#it's been two days why is my brain doing this to me

[bananayuyu]

Walker, Stalker

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.6k

Summary: The captain of the soccer team and the strange new girl who'd just moved in next door. Who would have thought that you and Yunho had the same fucked up fantasies?

Warnings: MDNI, smut, reader is short, size kink kinda, voyeurism, masturbation, sex toys, collars, stalking, degradation, mean yunho, unprotected sex, cnc vibes, please don't read if that isn't your thing!

A/n: this is inspired by that video above of Yunho walking and also this instagram post that had me losing my damn mind. @yuyusbabygirl thanks for making me insane. I hope you all enjoy <333

The air was cool and crisp the day you moved into your new dorm, campus nearly empty for spring break. As your beat up sedan pulled up to the curb you sighed, taking in the rare moment of silence.

It had been a harsh two weeks following your expulsion. And in all of the hiding and lying, you'd worn yourself thin. But what were you to do, tell the truth? If anyone here now, or anyone there then, heard the true reason for your transfer, you knew you'd never be able to show your face anywhere. Your accomplice had promised to keep his mouth shut too, promised to keep this whole thing a secret just as you had. And you had reason to believe him; his job was on the line, not just his reputation.

By then you were a jaded sophomore, already over everything about college; the power dynamics, the social expectations, the politics and bureaucracy that hung over all the professors. You'd learned too much about that, getting involved with him. It had been a bad idea, of course. But you had an insatiable need to fulfill certain fantasies, and try as you might you were never able to make the rational choice when it really mattered.

Moving in all on your own made for a tough day, but you were thankful for the solitude. Your friends and professors at your last school had been constantly asking you why for weeks; I thought you hated that school? All it's really got going for it is it's sports program.

You should have been more sad to leave them all behind; yes, you should have been, but your brain didn't seem to work the way it should, and you'd never been very attached to anyone. No one in the world could understand your true desires; and though you always tried to live as normally as you could, you'd realized this last year there was little point in truly trying to suppress it. The suppressing had only made it worse, which led to the shit storm you'd just passed through; you were determined not to make that mistake again.

The week passed in relative peace; with campus nearly empty you could walk about and get used to your new space, the new routes you'd have to take to your classes, the drive to the nearest grocery store. You'd heard mixed things about this place, but the cooler, wetter weather here meant that trees and bushes grew in abundance, and the grass by the student union building was actually soft enough to lay on. Your birthday was about to come, at the end of the week, and you resolved to buy yourself a little gift to celebrate. You'd done well to escape that potentially disastrous situation; you deserved a little treat for being so positive about the ridiculous move you'd just had to make.

You woke the morning of Friday with anticipation coursing through you, your legs and core already tingling with delight. The package wasn't set to arrive until the afternoon, so you busied yourself with what you could; going for another walk to double check your new routes, stopping by the store again to buy yourself a little cake to have with dinner. No one knew you were turning twenty today, but you didn't mind; you were going to celebrate tonight in your own way, in the way you liked, and that was all that mattered.

When you arrived back at the dorm in the mid afternoon the parking lot still looked relatively empty save for a few cars that you'd not yet seen. You had been so alone these few days, already growing used to it; but that was to change as soon as you entered the front doors and headed through the kitchen towards the stairs. As you walked past the refrigerator door slammed sharply; you jumped and peered back, locking eyes with a tall and broad man, his brown hair floppy and messily pushed back, his grey hoodie adorned with the school's bright green logo.

The eyes he fixed you with were dark and domineering, but he obviously looked surprised, seeing a new face here. The building wasn't tiny, but it wasn't huge by any means; you'd always imagined dorms to be massive enough for relative anonymity, but the one you'd been selected for housed only about twenty people, few enough that he'd certainly know everyone well by now. You snapped your eyes away from his quick and made for the stairs, your small cake clasped between your hands, your whole body trembling for some unknown reason. Maybe these few days you'd gotten so used to solitude that simply seeing another human ws scaring you; but really, if you were honest with yourself, it was something about the look in his eyes, the way they looked intense and dead all at the same time.

It was roughly an hour later that there was a knock on your door; opening it you found his face again, eyes still piercing yours when they met. Up close he looked massive, towering over you so much you had to look nearly straight up to see him, his shoulders so wide you couldn't see them all with the door only partially ajar.

"This came for you," he said, holding up your package, and your heart about fell out of your ass.

"Oh, thanks," you responded, swallowing hard, your mind racing with the knowledge of what was inside and his huge hands that somehow reached around the entire box. Your eyes fixed on the package as you grabbed it from him; your hands brushed, and a jolt of static snapped between your fingers. You jumped back, breath knocked out of you, before you stared back at him. He was staring at you too, eyebrows low, but his lips were turned up in the whisper of a smirk. You couldn't read him at all; you gaped as you watched him walk back to his room, the one right next to yours, and close his door without another word.

As you placed the package down it was obvious in an instant; there were multiple lines of tape that had graced the cardboard box, residue lines that were unmistakably in different spots that the current tape. Had he fucked with your package, had he opened it? You shook your head, feeling crazy; it was probably just a mistake that had been made at the warehouse, and the package had to be opened and taped up again. You didn't understand what it was about this guy that was shaking you so deeply. You were tired of feeling on edge, that was all the last few weeks had been. You needed to finally relax, that had been your plan for tonight; you pushed your worries from your mind and ripped open your package, immediately forgetting them all as you stared at the beauty in front of you.

A collar, with tiny spikes on the inside, that tightened if you pulled on the leash. And a stunning eight-inch dildo, purple and sparkly, a massive suction cup on the end. You'd had a routine down for months but had thrown out all your old toys during that period of suppression; now it was time to start building your collection again, and taking care of these sexual needs yourself. Your cake sat tantalizing you on your desk; but it would have to wait, you needed to try out your new toys.

You tied the leash to the back corner of your bed, making sure the rope was quite short; already the process was bringing you to the dark and sultry place your head liked to be, and you could feel yourself getting wet even before you'd grabbed the dildo, suctioning to the wall at just the right height. You started licking it, teasing it, getting lost trying to take it down your throat as far as you could; after gagging it was soaked with your spit, and in an instant you ripped off all your clothes and turned around, securing the collar around your neck carefully and tugging on the leash to make sure all was secure.

Then you positioned yourself in front of it; lining up your soaking entrance with the dildo you sunk onto it slowly, groaning at the stretch it was giving you, a sensation you hadn't felt in far too long. You liked feeling like you were splitting open from the inside, liked when it felt a bit painful, like it was too much for you to take. As you rocked forward your body weight pulled at the leash, squeezing the collar against the side of your throat deliciously, relenting slightly as you thrust back again. You started keeping a rhythm, the collar squeezing on the upswing, the dildo hitting your cervix the other way. This was what you'd needed to relax; the mix of pain and pleasure was numbing your mind just right, and as you continued to thrust your pleasure grew, your moans gentle as you tried your best to keep your volume down in this building you were no longer alone in.

You ripped several orgasms from yourself, over and over again, before you heard it. You'd lost count at that point; you were about to have another when you heard the unmistakable sound of metal creaking outside your window, and flashed up your eyes to see a grey hoodie moving past the glass, someone clearly on the fire escape outside. It all happened so fast, it didn't seem real; you didn't want to lose the pleasure you were feeling, so you started up your movements again, this time keeping your eyes trained in that direction. You'd lost it momentarily but the orgasm was building again; your mouth was slack open as you breathed hard, trying still to keep your noises soft, the tension in your core building even harder than it had earlier. This was bound to be a hard one, you knew it, and just as it started to wash over you, just as your legs began to tremble and your whole body erupted in flames of pleasure, you saw his face at the side of your window, his intense dead eyes meeting yours. Unable to stop yourself you came; right here infront of him, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and as soon as you pulled off he vanished, his face disappearing from view.

It was undeniably awkward the next time you saw him in the kitchen, later that night, putting the left over half of your cake in the fridge. He was still in his hoodie, still looked exactly the same; you'd showered, changed, tried to wipe yourself clean of the slight debauchery of your evening. Compared to some of the things you'd done in your life it was nothing, but you were so scared of getting kicked out again, you had tried to recalibrate your understanding of where the line should really be.

He just stared at you again. No greeting, no hello, those dark eyes never leaving you as you walked past. You too, said nothing; what could you say? You were so convinced of your own insanity that you were questioning if you had really seen his face. Maybe you'd just wanted to, had hoped he'd be there watching. He was by all accounts your type; you like them huge and tall, like them to scare you and intimidate you.

Over the next weeks you learned just how intimidating he was; when he stalked around campus he could part a sea of other students, no one daring to step in his way. His shoulders swaggered and his head hung down a bit, and all it gave off was a sense of complete confidence and superiority. He dressed nice, was clearly doing well for himself. It took some time, but soon you learned he was captain of the school's soccer team, played right back, was feared by everyone, and was all that any girl around seemed to want to talk to you about.

You didn't even have to be subtle about your questions; people wanted to offer up everything they knew, from minor injuries he'd had, how the last game on the road had gone for him, who his parents were, his class schedule, everything. People on campus basically stalked him, you realized; which wasn't exactly uncommon these days, especially as he posted on socials enough to provide the dots to be connected. But to everyone he seemed uninterested in them; he barely followed anyone else, only his family and a few other boys on the team, and was never seen to be leaving comments on anyone's posts. He didn't give a fuck to know everyone else; that he'd made clear over his four years here, and as he was set to play professionally come the fall, everyone figured his attention was laser focused on his sport.

It would have shocked them all to know what really had started to fill his evenings; you had a regular schedule of masturbating, that he'd figured out right away, and it was all too easy for him to sneak out on the fire escape between your windows and catch a glimpse of you, complete ecstasy on your face as that collar bore down on your neck, your eyes rolling back. Behind your building a line of massive pine trees lay like a wall, and out here he could touch himself without a soul seeing, so long as none of the other students in this building looked out windows that faced this direction. He didn't know what had come over him, other than you'd unlocked that dark disturbed part that he'd hid away years ago; that first day he'd seen you in the kitchen he was awe-struck, your body impeccably curvy, your height minute compared to his, the slightly frightened look in your eye going straight to his crotch.

When he opened your package later and inspected the contents, his mind spun at the thought that not only was the girl who moved in next to him unbelievably hot, she was a glutton for pain, from the looks of it. Unfulfilled fantasies ran through his mind, fantasies he'd always known were wrong, disturbing. But your frightened little presence had him constantly thinking of them; he couldn't help it, he needed to know more. He'd always been one to use his computer skills for his own gain; it took a while, but he finally tracked down the name of the new girl just assigned to this dorm building a week ago, and with that he was up and running, searching far and wide to find anything he could about you.

Nothing about your family or friends was findable; you'd barely ever posted pictures with other people, but he could tell from the jump that there was something off about you, something strange about the way you'd just shown up here during spring break. He'd found the name of your old school easily; but breaking into their system would be a project, and with classes and practices of the upmost importance now, he'd have to be patient to find out why'd you'd left. Ordering you a little present, however, wouldn't take much time, and soon enough he was standing at your door and knocking again.

Not a word had passed between the two of you in weeks; just fearful and tense glances, or the fierce look you gave if you caught him in your window. You were used to it by now, and appreciated the intrusion; it added to your little escapades, and while you took time building up your toy collection again, you were grateful for it.

You opened your door as you had that first day, slowly and deliberately. As soon as you spotted him your eyes widened a bit, your grip on the handle tightening, your face turned up to look at him.

"This package came for you," he said, almost identical to your first interaction. He had to hold back laughter at the look of pure confusion that crossed your face; you hadn't ordered anything, and were positively vexed. But soon you saw the the package was addressed wrong; this address, but his room number, and the name Jeong Yunho.

You swallowed, grabbing the package from him and nearly slamming your door shut. Inside you sat on the floor, heaving. What the fuck he was playing at, you weren't sure. If this was a joke, he'd surely be knocking on your door again now, right? You set the package down and pushed it away from you, trying to collect yourself. More than ever your demeanor was one of panic and unassuredness; even with your daily ministrations you hadn't been able to completely calm yourself. You needed more, you needed to order more actual packages for yourself and get yourself off the way you needed.

You left it until evening, until your homework was done and your body was begging you to satiate it's needs. You opened it gingerly; a new collar sat inside, bright pink with a bell on it, and a long line of pink rope. As you lifted it you found a page of instructions; under that, what looked like a small box-cutting knife.

Follow these instructions, were the only words written in pen; everything else was printed, words explaining how to tie your own wrist restraint and tighten it down by pulling with your feet. You peered over at the knife, at the collar, and you could see plain as day what all this meant. For a moment you felt an almost sobering sickness come over you; the fact that this wasn't making you go and report him immediately was all the indication you needed that you hadn't really changed at all. It was in your nature, to like this kind of attention; attention you shouldn't want, attention that was wrong and invasive and all together disturbing.

You set the box aside and went to sleep that night without a bit of sexual pleasure, Yunho sticking his head around your window only to find your room dark and your small form curled up underneath your bed sheets.

He panicked, a bit, that night. Maybe it had been way too far, of course it had been way to far; what a crazy thing to do when the two of you had barely spoken any words to each other. You clearly were a bit kinky, but maybe he'd read it all wrong; maybe you weren't as depraved as him, maybe that little spiked collar didn't really hurt as bad as he thought it did. You made it a remarkable week without masturbating; your longest record in many years, and it had his edginess slowly building. You swore you could see it on him when you passed him in the kitchen or the hall; even once out by the fountain, as you walked towards the fine arts building, you saw his jaw set in tension as you walked by him, eyeing him only for a moment before turning your head away and smirking, acting with all your might like you weren't affected by him one bit.

You were only waiting to make it more fun for yourself, in the end. That Saturday you broke, doing just as the instructions had told, and as you pumped your hips back against that purple dildo the little bell on your collar rang and rang, loud enough that you worried a house mate might hear and come knocking about it. As soon as he heard rustling in your room he was up and outside; watching the whole scene unfold, watching you mess up the knot three times before finally getting it right. You eyed him nearly the whole time this time, and he didn't even reach into his pants, instead enjoying the view for all it was and stamping it permanently in his memory to use for as long as he could.

When you'd finally finished, the sun well and truly set and the air cool outside, you looked at him pathetically, the knife in hand. How you were going to get the knot off yourself, you weren't sure; even with the knife it was a struggle, for the angle your hand needed to reach was virtually impossible. You tried several times over, but failed each time; his smile grew and grew, and it was the first time you'd ever seen any expression on his face other than that of pure anger. His lips curled up at the corners slightly, his cheek bones popped; he looked positively terrifying and it made you actually whimper in response, your eyes darting away. You tried for the next hour to get the ropes cut off, but there was no way you could; you went to bed that night without peeing, your wrists still bound. There was no way to get dressed, no way in hell that you'd be leaving this room even if you could. You'd finally started to spark up a few casual friendships with two girls who lived downstairs, and on the off chance that they or anyone saw you scrambling to the bathroom, you decided to stay in.

Your sleep was fretful, but more for how turned on you were than anything; you couldn't stop putting your bound hands between your legs, feeling how fucking wet you still were, coming somehow again and again. It must have been early morning when you finally fell asleep; and then it was only a few hours later when he snuck into your room, your eyes barely opening and your consciousness barely there as he sliced you free of the restraint, running back to his room with the knife and rope in hand. All you'd felt was a large hand on yours and your restraints falling away; later when you woke you had no recollection of it, confused when you tried to find the rope and knife and couldn't see them anywhere in your small room.

Your wrists were badly bruised form it all; you'd had to wear long sleeve shirts for weeks even though the weather was heating up. The packages continued too, and you realized he was very selective with when he gave you them, only coming when the two other boys who lived down the hall from you were gone. Both were on the soccer team as well, so he knew they were at their study group for Japanese, one they never missed because the grad student who ran it was one they both had the hots for.

It was weeks of debauchery; more gifts, more collars and dildos, once a beautiful, bright pink shiny vibrator that must have cost hundreds of dollars. That became your favorite; along with the collar with the bell, which you combined with your spiked collar for the pain, you stuck that vibrator between your legs and rubbed yourself forward and back, coming harder than you had in ages. It was almost getting you there to that point you needed to be; but you still always made him wait, still never used these new toys too soon after you'd received them. His frustration was clearly only growing; a few times he'd left short notes in the boxes, I own you or Your secret is safe with me, slut. But you never responded to them, never said a thing. You eyed him if you passed by, by chance; but by then he was starting to try to strike up conversation with you. You never responded, only looked at him with those pathetic scared eyes and maybe scratched at your arm, pulling back the fabric of your shirt to reveal your bruises, or wore a low cut top and pushed your tits together "accidentally," eyeing him afterwards.

Suddenly the term was almost over, and you couldn't believe it; you weren't doing amazingly by any means, but you were set to pass all of your classes, as long as you didn't bomb any finals. It was a stressful week but you made it through, barely thinking of Yunho and his gifts, not having time for it.

"How are your finals going?" he asked you when you passed him on the stairs; you only ran away, sprinting up to your room, closing the door quickly. Later a note slid under your door; stop pretending like you can run from me. You only chuckled at it, slipping inside and taping it in your journal. He loved to be threatening in his notes or with the looks he gave you, but you were pretty sure at this point he didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it. On the whole it was probably a good thing; summer was about to come, and you'd stay to complete extra credits, but he'd be gone for good and graduated, and you'd never have to worry that he'd get you in trouble all over again.

"The final soccer game of the season is this Saturday, you should come!" your two friends told you as you sipped coffees in the student union building, your last final behind you.

"Wait, tomorrow Saturday?" you asked, and they nodded.

"I know you don't like to come out on the weekends but they're so fun, and the dance team performs during half time, they have fireworks usually for the last game of the year too. And there's always a big party afterwards at the huge frat by the stadium, Wooyoung texted me yesterday about it," one said, voice bright as can be.

"Wooyoung?" you asked.

"Wait, you seriously don't know who Wooyoung is?" she asked you.

"No, should I?" you said, trying to keep the sarcasm from your tone.

"He's the one who lives in the room next to Yunho's, just down the hall from you," she said, and it brought forth the image of long shaggy black hair and chiseled abs, the boy loving to walk around half naked whenever he had the chance.

"Oh, yeah, of course," you laughed, smiling at her.

"You should come to the party, seriously, it's so much fun," your other friend added.

"I don't love frat houses-"

"This one isn't like most of them, seriously, it's very nice and the parties are always actually fun," she said, cutting you off.

"I'll think about it," you chuckled, thinking of the healing bruises on your neck, your last bout with your collar having been a bit on the rough side. What you'd wear to the game and party to cover it all up, you had no idea.

But by Saturday you'd thought enough about it, and with the stress of finals behind you, there was enough of your brain trying to push you towards the health and normality of being involved in college life that you decided to go. You'd wear your favorite green hoodie; it wasn't officially school merch, but the color was close enough, and it covered the fading bruises on the side of your neck well enough. Paired with short spandex shorts and your white tennis shoes, you looked preppy and in spirit enough to fit in. The bus to the stadium was uncomfortably packed but your friends knew the best seats; they ushered you through everywhere with ease because they came for every game, and thankfully didn't make you sit in the student section like you'd expected.

Down near one of the corners you had a wonderful view, and as the players started to exit the tunnel the stands erupted in rumbling, everyone stamping their feet against the metal bleachers and waving school flags high and proud. Most of the players ran out; but then you spotted Yunho with a number nine on his back, walking in that way he always did, his shoulders swaying, his eyes fixed to the ground some distance in front of him, his jersey hanging off his lean broad frame in the most tantalizing way. His swagger from his angle was too much to handle; his back to you, you knew he had no idea you were there, would never expect it. He looked massive next to the other players; you didn't know much about the sport, but looking down now it seemed like soccer wasn't typically played by tall guys. His frame was a scary sight to the other team, it was obvious; as the game started it seemed they all dreaded when they came into contact with him, and as the minutes rolled on by you couldn't help the visceral reaction you were having to seeing just how good he was.

After a while, a whistle was blown; players started walking off the field as the dance team walked on, and your friend answered your look of confusion by telling you it was halftime. Like before most of the players ran back to the tunnel, but Yunho walked behind, talking with one of the coaches. He was facing you now and you stared at his face, flushed a bit but set in such a stony look of concentration. Suddenly he turned his head as if to stretch his neck; he caught sight of you, and he stopped momentarily in his tracks, doing a double take. His coach seemed to asked him what he'd seen; he looked away quickly and waved his hand while undoubtedly saying it was nothing. But the whole second half he was shooting daggers your way; now that the two teams had switched sides he was mostly facing you, and somehow even so far away you felt yourself shivering under his glare, the intensity of it not lost no matter how big the distance between you was.

Fine, you'd said, agreeing to go to the party. Your friends were so excited as you'd never been out with them before, and you too were excited if you really were honest, having missed letting loose a little, getting in the spirit of the true college experience. You had sworn you hated it all a few months ago; but that was before and during expulsion, when everything was blowing up in your face. As strange as it had felt you'd enjoyed the game, and as your friends showed you the way across the street, you were baffled by just how many people were walking that way with you, this house no doubt very large.

You all waited for a while in the backyard, the house apparently not ready for action just yet. Behind the frat was a large forest, and already people were drinking beers they'd snuck from the stadium, the air buzzing with anticipation. Finally the back doors were opened; there stood the entire soccer team, most still in part or all of their jersey's, and the group in the backyard cheered for them, their effort tonight apparently something worth celebrating. You weren't even sure if they'd won; you were preoccupied, and knew so little about most sports that it was hard to keep up. But you were having fun, the whole point of the evening.

It got off to a comfortable start, and you were feeling good with these two girls, giggling about your lack of knowledge as you sipped a seltzer, your first drink out in too long. Inside the house was beautiful, and though it was filled with many people you weren't being bothered. You fell into a calm state, almost forgetting any reason to be worried; that was until you spotted Yunho plodding down the stairs, clearly having showered, his hair only slightly damp and his clothes fresh and clean.

You were sure he hadn't spotted you, as your height often kept you hidden in groups. But you couldn't have been more wrong; as soon as he made it to the floor he was walking towards the kitchen, then back to greet everyone in a slow dance of moving closer and closer to you and your little group.

"Can we move outside?" you asked them, sensing the danger, his head sticking up above most of the rest of the crowd. He wasn't being obvious by any means, but you could see it; he was sneaking glances at you, was keeping an eye on your whereabouts the whole time.

"Yeah, you feeling hot?" one asked you.

"Yeah, and I can't take my hoodie off, I didn't wear anything under it," you joked, using the excuse she'd just put in your lap to cover up the real reason you wanted to move. As you three snaked between people you caught his eye only briefly; it was a blunt and scary look, and you could almost see the fires lighting in his brain, his anger at your movement so obvious. But you were just doing what felt right; just following your gut, following the instincts inside you.

Once outside you resumed sipping your drinks and chatting away; a few other people had already had the same idea as you, though everyone stuck to the paved area out back, the forest now dark and spooky with the sun fully set. Things were peaceful again for a moment, the air still and quiet out here, only the distant call of some bird disturbing the silence.

But then he exited the house too; now he was stalking towards you, unmistakably, his eyes fixed on you as he swayed the way he always did, his steps deliberate and strong and fast, his gaze as dead and dark as you'd ever seen it. Before you could register what was happening he grabbed you by the arm; your seltzer flew off into the bushes and you scrambled to keep up with him.

"I'm tired of these fucking games," he growled, his grip tight and painful.

"What games?" you whispered, running along to keep up with his huge strides, your eyes wide as you looked at him.

"You know what fucking games," he said, voice low and dark as you both stumbled onto the grass, the forest coming into view in all of it's darkness and mystery.

"What- what are you doing?" you asked, trying to pull away from him now, the grip starting to feel truly painful even though the sleeve of your hoodie was protecting your arm.

"What the fuck do you think?" he spit, spinning you around and hitting your back against the trunk of a tree, his features almost obscured in the faint light from the house behind.

"I- I don't know," you cried as he pinned your wrists together with one hand, holding them in front of you as he caged you in against the tree.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing tonight," he growled, face only inches from yours now.

"I d-don't know what you m-mean," you stuttered, your body trembling hard now, your chest rising and falling fast as your breaths became almost hyperventilation.

"Coming to my last game? The most important game all season? Distracting me on the one day I needed to be perfect??"

"I had no idea, I-"

"You love to act all innocent, don't you?" he said, looking down at your outfit, something he'd seen so many freshman girls wearing.

"I'm not trying to," you responded, your blood pumping through you fast, your body alight with adrenaline. You tried wrenching your hands free; you felt strong, but it was no match for his strength, and he only doubled down on his grip, nearly crushing your wrist bones. "Ow, ow," you cried, trying to use your body weight to your advantage, only hurting yourself in the process.

"I bet that's turning you on, isn't it?" he spit, running his free hand over your parted lips, your eyes wide and your whole body cowering from him.

"N-no, not at all," you all but whispered, trying to steady your breathing.

"You're not a good liar, you know," he growled, face closer and closer to yours, before his lips smashed over yours and he fully crushed you against the hard bark of the tree, ravaging you.

Your breath was knocked from your throat in an instant; your body was tingling with excitement, every bit of you so happy that he'd finally broke, finally taken matters into his own hand. You hated to be the one responsible; you liked that this was his fault, that whatever messed up shit was about to unfold was his responsibility. You continued to twist and pull at him, but only enough to egg him on more; really you wanted this, your thin shorts already soaked, your hips bucking against his thigh that was pressed between your legs.

"See, I knew you liked it," he said, pulling back harshly, biting at your bottom lip. You let out a squeal of pleasure at that; it was hard enough that now you tasted blood, and the sharp metallic taste was making your head spin even more. You had no words to retaliate with; he chuckled in knowing he'd won, spinning you around and pulling at your shorts, pushing them down your legs just far enough to see your flushed pussy glistening at him, barely illuminated.

"Wait, not out here, they can all see-"

You were cut off by his cock slamming into you, the feeling more painful that pleasurable at first, and you let out a guttural scream, Yunho's hand coming up to cover your mouth as he pulled back and pounded into you slowly again.

"I know what you did with that professor, doll. I know you like when people are watching," he growled in your ear, hips slamming into yours repeatedly, your cunt struggling to adjust to the size of him. He was somehow bigger than that dildo you'd been using; how you were taking him without any warm up you had no idea. Your wetness was no doubt helping, but the severity of the feeling was leaving you almost limp against the tree, as you clung on to the bark for dear life and tried with your might not to collapse.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted behind you, hand still on your mouth, the other pushing on your back and holding you against the tree in front of you. It was only another few strokes and you were coming undone; squeezing down on him sharply, your legs shaking and making it even harder to stand. The pain inside was now met with a sweet warmth, your whole body erupting in shakiness as the pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes rolled back, and then closed; you forgot entirely where you were in the darkness as he fucked you to that pleasure again, this time his hot load filling you, trailing down your legs after he'd pulled out.

He scooped you up as you started to collapse, your hands and face scratched from the tree bark, your shorts completely and obviously stained. You were slack against him, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you bridal style; only a few more steps and he was lowering you into his car, driving you both back to your dorm. Again he carried you upstairs; it was totally empty, thankfully, for everyone was still at the frat party down the road. He cleaned you up in the bathroom, put a bandaid over a particularly bad cut on your left hand. You'd had to respond to some very worried texts from your two friends, assuring them you were home and fine; you knew that there'd be far more explaining to do the next few days.

You fell asleep as he cradled you in his bed; you felt at peace, finally seeing the way he kept things, feeling like you were stepping into a part of his mind and getting to have a look around. Calm, you felt so calm that night, finally; you were quite sad now that he'd be leaving so soon, and had a sinking feeling that you'd never meet someone who understood your fantasies as much as he did.

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna Part 6

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

masterlist

Uncle!Sukuna who puts his plan for a second date on temporary hold. The day after the incident with Yuji, you sat him and Sukuna down for that "talk" about why they shouldn't resort to violence, and what other methods they could use to get their emotions out. He hated every second of it. But he did enjoy watching you in your professional element. You were stern and serious, but still had a gentleness about you that showed you actually cared.

Uncle!Sukuna who was falling, real hard, real fast.

But he pushed that aside, instead offering to take Choso out for the day that weekend. He could tell the boy needed some cheering up, and your worry was only getting worse, so he offered to take Choso to some "kid-appropriate guy stuff", and asked you to help Yuji with the finishing touches on his project. Both boys were up for it, and when Saturday hit, you and Yuji waved Choso and him goodbye.

Uncle!Sukuna who couldn't deny that the car ride was a little awkward. He still wasn't very good with kids, and honestly, he was starting to wonder what he was thinking when he offered to do this. He liked the kid, sure, but he knew very little about him. One thing he did know was that Choso and himself were very bad with people, and general socialization wasn't really their thing. So from the house to the mall, the car was silent.

It wasn't until he parked, turning the car off, that Choso spoke.

"I know you like my mom."

Sukuna is silent, stunned by the sudden call-out. He stares out the windshield blankly before his eyes move to the rearview mirror, meeting Choso's. Th boy looks calm and sure.

"You don't have be friendly with me just to get on her good side. She already likes you too." Choso added after a short period of silence.

His words make Sukuna's brow furrow. He ignores the part about you liking him back, turning his head to glare straight at the boy.

"Listen, brat. You're here with me because I wanted you to be, not so I could get brownie points with your mom. Now say something like that again, and I'll throw you in the mall fountain." He quickly got out of the front, leaving Choso to blush at his words. He has a small smile on his face when he climbs out.

Nothing more was said as they walked into the mall. Sukuna took him to the comic store first, that being the whole reason they were there. He watched as the kids eyes lit up, looking around at all the images of his favorite superhero's . It made Sukuna smirk.

"Get what you want. If you see something you think Yuji would like too, let me know." He said before they split up. Choso went to look for his favorites, making sure to keep an eye out for Yuji's too.

Sukuna kept his eye on the kid as he browsed, not caring much about looking at the selection. But his eyes caught on one of the covers, making him pause as a memory surfaces from the pits of his brain.

A young Sukuna is approached by his twin, the younger of the two having his usual grin on his face, while his older brother had nothing but a scowl. Sukuna barely acknowledged his brother until he is standing in front of him, looking far to excited for no reason at all.

"What?"

"It's our birthday tomorrow!" Jin replied. Sukuna rolled his eyes.

"I know that, idiot. Like you said, it's our birthday."

"Well I wanted to give you your present early."

Sukuna looked at his younger twin, confused. They never got each other gifts.

He doesn't get a chance to ask before Jin pulls out a flat, wrapped gift from behind his back. He holds it out to Sukuna, his grin never wavering. Sukuna slowly takes it, holding it in his hand for a second with a skeptical look on his young face.

"Open it." Jin encouraged.

Sukuna listened, tearing off the wrapping paper slowly to reveal a comic book still preserved in the plastic. Sukuna examines the cover, recognizing it as one he's seen Jin read before, one that Sukuna had actually been interested in reading (though he never said that).

"I know you've wanted to read it, so i thought I'd get you a copy. That way, it's something we can enjoy together." Jin admits, practically bouncing up and down with his excitement for Sukuna's reaction.

The older twin is surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift, and his twins desire to have something they can share. It makes his chest feel full, but he clears his throat in an attempt to appear unaffected. Even at 10, he preferred appearing reserved.

"Uh..thanks, loser." He says after a second, ignoring his brothers grin. Jin can see right through him. "I didn't get you anything." He adds.

"That's okay. Just make sure to tell me what you think once you've read it."

Jin leaves, and Sukuna is left looking down at the colorful cover.

That comic was one of the few things Sukuna ever shared with his brother. It was one of the few things they could talk about and enjoy, finally having a common ground. Sukuna would never had said it before, but he could admit, at least to himself, now that this one comic brought him and Jin a little bit closer.

Which is why he picks it up, not bothering to look at anything else when he moves toward Choso. The kid had already picked out a few comics, some for him, some for Yuji (though he couldn't read that well yet). The two checked out, before making their way through the rest of the mall.

They walked through a few stores, Sukuna buying whatever Choso wanted without complaint. The kid was grateful each time, not expecting Sukuna to do so. But eventually, Sukuna was tired of hearing "are you sure? thank you" over and over.

"Say thank you again and I'll take it all back." He threatened. Choso laughed, nodding in agreement. Sukuna wasn't as intimidating when you got to know him.

They finished their afternoon with some food in the food court, before leaving with plenty of bags and two full bellies.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

The care ride back was far less awkward, but the two still didn't talk much. They simply enjoyed the low music playing through the radio, and the easy ride home.

When they were close to the neighborhood, Choso spoke up.

"If you and my mom get married, would that make Yuji my brother?"

Sukuna blinked in surprise, glancing at the boy in the mirror. Choso had a curious look on his face, genuinely wondering.

"Yuji isn't my son." Sukuna answered after a moment, ignoring the feeling he gets at the idea of marrying you.

"So he'd be my..cousin?" Choso asked. That wasn't as cool as 'brother' but it wouldn't be too bad.

"I...I guess. Technically, yeah." Sukuna answered, trying to brush it off with a shrug. He didn't know why they were talking about this. "But your mom and I aren't even dating, so don't worry about shit like that."

"But you both want to date. Don't you?"

"Don't you have other things to worry about, brat? Since when are you so damn nosey?"

"Mom says it's good to be curious and ask questions."

"Yeah well, not about this. Just worry about your comics and your ma and I will worry about..all the other stuff."

Choso huffed, not happy with his question going unanswered, but figured it didn't make sense to push it. Not right now, at least.

"Well, I like you. And Yuji. So I hope, even if you don't date my mom, you both stick around." Choso admits. Sukuna looks back at him again.

"Yeah?" He sees Choso nod. "Well I...we like you too kid." He says, his voice a lot quieter and soft. His eyes return to the road, right as they turn down the street to your house.

Neither of them say anything more, but both feel a little bit lighter at the confession.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Uncle!Sukuna who walked into your house a few minutes later, to the sound of upbeat music playing and two voices, very off tune, singing along. He shares a look with Choso, before they walk further in. They stop at the kitchen, seeing you and Yuji dancing around together while seemingly baking. There's a sheet of cookies already laid on the counter to cool, telling Sukuna you both have probably been at this for a bit. He smirks as the smell finally catches up with Choso, who rushes forwards towards the two of you. The sound of his steps catches your attention.

Once again, Sukuna is sure his heart stops when you give your son a large grin, hugging him tightly. It gets worse when you look up, giving Sukuna the exact same beautiful smile.

You turn down the music as he walks into the room fully, Yuji immediately running towards his uncle to be picked up. His bright grin is in place as he starts to ramble about the things the two of you did. He's talking so fast that Sukuna can't understand but a few words, but he doesn't bother interrupting the boy. He simply holds him with one arm, staring at him with a raised, unamused brow. He sees you and Choso talking out of the corner of his eye.

Once Yuji has calmed down a little, you turn to look at them with another smile, handing Choso a cookie while you do.

"Did you get me anything, Uncle Kuna?" Yuji asks, staring at the man expectedly. Sukuna scoffs, wanting to call the boy spoiled for thinking he got him something. But he couldn't, because Sukuna did in fact get his gremlin of a nephew stuff.

"Yeah, but don't expect me to every time. I'm not gonna let you get spoiled." He glares slightly. Yuji ignores that completely, clapping happily at his uncle's words. He wiggled, wanting to be put down to go play. "tch. can't ever stay still." Sukuna mumbled as he set Yuji down. The kid immediately took off, grabbing Choso's hand on his way and dragging the surprised boy to another room of the house.

"Don't know where he's going. The shit's still in the car." Sukuna says with a smirk. His words make you laugh, bringing his attention back to you. "How was he?"

"He was lovely. We finished the project, I think it will score good, and then he wanted to bake some. Said his mom used to make cookies all the time, so I thought it would be a nice treat and help cheer him up." You answered. Sukuna was a little surprised at the mention of his late sister-in-law. Yuji didn't really talk about his parents much. But he didn't think much of it.

"They smell good. Surprised you let him have any before dinner." Sukuna smirked, knowing how strict you usually are about desserts before supper. He moved closer, leaning on the counter as you took the last back of cookies out of the oven.

You huffed playfully, setting the cookies down to cool.

"Well I'm not a monster. Finishing the project was a little emotional for him, so I wasn't gonna be strict with him about something as little as this." You replied. Sukuna frowned slightly at that, but he could understand why. "Also, I don't think I've ever heard of a pair of twins who are so totally opposites, I honestly wouldn't have known you were both related in any other situation." You teased.

"Wait, how'd you know Jin was my twin?" Sukuna asked, thrown back by your knowing something that he definitely never told you. Sure, you saw pictures, but him and Jin looked nothing alike, so surely the twin thing wouldn't be easy to assess. It was your turn to be confused, and you gave him a look as though the answer was obvious.

"Yuji, of course. He mentioned it a while ago. Did you not think that would ever come up?"

"Yuji talks about his parents that often?"

"Of course he does. He talks about them all the time. His dad apparently told him a lot about you, so he talks about that too."

Sukuna was shocked. Yuji hardly ever talked about his parents to him. He thought the kid was just a silent griever, like him, but apparently that wasn't the case. Sukuna frowned as he tried to understand why Yuji wouldn't want to talk about them with his own uncle.

You see this, understanding immediately where his confusion was coming from.

"Does he...not talk about them with you?" You ask softly.

"..No. not really. I figured he just..didn't like talking about them. Figured it might be hard for him." Sukuna answers. His frown turns to a slight scowl at the feeling that he might be doing something wrong. If Yuji wasn't coming to him to talk, didn't that mean he wasn't doing what he needed to in order to show the kid he could be there for him?

His thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his arm, and his eyes snap to meet yours.

"I don't think Yuji is the one who has trouble with it." You said gently. He got what you meant. "If you want to know why he doesn't, I think you should ask him." You added, just as the boys ran back into the room.

Sukuna watched as they excitedly showed you something they drew, contemplating your words. He knew you were right, you always were. He just didn't know how the hell to go about it. Talking wasn't his forte, none of this was, but especially not that.

But he remembered he told himself he would be better, and wanted Yuji to be open with him, even if he struggled with that himself. So he knew he'd have to figure out a way to talk to the brat, sooner rather than later.

He decided to save that for later tonight, though, when you turned to him with another pretty smile, as Yuji runs towards him to shove his drawing into the mans face.

Uncle!Sukuna who gets offended when you offer to pay him back for everything he got Choso, simply walking away without dignifying you with a response. He basically pouted as he helped you make dinner, making it seem like you has actually insulted him. It made you laugh.

Uncle!Sukuna who isn't surprised when he finds Yuji and Choso passed out on the couch once more. In the short time after dinner, while Sukuna help you clean up, they had gone to watch some TV. He will never understand how they can go from so energetic to snoring and halfway falling off of the couch.

Uncle!Sukuna who smirks when Yuji actually does fall off of the couch. He still didn't wake up, making Sukuna shake his head in disbelief. He was pretty sure the kid could sleep through anything.

Uncle!Sukuna who approached your bed room, knocking on the door softly. He couldn't help but admire you when you opened the door, obviously getting ready to go to bed soon. You smiled again, opening the door to allow him inside.

"They're asleep aren't they?" You assumed with a chuckle. He smirked, nodding as he examined your room.

"Knocked out." He confirmed.

"Yuji can stay here tonight, if you don't want to carry him back to yours." You offered, looking at him through your mirror. His brow raised, smirk growing.

"What about me? Can't I stay too?" He teased, giving you a flirty smile. You flushed, breaking eye contact and shaking you head fondly.

"You can if you'd like." You replied after a moment, looking back at him. You see his smile drop in surprise, making you smirk. "Plenty of room on the couch for you." You added, teasing him.

His shoulders dropped, a scoff leaving him as he shook his head. His reaction made you chuckle. He moves closer and you turn to face him fully.

Sukuna remembers he had a plan, to ask you out on another date. And while this wasn't how he intended to do it, it feels like the perfect time.

"Tease," He grumbled. His hands settled on your waste, holding you just like he did when he kissed you. "What are you doing next weekend?" He asked.

You flushed, hands going to his chest because you weren't sure when else to put them. This was the closest you two has been since your date.

"Um, nothing specifically. Choso won't be here, so I was just gonna get some stuff done around the house. Why?" You replied. You could guess why he asked, but you wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up.

"How about we get to that second date?" He asked, doing his best to appear confident in his questioning. He hoped you were on the same page.

Your instant smile reassured him that you did.

"Oh yeah? I don't know, the house could really use a deep clean." You teased. He scoffed, glaring at you with no heat behind it.

"Don't be a brat." He replied, making your smile grow. His jaw clenched as he hesitated. "You..do wanna go on another one, right?" He forced himself to ask. He wanted to be clear with you, straightforward to the best of his ability.

Your smile softened.

"Yes, Sukuna. I'd love to go on another date with you." You said. The look of relief on his face made you want to tease him more, but you decided to give him a break.

He smirked softly, pulling you closer. He didn't say anything more, and neither did you. You ended the night with a soft, sweet kiss, before he left your bedroom. He took Choso and Yuji to bed in Choso's room, before actually laying on your couch. Both of you fell asleep with little smiles, feeling more secure in whatever it was between the two of you than before.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

let me know what you think! also, would ppl like to see a snippet that's about reader and Yuji's afternoon together while sukuna and choso aren't there? I realize sometimes i focus too much on one dynamic and might leave another out a bit. I assure you guys there will be plenty more about sukuna and reader in the next part! I just think it's important to build their relationships with Yuji and Choso.

I'm thankful for any constructive criticism! Thank you for reading, and all the support <3333

barely proofread

[swuspect]

OFF THE RECORD.

“nah, you love me.”

prev chapter?

synopsis: one stream, one confession, and the internet lost its mind—now chris sturniolo is in your dms, and he’s definitely flirting back.

a/n: i literally just woke up from my nap and saw 100 FOLLOWERS??? TYSM 😭😭 it’s barely been a week and i’ve gotten so much love!?! Im very thankful though!! (if you have any requests don’t be shy)

pairing: chris sturniolo x streamer!reader

wc: 887

your fingers hovered over your phone screen, staring at the message like it might disappear if you blinked too hard.

@christophersturniolo what if i got ur number tho… just so u can tell me to stfu properly n all

was this real life?

your heart hammered against your ribs as you quickly swiped out of instagram, checking your reflection in your front camera like it mattered. girl, he can’t even see you right now. get a grip.

taking a deep breath, you went back to the chat.

@yourusername bold of u to assume i’d use my words and not just block u

@christophersturniolo nah u wouldn’t do that

@yourusername u don’t know me like that

@christophersturniolo not yet .. 👀

your brain flatlined. no way was chris actually flirting with you again.

but two could play that game.

@yourusername ur confidence is crazy rn

@christophersturniolo i mean u did call me ur fav triplet so i got reasons

you rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. fine. whatever. you were done pretending to play it cool.

@yourusername yeah yeah whatever. u getting my number or not

@christophersturniolo oh so now u want me to have it??

@yourusername i changed my mind, ur not getting it anymore

@christophersturniolo oh nah ur actually evil send that shit rn

you grinned, finally typing out your number and hitting send.

within seconds, your phone buzzed with a new text.

unknown number stfu

you laughed, shaking your head as you saved his contact.

you - damn. straight to the point huh

chris - well technically u did tell me to stfu first…

you - okay and???

chris - and i’m just following orders. also hi

you - hi

chris - so u free tmrw or u too busy being a famous streamer n all

your breath caught in your throat. was this what you thought it was?

you - depends. why?

chris - i mean if ur tryna talk shit abt me being ur fav triplet i feel like that should happen over facetime

you - oh so ur tryna see my face now???

chris - i already see ur face all over my fyp, might as well see it for real 🤷🏻‍♂️

you flopped back onto your bed, phone clutched to your chest. you needed to scream. maybe kick your feet a little. but not yet. first—

you - alright fine. tmrw.

chris - say less.

you stared at the screen, warmth spreading through your chest.

how the hell did this even happen?

whatever. you weren’t questioning it.

the next day, you spent way too long debating if you should actually call him or if you should suddenly disappear off the face of the earth. you were about five seconds away from ghosting when your phone lit up—

incoming facetime: chris sturniolo

fuck. fuck. fuck.

you sucked in a breath and hit accept before you could chicken out.

“well, well, well,” chris smirked as soon as your face popped up on screen. “look who actually answered.”

“look who actually called,” you shot back, adjusting your phone so you didn’t look like a complete mess. “should i be flattered?”

“depends.” he leaned back against his bed frame, hoodie slightly oversized, curls messier than usual. he looked annoyingly good. “you nervous or somethin’?”

you scoffed. “nah, but you are. i can tell.”

he raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah? how’s that?”

“you keep touching your hair.” you grinned, watching as he immediately dropped his hand from where it had been fixing his curls.

“alright. chill.” he rolled his eyes, but you could tell he was biting back a smile. “so is this what i should expect? you bullying me on the first call?”

“obviously.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “nah, that’s crazy.”

you just shrugged. “you signed up for this.”

“did i?”

“yeah. the second you slid into my dms, it was over for you.”

he tilted his head. “nah, i think it was over for you the second you admitted i was your fav.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you love bringing that up, huh?”

“oh, hundred percent .” he grinned. “makes my ego real happy.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

“you’re not that special,” you teased.

“nah, don’t lie. you definitely got a little crush.”

you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. because maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t wrong.

“see? you’re speechless.” his smirk deepened. “caught in 4K.”

you groaned, covering your face. “i hate you.”

“nah, you love me.”

“okay, relax.”

he laughed again, a little softer this time. “alright, fine, i’ll chill.” a pause. “but i think you’re cool, y’know.”

your heart did a stupid little flip.

you peeked at him through your fingers. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he shrugged, leaning his chin on his hand. “i mean, we did just meet, but… you’re easy to talk to. funny. and, y’know.” he shot you a look. “kinda cute.”

you blinked.

he just said that. casually. like it was nothing.

“uh—” you cleared your throat, trying so hard to play it cool. “well, you’re not too bad yourself, sturniolo.”

his smirk returned. “so it’s mutual then?”

you pretended to think about it, tilting your head. “…yeah. i guess so.”

“solid.”

a comfortable silence settled between you two, the kind that didn’t feel awkward or forced. just… easy.

and maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something really, really good.

.☘︎ ݁˖ @angvl3tears @leprechaunbirthdaygirl .☘︎ ݁˖

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

busted

author's note: I've been doing really well lately, idk why my mind is filled with angst. the POV is so messy ngl because you see "your" thoughts but there's also a major focus on deans inner turmoil and observations...not my best work but I had to spill it out. I may come back to revisit it later but just wanted to preface that LOL also this is inspired by my bot!

summary: a call from the Greensboro Sherriff's Office causes your heart to stop dead in the middle of your apartment. you bring dean back into reality, as he takes in your reaction to his choices.

pairings: dean x reader

characters: dean (20 years old), reader (anywhere from 18 and up)

word count: 6.1K

warnings: cursing, slight injury (a bruise and a cut), John Winchester hate, HELLA angst, not exactly proof read good luck

-+-+-+-

NOVEMBER 14, 1999

sluggishly jabbing the key into the handle, you open the door to your studio apartment. you drag your feet in, missing the sight of your place, as it feels like you haven't been here for days- when in reality, it was only fourteen hours because of the double shift that you took. 

throwing anything in your hands on the counter- keys, purse, leftover food- you make your way into the bedroom to change into loungewear instead of your work clothes. you couldn't focus on anything else until you stripped yourself of anything from work. an oversized grey shirt that reaches down to your upper thigh is accompanied by your black yoga shorts and fuzzy leopard print slippers. you couldn't bring yourself to care. all you want to do is eat and pass out, because you know you're up again tomorrow to open.

you didn't mind your work at all. there was a consistency about it that was rather soothing to you since hunting was anything but consistent. you only went on hunts every couple of months, since it was hard to take off more than a couple of days at a time. 

once you sluggishly make your way back in the kitchen to grab your leftovers, a buzzing starts to sound from your bag. you rummage through it trying to find your pinging cell phone that seems to have been buried in a mountain of credit cards, mascara bottles, and god knows what else you've tossed in there.

upon finally snatching it, you hurriedly flip it open before it goes to voicemail and accept the call, with an drowsy, "hello?"

the line is still for a moment, before you hear, “is this," your full name is said across the line, an older woman with a gratingly, unenthusiastic tone.

you stand up straighter. the unsteady beat of your heart was the only thing you could focus on for a moment or two, thumping in your chest with unease. a bad feelings swells in your chest. you aren't sure who you would've given your number to recently. you don't give it out at all unless it's to close friends or family. your mind goes to the worst case scenarios. a hospital calling to tell you that someone is gravely injured.

or dead.

you swallow, a moment before you shakily respond. "uh, who's asking?"

the droning woman continues with an exasperated sigh. "you have a collect call from Greensboro Sheriff’s Department, do you accept the charges?” 

perplexity racks your brain for about a second before you close your eyelids with a knowing sigh.

dean.

you try to keep the contents in your stomach down from the rush of nerves. you swear your legs feel like they're about to give out from underneath. you brace your hand on the counter, leaning into it. “yes,” you manage.

a click in the line signals that the operator is connecting the call, as it rings twice before a hoarse voice speaks your name. it is exactly who you figured.

“dean? what the hell's going on?” the panic slips out from your throat as you attempt to keep a level volume.

a waery sigh travels to your ears, and he sounds a lot less assured and cocky than he normally does. he comes across with a softer mumbling, a tone you haven't heard before.

"can you pick me up?”

he sounds tired. embarrassed almost. it didn't help tame your irregular heart rate.

you shake your head with worried incredulity even though he can't see you, "from greensboro? where's that- north carolina?"

"yes."

your eyes squeeze shut, trying to maintain a regular breathing pattern. it was all wrong. you wanted to be angry, and yell and scream and curse at him but this call, his defeated voice, and curt answers... it's not like this was on purpose, you remind yourself. he just makes bad decisions sometimes.

though, this is one probably takes the cake.

you blink your eyes open, a dreadful huff escaping, "god- it'll be a couple of hours before i get there." you glance to your wall clock hanging next to the kitchen cabinets. 10:44PM. you estimate you won't get there until 1:30 in the morning. god damn this.

"no, that's fine- it's...i'm sorry," dean barely raises his voice above a whisper. his strained, resigned voice breathes across the line as he continues, "i didn't know who else to call."

oddly enough, you're genuinely thankful. given that dean was more of an 'i'll do it myself' guy, you are relieved to know that he called you instead of allowing himself to spend a night or two in jail. sure, this is a major problem to deal with, he's in a fucking holding cell at the sheriff's office right now, and you're hours away from having to drive to bail him out.

but he did call for you.

the anger isn't quite faded, but it's pushed to the back of your mind, as you grip the phone a bit tighter, your voice getting stronger again, "just- it's okay. i'm glad you called me. i'm on my way, just- god, don't get into any more trouble while you're there." you're already halfway out the door with a map in your hand as you scold him over the phone.

"i won't, i won't." he ensures tightly, before quietly adding "drive safe, sweetheart."

you utter a quick bye as you hang up, heading to your car parked outside the apartment building.

you can't say that you weren't aware of what you were signing up for when you started dating him. you knew exactly what you were getting into. and it was hard. he's not always around, and when he does show up, more often than not he's battered and bruised. although you take pride in the fact that he shows up to you when he can. it's hard to get close to him, so you take anything you can get when it comes to helping him. and when he is around...you forget how to act. he is unlike anyone you've ever met. he's got this wicked charm and sense of humor that you adore. he is selfless to a fault, putting everyone before himself. he cares deeply for those around him, even though it's not always in plain sight. he's surprisingly romantic- though some times you do have to remind him of what boyfriends do. being one of his first "long-term" girlfriends means that he's doing a lot of learning. and he does learn, you admit, and he makes you happy.

so you keep replaying these thoughts in your head as you curse his name on the three hour drive to Greensboro.

-+-+-+-

only when you park at the sheriff's department is when you realize you never changed. you were still in your lounge clothes from earlier. a funny thing to make note of, but your thoughts were so scattered right now from the evening's events that you couldn't care to linger on the topic.

you walk through the front doors to an eerie and dim-lit waiting room. one officer behind a guarded cubicle shifts his glance to you. you slowly walk up to the desk, trying to hide your uncertainty, seeming as you've never picked up anyone from a holding cell before. you speak up, "uhh- evening...i'm here to bail out dean. he was brought in today..." you left out his last name, hoping that they hadn't got his legal name and that maybe he was using a coverup.

the officer, a balding guy in his mid-forties (if you had to guess), clicks his tongue as he files through a comically large binder, skimming through until he reaches the page with dean's information. "yup. we got 'im. take this. fill it out. he's processed already, so we just need a check and some info and we'll send him on his way."

he hands you a clipboard with a couple of pages of paper and a pen, asking for some of your identification and background. you flash him with a quick, forced smile as you take it over to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the lobby.

you stand up and hand it back to the officer from the slit in the plastic guard. you notice a badge on his chest that reads "WADE", as he just stares at the chunky computer that his eyes seem to be glued to. you clear your throat, offering the clipboard and papers in further, along with a check for $300. 

dean better be damn lucky i have a savings...

"fantastic," although, the enthusiasm obviously didn't reach to his expression as he printed out a receipt, on an obnoxiously loud printer. he slides it through slit and exasperatedly groans as he stands from his seat. once the officer grabs keys from the desk, he shuffles over to the hallway with a pressed, "cyom'on."

you follow behind him with an awkward silence. the only noises to be heard were the echoes of his boots booming with each step, and his occasional throat-clearing. he swings the key ring around his finger with soft, metal clinking and slows down at one of the locked doors.

this room is full of other desks occupied by a small handful of other police officers at their stations filling out paperwork. one or two glance up to you, but it's short-lived.

"wait here and i'll grab 'im," he holds out his palm, signaling for you to stop behind him, as he disappeared through another set of doors.

you are for sure angry with dean, but the way the cop said "grab 'im" makes the protective bones in your body activate. it sounded too aggressive, even though you knew dean could be quite the handful. 

he was your handful, and you have to remember that. when you answered the phone call, you assumed the worst, which was that he was dead. and he's not, thankfully. you just have to remember that this night could have been much worse. 

you take in a long inhale, sitting on the edge of one of the chairs. you lean your head in your hands, the exhaustion taking you out by the minute. and it didn't help that you're out there for another fifteen minutes before you hear the same door open with a second pair of footsteps. you stand up immediately and exhale in relief, and all negative feelings are spared for the moment when you watch dean trudge in front of the officer with a fresh, red-pigmented bruise forming on his left cheek with a small cut paired at the center of impact. his eyes look glossed over from probable sleep deprivation, as his strides are more lethargic than you're used to seeing. 

"this the guy you want?" he points lazily, double-checking as he looks at you unimpressed.

you usher yourself over to them, confirming with a sharp, "yep."

although despite your tone and your blank face, you couldn't help but instinctually reach out to dean and bring him in for a firm embrace. 

he obviously wasn't expecting it, as he grunts from your grip on him, and he raises a surprised brow but puts his right arm around you as he swallows down his own emotions. his gravelly assurance reaches your ears, "i'm fine."

you pull away with a disbelieving scowl, reaching a hand up to the side of his face and turning it so you can see the little souvenir he received from this experience.

"what's this." you deadpan, laced with a bit of a challenging bite to it.

dean sets his jaw as you hold it in place, avoiding your gaze as he grates out a dismissive, "nothin'."

you let go of him, shaking your head. your expression morphing into a controlled irritation and worry.

"son," officer wade impatiently calls from the desk a couple of feet away. he slides a paper towards the edge of his desk with the tips of his fingers, "fill this out for us while i git the rest of your belongin's and such."

dean lets out a quick huff of air, as he turns to the cop leaving their vicinity, "yes sir, officer krupke." he mumbles under his breath, which in turn gets him a backhand on his arm from you. he whips his head to you with shocking amount of surprise, as you eye him with a stern look that said "you better fucking watch yourself". dean rubs his arm slightly and widens his eyes briefly before sitting down at the chair across from the desk, writing on the bail acknowledgement sheet.

after a little while, dean turns his head to you, darting his tongue out to wet his lips before he hesitantly asks, "hey, uh...did they give you an amount for bail?"

you take a deep breath in, grinding your teeth as you avoid his gaze before you numbly answer, "it was $300, dean."

he gulps. his eyebrows flash up in shock and be blinks a couple times, and gives you another glance, "damn. thanks for covering me."

"just fill out the paper." there wasn't any attitude behind it. just clear exhaustion.

he looks at you funny, like he didn't expect you to be this terse. he takes a breath, and huffs a bit of it out, bringing the pen to the designated lines.

after about ten minutes of silence, officer wade drops off a plastic bag of personal items of dean's with a sharpie label on it. he drops it on the desk unceremoniously, bringing dean's attention to him.

"if that's all done, you can git." he points to the doors leading out, "but i don't wanna see you back in here or we'll have problems. y'understand?"

you let out a chide scoff directed at dean, answering for him, "trust me. he won't be back here. thank you, officer wade."

he dips his head in acknowledgement. dean scuffs the chair backwards as he eyes the cop, and he stands up slowly and with a slight threat in his look still.

you hurriedly walk down the hallways of the sheriff's department, not even looking back to dean.

now...

now is when the anger starts to simmer a bit.

you're a couple of feet ahead of dean as you push the door open with more force than necessary, but you figure it might be better than taking it out on dean after he just was released from the cell.

and you can't tell if he knows you're upset- or if he knows and he doesn't want to pay attention to the fact.

"listen, i'll pay you back every penny of that bail, alright?" dean catches up to your strides quickly as you basically dart to your parked car.

you bite your cheek, an unresponsive scowl still on your face after dean's amendment to the situation.

the uncomfortable silence is something that dean wasn't used to between you guys. "it was absolute torture in there. i didn't think what i did was that bad. but then they started playing the BeeGees on the radio in there-"

you stop halfway to the car, and dean almost smacks into your back. you shake your head with disbelief, your lips twitching with aggravation. yet your tone is scarily even and low as you glance to him, "how fucking dare you make jokes right now. after i just drove three hours to get you at one a.m. after my fourteen-hour shift. from jail."

and that did it. he got quiet real quick. you almost feel bad, because his face immediately falls, and he resembled a kicked puppy, even with all the effort in the world to hold up his "everything's peachy" facade. he can barely scoff, unknowing of what to say at all.

you open your mouth to say something else, but it dies off, and all you do is turn around and head back to the car. once you stick the key into the handle of the driver's seat, you unlock it for dean as you both sink into your seats. closing the door where all the negative energy is contained, and stuffy, and hard to vent out.

"where's your car, dean."

he tucks his head down slightly, carefully glancing to you for a moment before he mumbles like a kid, "it's not with me. dad has it with sammy, a couple of states away."

that piques your concern, and you brave it and look to him as you ask, "w-where are you staying then?"

dean nods in a general direction in front of them, "just at a motel near downtown."

john left his eldest son, who is still only twenty, in a shitty part of town with no car, to stay at a dingy motel by himself.

you wish you could say you were surprised.

you sigh, disappointedly. "where..." you begin to buckle your seatbelt, and put the key into the ignition.

the car roars to life, and dean answers flatly, "it's called Morrison's Motel, on Holbrook, Street or somethin'."

you place your right hand on the back of the passenger seat, leaning on it so you could angle yourself backwards while backing out of the parking spot. once you're able to get back into drive and onto the main road, you announce to dean, "you're gonna grab your stuff and come back with me."

his eyebrows furrow with intense confusion, "what?"

"you're grabbing your stuff," you break apart the words with a bit of an edge leaving no room for argument, "then you're coming back to my apartment."

he stares at you in disbelief for a bit. he doesn't argue, but he's unsure if he wants to.

on one hand it was you. you're his everything. and you always took care of him. when he's come by your apartment after hunts, you feed him, heal him, make love to him, talk to him- whatever he needs.

on the other hand... it was you. and you are royally pissed.

he despises the fact that he feels like a child right now. he knows the game you're playing right now, and he loathes it. it doesn't exactly "work" for him. this intense, condemning attitude where you think you know what's good for him. what's better for him. he's heard talks of similar nature and he's dismissed them, because it get's nowhere. his stubborn ass hardly gives thought to what's better for himself. his brain chemistry is practically permanently altered to do what's best for anyone else but himself.

and you were damn determined that you would change that.

not today, and not tomorrow. but you needed that to happen for him.

he sinks into the seat, marinating in his own irritation at the fact that he practically has to deal with this situation. it definitely won't be any better to avoid it. he knows better than to try and get away with anything from you. nor does he want you to resent him.

he knows he fucked up.

once you park outside of his motel, you unlock the door from inside the car. you wordlessly allow him to get out, and collect his duffel and whatever else he had been left with. he checks out of the motel, and he joins you back in the car, closing the door with a slightly irked slam.

you don't pay attention to it, taking off the highway. back home.

-+-+-+-

the silence stretched for the entire three-hour ride. so much so that you didn't even notice that dean fell asleep against the door. you turn and pull the key out of the ignition once your in front of your apartment building, just staring at him for a moment.

he looks exhausted. his eyes had darker bags around them, and he didn't even look comfortable the way his neck is positioned. you were sure going to jail for a night was enough to wear you down from stress alone. he came off aloof when you picked him up, sure, but you know dean. you know that he's not really going to show you everything he's really feeling. you can only imagine how he's been since his dad just abandoned him at the motel.

he doesn't really do well with being alone, you've noticed.

and curse your empathy because the pit in your stomach had settled a bit, and you've calmed down some. you reach a hand out too his bicep. his arms were somehow crossed in his sleep. you barely touch him, and he inhales deeply before jolting slightly against the seat.

"easy," you tell him, not as gentle as you normally would but still you try to disarm him. "c'mon. let's go."

he blinks himself awake, clearly struggling to come back to the present. he jerks his head to the passenger door that you've opened, with a little impatience, and he lets out a tired huff as he climbs out.

once you reach your front door, it opens to the living space dean remembered it to be. he really liked your place. it was simple, and small, for sure, but you didn't require a lot of space. the occasional decoration scatters on the walls and tables throughout, adding a touch of home to your space. dean usually feels at home here.

but for once, he wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself.

he hovers by the door, and you've already taken off to drop your keys and purse on the kitchen counter. you don't yet look him in the eyes.

"come here, please."

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, expecting a lecture or something. he rests his hands on his arms again, keeping his demeanor closed-off, while he watches you shed your things in the kitchen. and he's dumbstruck again by you.

"do you need an icepack?" you offer.

he swallows, almost forgetting about his bruised cheek, "i'm fine."

you turn yourself to face him, matching his stance with no real emotion displaying on your face, "when's the last time you ate?"

he scoffs defensively this time, lifting his shoulders tensely, "I don't know...today- or yesterday or whatever." he didn't actually eat more than a gas station pizza slice that day.

you note his attitude but neglect it, walking over to the fridge, moving around a couple of loose bottles and containers. you stand on the top of your toes to reach to the back of the top shelf, grabbing a container of macaroni and cheese you had made the other night, along with left-over rotisserie chicken. it wasn't exactly a home-cooked meal, but it's mostly better than what dean normally has.

you pull apart the chicken and silently start putting it on a plate that you grabbed from one of the cabinets, and scoop out some of the mac and cheese on there as well. you throw it in the microwave for a minute, leaning against the counter with your hip with no other words.

dean forfeits his indirect protest at your mother-henning and sits at your miniature table-for-two in the corner of the kitchen. he slumps, resting his back on the wall while he's in the chair, and his legs splay outward, ninety degrees away from the table as he keeps his gaze to the floor. or wall. or anything besides you, really.

the microwave dings and you bring the plate over to him with a fork stuffed underneath the food. you ungraciously drop it in front of him, letting the ceramic plate smack the table a bit. dean casts a quick glance to you before staring straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge the food in front of him. because if he did, that would entail that he was hungry, like any other human being. that he can starve and that he had been since his dad left.

but it smells fucking good.

he takes a breath, relenting as he grabs a fork and mumbles a quick "thanks". he stirs it around for a couple of moments before taking massive bites at a time.

and you knew he was hungry. you know he doesn't take care of himself on the road. that's why you loved when he would stop by in between hunts. you were comforted by the fact that he ate something more than a a bag of chips and a granola bar when he would stop by.

you don't say anything, as you put away the containers of food and clean up the kitchen some. by the time you're done, you lean against the refrigerator with your eyes on dean.

you couldn't let go of this. you know you won't be able to sleep regardless of tonight, but at least you'll have answers.

"you wanna tell me what happened?" you start, and there's no bite in your tone. it's a simple question.

and with that in mind, dean's response really set you off.

he pauses on his last couple of bites of food, and shakes his head with a short-tempered snort, "you signed the bail papers, didn't you? i'm sure it said why."

your blood boils and your unable to keep the poker face you've been maintaining. you stalk closer to dean, kicking yourself off the fridge. "you know what dean, i did sign the papers for you, so i don't understand why you're the one who's got attitude here. you know what else I did? i paid. for. your. bail. that was three-hundred fucking dollars, dean. do you think i'm made of cash-"

dean brings himself forward and sets his forearms down on the table, causing the ceramic plate to clink at his motion as his voice rises with defense. he looks you dead in the eyes as he reiterates, "i said i'm gonna pay you back. i intend to keep my word on that."

"that doesn't fix the situation, dean!" you retort as your voice starts to seethe with emotion, "you got arrested. i drove three hours after a fourteen hour shift to pick you up, so you don't get to be angry with me."

"i'm sorry, okay?" he snaps loudly, standing up briskly causing the chair to scuff backwards against the floor. "getting arrested wasn't exactly on my agenda for today either."

"you think that makes this more acceptable? because you didn't mean to get arrested?"

he shrugs his shoulders with a hardened expression on his face, "what do you want me to say?

you scowl harshly, like it was obvious. "i want a goddamn explanation! getting arrested doesn't happen on your typical Tuesday, dean."

"i'm a hunter," he says your name with pronounced snark, "there's no such thing as 'typical' for us!"

"were you on a hunt?"

your question stuns him for a second. "I- well," he stumbles, at a loss for words, "not exactly, but-"

"no." your voice is low and dangerous, "you weren't on a hunt. disorderly conduct and false identification were the charges. so this has jack shit to do with hunting." you take a couple of steps closer to him, pointing to him with a thundered glare, "you were at a bar, using a fake ID, illegally drinking and fighting. that is a whole other level of reckless for you, dean."

he matches your intensity and gets closer to you so that you are only about two feet apart. "i wasn't drinking recreationally- i was blending in while hustling pool money! they didn't like that I won, so they tried to start something. they did, not me. there's the whole explanation- are you happy now?"

your voice falters at his spat as you tremble with emotion, face morphing more into distress than anger, "no! no, i'm not happy. do i look happy?"

dean huffs, and he doesn't respond at first. his face neutralizes slightly before he breaks eye contact with you and rubs a hands down his face as he paces away from where he stood.

"jesus christ, look-" he turns back to you with a controlled, firm expression, "they let me off with just a fine. i don't even have to go to fucking court so i don't get why are you turning this into such a big deal-"

"do you know how worried I was when I picked up the phone to hear from the police station?"

the sentence resounds against the walls of your apartment. and dean freezes, the only thing moving is his chest which rises up and down from the overload of his frustrations. for a moment, you could hear the honks and revs in traffic, the buzzing hum of the air conditioning, and the whir of the electronics and appliances around you with how quiet it became.

"a shiver ran down my fucking spine, dean. i felt like my heart stopped. i was damn near shaking when they called. i didn't know i-if they were calling to say they found your body, or if you were hurt, dean. i was scared- i was so fucking scared. why- why, why, why can't you see that I'm worried about you? i don't want to sit here and berate you for your choices, because yes, this was a fuck-up but i know you know better and i know that you're beating yourself up for it too." for a brief second, you wonder to yourself why dean's face had dramatically gentled into a look of pained concern, and you didn't realize up until that moment that you had streams of tears down your face.

then you notice that your breath hitches, and the lump in your throat weakens your speech. "i don't want to sit here and lecture, and yell- i just don't want to feel that again-" your words get cut off in a sobbing squeak.

"okay, okay," dean croons and suddenly his arms are wrapped around you, and your face is buried into his chest. your breath heaves as you try to reign back control on your body, and you want to be angry at dean, but his hands hold onto you so tight and he brings his mouth to the crown of your head, and one of his hands to your hair. he mumbles a couple of apologies, his own voice getting caught as he watches you crumble into him.

"i'm sorry- hey, i'm sorry. i-" you can feel him shake his head above you as he rubs your upper arm and shoulder, "i should've realized- i didn't know you were that worried. i-" dean curses to himself as he feels you shake in his grasp, and he rubs your arm with affection. "sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i never wanted you to worry like that..."

your hands fist the back of his shirt as you try to hide your face into him, your voice slightly muffled, "i'm not bothered worrying about you- but when it's shit like this-"

"no- sweetheart, i- yeah. i get it, i do. it was stupid, okay? it won't happen again." his guilt-laced promise almost breaks its way through to you.

you pull yourself off of dean as he reluctantly lets go of you, not quite looking into his eyes as you bring a hand to wipe your face. you look down, sniffling as you hoarsely choked out, "damn straight it won't."

dean's shoulder's sag, as the events of tonight seem to finally wash over him, as he sees the tolls that it took on you. his hands find his way to your shoulders again, and he tilts his head to try and find your gaze. "thank you. for picking me up, and feeding me, and-and worrying, and driving all that way to pick up my dumb-ass. you shouldn't've had to."

you sniff, bringing your head up but avoid his gaze still. "it's fine."

"no, it's not...and i knew it wasn't and i fought you on it anyways. I just..." dean sighs as he unwillingly admits, "money's tight. dad didn't leave me much when he took off, so i was just trying to make some extra cash. it's just stress- and i didn't mean to get angry with you. i'm not angry with you..."

you look to him then, your face vulnerable and open, "why didn't you ask me for help?"

he scoffs definitively, "i'm not taking your money."

"it costed you an extra $300 to not ask for my help in the first place, dean. i would've rather given it to you then have you borrow it from me in this case." you remind him, and he thinks it over. regret and shame written all over his face.

"you want me to forgive you?"

dean blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion quickly before answering, "yeah- i do."

"the next time you find yourself like this- hell, when you need help at all- you call me. and i can't say that i'll always be able to but i will do my damndest to try." you assert sincerely.

he bites his lip, obviously not entirely wanting to admit to needing your help. but for you, he's willing to do anything to keep you pleased.

"alright. i will." his eyebrows slightly lower, serious with his promise to you.

"good," you nod, feeling better about the situation. not all better, but it was baby steps. you bring a hand to his elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze as you utter, "it's late. you should get to bed. you could use the rest."

"yeah." he replies in a whisper, "you too."

you gesture to the bedroom with the cock of your head as he follows behind you like a puppy. you bring your hands to your face, trying wipe away any emotion that remained from the fight. you walk to the adjourning bathroom as you wearily mention to dean, "i need to wash my face, go ahead and change if you need to."

"okay," he replies softly. it's that same quiet tone your not used to.

as you rinse your face from the stress of the evening, you let the cold water cleanse you, allowing yourself to focus on the frigid, november water. it washes over you, and you feel yourself grow sluggish as your mind becomes quieter with every breath you take, and your heart beat slows for the first time in the night.

you pat your face dry with a towel hanging on your wall, and walk out as your met with dean on the bed with the lamp on next to him. he's changed into his sweatpants that he's left here before, along with a plain black t-shirt. his back rests against the headboard as his knees are drawn up. his hands ruffle through his hair before bringing the heel of his palms to rub circles against his forehead. he smooths his hair out quickly as he notices your appearance again, and immediately lays his feet down on the bed, and waits to see if you'll join him.

you shuffle over to your side of the bed, getting under the covers.

"you can turn off the lamp now." you say after adjusting, your voice barely above a whisper.

"right," he reaches over to click the lamp off, and scoots further down so that his head is resting on a pillow.

the silence eats away at you both, before dean speaks up first, "are you still angry?"

you inhale deeply, moving onto your side so that you're facing dean. you lean down and find his lips through the moonlight shining through the room. and of course, he reciprocates the kiss with a bit of surprise.

"yes," you preface, before continuing with a gentle gaze, "but i forgive you, and i still care about you. and even though i'm mad, i'd rather have you next to me then not at all."

dean blinks a couple times, nodding a bit before one side of his lips twitches upwards. this time, it's his turn to kiss you, as he pushes onto his elbow, to meet your lips with his, taking his time. when he lays back down, he lovingly studies your face, "thank you."

"you don't have to thank me for that. i'll care about you always...get some sleep, baby." your hand finds his forearm closest to you, as you give it a soft rub.

dean watches you through the dark as you settle back into the bed. but he doesn't close his eyes yet. after a couple of minutes, he feels you shift, and you sit up and grab his farthest hand, and take it with you as you lie back down, dragging his arm over yours.

his lips quirk into a smile, the first real one of the night, and moves to hold you against him.

now... now he closes his eyes.

[artstennisracket]

Caramelo Duro ib: Caramelo Duro by Miguel please listen to it while you read :) patrick zweig x fem!reader

Dulce. Dulce. Dulce.

Patrick thought you were sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Sweet like candy. He couldn’t get enough of you. Sugar is 10 times more addicting than any drug in the world, how could he not be addicted?

He knew you were sweet from the first time he saw you. He was smoking a cigarette outside a bar he frequents. You and your friends had just come out of a nearby club and you caught his eye immediately.

Slinky gold dress draped on your body, accentuating your curves. It stopped just above your mid thigh. Your back was completely exposed due to the backless nature of the dress.

Your skin was shimmering, the light of the moon reflecting off your skin, your dress, and the gold jewelry adorned on your skin.

Patrick never knew what his sisters meant when they said stuff like “this color brings out your eyes” or “this is your color” but he did now. Gold is definitely your color.

His brain feels stuck. Like he’s stuck in your trap. The sickeningly sweet honey energy you exude drawing him in. He tosses the butt of his cigarette, walking over to you. He knows there’s not a chance in hell someone as beautiful as you would give him the time of day but he tried anyway.

“are you a vampire?” He debated his opening line on his walk over and of course the stupidest one fall out of his mouth.

Your nostrils fill with the scent of cigarette smoke and mint as he stands in front of you. He’s quite tall, maybe a good five inches taller than you which is saying something since you’re wearing heels.

You’ve had a few lychee martinis so you feel inclined to see where this goes. You smile, “why? you want me to suck your blood?”

He laughs. You’re funny too. “maybe I do,” he smirks.

That’s how he ends up in your bed that night.

The next morning you ask him what he meant. He’s sitting by your window, cracked so he can smoke.

He takes a quick drag before blowing the smoke out the window, “you know because vampires twinkle in the moonlight or whatever.”

You laugh from where you lay on your bed. You’re wearing his t-shirt. You decide to keep your body oil shimmer secret to yourself, you don’t want to kill the mystery.

You proved him right everytime, you are sweet in more ways than one. Your energy, your body, your taste.

He ends up staying the night every night for the next two weeks.

Dulce

Dulce

Dulce

a/n: this was on my mind for so long I had this song on repeats for weeks and patrick has been on the front of my mind hehe lmk if you like :) critiques always welcome of course

[theallianceofcelestials]

Can i get a drabble of SEA KC snuggling Eclipse and these two cuddling pretty please?

Just some Father-son affection for my poor sentimental soul❤️‍🩹

And then you want to bite my man. Do you even deserve the drabble? /silly

Also congratulations, you get an entire story before the cuddling because my brain needs a reason for the cuddles to happen

It's been a really long day Eclipse thinks as he shambles back into his room, barely standing on his feet. It's been a very, very long day

Luckily, he's got the entire room to himself because the family left for-

"Before you decide to flop into the nest do take a shower please"

And then he promptly jumps because Killcode's somehow fucking there.

Eclipse glares, but then stops when it finally registers to him just what state his father is in.

He's bundled in the blankets, looking miserable, holding a cup of tea and somehow managing to give the feeling of a stuffed, red nose.

"The hell happened to you?"

"It appears-" and he's cut off with a sneeze that startles him from the simple loudness of it "appears that I've caught a cold"

What the actual fuck?

"You can do that?"

The effect of the disapproving frown is lost when Killcode begins to rapidly take in air for his next sneeze, only to immediately transition into coughing.

"I'll be back in a sec"

He rushes quickly into the bathroom, because he clearly needs to take care of his father right now. Why did the rest of the family leave him alone?

He's done with his shower in record time, basically jumping into his pants so he can rush back out the door before the idiot nightmare can start doing something like cooking. Knowing him, he'd totally try to.

"Don't you even fucking dare leave the nest! Back in there!"

The startled SCP crawls back under the covers, until only his glowing red optics are visible. He looks like a kicked puppy, and not like the ancient being he is.

"I'm making you soup! Now stay there or I'm tattling on you to Sun!"

That's a proficient enough threat apparently, because his father stays in the nest for the duration of his soup making. He doesn't even dare to poke his head back out.

Might just be because he's that sick

"Here, eat this. If it doesn't feel good just tell me, you don't have to eat it all"

The sad miserable whine is only somewhat for show he thinks as large clawed hands reach for the comically small bowl, pulling it into the darkness where it disappears. After some slurping noises, the empty bowl is presented to him. He takes it with a sigh.

"Now scoot over"

"No"

"No?"

"You'll get sick..."

He sighs again, already looking towards the ceiling for patience.

"Killcode, I'm an animatronic. I can't get sick"

There's a second of quiet, then

"Oh, right"

And then the giant, sad pile of blankets is shuffling over, making him space. Eclipse takes it gladly, finally collapsing into the bed.

It's great. He's happy to be lying here. But he needs something else.

So he shimmies over until he can throw his arms and legs over the sad Killcode pile, burrowing into the warmth the SCP seems to exclude. He seems warmer than usual. Does he have a fever?

There's a bit of sad, miserable moaning, but then a large arm wraps around him, and pulls him under the blankets.

He melts into the contact, feeling his systems come alive in a happy purr he knows soothes the giant, burrowing his face into the large neck. His wraps his arms around the closest metal surface to himself and squeezes.

That familiar head nuzzles into his rays, and he's going to excuse the stressed nibbling on them as the SCP suffering because of his sickness, but he does slap at what he can now feel is a large side.

"Stop eating my rays"

The whine he gets might make someone believe he genuenly hurt him somehow, and didn't just ask him to please keep his saliva to himself. It makes him begin to pull away.

"Noooooo"

In a chidish move he didn't expect from his father he pulls him against his chest, trapping him against the hot metal. He even rolls over him, just so he can't escape.

"Get off of me!"

Killcode whines again, going limp. He only moves to pet and occasionally nuzzle him

Eclipse just sighs, settling in for a night of cuddling

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I'm an aspiring author (actually work my ass off and have sold some original work). Aside from the fact that I loathe social media, the current climate has made me very glad that everything I post is strictly professional and only about new releases. Two reasons: 1) I absolutely hate when I go to check an author's page to see what their new book is and it's reams of political ranting (your job is to write books, tell me about your books and not your opinions); 2) as the Tolkien anon said, the fandom and book/publishing sphere generally skews left (most publishing houses are based in New York, after all). I fear these days it's basically suicide to show your affiliation for anything that's not left, but it really shouldn't be that way. One's political beliefs have no correlation or bearing on the quality of one's writing (though I guess brain-rotted liberals who just have to shove their idealogy into their writing are the exception to that). I still think it's best not to use your book as a soapbox, as you're telling a story, not writing a pamphlet, and your priority should be telling the best story you can and not spouting off to your audience.

That being said, huge shout-out to Larry Correia. While I don't read his books, he's openly conservative on his site/blog Monster Hunter Nation, and IIRC he took part in the Sad Puppies campaign to demonstrate how the Hugo Awards were (probably still are) biased towards a small group and authors who didn't align with them politically would be attacked. Dude's very based (gun instructor, unsurprisingly) and I appreciate him being vocal about his beliefs and uncaring what anyone else thinks.

On the positive side, I think the rise of self-publishing and smaller publishers in response to increasing monopoly of the big publishing houses merging with each other has been a net good. Let them all burn, I say. The more insular and more political they become, the more worthless they are. They're constantly chasing the next hot thing that's full of minority checklists and typical DEI nonsense, or chasing "Booktok" trends, which has been another canister of gasoline on the dumpster fire, to say nothing of literary agents who do the same thing (some of them actually ask you to list the tropes in your book, excuse me while I vomit).

I only care about writing a good story. If my story is rejected because it doesn't check off enough political boxes in the narrative, then why do I need them? Why should some New York liberal whose blood is 90% kool-aid decide I won't sell? Direct audience contact will decide that.

You're right and you should absolutely say it. I love this ask.

[bluemotifofsleep]

Shield My Heart

knight! iwaizumi x princess! reader

-it was his duty to love her, and even if it wasn’t, he’d do it anyway. iwaizumi’s devotion came as easy as breathing.

read part one first :)

part two: a locked cage, and a sinking ship.

~

it’s hard to be a princess, and not be grateful.

it’s hard, but you do it anyway.

it’s not like you aren’t grateful for your life, you know you are much more privileged than most. you have a warm bed with as many pillows and blankets your heart could disire. you have warm meals waiting for you every morning when the sun rises, and every evening when the sun sets. people wait on you hand and foot, people bow to you, people sugar their words and widen their smiles and praise you fraudulently, just to be on your good side.

you have a castle at your fingertips, you have a whole kingdom. you understand that you are privileged, and you’re grateful for it, really.

but sometimes, you wish you were born someone else.

and you know, if you asked any girl in the kingdom, they would switch places with you in a heartbeat. which is maybe why you always have this festering, gnawing guilt that never seems to go away. it itches at the inside of your brain like a sickness and infects your mind until all of your thoughts are tainted with it.

you know what people think being a princess is like. you’ve heard the whispers biting at your heels, the distain and jealousy that follows you around like a second skin. people cant help but resent you, when you appear to have everything they’ve ever wanted.

in reality, being a princess is not what it seems.

being a princess is having eyes on you at all times. expectations that grow so much bigger than you, sometimes you feel they will swallow you whole. it’s having the weight of a crown bear on your neck without ever putting it on. being a princess is devoting your life to appearances, to other people’s opinions. being a princess is being something that everyone thinks you are.

your duty, is being anyone but yourself.

and you know, that it’s selfish.

to have dreams outside of the castle is traitorous to your kingdom, it’s treasonous to imagine yourself as anything but a good, well behaved, charming princess. a good daughter to the King, a beacon of hope for the less-fortunate, a spokesperson of the people.

but sometimes selfishness claws its way into your mind and won’t let go. it finds its way into every thought until all you can think of is “what if”. what if you weren’t a princess? what would your life be like, what would your days be packed with instead of trying on pretty dresses that you really could care less about, learning proper table manners, and swallowing your own tongue until it feels like you might choke on it.

sometimes, you wonder if your unhappiness is coming from inside you like rot. sometimes you dread that it’s not your life that’s the problem, but it’s you.

maybe you’re a bad seed. maybe no matter where you were planted, you would shrivel and rot just the same.

if you had a different life, would you still be selfish, too?

you wish you could grow roots and stable yourself, reach them outside the castle walls and finally breath. finally be free of this glorious title, that you resent, and you never asked for.

~

iwaizumi hajime hasn’t been sleeping well.

it’s a fact that has been pointed out by many, not that it needed to be. of course, oikawa just can’t keep his damn mouth shut sometimes, so iwaizumi must suffer anyways.

“you know, a little beauty sleep never hurts! your eye bags are making me feel tired.”

“your hair looks especially spiky today. long night?”

whatever that means.

unlike his polished brunette counterpart, fluffing his well-kept hair every morning and whispering devotedly of smooth skin and the absence of frown lines, iwaizumi doesn’t care much for how he looks. he’s never really put much thought into his appearance, because it doesn’t matter. it’s not important to his job. and therefore, not important to him.

no, his “eye bags that are dark enough to scare unsuspecting women away” and “spiky hair that resembles a morningstar more than a hairstyle” are only a problem to oikawa, not iwaizumi.

it’s what’s been keeping him awake, that is the real problem. every time iwaizumi has managed to fall asleep lately, his dreams are all the same.

he’s on a ship. a large, old ship that creeks under the weight of the massive waves crashing against its ribs. at first glance, there appears to be no one around. no one in the crows nest, no one at the helm steering. he is lost at sea, a steel knight glimmering like a star amongst the entire solar system, with no one but himself to keep him afloat.

there’s a storm on the horizon. a crackling, monstrous thing with clouds that look like jaws ready to swallow him whole, and the boat is headed with utmost certainty straight into its mouth. he has a distinct urge to run, a bubble of panic in his chest subdued by a wave of insanity.

you can’t run from a sinking ship.

when it happens, it happens the same every time. the boat lurches, tips on the edge of oblivion slowly as if taunting him, making sure he has time to process what he can’t change. then, with a crash and the unforgiving grip of the icy cold water, he sinks.

iwaizumi has never swam before.

there is no method to his panic, he flails and kicks and tries to reach the surface he can’t see, but he fails.

he’s drowning.

except, there’s a beacon of light, a saving grace to his drowning. there’s a hand. a soft, delicate hand that he somehow feels he is familiar with, but he can’t place it. he reaches out and grabs the hand, and it is shockingly warm against the biting cold of the sea, and then he sees you.

it’s your hand that he holds to keep himself from sinking further. you are his beacon of light, on this rocking ship he sails on. you are his saviour, the only thing keeping him from sinking into his own mind and never coming out.

you are both sinking.

as much as he wills it, his hand won’t let go of yours. he drags the both of you, down, down, down, into somewhere he doesn’t know there is an end to. his hand feels like stone against yours, it feels as if he’s been holding you for weeks without letting go, the muscles tensed and unwilling to release.

you both sink, and he screams soundlessly with bubbles pouring out of his mouth, and you smile at him sadly.

if he could, he’d cut off his own hand to free you.

just as the dream starts getting darker, as his suffocating panic makes it seem like he’s actually drowning, waking himself up, he hears you.

you whisper his name to him and it mysteriously travels through the thick water to his ears, maybe straight into his heart.

“hajime,”

your face is the picture of elegance, even at a time like this, and it’s so like you it hurts him. even when you’re drowning, you are the perfect princess.

“you need to let me go.”

~

he wakes with a gasp, as he has for the fourth time this week.

his room is bathed in moonlight, showering his bed and himself in a deep blue that sickeningly reminds him of his dream. waves clawing at his skin, your soft, tender hand trapped in his, screaming and bubbles and your words in his head, you need to let me go, you need to let me go, you need to let me go-

he breathes in a deep breath, holds it for five seconds, and then slowly lets it out through his nose.

his clammy skin sticks to his sheets, and he’s panting from the amount of adrenaline one gets from drowning, his body trying to fight something that’s not real.

it’s not real. even when he reminds himself, he feels this enormous guilt destroying him from the inside out.

he couldn’t let you go.

even in his hypothetical dream world, where neither of you even exist, he still couldn’t let you go.

~

you’ve had a shitty day.

it was your least favourite schedule of the week. you started with table etiquette training in the dining room, going over things you’ve heard thousands of times before. so many times, you imagine a blade on the inside of your skull drawing the words into your skin. “this knife here and this spoon here”, “fold your napkin as so”, “don’t let your silverware scrape against the plate dear that’s awful-“

you’re currently trying not to let your head fall with three books balanced on you, an “etiquette officer” as you’d so fondly named them (only in the privacy of your own mind, of course) to your right telling you all the things you’re doing wrong.

because that’s what being a princess is all about; all the things you’re doing wrong.

the only thing getting you through this for the millionth time is that in today’s particular schedule, you have some free time to yourself at the end of your training. a rare occurrence that whenever it happens, you seize the opportunity with both hands and don’t let go.

you know exactly what you’re going to do with you’re free time.

“alright, that’s all for today, princess.” the title sounds mocking when pared with the indifferent and slightly peeved sounding voice of your instructor. somehow she always finds a way to make it seem like you’ve failed, and you wonder how she manages it so spectacularly.

you (with elegance and poise, of course) jump out of your seat and try your best to not look like you’re running for the exit of the dining room, but you probably fail at that, too.

there’s one thing that’s been keeping you going all day. a certain gruff, brunette, knight-shaped thing.

when you make it down through large glass doors and into the courtyard, you instantly spot him sparring with another knight, oikawa tooru, your eyes magnetized to the metal of his armour.

“princess!” it’s not your brunette knight that calls to you, but rather a lanky boy with soft pink hair.

hanamaki takahiro, with matsukawa issei bringing up the rear.

you can’t say you’re extremely familiar with most of the knights on the kings guard, the exception being iwaizumi of course and the few others who were assigned your personal guards. your lives were too different to cross paths enough for familiarity, your days filled with things so different from each other they probably aren’t even comparable at all.

of course, you always be sure to learn their names, treating them with the same respect you would any other resident of the castle. you wouldn’t let yourself be like those other snooty royals, thinking themselves above chatter with common folk who don’t know the difference between a salad fork and a regular one.

in fact, you might have more respect for them because they don’t, you envy them a bit for it.

“all done with princess duties for today?” it’s matsukawa’s lazy drawl that reaches you now, his large frame looming over you and blocking part of the sun from reaching you, and yet, you don’t feel intimidated.

you feel at ease with the knights most out of everyone in the castle. for some reason, you feel like they expect the least from you. and maybe it should offend you, but all it does is lift an imaginary weight from your shoulders. with them, you can almost pretend you aren’t who you are.

“yes, all done with princess duties. ive come to collect iwaizumi from his knight duties.”

“good, he looks like he’s on his last legs fighting off oikawa over there.” hanamaki says, and you suddenly feel worry spike your stomach.

“has something happened?” you can’t help the desperate tone of your voice, and try to peer around hanamakis shoulder to see if you can notice any injuries on your knight.

“nah, oikawa said something about him not sleeping well though. figured he can use a break before he runs himself into the ground.” and all at one you feel relieved, and guilty for not noticing he was having problems sooner.

the problem with iwaizumi is he’s just so damn stoic all the time. the true image of a perfect knight, an unshakable force. it’s hard to tell when he’s suffering, because he never shows it outwardly. he keeps a solid wall of sureness on for everyone else’s benefit and doesn’t let it crumble for his own.

sometimes you wish you could take a couple of bricks down though, and peek through.

suddenly, the object of your thoughts is walking up behind the two knights you’re speaking to, with oikawa at his side. instantly you see what hanamaki was talking about.

he’s panting heavily from his training, clearly physically spent, but there’s something else you notice. there’s a deep exhaustion in the set of his face, his eyebrows tented over his eyes that have dark circles underneath. he looks troubled. on anyone else it might look like worry, but the way he masks his face into almost neutrality, you can’t be sure.

“you two aren’t bothering her, are you?”

he’s now flanking your side, and you realize that he’s not really speaking to hanamaki or matsukawa, he’s speaking to you, a questioning and probing look on his face.

“you have so little faith in us, it hurts.” matsukawa fakes a pained expression, his voice sounding unbothered despite his words.

“we were just telling her to take your tired ass out of here before oikawa beats you and we all have to listen to him brag for the next three weeks.” oikawa squawks behind hanamaki at his words, and you hear something like “sore looser” and “i would never”.

the display of familiarity makes you smile. at least here, the infectious greed of the castle doesn’t reach. there is no need for fake smiles and even faker words between comrades fighting for the same purpose. there’s no hierarchy among the knights, just simple companionship that ties them together like brothers.

you envy them immensely.

“i beat him, so you don’t have to worry about it.” and you hear more grumbles from oikawa.

iwaizumi suddenly turns fully to you, blocking your view of the other knights with his stupidly broad shoulders.

“where to, princess?” and he smiles at you, but not the kind of smile you see frequently in the castle. instead of the glint of unnaturally white teeth and squinted, condescending eyes, his smile is something that brightens his whole face. it’s something easy, something genuine and happy and it makes you feel like you’ve just put on your favourite sweater, his infectious warmth spreading over you like melted honey.

iwaizumi has always had that affect on you. he’s just so secure in himself, so sure of his protection over you that you can’t help but be calmed by his presence. it’s a welcome security that you don’t get much of these days, something that eases over your worries like soothing water on a roaring flame. something that you indulge in greedily, even though you know you shouldn’t.

“do you even have to ask?”

~

you had few places on the castle grounds that you truly felt at peace in, places where you didn’t feel the lingering gaze of spectators on you peeling back your skin and poking around at your insides. most of the castle felt like a forest to you, with predators stalking through the trees where you couldn’t see them. people who expected greatness from you at all times, so you could never let your guard down.

located behind the castle, is a quaint stone building with stalls staggered along the side of it. a large, green paddock juts out from the stalls, where the horses are let out occasionally to graze; the stables. one place where you could truly feel at ease in.

the stable hands hardly raise a brow at your and iwaizumi’s presence. ever since you were a little girl and the king introduced you to your first pony, it was hard to keep you away from the place. any second of free time you were granted was most definitely spent around the horses, if not on horseback.

you can never tell if iwaizumi minds you dragging him here all the time. he always just says “lead the way” with that calming look on his face and follows you on the familiar trek like a shepherd protecting a lamb. giving you a leg up onto your horse and then mounting his own.

there’s a long trail that circles the back of the castle, mostly used to exercise the horses to keep them fit while they werent transporting goods or being used by the knights. the trail cuts through a small, lush forest that pushes back against the town boarder, where a large stone fence separates you from your people.

you never understood why there was a fence in the first place when you were younger. every time you’d asked your father you’d be left even more confused than before.

“because, child.” he’d have you sat on his knee, sitting atop a throne that would one day be yours. “if you never stop giving, people never stop taking.”

the words had puzzled you then. what was your duty, if not to give?

now, as your age gave you knowledge you didn’t necessarily want, you understand his words. you understand, but you’ll never agree.

~

the trail is quiet at this time of day, the sun shining through splits in the trees and decorating the path in glimmering strips.

normally you and iwaizumi don’t talk much during your trail rides, and you enjoy the reprieve of the constant conversation you have during your time at the castle. with your knight, you don’t have to sweeten your presence with words. you don’t have to make yourself tolerable by striking up hallow conversations and smiling fakely.

right now though, there’s a question burning a hole through your throat and threatening to jump out of your mouth. with anyone else, you’d keep it to yourself. you’d swallow your thoughts down into the pit of your stomach where they’d make a knot that you wouldn’t be able to untie. keeping up appearances is more important than silly questions.

with him though, it’s different. his presence tugs at your mind like no one else. pulls the thoughts from you before you even know you’ve had them. you want to spill yourself to him, make yourself easy to read and drop your facade like a mask at a masquerade party.

and so, you do.

“iwaizumi, do you ever wonder about what you would do if you weren’t a knight?” the question sounds silly coming out of your mouth, and the pessimist inside you half expects him to tell you to “stop thinking so much, princess”, but he doesn’t.

instead, he tilts his head back slightly, humming to let you know he’s thinking up and answer for you. you look up too, wanting to see what he’s looking at. wanting to see the world through his eyes, maybe even wanting to sink into his mind and let his thoughts carry you away.

all you see is the sky. a brilliant blue with clouds partially obscured by the tips of the trees lining the path. you wonder what he sees it as. does that cloud also look like a crown to him? does it also strike nausea into his stomach and make him want to gallop away on his horse?

definitely not. your shoulders sink back down from where they’d hiked up to your ears at the thought. your knight is strong, and level headed, you can’t ever see him running away from anything.

when you tear your eyes away from the sky and look to iwaizumi, you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you.

the look on his face is something that strikes you as unique to him only. something that makes you think of being a little girl again, sneaking off to the gardens and making your young knight find you among the greenery. it makes you think of the word goodnight whispered to you almost every evening, it makes you think of the smell of pine and a soft breeze and fresh linen, and it makes you think “what if” for the millionth time.

“no, princess.”

it’s a look of understanding, of looking at you and not through you, something that fills you with melancholy and hope and the bitter taste of freedom you can’t have, you will never have.

“i was meant to be your knight.”

~

[thaniabb]

Like we used to do- G.W

- ‘we don’t talk anymore’ by charlie, selena -

warnings : nothing??? no use of y/n.

summary : George and you, who have been best friends for years, as their close bond begins to feel strained. George has been distancing himself, afraid that his growing romantic feelings for you will ruin their friendship.. Ultimately, they decide to confront their feelings together, realizing that their bond is strong enough to handle whatever comes next.

AN : studies and work had got me tired, but i made enough energy to write this. not proofread. request bb’s.

“now i can’t get you out of my brain”

The warmth of the common room was always a sanctuary when the days at Hogwarts became too heavy. The familiar crackle of the fire and the soft murmurs of your friends provided a comforting backdrop to the hustle and bustle of school life. It had always been a place where you and George Weasley, along with the rest of the Weasley twins, spent countless hours. From pranks to late-night studying sessions to quiet moments of introspection, the common room had witnessed your friendship grow into something special.

But lately, it felt different. George no longer sat beside you, no longer leaned in close to whisper a joke or share a moment of quiet comfort. The space between you had begun to stretch, an invisible gulf that neither of you acknowledged — but both felt, nonetheless. The George you had known since childhood, the boy who had always been your best friend, had changed. And it was breaking you.

It hadn’t been sudden. It never was. These things rarely happened in a flash, but in slow, subtle increments that you couldn’t pinpoint, even if you tried. The first crack in the foundation of your friendship had come a few weeks ago. You had been sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, talking animatedly about your plans for the summer, when you glanced up and noticed George. He was sitting with Fred, Lee, and a few others, laughing, but there was something... off about his smile. Something that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You had dismissed it, of course. George was always the life of the party, always smiling, always joking. But something about that day had stuck with you. The empty distance in his gaze lingered in your mind long after you’d left the hall.

And then, there were the moments where he pulled away when you were near. The brief pauses in conversations, the way he kept his distance when you went to sit beside him on the couch. It was as though he were avoiding you, but not out of malice — out of something deeper, something more complex.

It wasn’t just his actions. It was the subtle change in his energy. George had always been the one who would challenge you, tease you, but it never felt like an effort. It felt natural, like second nature. But now, every interaction with him seemed strained. Every word you spoke felt like it was met with an awkward pause or a half-hearted response. And it hurt. It hurt in a way that was impossible to articulate, because it wasn’t just the loss of a friend you had grown up with; it was the slow death of something you had once held so dearly — a friendship that had always felt indestructible.

One evening, after another brief, uncomfortable exchange with George, you found yourself wandering the dimly lit hallways of Hogwarts. Your heart was a mixture of frustration and confusion, the two emotions swirling together into a storm of uncertainty. You needed to talk to him. You needed to understand what had happened, why the space between you both had become so vast, so unbridgeable.

You found him outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was staring at the ground, his usual carefree demeanor nowhere to be found. When he looked up and saw you, a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

his voice softer than usual. “What’s up?”

You hesitated. The weight of everything that had been left unsaid was pressing on your chest. You knew you couldn’t keep ignoring it, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it was so clearly not. “George,” you began, your voice tinged with frustration, “what’s going on? You’ve been acting so... distant. We used to talk about everything. Now, it feels like you’re avoiding me.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his blue eyes swirling with something unreadable. For a split second, it almost looked like he might say something, but instead, he exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he said finally, but the words lacked conviction. “I’m just... busy, you know? With everything going on. School, the shop... stuff like that.”

You shook your head, the frustration boiling over. “That’s not it, George. You’re avoiding me, and you know it. What’s really going on?”

George’s gaze shifted, his eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away. There was a moment of silence — an uncomfortable, pregnant pause that seemed to stretch for eternity. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were taut as if he were carrying a weight he didn’t want to share. The walls he had built around himself were impenetrable, but you could sense the cracks.

“I just...” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as if gathering the courage to speak. “I don’t want to ruin things.”

You frowned, stepping closer. “Ruin what?”

He shifted uneasily. “Us. Our friendship.”

The words hit you like a cold wave. “What are you talking about?”

George’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “I... I don’t want to mess things up by, you know, feeling something more for you. I don’t want to screw everything up by ruining what we have.”

You blinked, completely taken aback by his confession. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. George wasn’t distancing himself because of something you had done. He wasn’t pulling away because of some argument or fallout. He was doing it because of his own fear — fear that his growing romantic feelings for you would ruin the foundation of friendship you had spent years building.

“I... I don’t understand,” you whispered, your heart suddenly feeling fragile in your chest.

“I care about you more than I should,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I know we’re best friends, and that should be enough. But I can’t help the way I feel, and I don’t want to lose you. If I told you how I felt... it might change everything. And I don’t want to risk that. Not when you’re the most important person in my life.”

The rawness of his words left you speechless. The air between you two was thick with the weight of everything unsaid, and for the first time in weeks, the distance between you both felt tangible. It wasn’t just the physical space that had grown — it was the unspoken emotions, the fears, and the uncertainty that hung between you like a storm cloud.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything he had said. The irony of it all was that you had always known that George was special to you, but you had never imagined that he felt the same way. And now, the thought of losing him, of not having him in your life at all, made your heart ache in a way that was impossible to ignore.

“George,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “you don’t have to be afraid of that. We’ve been through everything together. Why can’t we go through this too? If we really care about each other, we’ll figure it out.”

His eyes met yours, searching for something in your gaze. “You mean that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course, I do. I don’t want to lose you either. Not like this.”

For the first time in weeks, a real smile spread across his face, though it was small, tentative. “You really think we can handle it?”

“I think we can handle anything,” you said, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “We’ve been best friends for too long to let this ruin us.”

The weight that had hung between you both seemed to dissipate, replaced by something new — something tentative, fragile, but filled with promise. George took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I guess,” he said softly, “maybe I’ve been scared of the wrong thing all along.”

You smiled, your fingers intertwining with his. “Maybe we both have.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the distance between you two disappeared.

“i overdosed”

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[nyxypoo]

want to write about pussy inspections with endo but knowing me it'll end up the exact same as the takiishi one just with a different name :/

[tenspontaneite]

hii, i am so curious about what you thought of tdp s7

Hi! I haven't engaged with tdp material since S4 on purpose, since I've learned I don't do well being a creator in fandoms whose canon is so actively updating. I'll binge all of tdp and catch up on everything eventually, but it might be a while, and I'd like to ask for strictly no spoilers for anything since S4 until then! I'm great at avoiding spoilers on my own but if people send them to me I can't really avoid that :P

(thank you for being so spoiler free in your ask btw, appreciate it!)

[b4kuch1n]

langa special

[willowcrowned]

paper due in 27 hrs no figures made outline yet unfinished and dopamine levels are at ZERO i may lie back and sink down into the burning center of the earth as my skeleton is crushed by pressure unimaginable

[wordborne]

Feeling like yuta before shibuya

feeling like gojo in shinjuku

[falmerbrook]

Re: your post about younger you being disappointed in your art now. I’m a bit older than you, and I used to let thoughts like that bring me to tears.

I didn’t start seriously working on my art until I was 19. Seeing people my age put out what I considered to be masterpieces was soul crushing. I felt like I started too late, with art and everything else in life.

But the thing is, I still did art. It’s been a decade or more now and I still make art. I have a degree in Art History. I can competently make gifts, drawings of my OCs. I can go to galleries and take inspiration from what I see. But I’m still not producing pieces on the level of the teenagers I compared myself to in the beginning. Maybe I never will.

Younger me might be disappointed in my art now, or my life in general. But I think about it very differently. When we’re young, we don’t understand how hard things are. Time is very abstract - the idea of hundreds of hours of practice, life throwing curveballs (illness, work, lack of motivation), the fact that there will always be someone younger and better than you. Kids and teenagers can’t really understand it. Because they haven’t lived enough yet.

Younger you might be disappointed, but younger you is naive and arrogant. They have the toxic and immature mindset of “You should be good at something right away, and if you’re not, you’re a failure!”

Instead of feeling upset, feel compassion towards your younger self - your inner child. They are putting so much pressure on themselves, and on you. They don’t understand how long it takes to learn skills, they can’t accept the unfairness that some people are prodigies whose parents have had them tutored since birth to draw like Da Vinci.

The older you get, the more you’ll be at peace with your practice and you won’t compare yourself to others so harshly. Younger you is stuck at a set point in development - they can’t come to peace with it. Don’t let it upset you, use it as a chance to reflect on how much you’ve matured since then.

When it comes to art, all you can do is embrace the practice. Your art is yours, it should feed your soul. Best of luck ♥️

It means a lot to me that you took the time to leave such a thoughtful ask about that little post I made. And you honestly hit the nail on the head. No matter how bad I feel about it, I'll probably never stop making art (in some form) just because it's like a stabilizing force in my life. I cycle between being happy with where I am at with it (even if it isn't to my expectations) and hating it, but I think that's just a normal part of improving, so it least it means I am, even if nonlinearly.