about all this," you said earnestly when he became completely alert. "It's my job. It's complicated, y'know?"

"Who are you? What do you want?!" he asked frantically. "Whatever it is, I’ll— I’ll give it to you!"

"Perfect," you replied. "Then this shouldn't be difficult at all."

"What is it? Money?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that," you said. "Now, listen, you're gonna think I'm crazy, but—"

"I do already, don't worry," the man snarked, pulling at his restraints.

"I like you. Honestly," you commented, offering a small smile. "You believe in god?"

"What does that—"

"Just answer the question, please," you said evenly.

He nodded timidly.

"Well, one of his angels needs your help. Uriel's his name. And all you gotta do is say yes," you explained. "He just needs to borrow your body for a bit."

"What?! What the hell does that mean?" he panicked.

"Just say yes." Your voice remained monotonous, but there was a slight pleading to it.

"No! No way!" he said.

You sighed and got up to approach your tools. "I really didn't wanna have to do this."

****

Finally, you wore the man down. It didn't take him very long, to be fair, but it was much more difficult for you to torture an innocent person for an angel than it was to torture your rapist.

Uriel seemed to notice your confliction. He stood from the chair having healed the man's wounds from inside his body and crossed the room to you. "Be not afraid, (Y/N)."

"I'm not... but thanks, I guess," you replied.

"I can tell you're troubled. Keep in mind, if you choose to stop now, you will never stop dreaming of Dean in Hell," he asserted while he turned away from you.

"Hey, wait a second, that wasn't part of our deal," you said, following him.

"We don't have a deal, (Y/N). I gave you an order," he replied calmly. His even and monotonous voice was both comforting and unsettling.

"But... what about Dean?" you protested.

"We're not saving him for you, child. No one's that special. God has his own plan for Dean."

You rolled you eyes and turned away.

"What is it?" Uriel questioned.

"I'm just not buying this whole 'god has a plan' thing," you said, an edge of anger in your voice. "If he did, that would mean he planned for me to kill my parents. He planned for me to get raped. He planned for Dean to go to Hell—"

"He did," was all Uriel simply replied with.

Your face went slack in shock. If you didn't hate "god" before, you certainly did now.

"I'll be seeing you, (Y/N)."

When you turned around, Uriel was gone.

****

You spent the next few days angry. Sure, the good things in the world were part of "god's plan," but so was genocide and the Holocaust. You could not wrap your head around how a loving and just god would include such terrible things in his "masterful plan."

Then, you went numb again. You always thought that proof of the existence of a higher power would make you feel better, but it had done the exact opposite. Nothing you did seemed to matter anymore; everything you did felt like being a pawn in a game you didn't know you were playing. Dean's suffering was god's plan, and you hated god for it.

But you did as told. Nothing would stand between you and seeing Dean again, and you would do everything in your power to keep him from suffering any longer. So you continued your task. As upset as you were at the idea of torturing innocent people for a god you'd lost all faith in, you would do it a million times over for your love.

The second of the vessels came under circumstances similar to the ones you'd found Uriel's: a trip to the gas station where an overwhelming, ear-piercing sound rang through your head.

'Zachariah,' you suddenly thought. Your heart broke at the sight of the elderly man at the pump across from you as he was to be your next victim. However, you steeled your nerves and carried on.

****

Why did people pray? If they knew their god was creating horrible situations in their lives as part of his master plan, would they continue to? Or did they just have that much faith in his “benevolence” that they’d pray anyway?

With the information you had now, it all seemed pointless. You felt the way Dean did: a husk of a human to be used as a weapon. With a cosmic being pulling the strings, you didn’t feel in control at all. You had never been in control. God had planned for you to suffer the way you were now.

At fifteen pounds lighter than you’d been when Dean first died, you looked sickly. Your skin had no color, your eyes were sunken and lifeless, your hair had lost its shine, and looking at yourself in the mirror disgusted you. As time kept creeping forward, you began to see yourself not only in your guard outfit, but holding the tools that were torturing Dean from your dreams as he hung on the rack behind you.

The first time you saw that, you screamed. You jumped back from the mirror in the living room and fell to the floor, bringing the lamp and an end table with you. Shards of glass from the lamp’s lightbulb pierced your skin, but your rapidly thumping heart drowned out the pangs and pricks coming from your right palm.

It had been two months and seventeen days since Dean went to Hell. You weren’t consciously keeping track, but something in you always knew how long it’d been.

You began to adjust to only sleeping for two hours a night. Sure, the bags under your eyes and paling face protested, but forcing yourself awake was better than seeing Dean like that. The demon responsible for ripping Dean apart just to put him back together and start again, Alistair, had a face that was burned into your mind. When you were done with all the angel business, you'd be killing him yourself.

Every night, you saw Alistair approaching Dean and providing him with an offer: if Dean wanted to get off the rack, he'd have to put other souls on and torture them himself. If you were honest with yourself, you were slowly becoming more and more desperate for Dean to take Alistair up on his deal.

Uriel had explained to you that time moved differently in Hell. What was two and a half months on Earth was more like twenty-five years in Hell.

The nightmares didn't stop. If anything, they became worse. It was as if Uriel could sense your hesitance and was making your task that much harder to leave incomplete.

Your hesitance was in torturing the old man that was to be Zachariah’s vessel. He and his wife had just adopted a cat, and the three lived an apple-pie life. The idea of stealing this elderly woman’s husband and putting her in the same situation you were in now was weighing heavy on your heart.

You learned the couple had a daughter who’d passed away a few years ago. It brought the two closer to each other, their grandchildren, and their son-in-law, as she’d been their only child. Despite their close relationship, though, you knew they needed a miracle.

You learned that the angels seemed to pick vessels who were down on their luck. Uriel’s vessel’s sister was in the hospital dying of breast cancer.

“Uriel, they needed healing. This guy didn’t want his miracle to be a fucking angel possessing him,” you argued. Fighting with the being was futile, but you couldn’t stand by idly without giving any push back.

“(Y/N), what more of a miracle could he ask for? He has been a devout servant of the Lord since he was a child, and god decided to answer all his prayers.” His voice was strained with barely contained anger, and his patience was draining rapidly. Still, you pushed on.

“You said he could kick you out at any second, right? I’m surprised he hasn’t fucking done that yet. ‘Angel of the lord’ my ass. You used me, a pothead dropout to do your dirty work instead of doing it yourself. I would’ve kicked your manipulative ass out the second you—” You were cut off when the angel backhanded you powerfully. His voice was dangerously even when he spoke again. “Another word, and I will make sure you never see Dean again.”

Still in shock and hurting from the blow, you nodded weakly. When you turned your head back to where he was standing, the angel had disappeared.

With a moment to allow what had just happened to settle in, your breathing became rapid and labored. Tears swam in your eyes, and your knees buckled.

You were barely clinging to your sanity. Uriel was growing impatient with you and informed you Zachariah was, too. When you reminded yourself that you were simply a pawn in a cosmic chess game, you returned to your task.

The elderly man’s screams broke your heart.

“Please, please, just say, ‘yes’,” you begged him. “I don’t wanna do this to you.”

“Then, don’t,” the man sobbed. “Just let me go home to my wife.”

“No, I can’t, sir, I’m sorry.” You were barely holding back tears of your own. “Didn’t you pray for a miracle? This is it.”

“I wanted my daughter back, not some psycho with a knife to get me to agree to… ‘angelic possession’,” he replied.

“The pain will all go away if you say, ‘yes’,” you told him. “About your daughter, from this—” you gestured to your knife and the cuts on his body, “all of it. Just say, ‘yes’.”

Finally, finally, he nodded.

You sighed in relief. “Thank you,” you told him.

But when you looked back up at him, the man had already been possessed by Zachariah. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled, wiping his hands off on the man’s sweater.

Uriel was a complete dick, but he looked like a sweetheart in comparison to Zachariah. Luckily, you didn't see Zachariah so much. Three months had gone by since Dean's death, and you still saw Alistair providing Dean with his twisted offer. You knew Dean couldn't hear you, but you screamed for him to take it. You knew he'd never forgive himself, but you couldn't watch the man you loved in so much pain anymore. He had become your whole world, and your world was crumbling with each passing day.

Then, finally, Dean accepted.

Alistair hummed as he approached Dean, and you could do nothing but watch from the sidelines.

A demon was individually removing the muscles from Dean’s arm, unfazed by his horrible cries. The skin had clearly been brutally ripped from it as his shoulder looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal.

“God, fuck you,” Dean panted.

Alistair tsked. “There’s that attitude I love so much. You know the drill, sweet cheeks, what'll it be?”

For the first time since you’d dreamt of Dean’s experience in Hell, he hesitated.

“What’s this?” Alistair gasped dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Deano.”

Dean hung his head low, unmoving and not answering.

“I need an answer, De-an,” the demon sang.

Without picking his head up, Dean mumbled, “I'll do it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sorry,” the demon hummed, “didn’t hear you. What was that?”

Dean grunted, “I said, I’ll do it!” with his voice cracking.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Alistair chuckled, a sickening smile spreading across his face.

As much as your heart broke for him, you were slightly relieved that his physical pain was over. However, you knew you had to get him out of there. The psychological torture of hurting others who didn't deserve it would break him completely, and you had to keep him from that somehow.

Something was unsettling you about all this, though. Despite how unsettling your situation was to begin with, you knew there was something the angels you'd been working with weren't telling you.

Uriel especially would act as though he wanted your job done as quickly as possible. However, when you explained it was only through "divine intervention, or whatever" that you were finding these vessels, and you had no control over the speed at which you found them, he'd get angry and cold. But he wouldn't press the issue with you.

The number of vessels he'd assigned you to find was weirding you out, too: seven. You knew seven was a heavily spiritual number through your upbringing in the Catholic Church. However, you couldn't quite put your finger on what was happening.

Half of you wanted to reach out to Sam and ask him his opinions. Your rational mind knew, though, that he'd never believe what you were saying and would quite possibly never look at you the same again.

That brought on a more troubling thought; when Dean saw what you'd become— a cold, lifeless shell of the girl you once were— what would he say? Would he even want to see you anymore? Would he still be able to love you?

You had to cover the mirrors in your cabin because the sight of yourself was making you sick. If Dean looked at you the way you looked at you, you didn’t think you’d be able to live with yourself.

Aside from disgust, immense anger was the next thing to come to your mind. You were angry at yourself for allowing yourself to become so consumed with Dean’s death. Rationally, you knew you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to fall so hard; to rot from your ever-present anxiety. You knew you should have gone to get help. And you supposed if you were a normal person, you would have. If you’d had a partner who died at a young age, you likely would have cut your losses, gone to therapy, and moved on. However, given the information you knew now— that you could save Dean— you weren’t going to give up on him.

You buried yourself in your work to keep yourself from going insane. As twisted as it was, the repetitive nature of your assignment was almost... peaceful? You were sure that couldn't be the proper way to describe your feelings, but it was the only word you could come up with.

Perhaps it was that the gruesome work had become mundane. It gave you yet another chance to completely dull the world out until you heard that wonderful "Yes! I'll do it!" from your victim.

Those words brought you the briefest moment of joy because it meant the horrible deed was over, and you were one step closer to seeing Dean again.

WatchingDean try to swallow his tears and maintain a steely expression while he tortured some poor soul under Alistair's direction became harder and harder every night. If you weren't set on killing Alistair before, you certainly were now. You wished so badly you could reach out to him and hold him.

Finally, after four long and torturous months, your task was complete. You'd found the last vessel for an angel you hadn't quite committed the name of to memory and prayed to Uriel to come to you.

"There. I did what you asked," you said. "Now, go get Dean."

****

That night, you sat on the couch in front of the television inhaling a bowl of cereal. You'd frequently turn the news on to see if there was any new information on demonic omens, any trouble Sam had gotten himself into, or sometimes, just the weather.

“Authorities are searching for this woman—” a grainy image of you wearing a wig, a hood, and jeans appeared on screen, and he supposed it’d been caught on CCTV, “—whose identity is unknown, but she has been potentially connected to at least seven murders over the past four months; all of well-respected, family-oriented men across multiple state lines. She is considered to be armed and dangerous, and if you have any information, please call—”

Your bowl and spoon clattered to the floor. "Oh, fuck."

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

108 notes · View notes

esote-rika · 26 days ago

Text

Once Upon a Dream | Spencer Reid

ii. a remembrance of dreams, or S.R. entries 1-4 | prev chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

Content: spoilers for s15, mentions of brain injury and trauma A/N: No idea if this even remotely sounds like Spencer but I tried my best lol.

August 24, 20─

I dreamt of Maeve earlier.

Actually, I've been dreaming of Maeve for several nights now, but I fell asleep on the jet and woke up to Emily giving me a look which tells me I was probably mumbling her name in my sleep. Since the seizure, I've been having them. They aren't as detailed as the hallucinations, which I try not to tell anyone save my therapist because a coma induced hallucination is apparently not a very good conversation piece. (Or as Penelope told me.)

Maeve hadn't spoken in this dream; she never really does. And I couldn't see her face, but then I've been having those types of dreams too, since she died, so it isn't entirely out of the ordinary. She was walking in front of me, and I was calling out to her, which is probably why Emily heard me sleep talking.

Her words—Maeve’s, not Emily's—always ring true in my ears, despite the fact that she'd said it in a strange state. Maybe it wasn't even her. Doctors did say a brain under duress can be fickle, and make up images that we can't quite discern from reality. I know the research behind it, the science of my hallucinations from that day when my brain decided to bleed out.

Despite that, I still believe it had been Maeve who spoke to me that night. And maybe in my dreams, too, she's trying to communicate something else from beyond. I had not lied to her in our conversation—regardless of how tenuous that conversation had been. Whether or not it was reality isn't the point; the point is, I had not lied.

She had asked me what I love, and I'd answered magic. And ghost stories. And as spooky as dreaming about your dead girlfriend is, I find some strange comfort in knowing I can still see her. Because I hadn't lied when I said I loved her.

I still do.

September 2, 20–

My therapist said it's normal to continue having dreams of Maeve, but then I had launched into a long spiel about Freud's theory of dreams (which she, may I add, actively participated in; I think she liked talking to someone else about it) and before I knew it, we had been talking for nearly the entire session and debating about Freud and Jung.

I hadn't had the chance to tell her about the dream I had a few nights ago, which I believe is imperative.

I touched her. Maeve. I’d finally managed to come up to her, and touched her hand. She's still faceless, but… it felt good. Nice. Her hands were cold. I didn't remember them ever being cold before, but then I wasn't really able to touch her when she'd been alive. Is that why her hands are cold? Because of death, and I'm trying to touch a ghost? Perhaps I'm just lonely and this has become the ramblings of a crazed genius.

September 5, 20─

The thing about having an eidetic memory is that of permanence. All my life, I have had it for better or for worse; whereas people find trouble recalling facts, I am plagued by the complete opposite. They swirl inside my mind, never giving me peace, sometimes slipping out of my mouth unbidden—by myself, or by the people around me. Sometimes both.

Dreams have always been the same way; whereas most people lose their recollection of those vague dalliances when they were unconscious, I wake up with memories so vivid I could almost believe they were real. All the time.

But not now. For some reason, my dreams have been hazy as of late. They'd begun on August 18, which had been precisely a month after I had recovered from the brain injury sustained from the standoff with Everett Lynch. I don't understand the importance of the dates yet, but feel the need to write them down regardless. Doctors like to ask for evidence, even though I have more than enough proof of my abilities but for some reason, they don’t seem to trust my memory.

I can understand why, memories are unreliable, after all, and I’ve had my fair share of false ones. Especially during that time in Mexico and—well, it seems I ramble in my journals as well.

I had a point. The dreams. Well, my memories are connected to the dreams, so I suppose the ramblings weren’t too far off. Specifically, that I have been forgetting them. It started back in the beginning of September. Back in the dream where I'd been able to touch her, hold her hand. Even that dream is hazy now, but I can recall that her hand was cold.

I shall have to consult this with my therapist and the neurologist for a second opinion. I myself have some theories, of which some are academic, some esoteric and interpretative. My brain might be acting up again. I'm due for a check up anyways, maybe I can have my doctors refer me to have another scan done, just to see if there are any complications happening.

On the other hand, this might be symbolic—a sign of moving on. Of Maeve finally letting go, and me… well, trying again. I had tried with Max, and while that didn't work out, it wasn't bad. Just… spoiled because of one particular experience with an unsub whom I will not give a name.

Whatever it is, I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, I look forward to dreaming again, even if it's not a guarantee I can remember those dreams.

September 9, 20–

It’s not Maeve. It’s not - I don’t know who it is. She’s still faceless. The therapist - I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to her face to face yet, but I called over the phone and she agreed that this might be my subconscious way of telling me to move on.

But it’s not Maeve. It’s not — so what could this mean? That I have moved on? Is it JJ? But - no, I don't even want to entertain thoughts of that. We had worked it out. It’s just - she’s a blonde, and I’m trying to go through all of the blonde women I’d known in my life. Lila. Ashley Seaver. Why would I be dreaming about any of them? How could I be dreaming of another girl already? Is this simply a manifestation of my loneliness? I don’t want to tell that to my therapist, because that sounds rather pathetic, if I’m being honest. Nearly forty and dreaming of women. Freud would have a field day– speaking of, I should go through his theory of dreams again. Figure this out while I wait for the results from my neurologist.

In the meantime, work is going well. Being in a consultation position is easier than being always out on the field, however, it does give me a lot of free time at my office. Time to think. And inevitably, my thoughts always seem to lead back to her.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x fem!OC #spencer reid x female OC #spencer reid x female!oc #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid

20 notes · View notes

wendigo-wraith · 3 months ago

Text

"careful...he doesn't spare anyone..."

In the shadowy depths of the mountainous forests, where the air was thick with the smell of death, a monster was born from a gruesome sacrifice of man. With a relentless thirst for blood and a craving for human flesh, this creature now stalks the night, driven by an insatiable, and craving hunger. The chilling howls of his pain echo through the trees, warning all who dare that venture too close. No, Erebus is not just a legend; he’s a predator, a hunter, a wendigo lurking in the dark, ready to claim his next victim...

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Intro Post Below ⬇⬇⬇

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

NOTE: Please read my dni part at the end, so you know what my boundaries are before interacting. Thank you ,and I hope you enjoy!

Name: Erebus

Age: 18

Birthday: September 8

Zodiac: Virgo

Sex: polygender/otherkin

Kintype: wendigo

Pronouns: he/she/they

Sexuality: pansexual, polyamorous

Ethnicity: asian

Hobbies: reading manga, writing stories, playing video games, watching anime or vtubers on twitch, and sleeping in late

Likes: cats, moths (like the cute fluffy kind), chocolate, and rain (as long as I'm not in it)

Dislikes: water, extreme heat, school, horses (I'm terrified of them), and bridges (its a trauma thing)

Current Hyperfixations: ALNST, Epic the Musical, Finding Frankie, Genshin Impact, HSR, any anime shows, and BL webtoons

Favorite Song Artists: Riikami, Kaiyo, Good Kid, NF, Mäneskin, Ren Zotto, Hayloft, Chase Atlantic, Mother Mother, and others I can't really think of at the moment...

More info about me: I'm not a picky person. As long as you aren't annoying (and most likely you don't have to to worry about this) or a weird perv, I will automatically like you. If you respect my lifestyle, then I will respect yours. I am currently in a relationship right now, but please don't let that stop you from yapping away. Like I said before, I really don't care. Below is my dni list, so if you fall under any of these categories, then I ask you to not engage.

Dni: homophobes, zoophiles, pedophiles, racists, antilgbtqia, nazis, political zealots, and people 25+ (I'm not hating, I just would like to be safe; if you are already following me then thats fine, I'm just scared of creeps...)

If you got to the end, then thank you for still being here!! If you have any questions about anything, then please feel free to ask it in my ask box!!

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

I hope you have amazing day, and remember to stay PLUS ULTRA!! Rarrhhhh!! (and, yes that is a My Hero Academia reference)

ASKS NOTE: My blog is roleplay friendly as long as it is non sexual/harassment in anyway. If you would like to rp, then please #rp at the bottom so I know before hand. Those who already roleplay with me this is not really for you, but for the new people. Also please note that while I will get to every single ask, it might not be immediate due to the fact that I have a somewhat busy life. Thank you so much for understanding!!

Want more chaos?? Go check out my other friends blogs as well!!

My Adopted Wendigo Cub: @222vehemence

My Oddly and Very Cute Human Friend: @itzyyyyyydaaaaaa

Dragon Tamer, Warrior and Princess: @ning-ningx300

Apollo's High Priestess and Oracle: @hera-arii

Fellow Degenerate and Ghostface's Husband: @redhoodsbiceps

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

CHECK OUT MY CARRD:

Please like this post so that I know that you have read it!! Thank you!!

#introduction

18 notes · View notes

artdivadej · 2 years ago

Text

Survivor's Remorse (III)

Part Three

18+ | NSFW |

Trigger warnings: PTSD, Gore, Death, Sexual Trauma mentioned

Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7

When I woke up, I was back in Peeta’s bed and not alone. Haymitch must have fetched him once I gave in to my exhaustion. He sat beside me in the bed, propped against the headboard trapped in place by my arms locked around his thighs, my head lying in his lap. Once again keeping him in anchored in place. His fingers ran through my hair tenderly, twirling within the curls and rolling them around his fingers. His right hand just above my forehead, the thumb stroking my temple as he hummed The Willow lullaby in his throat lowly.

Oh, my sweet Peeta.

I couldn’t help it when I nuzzled into his hand as his left thumb began to stroke at my cheek, shifting his hips so he could be closer to me. I wiggled a little as my eyelids fluttered and while Peeta’s humming stopped, his fingers hadn’t. My heart thudded wildly in my chest with the fear of having to face him. Ugh I am such a coward.

“Love”, Peeta called in that honey sweet deep hum of his

Biting my lip, I took a steadying breath and rolled to face him, grateful the curtains of my hair mostly hid my eyes as I peeked through my lashes at him. I relinquish my hold around his thighs and slowly draw myself from his lap in a sitting position beside him, my head still lowered.

How was I supposed to just talk about this?

Biting my lip harder, it took Peeta’s gentle hand on my cheek to snap me out of my inner turmoil. As I nuzzled into his warmth, his thumb slid under my chin tilting it up with ease so that I was now forced to stay trapped in the deep honey filled depths. His eyes saddened just the slightest in the pained blink he gave when he saw that mine were still red and terrified. His index finger slid back and forth across my plump bottom lip and I knew that even red and puffy he wanted to kiss me.

It felt criminal to wish that he would.

“We need to talk” “About?” “Us”

A sharp intake of air was the only answer I gave him. I was ok to talk about this.

“And our first games”

This I was not.

“What about it?” I snap defensively pulling out of his touch.

I don’t want him touching me when the grime of that time still coated my skin. Not those hands.

“I...I don’t want to upset you” “A little late for that” “I’m sorry about that. But, I want to be with you too much to let this be what’s keeping you from me” “Peeta please” “Not this time sweetness”, he shook his head as his blonde curls moved like waves against his forehead.

Mmm. His hair only looked like that when he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly in frustration. He did it a lot when he was stuck on a design of something those strong fingers created. I loved when it was tousled like that.

“First of all, you’ve always had permission to touch me however you wanted to since our first games. I don’t know if you remember but, I’m pretty sure I gave you explicit permission in that cave and again on stage in front of millions of people”

I searched my memory.

The interview.

I told Caesar about how I felt that I could keep Peeta and it gave me hope. I hadn’t wanted to elaborate on what I meant because I wasn’t quite sure myself. Peeta had lit up beside me, his body weight shifting so that he was domineering now dwarfing me with his body and energy on that loveseat. He had whispered it so huskily in my ear, his warm breath fanning against my neck in a way that made me grateful my thighs were pulled up tight on the couch firmly pressed together.

“So, now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

When I’d answered him, he’d kissed me with such passion I had the distinct feeling that he would have made love to me right there if there weren’t other people in that room.

“That was not an invitation” “I’m the one who sent it love. I’m pretty sure it was” he chuckled pulling me closer so that he could rest his forehead against mine “Oh sweet girl...I want to kiss you. Really kiss you”

When I didn’t move away his eyes widen a little before his right arm snakes around my waist and pulls me so that my leg is thrown over his, my left tucked on the bed between us. His hand is back on my cheek, my neck arching to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so much taller than me? I didn’t realize I’d licked my lips or been staring at his until his tongue flicked out and copied the action. A small pant of anticipation leaves my lips bringing a small smirk to his lips.

“We have to talk first”, he breathed. “Oh Peeta please” I gasp wanting to stay in this dreamworld he had me trapped in “I promise I’ll have my mouth on every single inch of you tonight” “Oh yes please” “After love”

With a huff I tucked my face into his neck for a minute attempting to calm down. Why was I giving in to my normally easy to stifle urges like this?

I took care of these thoughts I had about Peeta at home.

Alone.

I wasn’t vocal about this. I never admitted my craving for him like this aloud to anyone. What the hell was going on with me? My body still felt heavy, a small thrum like a hummingbird's wing going through my veins.

Morphling. That fucking Haymitch. Traitor.

Peeta turns me in his hold so that my back is to his chest, his large thighs like tree trunks on the outer of mine, fluffy and plump in comparison. When had he gotten so damned hunky?

Well...he was kind of always this way, wasn’t he? When he’d turned 17 and we went to those games I saw a completely different Peeta than I had 2 years before at 15 tossing flour in his parents bakery. Peeta was stocky and cut.

It made sense that every girl but me had noticed and wanted him, not being big on anything outside of survival. Not until I'd volunteered, slamming my hand over Katniss' lips as I violently yank her backwards into line. She had a family and honestly, most of our district to provide for. We hunted together but I had no one that needed me.

I was alone. I always had been. If I could save her then I could help the district stay fed. Even with me dead Gale and Katniss would still be alive to provide the meat for our people. A necessary sacrifice.

“Do you want me to touch you?” “Sometimes”, I admit before I can stop myself and just sigh in defeat knowing the morphling and alcohol has given me a loose tongue regardless. “I’d never thought about any of that until you’d kissed me in the cave. Something just different about that one. I could feel you really didn’t want me to go. I laid up that night going over every good memory I’d ever had. You, your blonde hair, the dandelions that always seemed to grow around you...were always in the background. It was in that cave I realized I’d always been watching you too”

His arms tighten around me and I wish I could see his face. He inclines his head and I can feel his wide grin against my cheek.

“Do you like me?”

I don’t know why but I start gasping for air, tears streaming down my cheeks in resigned guilt, his arms tightening nervously.

“Yes” “Do you love me?” he husks as his breath catches in his throat

I begin to struggle against his stronghold now. If I admit it to him, I can never stay with him. I need to run.

“This is what we need to talk about. Why are you running?” “I can’t. We can’t” “Because of what you think Marvel did to you?”

Now I’m hissing like an angry cat trying to get out of his hold. He barely had to use any effort to keep me still and I was still already almost out of breath. Marvel, the fucking Capitol. The list was growing of thing I didn't want to think about and tried to force myself to forget.

“He didn’t hurt you the way you think he did love” Peeta whispers in that honey sweet drop tone again

I begin to settle but he knows this is a façade and his grip does not slacken in the slightest. He knows me too well.

“Tell me what you remember about that night”

I am now totally still in his arms fighting against the vicious memories. ‘Even if you were just friends, you don’t think you owe him a conversation about what happened?’. I know Haymitch is right so, with a shaky breath that steadies with the tightening of his arms around me, I begin to talk to Peeta about that night.

***

I’d killed 2 tributes who’d been on my tail that day and was bleeding pretty badly from one of them. A career. He’d had a curved blade that sliced me across my stomach from ribcage to ribcage.

I’d fashioned a needle out of my fishhook and used some of my own hair to stitch what I could up to staunch the bleeding, at least until I got to a bag with a real first aid kit in it. I bit down on some tree bark to staunch my screams and give myself something to focus while I stitched myself together.

My sponsors must have liked this.

I was done and washing the blood off by the river, delirious from blood loss (thankfully my was body in shock) when I heard the familiar beeping of a parachute. There was a note from Haymitch. It contained a syringe to give me a boost of some blood supplement to keep me going and a 3 oz jar.

HIDE & APPLY –H.

Whatever it was, he knew it would leave me open to attack. I’d need recovery time.

Injecting the needle directly into my neck I look around the bank hoping it has some rock caverns like the one further upstream does.

It doesn’t.

Shit.

Maybe I can make it there before the adrenaline wears off? I’d been looking for Peeta for most of the day when the Careers had caught up to me and I was exhausted. As I stumbled along, I found a nice one that was perfect for daytime sleeping too. Covering the entrance with twigs and leaves I dipped inside of the camouflage.

Once tucked neatly inside I lay my back against the left side of the entrance’s wall. Pulling my shirt off I unwrapped the bandages I’d hastily wrapped around myself and began to slather the blue ointment on generously. It had an instant numbing sensation before it felt like a cool jelly was rolling over the sutured skin. With a sigh of relief, I tucked the jar away, pulling my knife to sit on my thigh as the numbing sensation began to spread throughout my entire upper body.

This is what Haymitch was warning me about. I had to get away from the lip of the cave if I was going to be practically immobile for a few hours. Just as I’d begun to drag myself backwards to the heart of the place, I heard the sadistic cackle.

“Found you” Marvel smirked climbing in.

Adrenaline was always my saving grace at the worst of times and I was depending on it heavily right now. My hand was still around my knife so I slashed it at him with a roar of defiance, refusing to be killed this way. I’d nicked his cheek because he was a bit too tall for the cave but he was still stronger and I was weak from blood loss and medication. He’d knocked my hand aside, slamming my wrist against a stone to let it go, before pinning it above my head.

“Glad to see Clint didn’t get the tits. They’re hot” he panted

As I kicked and bucked beneath him his panting only grew louder, fumbling with my pants as he yanked them down my legs. Oh no!

If there was going to be any boy I’d ever let touch me, it would be....

“Peeta!”, I screech like a wild animal biting at the arm that held my hands pinned

I can hear his buckle going and my heart is practically pounding in my ears. They wouldn’t let him would they? Of course they would. They sold us to sponsors. The Capitol would love this. Star-crossed lovers ripped apart by Captiol favorites and tainted beyond repair before death. This was primetime tv. Oh but this would only air in the Capitol. A secret from the Districts about their taboo guilty pleasures.

I wanted to cry until my throat was raw but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He was pushing and yanking against me so roughly but, so much of me was numb and my consciousness was fading, it was hard to tell when I couldn’t even lift my head. With the very last ounce of strength left in my body I screamed loud enough to hopefully scar every single pair of ears watching for all eternity,

“I only want Peeta!”

As my eyes roll in the back of my head I see a flash of gold before I’m out cold.

***

“That’s what I remember” I breath still shaking in his secure embrace “Can you promise to listen to what I remember now? Please sweetness?”, Peeta coos softly in my ear

I hear Haymitch’s condescending yet honest voice in my ear, ‘Grow up.’ and the alcohol/morphling cocktail was helping ease my stubborn attitude.

“Yes”

It’s all I offer.

I don’t expect what he does next and it makes me understand why he’d yet to slacken his hold on me. He’s playing our games on a small screen at the end of the bed.

“No!” “You promised” “But I-” “It’s only about 5 minutes I promise. I even had Beetee help piece it together with me. Luckily, he was awake”

I trust Beetee. Beetee was always a friend. He’s one of the reasons I recovered so well from the trackerjacker torture with so much of my mind in tact. I’m still tense in his arms but I don’t try to run now. The assurance that an ally has helped him soothes my distrust.

Peeta continues the video.

It’s that night and Peeta is clearly tracking me. Had to have been the way I was him to find me once they made the announcement.

“I knew I was close but you move so quietly in the forest. I mainly had to track you through your snares and the wildlife I know you’d recognize”, he explains.

I watch him track me pretty well for someone who’d only been learning it for a week. It’s clear he only can because he knows me. Then his head snaps up. It’s clear Beetee made sure none of the Capitol commentary is on it, just the sounds from the games. I appreciate that. Then clear as a bell, I can hear my scream from the northeast.

He really wasn’t very far from me.

“That was my name”, Peeta breaths his hands shaking

Peeta’s wide body tears through the brush, towards the sounds of the scuffling where he heard the scream come from, unforgiving of anything in his path.

“Come on. One more time. One more time love!”, he was whispering under his breath.

He was at the river now, looking around wildly for any sign of me. It was clear to see his whole body was shaking as he fought his fear of the worst.

“I only want Peeta!”

It wasn’t more than 50 feet in front of him. That cave! He’d have never noticed it if he hadn’t heard me.

He bolted for it and I closed my eyes.

My breath hitched in my throat, not wanting to really see this from his point of view. I’d been in denial about this too long to have to face it like this.

“Open your eyes. Please. You need to see this” “I know what happened” “No, you don’t. I said I got to you in time. I wouldn’t lie to you about that” “Peeta...you have no idea how sore I was” “I didn’t say it wasn’t for lack of trying. He was trying but he was too excited. Scared. Inexperienced. I’m not really sure. I didn’t really give him time to explain himself”

Now I tilt my head up and nudge his chin with my temple forcing his attention off of the paused screen back down to my face. When his eyes meet mine, I search them for a while, seeing that honest gentility I’d always come to know from him.

“Prove it”

Peeta kisses my forehead before turning my face back to the screen. Now he’s threaded his fingers through mine as he holds his arms wrapped tight around me. I like this position.

“Ready?” “Ready”

Peeta bursts into the cave, looking around wildly before he looks down. Marvel isn’t aware he’s there yet as he’s cursing in annoyance and shifting his hips. Peeta crept closer picking up the knife I’d been forced to drop.

As he slunk to the left with deadly silence, he realized just what was happening. Marvel was struggling to try and penetrate me, his hands shaking as he kept just trying to shove himself in, his left arm on the wall behind my head to try and keep his balance while his right hand raked at my skin.

Peeta’s eyes go feral, his lips pulled back in a snarl and he drops the knife. The sound startles Marvel but it’s too late now. Peeta’s hands are around his slim throat and lifting him from my naked body as if he weighed nothing, slamming his temple into the side of the cave over and over, a wild fire in his eyes. Each time his head met the stone it making a sickening wet, crack.

Peeta picked the knife back up when Marvel slumped to the floor with a moan, part of his skull crushed. But Peeta was not finished. Peeta forced him to his knees, hands gripped tightly in his hair, yanking them by the root. He held him there before me, so he could stare directly at me through the streams of blood running down his face.

“Mine!”, he rumbles loudly in Marvel’s ear in a deep cadence I’d never heard from him, his honey eyes dark as night.

Before Marvel can blink Peeta slits his throat, letting his blood run over and at my feet.

It was as if he'd sacrificed him before me for the disrespect. Was it wrong to love watching him become such a force? To love that he'd do such a thing for me.

The games really have made me a monster, haven't they?

“You are nothing”, he sneers in his ear waiting for all the life to leave his body before dragging him out of the cave and kicking him into the river for the Gamemaker's to find.

Rushing back inside to find me Peeta quickly checks if I have a pulse first. He lets out a sigh of relief before taking the water jug Marvel had. He used it to wash the blood from my reopening wounds of my upper body.

“I’m sorry love. I promise I’ll cover you soon”, he apologizes as he cleans my body.

He rewraps my stomach wound and uses the rest of the bindings to fashion me a makeshift bra, for modesty's sake I suppose.

“I’ll make this part quick I swear. I’m sorry”, Peeta apologizes again softly looking into my sleeping face.

I know what he’s going to do. He has to double check, and get all traces of Marvel off of me. It’s clear he’s trying to figure out where the cameras would be placed, as he looks suspiciously around the cave, before giving up and just doing his best to shield me as much as he can. He’s on his knees, mine propped up over his and resting atop his thighs so that even if he could see all of me no one else could. He grabs the jug and a piece of his shirt he’d ripped to begin cleaning between my legs. He’s so gentle and serious as he inspects to make sure Marvel hadn’t actually penetrated me. He hangs his head for a second before mumbling to himself.

“She’s gonna smack me when she sees this”, he groans before taking his middle finger, gently and slowly slipping it within me.

My eyes narrow and I’m sure he feels my back stiffen, because his arms tighten slightly around me, to stop me from actually smacking him if I were so inclined.

Video Peeta lets out a deep sigh of relief before planting a kiss to my bent knee.

“You’re all good love. Impotence must be a Careers thing” Peeta chuckles to himself in a private joke.

Once I’d been fully cleaned by him, Peeta quickly dressed me in my pants and tucked me deep into the sleeping bag. That only lasts for a few hours because I’d begun to flail in my sleep calling for Peeta, threatening to open my wounds again. He never left my side after that.

I hadn’t realized I’d been hyperventilating until Peeta’s voice is calling out to me softly. Marvel didn’t. He couldn’t. Peeta really had gotten to me in time. I wasn’t a complete monster.

I wailed and slumped against his chest feeling boneless. Peeta turned me in his arms and began to lay kisses over my forehead and tear-filled eyes over and over before making me look into his again.

“I need you to understand something sweetness. Whether he had or hadn’t, it wouldn’t have changed a thing for me about you. I love you. Do you hear me? Someone hurting you wounds me; it could never disgust me. I kept my distance because I didn’t want to pressure you when I knew what he tried to do to you. I need you to want to give me all of you. To have you watch me drown in all of your pleasure as you let go and trust me with all of you. But that had to be on your time. To find out that you’ve been pushing me away all this time because of him...” Peeta’s voice cracks as his forehead lays against mine “I killed almost as many tributes as the Careers did in that arena Peeta. All I wanted was to keep you safe. I didn’t care how much a monster that made me. Then we got back...and the Capitol changed my eyes, my mouth and even tried my breasts before Haymitch took me from the surgical table in a rage. I’d become the monster they wanted. Marvel was under orders to take the last remaining shred of my humanity left. And I thought he had Peeta. Do you understand what that meant?” “Tell me” “My world was now darkness. You are light. You are air. All the good things in the world. Even having been cast into the darkness, you still outshined it. I feel like I’m standing in the sun when I’m with you. I couldn’t bring myself to taint the one thing in my life I’d swore to live and die for. Even when they were breaking my bones and trying to force me to forget the real you, I held onto that light. I knew no matter how dark my world got, as long as you were close enough to shine some light, I could breathe. But I couldn’t drag you into the darkness with me” “I would follow you to the pits of hell if it meant I could spend eternity with you”, he rumbled

Something in me snapped.

I didn’t give him time to move out of reach again. I pulled his bottom lip into my mouth and threw my left leg over his so I was straddling his lap. Peeta responds eagerly, taking me into his arms and slipping his tongue under my top lip taking control of my passion as he hungrily explored my mouth.

He even tasted of honey and nutmeg.

Both of his warm hands slid up my back beneath my shirt, bunching it up higher and higher as he caresses my skin. It’s easy since it’s one of his and quite loose on my small frame but his hands are leaving trails of goosebumps all over my skin and I tremble against him unwittingly.

When he nips my plump bottom lip I gasp, my hips jerking so that I ground against him. That...that felt good. Capturing my lips in a heated kiss Peeta’s hips roll against mine and I see just why it feels so good. I can feel his length against the seat of my underwear. I whine in his mouth as a shuddering breath escapes his lips.

Leaning back to press my hips further into his I throw my head back and begin to roll in a steady rhythm with him. Just as I’m about to lean back up for another kiss I feel his lips enclose around my right nipple, his mouth so wet and needy.

“Peeta!” I croon with a jerk of the hips

His left hand cupped my breast to get a better angle and yes, he did. He laid wet, suckling kisses to my hardened nipple. With each suckling kiss he increased the pressure and extended the time he spent between them.

“I promised I would have my mouth all over you tonight baby. I intend to keep that promise”

Oh I had so many plans for that mouth tonight.

(Had to cut this one in half cuz it's LONG. Next chapter is straight smut I swear 😈😏😹)

#i ship it #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games peeta #hunger games #hunger games fanfic #peeta hg fanfiction #peeta #peeta smut #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #peeta my beloved #peeta x reader #team peeta #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #survivors remorse #part three

278 notes · View notes

red-n-ded · 7 months ago

Text

Charbee Prompts Part 8

The Boy in Yellow (Humanformers Au)

Charlie narrates how she knew a boy in high school who was a big fan of her in the school’s high diving team. His name was Benjamin O’Brien. They weren’t friends nor did they talk so often but shared almost every class. He was nice and talkative but around her, he stuttered and rambled out of nervousness. Charlie figured he had a crush on her but didn’t want to embarrass him since he was nice and was probably the loudest at her competitions (second to her dad).

When her father died, she was a junior and he was senior going to graduate in a month. He was there when her father’s heart gave out and drove both of them to the hospital. She fell asleep waiting for the news and when she woke up, the boy was gone except a yellow jean jacket with a bee patch on it. She never wore it again but she kept it. When she came back to school as a complete shell of herself, he was the only one to stick by her side. They never talked but he treated her normally and sat at a comfortable distance. She appreciated his company and knows she won’t see him again but wishes him the best since he’s going to the military after graduating.

But by some luck, she sees him again.

She just graduated and turned 18 and when she buys her first car, the boy was in the trunk, injured and unconscious. Charlie fixed him up and healed him. She didn’t know it was him at the time. The boy used to be short, skinny and pale with brown hair but now Charlie's head could barely reach his collarbone, had broad shoulder and defining muscles, tanned to a honey brown color that emphasizes his freckles and has golden blonde highlights in his hair with scars all over his body.

When he woke up, he had no voice or memory, unlike the witty, talkative voice Charlie listened to all those years ago. Charlie nicknamed him Bumblebee after the buzzing noises his throat makes when he tries to speak and at that, she gave her the yellow jacket he gifted her many years ago saying, "It matches your outfit." Looking back, Charlie wants to facepalm at how obvious it was especially when she thought to herself on how it was a perfect fit.

A recording in the car revealed where he has been all these years. Bee was a military spy for a new initiative called the Autobot Initiative, where soldiers were chosen to use weaponized cars linked to their conscience to fight and spy on enemies such as the Decepticon terrorist group. He was a deadly soldier but to Charlie, Ben hasn't changed one bit and was only hit with the realization that she loved him when she fixed the handheld radio he carried with him and he comforted her about her father. It was a terrifying realization at the time but she never really planned on saying anything or acting on it, until her neighbor Memo came in to ask her out.

Charlie makes Memo promise to not tell anyone about the car and briefly explaining that Bee is a spy. (Charlie notes that she’s still friends with Memo to this day and that he’s now dating a boy he met at a cafe.) They all go for a drive to test out the abilities of the car until they reach the cliffside. She refuses to dive after so much trauma and gets made fun by Tina. Bee comes to her defense which leads to Tina making fun of him for being mute and scarred. Charlie goes to his defense but in the heat of the moment, when Tina says, "What's up with you? Are you his girlfriend or somethin'?" and Charlie一poor, sweet, stupid eighteen-year-old Charlie一said...

"So what if I am!? Shut the fuck up!"

Charlie and Bee don’t talk about it until they get home and Memo leaves. Charlie apologized but it turns out that Bee always liked her, ever since the two met. They don’t know what the two are but Bee wanted to stay with her forever. Charlie liked that and parted with Charlie kissing his cheek.

Present Charlie remembers how happy she was that night as if they were stuck in their little bubble. She dreamt of all the adventures the two will take together, the places they'll go, the things they'll do一innocently ignorant to the war outside.

Present Charlie also remembers when that bubble popped, how she watched Bee die in front of her.

The Decepticons wanted to kill Bee for info on where his leader is. After accidentally spilling with the recording, Bee was electrocuted to death. Charlie remembered how her father died but this time, she didn’t freeze. She went straight to CPR (noting how she wished their first kiss had a better setting) and after using a defibrillator, Bee came back and with his memories.

The shock that both young adults, recognizing each other from a different time, was almost embarrassing. Charlie covered her red face realizing she gave the jacket to the same guy to gave it to her and Ben looked like he wanted to curl up in a ball, remembering his crush from high school and his actions for the past few days. Charlie remembers sharing a proper kiss with him before being rudely interrupted by the military, calling Bee a traitor and a coward.

The rest of the night was a blur, a trauma Charlie can't seem to fully recollect with the bits and pieces of the fight being too fuzzy. She remembers a pain in her head as she was thrown against concrete and the ringing raging explosions surrounding her. She remembers a green glow, a dropping feeling from a fear of heights and her body learning to dive again as she held the blurry face of a smiling blonde underwater.

The last thing Charlie recalls of the boy was their goodbyes, standing at a cliff where they overlook the Golden Gate Bridge. They hug and kiss one last time and exchange a thanks, knowing that the other touched their hearts in some way. Charlie waved goodbye never knowing if he will return but she wished him luck and a promise to never forget him. (Heartbreak following a bittersweet exasperation when Bee reveals that his car could shapeshift. "YOUR CAR CAN BE A CAMERO THIS WHOLE TIME??")

Present Charlie recites this story to an interviewer in a quiet room, not realizing there was a tear going down her cheek until a drop landed on the metal table.

"So you want to see him again? Is that what you're saying?"

Charlie shakes her head. "No. I wanna help him. I accepted the fact that I'll never see him so I want to help his cause as much as possible, because he believed in it, just like how he believed in me."

The interviewer smiled with pride and extends a hand that Charlie takes in a shake, "Then it's done. Welcome to the GI Joes, Agent Watson."

#transformers #bumblebee #charlie watson #charbee #bumblebee 2018 #transformers rise of the beasts #rise of the beasts #transformers rotb #rotb #charbee bad mood rambles #this is a bit longer than I expected #im in a better mood now so I don't have anything to rant #really I just wanted to get rid of this in my notes #it's cute but I don't really plan on writing this anytime soon #if anyone wants to take it be my guest :)

23 notes · View notes

md-confessions · 10 months ago

Note

Trigger Warning for abuse since I am going to be talking about it a lot.

My honest reaction to TSM anon's confessions/posts trying to justify J's treatment of N. (They're so ass)

Ok so uhh... Anyway I'll try to debunk some of the points:

First of all: yes the fuck she is abusive! Search the damn definition on Google or the dictionary, it's exactly what she's doing, like beat for beat.

Let's start with two examples: one from the manor and another from copper-9.

J kicking N in the manor flashback: for context N and V had literally just bumped into each other, made a spark and both were trying to clean up the mess they made, then comes in Ms. Tenth letter of the alphabet with a kick to N's face for like no fucking reason whatsoever.

J stepping on N's chest while he clearly struggles: In the pilot during the scene that introduces the Alphabet squad during J's introduction she has her foot on his chest while saying he's useless, terrible and if she could, she'd kill him herself and N is very clearly struggling to even breath.

Those two very clearly ARE abuse, the second one even has a tinge of verbal abuse!

Ok so TSM tried to justify both these actions by us not knowing the full context.

The context of the kick is that: there is none, that kick was completely unprovoked, so J had absolutely no reason for kicking N aside from him being in her way from the "move it moron" line, and she changes up her attitude completely at Tessa being there, her visor showing those hollow eyes that drones show when worried or scared.

But even if you say "oh but N was in J's way so she kicked him out" but she could have just, you know, MOVED A LITTLE BIT TO THE RIGHT?!?!? And also that does not excuse kicking a person in the face.

Context of the second scene is: THERE IS NONE, ONE AGAIN! The reason that scene exists is to show that A. J is abusive towards N, and B. J is a hypocrite! Let me explain, A is very self explanatory, stepping on someone's chest and verbally abusing them is very clearly well... Abuse and B is to show that even though she calls N useless, N has shown throughout the rest of the series he is a very competent fighter, arguably better than his fellow DDs and also that even though J was pretty much insulting N for being weak, she got killed by a Angsty bisexual 18-year-old with a pen and a Railgun made out of like, scrap.

I don't know how you can genuinely look at those scenes and go "J isn't an abuser" even though yes she fucking is.

Also I dead ass forgot that second post aside from the "why would Cyn put N in the squad if his abuser?" Part, which has a very simple explanation: it wasn't Cyn, it was Mr. Solver of the absolute fabric itself! It used Cyn as a host, Cyn wasn't in control, she prob has been dead for a long ass time.

The solver is sadistic and it likes fucking with the alphabet squad, take V as an example: it allowed V to keep her memories, just to make V's trauma even worse.

The solver thinks it's funny to traumatize people so why wouldn't it think putting a person in the same team as their abuser wouldn't be?

Anyways I've been typing this since 5:30 AM, and now it's 6:50 and I got school so I'll stop here, if you got anything else to add put it in the reblogs ig...

Final note: I haven't been abused myself (not that I remember) so I can't really fully grasp the concept, but still, J's treatment of N is like, the dictionary definition of Abuse, I'm very bad at understanding other people and their emotions and I'm not super great at analysing characters but this shit is so obviously abuse seeing TSM over here trying to say otherwise is giving me a brain aneurysm.

Anyways have a good day/evening/night or whatever time of day it is :D

#md confessions #murder drones #abuse cw #serial designation j #serial designation n #serial designation v #md cyn #the absolute solver

33 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for moving out right before my disabled grandparents get surgeries? (TWs for transphobia, child abuse, child neglect, religious trauma, the whole works)

Alright so I (19 NB, turning 20 in January) am trying to find a place to move out of state because my grandparents (who I currently live with) and dad don’t treat me (or my 18 year old brother) the best. I don’t feel like I have a lot of freedom to do what I want, because my grandparents (76 M and 74 F) are constantly asking me to do things they can do just fine on their own and they threaten me if I don’t comply. I was also raised to never question authority which includes them, so they act like me questioning their authority or opinions is me getting into fights with them. My dad (46 M) just enables them, telling me to behave and listen to them like I’m still a kid.

In addition to all this, they’re all transphobic. As mentioned before, I’m non-binary. My dad and grandma aren’t as bad and seem to be complying with my grandpa’s views, but my grandpa is HORRIFIC. I tried to explain my identity to him once and he straight up told me he didn’t care and didn’t want an explanation.

Outside of this, my grandparents are also Mormon, which has led me to end up with some religious trauma. They blame every one of their views on their religion, and are constantly telling me I’m never gonna be happy if I don’t start going to church again (something I haven’t done since I was 13 or 14).

My dad also told me he hopes I like my “newer brother” and how he’s changed because my brother is currently training to be a medic in the US military, and just finished his basic training. Aside from this being extremely off putting to me, this isn’t the first time my dad has sorta acted like I’m his golden child.

It’s worth noting that with how I’ve been treated my entire life, I’ve picked up people pleasing tendencies and can’t even say no. If I don’t want to do something I procrastinate until someone else does it then lie and claim I was going to do it.

Now all of this might have you like “NO YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY NOT THE ASSHOLE” but here’s where I’m questioning that.

Both of my grandparents are disabled. My grandma had a stroke back in 2010 that still affects her to this day and as a result of it her balance is messed up so she has a hard time doing things on her own. My grandpa is having a knee surgery to help alleviate his disability (although a lot of his behavior is absolutely 100% just laziness). It’s making me feel bad for even considering leaving, but I’m so sick of being treated how I am. I feel like I can’t learn to say no until I’m cut off from my family. I don’t even remember most of my childhood and have a dissociative disorder, and I’m pretty sure those are linked (not remembering most of my childhood and having a dissociative disorder).

But I just. I genuinely can’t shake the feeling that I’m an asshole for moving out right before my grandparents get surgeries. So. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

76 notes · View notes

tip-top-cloud-surfer · 2 years ago

Text

What is L-O-V-E? - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Bradshaw!Fem!OC (Lena) (Ex-Wife!OC)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Divorce and Separation; Angst; References to Child Custody Agreements; One Sided Feelings; Toxic/Conflictual Dynamics; References to Goose and Carole; Female Bradshaw OC and Named Son OC

This work, all of my works, and my entire blog is 18+ Only!

Summary: Lena Bradshaw (formerly Seresin) struggles once again to keep the peace between her ex-husband Jake and her older brother Bradley for her son's sake. And the uranium facility mission only seems to heighten the stakes of it all.

A.N. Everyone's a little toxic here. Just so we're clear.

Part 2 Part 3

Master List

Lena Bradshaw was not the best when it came to dealing with conflict.

If she were to see a therapist, they probably would have blamed that on the fact that she was an orphan before she was even a teenager and didn’t remember her biological father. Childhood trauma and all that. But either way, she was horrible at dealing with conflict.

Especially in her personal life.

There was the fight between Bradley and Maverick over the Naval Academy. Then there were the fights between Bradley and her now ex-husband Jake. And then, of course, there was her divorce. She simultaneously was both too compromising and too difficult at the same time.

But regardless, Lena had one main priority in her life now. And that was her son, Nickie. Nicholas Jacob Seresin-Bradshaw. The ‘Bradshaw’ got added on after the divorce.

Nickie was on the cusp of turning four now and quickly growing more curious about the world around him. And that raised a lot of maternal anxiety in Lena. Especially when it came to Nickie’s fascination with aviation. Particularly naval aviation. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Every single important male figure in Nickie’s life was a naval aviator. But it still scared her.

“Look at all the planes, Mommy!” Nickie shouted, causing Lena to snap out of her thoughts.

“I know, there’s a lot of them,” she agreed softly.

Lena turned back to the road and changed lanes, heading for the San Diego International Airport to pick up her brother. Bradley called her yesterday to tell her that he was returning to Top Gun for some mission and Lena was sure that her blood pressure hadn’t returned to a normal level since then.

“Is Uncle Roos on one of those planes?” Nickie questioned excitedly, pressing his face to the window.

“He should have landed by now.”

Lena pulled out her phone and pressed on Bradley’s contact. Nickie peeled his face off of the window, leaving marks where his nose and forehead were leaned up against it.

“Are you calling him?”

“Yes, because your uncle never tells me where he is,” Lena replied dryly.

She was also waiting for a text or call from her ex-husband, but so far it was radio silence. That wasn’t necessarily odd, however. After one of Jake’s deployments got extended last minute and Nickie was inconsolable when Lena broke the news to him, Jake didn’t call her until he was actually standing on American soil.

But if Bradley got the call back to Top Gun for some big mission, Lena had to assume that Jake would also be returning to Miramar. Lena didn’t want to wade into the rivalry between her brother and her ex-husband, but Jake was the better pilot.

Don’t tell Bradley that she said that. Ever.

“Hello, this is your captain speaking,” Rooster answered the call in a mock-pilot voice. Lena rolled her eyes as Nickie giggled from the backseat.

“Where am I picking you up again?” she asked, glancing at the sidewalk.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Rooster jokingly whined.

“Hi, Uncle Roos!” Nickie shouted from the backseat.

“Hey, buddy! How are you?” Bradley asked, reverting back to his normal voice.

“Good! There’s lots of planes here!”

“There are,” Rooster agreed.

“Look, if you want the free ride and meal that I promised, you do have to tell me where you are so that I can pick you up,” Lena sighed, driving slowly through the terminal.

“I’m down at the end. Right past the last set of speed bumps before you get to the next airline.”

“Okay, then we’ll see you in a few seconds.”

“No, no, Mommy, you’re supposed to say, ‘copy that’,” Nickie corrected her.

“You tell her, Nickie!”

“Goodbye,” Lena stressed, ending the call.

She plopped her phone into the cupholder and looked through the crowded mess on the sidewalk. Lena slowly rolled over the last set of speed bumps before Nickie began to eagerly bounce in his seat and press his hands against the window.

“There he is!”

“Still dressed like its 1986,” Lena mumbled under her breath.

Rooster waved comedically to Nickie as he followed Lena’s car, causing Nickie to laugh and wave back to him just as dramatically. Lena slowed the car down before putting it into park. Rooster walked around to the back, opened the trunk, and placed his duffel bag down.

“Uncle Roos!” Nickie called excitedly.

“Is that Nickie? Nah, you’re too big to be Nickie,” Rooster teased his nephew.

“It’s me!” Nickie huffed as Rooster walked around the car.

“Thanks for picking me up, Sis. You’re too kind,” Rooster joked, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I know, I am,” Lena replied with a small smile.

She leaned over and tugged her brother into a tight hug that Bradley happily returned. It had been a solid eight months since the Bradshaw siblings were in the same city. And even though Bradley called and emailed her whenever he could, it was nice to have her brother sitting beside her again.

“How was your flight?” Lena asked, turning to pull out of the airport.

“Not too bad. Long. But now I get to hang out with my favorite nephew all day!” Rooster replied, spinning around to face Nickie.

“I’m your only nephew!”

“Still counts!”

“Seatbelt,” Lena stated, smacking Rooster on the arm. “Even fighter pilots need to wear their seatbelts.”

“Yeah, Uncle Roos!”

Lena drove them away from the airport, chatting casually with Rooster about his most recent deployment and any other life updates. But Nickie quickly butted into the conversation and informed Uncle Rooster all about his life. Rooster listened along intently, adding commentary where necessary, and genuinely making Nickie feel heard.

After all, Nickie was Rooster’s godson. Jake was more than a little annoyed about it at the time, but Rooster was Nickie’s godfather. And Rooster absolutely adored Nickie. He hated the fact that Nickie’s dad was Jake, but he wouldn’t hesitate to spend any time with Nickie. Ever.

“And Daddy promised to take me to a football game soon!” Nickie yelled out excitedly, missing how Rooster’s expression changed.

“Did you get that in writing?” Rooster asked Nickie dryly.

Lena immediately smacked Rooster on the arm, causing him to huff and rub the tender skin. Nickie was a little confused about the shift in the atmosphere, but he just laughed off the interaction between his mom and his uncle. Lena shot her brother a look before turning back to the road.

“Do not talk bad about J-A-K-E in front of Nickie,” she stated, leaving no room for argument.

The only time that Lena ever saw her brother turn purple with rage, minus the paper pulling situation, was when she told him about her and Jake. Rooster spouted off just about every bad word that he ever heard about Jake, told Lena that she was making the biggest mistake of her life, and swore up and down that Jake was just going to break her heart.

Rooster quieted down about his distaste for Jake around the time that Nickie was born and they both used Nickie as a buffer between them when they were forced to be around each other. But Lena just wished that they would just bury the hatchet already. And she definitely would not tolerate either of them talking bad about the other in front of Nickie.

Absolutely not.

“I’m just saying—”

“—And you’re going to stop saying whatever it is,” Lena interjected, shooting her brother a sharp glare. “He apologized for that and he made it up. So, drop it.”

“I’m just saying that he’s an A-S-S-H-O—”

“—Brad, I know, okay?” Lena huffed, getting a little aggravated with her brother. “I left him for a reason. But don’t talk bad about him in front of your nephew. He’s still part of our lives whether you like it or not. So, don’t talk about him like that. Got it?”

“Fine,” Rooster replied, dropping the discussion. He turned back to Nickie with a new and slightly forced smile. “We can toss a ball around in the backyard when we get to your house, Nickie.”

“Yay!”

Lena pulled up to her and Nickie’s home a few minutes later. The house that actually used to belong to Maverick and was the house that she and Bradley lived in after their mom passed. When Lena called Maverick crying about her divorce, he gifted her the house. Unprompted and despite the fact that Lena told him that it was too much.

Maverick called it a fresh start. And, so, Lena took it.

“I’ll race you inside,” Rooster told Nickie, who hurriedly tugged at his car seat.

“There’s a child lock on his door,” Lena sighed, causing Rooster to glance back at her.

“Well, then I’ll get you out and then we’ll race, Nickie.”

Rooster pulled Nickie out of his car seat and set him on the ground. But Nickie wasn’t going to wait for anyone and took off for the house. Rooster was right behind him, which caused Nickie to squeal. Lena smiled to herself and slid out of the car. Lena walked up after them and unlocked the door.

“The baseball stuff is in that closet. Do not trek dirt into my house, Bradley.”

“Copy that,” Rooster replied, barely listening, as Nickie ran over to his toy closet.

Nickie and Rooster headed outside to toss a baseball around while Lena started on lunch. She was in the middle of pulling out ingredients for sandwiches when her phone started to buzz. Noting the contact, Lena let out a sigh and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Are you at work?” Jake asked as Lena moved around her kitchen.

“No, I took the day off. My brother is in town.”

“Did he get called back to Top Gun?” Jake immediately questioned, unable to hide his distaste.

“Yes, why?”

“I got called up too. And so did Javy.”

Lena paused for a moment, staring out the window. If the Navy already called in Jake, Bradley, and Javy, she had to assume that something big was happening. And by ‘big’ she meant dangerous. And Lena preferred to stay away from the danger zone. Very far away from the danger zone.

“So, are you coming to Miramar soon then?” Lena asked, refocusing on the phone call.

“I’m driving down from Lemoore now. It says that I’m about four hours away.” There was a beat of silence before Jake asked, “Am I allowed to come over since the chicken is there?”

“Jake,” Lena pleaded quietly, “he’s still Nickie’s uncle. We haven’t seen him in nearly a year.”

“Well, I’m Nickie’s dad.”

“I’m aware,” Lena sighed, leaning on the countertop. “And Nickie knows that too.” Lena glanced out the window before turning back to her call. “Bradley isn’t staying for dinner. He should be gone by the time that you get here.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you want me to tell Nickie that you’re coming here?”

“No, I’ll surprise him.”

“Okay. Text me when you get to Miramar.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Jake.”

Setting her phone down on the countertop, Lena held her head in her hands and took a breath.

She didn’t plan on getting divorced. She didn’t want to get divorced. She tried to make it work. She tried to get them into counseling, she tried to communicate how she was feeling and what she needed from their relationship, and she reminded herself over and over again about how miserable her mom was as a single mom.

But she wasn’t her mom. She wasn’t strong like her mom. She didn’t lose Jake like Carole lost Goose. She lost Jake while he was standing right there in front of her. The fantasy that she had in her head shattered and there were too many pieces to pick up and put back together.

And even though her ex-mother-in-law accused her of enjoying the divorce, Lena didn’t take any pleasure in it. But she tried and she failed. And she tried again and she failed. And there were only so many times that she could try before she lost it. So, she got divorced.

Turning back to the bread, Lena simply focused on making lunch. She eventually set the plates down on the table and walked over to the sliding door. Pushing it open, she stuck her head outside.

“Lunch is ready. But leave your dirty shoes on the steps,” she called, shooting a look at Rooster.

“Copy that, Mommy!” Nickie shouted happily.

They all sat around the table, enjoying lunch and catching up. Taking a sip from her drink, Lena turned to her brother.

“So, what time are you leaving?”

“Before dinner time. I should see who else got the call up. And they’ll all be at the Hard Deck.”

“Say ‘hi’ to Penny for me,” Lena replied, wiping at Nickie’s face.

“I will,” Rooster promised.

“I like Penny,” Nickie announced, pushing his vegetables around on his plate. “She gave me a pop-sickle. And let me ring the bell!”

“I’ve always wanted to ring the bell,” Rooster told Nickie, as if he were sharing top-secret government information. “What was it like?”

“Really loud! Mommy didn’t like it.”

Rooster laughed as Lena shook her head at the memory. She distinctly recalled dragging Nickie away from the bell because he wouldn’t let go. Luckily, it was just Penny, Jimmy, and Amelia in the bar at the time. But poor Theo the dog had to run for cover.

“Because you did it when I was standing right next to the bell, Nickie. And you wouldn’t let go,” Lena reminded her son, poking his cheek.

“‘Cause it was fun!”

“Mhmm,” Lena teased her son. Glancing down at his plate, she sighed and set down her utensils. “Nickie, can you try eating some of the vegetables?”

“I don’t want broccoli. It’s gross!”

“What about the carrots then?” Lena tried to negotiate. “If you eat two carrots, we’ll have some ice cream. How about that?”

“Ice cream?” Nickie repeated, perking up instantly.

“Now that sounds like an even trade to me,” Rooster agreed, earning a thankful nod from Lena.

“I think so. Here, we’ll all eat one together.”

Lena and Rooster picked up a carrot each and Nickie begrudgingly followed along. And even though he looked like he hated his life while he chewed on the carrots, Nickie still ate two of them without too much protest. Quickly hopping up when he was done, Nickie turned to his mom.

“Ice cream!”

Lena shot her son a look, earning a sheepish smile in return that definitely came from his dad’s side of the family.

“Please,” Nickie added on at the end.

After Nickie scarfed down a scoop of ice cream, they headed outside. Nickie happily ran around the driveway. Sometimes he would toss a ball to Rooster and sometimes he would shoot it at the small basketball hoop, but Nickie happily entertained himself while on his sugar high. And that left Lena and Rooster some space to catch up on topics that Lena didn’t want Nickie to hear.

“So, is he coming?” Rooster asked, causing Lena to sigh.

“Yes, he’s coming,” she confirmed quietly. “Don’t tell Nickie. He wants to surprise him.”

“Do you need me to leave?”

“No, I told him to come around dinner. He’ll text me when he’s close and ready,” Lena replied, fiddling with her necklace. “But please don’t antagonize him if you see him.”

“It’s usually the other way around.”

“Just please don’t try and make things worse,” Lena sighed, turning to her brother.

“I’m always on my best behavior.”

Lena let out an incredulous laugh that immediately had Rooster rolling his eyes. It was the godawful laugh that Lena always used when he was being an asshole to piss him off even more. He hated it. And he knew that Hangman hated it too. And Bradley guessed that their mom Carole and Maverick hated it as well because it always made them go ghost white when they heard it.

“Oh, you kill me, you really do,” Lena sighed, wiping fake tears away.

~~~~~

Jake knew that as soon as Rooster started up the piano routine, he was going to leave.

He studied the competition, caught up with Javy, and had a nice cold beer for the first time in five months. So, when the chord to the jukebox was pulled, Jake left the Hard Deck.

Hell, if he had it his way, he would have already been with Lena and Nickie, but Jake didn’t get his way.

He didn’t get his way when he was served with divorce papers. He didn’t get his way when Lena moved with Nickie down to San Diego. He didn’t get his way when Lena was awarded primary custody by the courts because he was active-duty.

Jake Seresin just didn’t get his way when it came to Lena Bradshaw.

If Jake had it his way, he would still be married to Lena, living in Lemoore in the house that he handpicked for them, and the damn chicken would mind his fucking business. He would see Nickie every day that he was in the States. Maybe they would have even had a second or third kid by now.

But Jake didn’t get his way.

Pulling up to Lena’s house, Jake headed for the side door. It was unlocked and Jake let himself inside the house. he took a few steps until he saw Lena cooking dinner in the kitchen. She glanced up and smiled when she spotted him.

“Nickie, sweetie, can you come in here for me?” Lena called, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Nickie walked into Jake’s view from the family room, where he was probably playing with his toys or watching cartoons. Nickie held the coyote plushie—even though Jake was a hundred percent sure that it was actually a wolf—that Javy got him to his chest as he walked over to the kitchen, completely unaware of Jake’s presence.

“Hey, who’s that?” Lena asked Nickie, pointing in Jake’s direction.

Nickie turned around, following his mom’s finger. But when he spotted Jake, his dad who he hadn’t seen in nearly five months, Nickie let out a little delighted gasp and ran over. Jake bent down and caught Nickie as he flung himself forward.

“Daddy!” Nickie yelled out.

“Hey, little man,” Jake called, scooping Nickie up into a tight hug.

Jake held his son to his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Rocking his son back and forth, Jake tried to keep a lid on his own emotions.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Daddy.”

“God, you’re getting so big,” Jake murmured, mostly to himself, as he brushed Nickie’s hair back.

“Bigger than you!” Nickie stated, sitting up straighter.

“Someday, maybe,” Jake agreed with a light chuckle. “Are you being a good boy for Mommy?”

Nickie nodded quickly with a small, mischievous grin. It was the grin that always popped up when Nickie got caught doing something that he wasn’t supposed to do. It also usually resulted in Lena turning to Jake with an exasperated ‘he gets that from your side of the family’ expression.

“Most of the time,” Lena joked, standing a few steps away.

Jake straightened up a bit more and nodded to his ex-wife with a small smile. He tried to not let his eyes linger on her bare left ring finger and turned to meet her gaze. And even though it had been about seven years since he met Lena Bradshaw—though she was still Lena Seresin in his mind—he still got that same warm feeling crawling up his neck whenever he saw her.

“Lena,” Jake greeted her softly.

“It’s good to see you, Jake,” she returned quietly. “We were just about to eat. Are you hungry?”

“I could definitely eat,” Jake agreed with a nod. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Are you staying all night, Daddy?” Nickie called, redirecting Jake’s attention.

“I don’t think so, Nick,” Jake replied, fixing Nickie’s shirt for him.

“Aw,” Nickie complained, causing both Lena and Jake to wince. “Why not?”

“I’ve got training tomorrow morning. Super early,” Jake explained, not even completely lying.

“Can he stay another night, Mommy?” Nickie asked Lena, causing her to freeze for a moment.

“Yeah, he can stay another night,” she agreed, nodding along. “But let’s eat dinner first, okay?”

They sat around the table as a family. It was times like those that Jake sometimes forgot that they weren’t married anymore. This house wasn’t his home. It wasn’t their home. And well, Jake could never dwell on those feelings anyways. Not without whiskey on hand, anyways. Jake helped Nickie cut the bigger piece of chicken into little bits while Lena placed a scoop of vegetables on Nickie’s plate.

“How was the Hard Deck?” Lena asked, turning to her ex.

“It was fine. Scoped out the competition. Played a little pool. Made an early exit,” Jake replied, causing Lena to nod along. “Maverick got thrown out.”

Lena picked her head up sharply at the news and Nickie started to bounce in his seat at the mention of his great uncle. Though more often than not, Nickie called Maverick something along the lines of ‘Grandpa Mav’ because Maverick was the closest figure to a grandfather that Nickie had. Jake’s parents stopped visiting after the divorce, after all.

“Maverick is in town?” Lena asked Jake quietly.

“He didn’t tell you?” Jake returned, raising an eyebrow.

“No, he didn’t,” Lena stated, shaking her head. “And he got thrown out?”

“He left his phone on the bar and couldn’t pay his tab.”

“I told him not to go there,” Lena sighed, shaking her head.

“And your brother was there too,” Jake replied, causing Lena to reluctantly meet his gaze.

“How was that?” she asked quietly, glancing down at her plate.

“It was how it normally goes,” Jake muttered, causing Lena to wince.

“Daddy, can we watch a movie together? Please!” Nickie asked, grabbing Jake’s arm.

“Yeah, we can watch a movie, Nick. But we have to finish eating first, okay?”

“Okay!”

Jake asked Nickie about how things were going at daycare. Nickie happily told his dad everything that was going on in his life and held onto every single word that Jake spoke about aviation. Lena glanced between her son and Jake, easily picking out the similarities between them. After all, Nickie was quickly growing to look like his dad’s twin.

They eventually cleaned up and Jake settled on the couch with Nickie, who picked out a movie for them to watch. Lena gave them their space and went back to her office to catch up on some work. Lena poked her head out once to remind Jake about Nickie’s bedtime, but Jake was already giving Nickie a bath, so she just went back to work.

Jake came and knocked on the door to her office when it was time to put Nickie to bed. They walked into Nickie’s bedroom together like the divorce was just some bad dream that they already forgot about. Lena pulled back the blankets on Nickie’s bed and stepped aside for Jake.

“Alright, time for bed, Nickie.”

Jake laid Nickie down on his bed and pulled up Nickie’s blankets over him. Tucking Nickie into bed for the night, Jake handed Nickie his coyote plushie and ruffled Nickie’s still wet hair.

“Are you coming back, Daddy?” Nickie asked, causing Jake to nod quickly.

“Yeah, I’m coming back. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Nickie replied, immediately perking up.

“I love you, Nickie.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

Nickie sat up and wrapped his little arms around Jake’s neck to hug him. Jake quickly hugged Nickie back and pressed a kiss to Nickie’s head. After holding onto Nickie for a bit longer, Jake reluctantly released his son and stepped aside. Lena walked over, pressed a kiss to Nickie’s head, and told him that she loved him before she and Jake headed out of Nickie’s bedroom.

Carefully shutting the door, Lena waited a moment before she turned to Jake.

“I’m working tomorrow, so if you get out before four, you can pick him up if you want. Just text me,” Lena offered as she and Jake walked towards the door.

“I will if we get out,” Jake replied immediately.

“Do you still have the car seat your truck?”

“Never took it out,” Jake assured her, grabbing his wallet and keys.

“Okay,” she agreed softly, nodding along. Wrapping her arms around herself, Lena nodded to him before stepping to the side. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night,” he whispered back, reaching for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” she returned quietly.

Jake nodded to her one last time before taking his leave and heading over to his car. Lena closed the door behind him and locked it for the night. Watching Jake’s truck drive off into the night, Lena sighed and leaned on the door, resting her head against the wood.

“Talk to me, Mom,” she murmured, glancing up at the ceiling with a conflicted expression. “What do I do?”

Part 2 Part 3

#top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman x oc #jake hangman fic #jake seresin #top gun hangman #jake seresin fic #tgm #tgm fanfiction #jake seresin x oc #hangman fic #jake seresin series #top gun #top gun fic

315 notes · View notes

nerves-nebula · 1 month ago

Note

So you asked where the anons telling you that you helped them unlock a facet of their trauma were.. Here I am.

I was sexually abused by a variety of perpetrators, male & female, who weren’t related to me. therapy helped me accept I’m a survivor of cocsa, sa, & rape which is already. A lot.

Then I started following your blog for tm(n)t, and your posts about incest- convinced myself it was a byproduct of my other sexual trauma that I was interested in and related to some of those posts.

this year my therapist asked “did your father ever make you feel exploited for your body?” And I had to realize that oh. at minimum it was covert incest.

My father asked me to pretend to be his girlfriend on “daddy daughter dates” despite me vocally protesting every time, and went around introducing me as such to people at parties. This was from 14-17 and I got so upset at one of these parties that I had a verbal shutdown. Him and the other adults were commenting how I was “the new model” and that he’d divorced my mom for a “hottie”. They talked about my body like I was a slab of meat to appraise. His hand would rest on my shoulder, waist, or hip and I remember feeling that hand on my body for hours after.

My dad refused to put a lock on my door until I insisted at 18, then he put a lock on that didn’t work and I got SA’d more by people who slept over who entered my room after I fell asleep. When I told my parents about a perpetrator for the first & only time, my dad just left the room without acknowledging me and my mom told me she was raped too and then left after the bare minimum “you’ll feel better soon”.

There were times where I would be held down during wrestling or tickling, which would continue far past me asking to stop. They would tickle my hip bones and inner thighs, and would continue even after I started crying or puked. My brother took part in this and I caught him looking at my breasts several times, blaming me for my pose. When I was doing the splits or in vulnerable poses he loved to give me hugs and since a lot of those memories go hazy at a certain point from me getting overwhelmed I worry that it escalated past covert and I’m still repressing the really nasty bits.

Anyways. Sorry for the trauma dump, but your blog really did help me accept the possibility that I had suffered in a way at least tangentially related to the trauma you described and now when I relate to one of your posts I don’t immediately start invalidating my trauma so. Progress!

Thank you for being so candid here. I deeply appreciate your art for being unapologetically you.

that sucks, sorry to hear it. dear old dad aint do all that shit to me but he WAS weirdly obsessive about insisting i was absolutely going to get raped. like he'd say it all the time. he's probably the main reason i have so many instant intrusive thoughts about being sexually assaulted lol, trained my brain to associate any and all danger or new environments with SA

i also get the tickling thing tho. i'm not sure how often it happened but i'm very ticklish and it happened enough that i had/have an intense fear of being tickled cuz people just will not stop :/

anyway i don't have much else to add. in fact my eyes are blurring so i should probs go to sleep :P but thanks for sharing with me dude

#nnstuff #ask #got this on december 25th #csa tw #incest tw #sa tw

11 notes · View notes

zanarkandfayth · 6 months ago

Note

Would love to read your answers to questions 3, 9, 13, 17, 18, 26, 29, 31, 32, 50, and, if there's another number (or several) you really wanna answer, please add those too ✨

thank you for the ask!! <33 I wrote you novels in return gjdskglj

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

oooh this one is so hard because I love most of my fics for different reasons, even my older ones (at least the ones on ao3. we ignore the ones left behind on ffnet lmao). hhhh, of completed ones that are posted, imma have to say monsters honestly, because damn did I put some heart into that. but the one I'd probably consider absolute best is the still ongoing, not yet posted 600K+ beast of a fic I usually refer to as "nanofic" that I've been working on since 2019. it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it just gets so deep into noct's trauma that I inflict on him and his slow recovery from it, more than I've done for any other fic, and I've poured so much blood sweat and tears into that thing, it's kinda everything to me.

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

written, no. been tempted to in the past, but it was too much effort and I already had too many fics for my main fandoms. I have read fandom blind for both harry potter and supernatural in the past though, like lates 2000s into mid 2010s. both were kinda on accident. supernatural in particular is because it kept getting crossed over with MULTIPLE of my fandoms. psych, house md, and criminal minds. so I started reading non-crossover supernatural fics in self-defense gsdklgjdks

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I mean… this is the first paragraph of one of my fics from my first fandom when I was fifteen. you tell me 😂

"Relena smiled as she sipped her tea and mentally reviewed the day's schedule. 8:00 am- peace talk to the world. 10:00 am- conference with Romefeller. 1:00 pm- try to convince Dorothy to become a pacifist because she was to stupid to understand that Dorothy loved war. Rest of the day- annoy the HELL out of Heero Yuy. Smiling happily again (PLEASE! Her smile is SO annoying), she stood up and was just about to take a step when …. suddenly a freak falling cow killed her!!! =^.^= The gundam boys all burst out of closets around the room and rejoiced."

the biggest change is probably that I actually write well now lmao. and don't character bash. and don't throw author's notes and emoticons in the middle of fics, and have learned to format better, and, and…

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

oh god. let me hide before I answer this. hands down, it's shadows growing. like let me be clear, it's not bad by any means. I'm still fond of it. but I did not have a clear plan when I started writing it, and I really feel like that shows. it was not meant to be a fix-it fic. it was not meant to be a longer fic. it was not meant to be much of anything, tbh. I saw the prompt on the kink meme and the prologue literally started writing itself in my head and I was like "nah idk what I'd do with that" and I scrolled past, but I couldn't focus on reading other prompts and so I went back and just started typing the fic in a reply to the prompt. honestly I figured I'd write whatever I could and then when I left it unfinished, no one would know because I was anon and I had like one fic posted on ao3 for ffxv at the time and I was used to being a complete fandom nobody. the fact that shadows growing got me even somewhat noticed was unexpected and I was not prepared gdjskgjdskl

it definitely affected the fic because once the readers started picking up it made me feel suuuuper stressed and I was so afraid to stray too far from canon because I thought people would hate that??? for some reason??? no there's logic there. I was just overwhelmed. and I do get why people love it, because the whump and the friendship between the boys is really good. but I cannot help but look at it and remember how out of my depth I felt at the time and wish that I had been brave enough to diverge more from canon and smart enough to come up with a better ending. I still suspect there were quite a few people who felt let down by the ending and that's fair honestly. anyways, yeah, it's a good fic and I'm fond of it and most of the attention and the recs it got were in the first couple years of the game being out and I don't begrudge it being my most popular fic, I just. have better ones now I feel like gjsdgjskgsj but maybe not ones as many people would want to read. which is fine with me tbh.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

the gladio oneshot in my "fayth's daddy issues week" series! (I wrote all those fics so back to back that I can't remember the titles for any of them whoops.) I adore that fic and it got so little attention compared to most of the other fics in that week, or my fics overall tbh. the only one that got even less was the one about iris 🤣 but I don't care much for the iris one either, even though I think it has some stellar banter between the boys and cute/funny prompto/gladio moments. I really love the gladio one though, because it was fun to revisit gladio's pov in a fic and I got to develop a bit of backstory for him that's been evolving into headcanon and there's a good chunk of ignis and gladio friendship that was the precursor to all their friendship in monsters, plus I got to make gladio cry, so. I love it <3

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

characterisation, for sure. it's the one thing I agonise over and actually worry about what readers might think at times, especially as I get further away from having played the game to keep it fresh in my mind. so anyone commenting that it feels right makes me roll around on my bed in glee. the other aspect I equally enjoy is people commenting on the emotions. like, that the ones I wrote the characters having feel real/deep, that it made the reader feel them too, etc. stuff like that. cos the emotions are literally why I write fic lol.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

I am dumb and am struggling to understand what this question is asking, tbh. is it like, do I write for as many fandoms as I read, or something? because fuck no in that case, haha. the only fandoms I've done major writing for (more than one or two fics) are gundam wing, digimon adventure, final fantasy x, and final fantasy xv. and I've read for something like 100 fandoms, idk. at one point I had a list but I stopped keeping track eventually.

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

well… I didn't really understand the concept of characterisation for fanfic until a little before I started writing for ffx. so uh, it's kinda non-existent in my gdw and digimon fics. but once I actively started trying for it… honestly maybe just yuna from final fantsy x. I had some things featuring her meant to be longer fics that were set during the game (most of my posted stuff is set pre-canon, with no yuna in sight) but I never finished and/or posted them because I always felt shaky on yuna's characterisation. I don't think I've majorly struggled with anyone in ffxv to the point that I've felt too dissatisfied with characterisation to post. but at the same time I'm sure none of them are actually perfectly right xD but they FEEL more or less right to me, which is all I care about.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

noct. I mean. he's my blorbo for a reason xD my beloved, I relate to him so much and the rest of it I just project lololol. I make a point to not actually just write myself as noct, cos I personally ain't about that, but it feels very easy to write him without needing to think too deeply about his thoughts/feelings/reactions most of the time. they feel instinctual to me, even when it's something that would differ from my own thoughts/feelings/reactions if I was in a similar situation.

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

YES and the answer to this question is one of the reasons antis/purity culture upsets me so fucking much. it's a personal/sensitive answer though so skip if you don't want to read that xD but. reading rape/sexual abuse & aftermath fics as a teenager is what helped me to understand that, even though there was no outright rape happening, I was still being abused. seeing my favourite characters have the courage to tell someone about their abuse and get help is what encouraged me to tell one of my friends during an AIM conversation late one night when I was sixteen, and she convinced me to tell my therapist at my next appointment, who then told my mom, and yeah let's just say that was a very significant and eventually positive impact (it was a rocky road) on my life. if none of that had happened I genuinely think the CSA would have continued escalating into eventual rape. so thank FUCK for fanfic and I seethe with rage every time some shitfuck anti tries to claim there's no good to be found in such fics. plus in general it just helps with my mental health and I've made plenty of friends through fic over the years, even if they come and go I'm still grateful to have known them for that time, and writing fic is the one thing that gives life any meaning for me, etc. so yeah I'd say at least 99% positive.

and now, I will add a few to answer, because you said I could lmao

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

it is a toss-up between horizon road, an ffx fic featuring a toxic, fucked up relationship between tidus and auron that I still really love, or endless skies, a really self-indulgent digimon fic. they're both old at this point, horizon road I started in 2005, and endless skies was in 2016. horizon road suffers from me having no solid ideas for it beyond the three chapters I wrote, and endless skies is painfully fully outlined, but it was such a hard, research-intensive fic to write for a number of reasons, and now looking at it also just reminds me of an ex-friend who I feel very negative towards (because I talked to them a lot while plotting/writing and they even wrote some of the smut scenes for me, though I've since removed those) and even if I wasn't still deeply entrenched in ffxv, I don't think I could bring myself to ever work on it again :/ which sucks because I did adore it very much.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

…okay, I think anyone who has read shadows growing and then has also read or even looked at my ignoct fics knows that the ignoct is very much present in shadows growing gjdskgjsk as much as I will swear up and down it's platonic, and people certainly can take it that way if they want, like. come on. it's there. at a point, it very much was intentional. BUT. it did start out accidental. the og prompt asked for either gen or OT4 and I don't ship OT4 so I was gonna do gen but noct and ignis kept blurring the lines when I started writing scenes with them gdsjkgdjkl aaaaand actually I didn't start monsters with the intention of it being ignoct either. (the ignoct bits in the first chapter I actually added in a rewrite of that chapter lmao.) nor the tiny little epilogue in heavy is the burden that nudges into hinting at ignoct territory. fuck, even the ignoct in my very first ffxv wasn't meant to be so overt as it was gjdsklgjks there's also tiny hints of it in some of my fayth's daddy issues week fics (not counting the one that's deliberately and stated to be ignoct).

…actually now that I'm writing this I'm realising very little of my ignoct has been deliberately planned at the start 😂 the sequel to shadows growing, grey skies, was planned, at least xD the promptio that shows up towards the end of the fic was an accident though gjsdkgljslk it just. happened??? I didn't even LIKE promptio when I started writing that fic. huh. maybe accidental shipping is just my thing in writing ffxv fics.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

wanted to answer this one, because, I'm NOT talking in terms of other people here. I don't mean to sound dismissive or ungrateful, because I do appreciate the people who read my fics, it makes me happy, but like. it's not why I write OR post. I'm not "producing content" for people; if someone is unhappy with me for not posting more fics, that's their problem. but in terms of myself… yeah, I do wish I had more to post. not because I feel like I've got some kind of arbitrary quota to meet. like, quite frankly, I have over a million words of fic posted on ao3, and given that I have a single unposted fic that's over 600K alone, I'm positive I have at least 2mil total words written. it's just that I wish I could write more consistently/frequently? I feel like I never write as much as I want to, and I know a lot of it is because of my worsening health, so maybe that's why I just feel so frustrated and dissatisfied with my output, but man, sometimes I look at my number of posted works on ao3 and feel like it's such a low number for how long I've been writing ): both for ffxv specifically and for all my fics total. I know it's silly, but the feeling persists nonetheless.

thank you again for the ask!! I feel happy getting to answer questions and ramble about my fics :D and it was really fun to think about my answers and realise a thing or two haha.

#I assume most people use the auto-hide/click to expand long posts setting on tumblr now #but if you don't then rip your dash I guess #cos I don't wanna stick any of it behind a cut #I didn't mean for it to get so long though #I just cannot help but be wordy gjkdsgs #ask game #my fic

14 notes · View notes

sirensuccubus88 · 3 days ago

Text

50 Dirty Questions That Will Turn You On

1. What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about a total stranger? Sometimes I wear a skirt and no panties to the adult store hoping a stranger will risk it and grope me. Just a quick grab or a finger inside and then just walk away...

2. Do you prefer sex at night, in the morning, mid-afternoon, or NOW? Now. Always now. Some of my mental health symptoms are hypersexuality and poor impulse control. My mental is literally the perfect storm for an attention whore

3. What’s your favorite way to be seduced? Sensual teasing that gets aggressively more intense.

4. What’s the dirtiest fantasy you’ve had at work? I worked with a co-worker who I found VERY attractive (both inside and out). We would talk regularly and it felt like flirting but I was never sure. One day I was passing by him in the hall and I went to give him a hug and he grabbed my ass. Full on double fist squeeze so tight your pussy lips spread type of grab and then walked on like nothing happened, I spent days soaking wet daydreaming about all the what-ifs. I still daydream about it but I don't work anymore so sadly it'll never come true.

5. How would you dominate your boss sexually if given the chance? Depends on which boss... This one bitch needed to be edged so bad... Make her beg for weeks and then overstim her until she loses her fucking attitude.

6. What do you do when you get horny in public? Squeeze my legs tight and squirm, enjoy the light hearted humiliation and edging

7. Have you ever masturbated in a public bathroom? Yes. So many times. Even at work on break with the office supplies

8. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve thought about while touching yourself? In appropriate things I would never actually do.

9. What’s the strangest prop you’ve used to get yourself off? Oh that's a hard one I don't know! I've used my pen before, and then took a hit off of it after just to taste myself

10. Do you remember the first time you felt aroused? I do not (BPD/PTSD/Trauma)

11. Who gave you your first orgasm? Myself, and for a very very long time only ever myself

12. Do you remember what that first orgasm felt like? It was almost and out of body experience. It was so overwhelming.

13. Have you ever had sex with someone whose name you never knew? Yes. Many times

14. What’s your favorite thing about a quickie? WHY we have to make it quick, are we going to get caught?

15. What the most sexually daring thing you’ve ever done? Had an in person audience... Given someone else control over who could touch me at an adult party. I think those are the big 2

16. Have you ever fantasized about fucking one of your teachers? YES! Teacher's for better grades, Boss's for raises, Police to get out of a ticket, if I can use my body to get what I want, I'm going to do it.

17. Do you ever mentally strip strangers just for kicks? Every Single Day

18. And then imagine, in dirty detail, what it would be like to fuck them? Absolutely, almost obsessively. I'd make a move more often but I'm really shy in person or LIVE.

19. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes. And I love it. In fact I don't care what your packing just please put it in my mouth

20. What inspires you to make the first move? Things that help loosen my inhibitions, and previously established constent

21. In your opinion, what does it mean to be good in bed? Caring about your partners needs as much or more than your own (I mean this in both ways!)

22. Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend or girlfriend because you just couldn’t help yourself? No, I do not cheat. Informed consent from all involved parties is my #1 priority. But I have destroyed relationships because I couldn't control my impulses and I knew I wasn't going to be able to do instead of cheating we would break up. Realizing later in life that I am Polyamorous AND that upfront and honest communication is key, I struggle with this a lot less.... Plus now I have this amazing outlet!!!

23. Have you ever pushed the boundaries of fidelity to the brink and then retreated just for the rush? Maybe not to the brink, but yes I've flirted with others while in a relationship... It wasn't the 'rush" of infidelity, that just made me feel icky... It was the rush of feeling wanted, needed, desired, craved. I'm an attention whore and my mental only makes it worse. Unfortunately in a lot of relationships you fall out of the "absolute obsession" phase, but because of my mental I never do and when you pull back it only intensifies for me until I'm so desperate a "hello beautiful" from a completely stranger will make me both cum and cry.

24. Do you have a go-to masturbation fantasy? Yes I do. To be a prize/party favor that gets passed around while blindfolded so I never know who any of them were, but they would know me. so I'll always wonder if that stranger is smirking at me because he's already had a taste

25. What kind of porn turns you on? Sooo sooo much. Send me a link of what you like and when I get a chance I'll watch it!

26. Have you ever had sex with your eyes closed? Yes, frequently. I'm an avid smut reader and love to use my imagination, so when the sex in mediocre I close my eyes and fantasize about something better, maybe even something that can't actually come true like monsters and other fantasy characters.

27. Have you ever blindfolded or handcuffed your partner? Yes I have. It was fun.

28. Does naughty talk get you aroused? Absolutely it does. 1000000% I'm shy so it's hard for me to talk dirty back until I'm comfortable with you... But please PLEASE whisper deep in my ear how much your going to ruin me

29. Are you sure about that, my dirty little forest nymph of a sex goddess? I am so sure that I am now dripping wet.

30. What’s the dirtiest thing someone’s ever said to you during sex? Oh goodness I don't even know, if I hit subspace hard then my memory is a little fuzzy.

31. Have you ever watched another couple get it on without them knowing? No. I have caught people in the act and stared for just a moment before I came to my senses. Again consent is my top priority.

32. Have you ever watched another couple have sex with their permission? Yes. Ive even started recording (with consent) and directing what they did and how they did it so I could get the perfect shots. Like NEXT LEVEL boudoir photo shoot. I have them both copies and then deleted them for myself. I have SOME ethical standards even if a bit twisted.

33. How would you respond if a couple approached you to be their “third”? I actually enjoy being a unicorn for unicorns sake, but I don't do it anymore because unicorn hunters no longer have any decorum, class or respect. I may enjoy a carefully curated scene in which I become a mindless toy, but being manipulated and used, and then ghosted or tossed aside like a worn out condom is beyond the highest level of ICK.

34. What’s the most flattering thing someone’s said about your naked body? Surprisingly: when they aren't shy around my curves that ARENT inherently sexual. I guess that's not actual words but a partner that doesn't avoid touching my tummy like the plague is almost and instant panty dropper.

35. When’s the last time you had a vivid sex dream? Last night. They are at bare minimum a weekly occurrence. There have been a few times where I have literally woken up from spasming because I came in my sleep. The burdens of mental illness.

36. What do you think an orgy would be like? I haven't done an actual orgy, but I have been to a couple of adult parties and swingers parties and I imagine it's a lot like that but with less social politeness and more fucking

37. Have you ever propositioned a total stranger? Yes I have.

38. What does your ideal one-night stand look like? I don't like one night stands. One night stands are generally vanilla or vanilla+, and while vanilla sex can be nice, my body and mind crave a deeper connection. Emotional, Spiritual, and a power exchange that requires trust... That's non-existent with a one night stand. So unless I am filling a stranger fantasy or something of the like, I avoid one nighters.

39. How long does it take you to get yourself off, on average? Ive cum in under a minute, or I've edged for hours and couldn't cum no matter how hard I tried until I gave up. The 2 biggest things for me is how turned on I am: did you put in the work? This could mean your typical physical foreplay or emotional foreplay like opening doors, touching my waist when you pass by, kissing my forehead, calling me good girl etc. or mental foreplay did you paint a vivid picture in my head and give me time to mull it over, or did you give me hints and make me ache with curiosity and anticipation?

40. What’s the weirdest thing that turns you on? Fear, or a playful heated argument (one where safety isn't even questioned)

41. Have you ever had a naughty dream about someone close to you? Funny story so my mom met her life partner after both sets of offspring were adults so bare in mind we are in no way related and we did not grown up together, but I had the biggest weirdest crush on my stepbrother after my 1st time meeting him. He was talking shit about my car that his dad was working on, me and him got into a very quick witted and exciting tift, eventually I won by telling him if he didn't want a cock in his mouth he should shut it and later that night and for years after Id sometimes daydream about him going "oh yea? Is that how I fucking shit you up???" And grabbing my hair and shoving me down on it and face fucking me while I whined and drooled uncontrollably. That unhealthy obsession finally died out but the senario itself is still hot and I still get off to it sometimes

42. Have you ever woken up humping your pillow? I've woken up mid orgasm... I think that qualifies 🤣 but yes I have I've woken up already touching myself before too

43. When’s the last time you orgasmed in your sleep? Last week lol

44. What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you while hooking up? Naive and adventurous 20yr old me with an older underground rockstar. We decided to include a little ass play at his request but of course I didn't have the right equipment, just a small 3inch vibe from the notorious mall store here in the US. He puts it in my ass, turns it on and then goes to town giving me a good pounding in doggy. We finish, cuddle chat have a good time but for some reason moving around is uncomfortable. He leaves and I'm cleaning up to go to bed and I can't find my vibe. And then it dawns on me. This asshole stuck a toy in me, then pounds me so good it lodges itself inside me. AND SAYS NOTHING, does nothing to help, just lets me exist like that. I couldn't fish it out but squatting and pushing for like an hour finally got it out WITHOUT an ER trip. To be honest it would have been kind of hot IF it hadn't been so dangerous. ONLY USE BUTT SAFE TOYS IN YOUR BUTT!!!!

45. Do you like touching yourself in front of the people you sleep with? I LOVE being watched even if I'm shy about it. Whether it's just my partner or a room full of people.

46. What’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent or received? I sext too much for this question... Probably a sleepy "please come in the room and fuck my face until you cum down my throat before you leave for work" or something? Idk

47. Do you prefer professional or amateur porn? They all have their place. I love amateur porn and that's the kind that I want to provide... But a good well organized BDSM scene or a hilarious parody are nothing to scoff at

48. What’s your favorite blowjob technique? Listening to my partner .. whether he is directing me or if I'm just listening to the way he moans and paying attention to the way his body responds. I am a firm believer that EVERYTHING starts in your head. You wanna be good at a BJ? Then get into it like you love it... I guarantee you if a man has a choice between the perfect BJ or a girl that's average at it but she enjoys it so much that she's dripping wet because of it... They are guna pick the BJ cheerleader every time.

49. If you had to pick, would you be a dominatrix or a submissive? I am a Switch, and while I am mostly subby/little/brat I could never completely give up my random domme mommy urges.

50. Is there anything you won’t do in bed? I will Try almost anything once. The keys to what I won't try is:

Can everyone provide legal informed consent? If no, then the answer is no

Is it a digestive system bodily function? If yes then the answer is no (watersports is a soft limit, there are certain circumstances that may warrent a yes if negotiated to my liking.)

Is it going to or highly likely to cause long term or permanent injury? If yes then the answer is no

That's it.... I have a thing for making other people's fantasies come true, so there is a lot I'm willing to do even if I don't necessarily like it or want it for myself, because I know it would please my partner and I get a kick out of being the reason they get off.

I used to think that stuff like someone else controling a tattoo or piercing design or placement would be on short list of no's.... But the other day I got off to the idea of someone tattooing their name on the bottom of my foot like one of Andy's toys... So I don't think I can count that as a hard anymore 🤣

What do you guys think, should I auction off a "bottom of my foot" tattoo if I reach say... 5k subscribers?? 🤔

#bd/sm kink #send pervy asks

5 notes · View notes