#makes me feel guilty too bc I truly don’t think this about other people

[selfindulgentfandomstuff]

Also on a tangentially related note, regarding my last post. I need to have that gangly teenage boy build like my cis brothers. People only ever seem to take androgyny and gender nonconformity seriously when the person in question is skinny and already conventionally attractive to some degree. I am much better about accepting my body as it is than I used to be, truly, big progress has been made- but I can’t help but feel, sometimes, like I have to be smaller to start dressing ‘weird/cool’. Does this make any sense? Can anyone hear me??

[ferrstappen]

max, the wag (for the third time) l Max Verstappen x reader

a/n: i was in the middle of writing this when news of Danny coming back to the grid!!! omg I'm so happy of seeing RIC and listening to his radios and everything, it wasn't the same without him <3

also, about requests. Please keep sending them, I've LOVED all the reqs I've gotten but right now im getting ready for my bar exam in a couple of weeks so my time is super super limited, but I promise I'll get to most of them (bc imsorry there are some reqs that I really can't connect with) after the exam, it's one of the things I'm looking forward to <3 but for now this kind of mediocre story telling will have to do...

ANYWAY, HOPE YOU LIKE THIS INSTALLMENT! you can find part 1 and 2 on the master list <3

summary: the continuation of your favorite paddock couple.

Max arrived to the track by himself.

If he was being honest, it wasn’t on his plans to walk alone with the photographers, Red Bull marketing team snatching him for stuff right after he swapped his credential. Even from far away he was able to hear chants of fans and more media than usual. 

But you weren’t right there next to him. 

He knew it wasn’t your fault, Silverstone not being a track where he was usually welcomed with opened arms and he was aware of you not wanting to be too in the eye of photographers who didn’t make questions to you, but there still were different WAGs and outfits or whatever accounts tracking your every step, especially with the new wave of partners and sudden break ups and polemics. 

Still, the selfish part of him wanted you to enter the track with him, even if it was a few steps ahead or behind him, holding your hand and smiling as you complained about the amount of credentials you had to carry: the usual green VIP Paddock, Red Bull something. You’d think after all these years they’d know me, you’d say and he’d laugh.

On the other hand, you finished getting ready and called the front desk to get a taxi to get there, feeling a bit guilty of letting Max go on his own, especially when there were more eyes on the track with Brad Pitt being there and a lot of important people who’d want to talk with him all day. 

Texting Max to let him know you were already by the guests entrance waiting when you noticed some intense flashes getting near. You’d been around a time or two to know this wasn’t usual, maybe in Miami but not when you were on the abandoned back entrance, not very glamorous and low key. 

But you saw her…

Shakira, are you visiting Lewis?

Who are you cheering today?

Shakira, third Grand Prix of the year! 

Did you talk to Lewis before? Is he nervous?

Your eyes followed her, mouth opening when you followed her small frame, exuding class and sympathy, even Alexandra who was also making her entrance stopped to get a closer look of the Colombian bombshell. 

Of course, they didn’t ask her to show and get accredited, she just walked by with a radiant smile leaving paparazzi behind as she kept talking with the friend she came with. 

But wasn’t that a Haas credential?

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t important, because right then your brain made the connections and started dialing Max while nervously biting your polished nails. 

“Baby, everything okay? Are you already inside?” Max answered, but his words were quiet and rushed. 

“Yes, but you’re never going to believe…”

“I’m sorry we have a meeting, please don’t go to the paddock, go straight to the driver’s lounge, okay? Love you” 

He hung up and you wanted to pull your hair out, knowing he is the one and only person you wanted to share this information with, and you were also certain he was the only person who would truly appreciate the gossip and speculation about his fellow driver’s love life. 

Max was able to leave the meeting almost forty minutes later, getting outside for some air until he remembered your call and that you probably were bored to death on the lounge. He was turning around to go there when…

When he saw the one and only Shakira in all of her glory. 

He wasn’t starstruck or anything, being immune to celebrities and the imaginary pedestal where most people placed them, but this wasn’t about that, it was about the way she was supposedly hiding under a cap walking towards the Mercedes garage.

He covered his mouth and hastily made his way to you. 

You didn’t greet each other with the usual peck on the lips and short hug; his slightly widened blue eyes told you exactly what you needed to know as he opened the door to his small room. 

“Please tell me that you saw her!” You said as soon as he closed the door. 

“Yes, just now she was walking to Mercedes,” Max was whisper shouting as if someone would hear him and it was the highest of secrets. 

“Did you see Lewis?” You asked Max but he said no. “What if you try to ask Brad Pitt if he saw her and like if they’re friends… with Shakira?” This time both you and your boyfriend laughed at the idea.

"I did see Sainz trying to go unnoticed with a tall brunette,do you think she is the new girlfriend?" Max asked and you nodded.

"I'm pretty sure he cheated on Isa with her, and I am almost certain she was in the Paddock Club in Monaco during qualifying," Max whistled at the new information.

Now he kissed you, lips fitting perfectly against each other, but your eyes suddenly opened and separated from him. What? Why? What happened? Max was disconcerted. 

“Please don’t laugh at me because this is a serious idea…” You told Max who had your entire attention. “What if we write to Deuxmoi?”

“Deux what?”

“They have all the inside scoops  and sightings, even your name’s popped up once or twice,” Max’s eyebrows rose at the information. “We should write that Shakira was seen on the British Grand Prix and I am one hundred percent sure someone will have more information!” You proposed and Max chuckled.

“Schatz, I can just ask Lewis why she’s here,” Max told you before embracing you, his arms circled around your waist.

You rolled your eyes before resting your head on his chest, but suddenly it hit you, swiftly lifting your head and facing Max. 

“Then why haven’t you asked him yet?!”

[megabuild]

genuinely very sorry if this is unwelcome discourse but i was just thinking about the discussions about secret life and wild life feeling so vastly different from the other series (due to the gimmicks and all) and how much of the fanbase has expressed discontent with it and it all makes me wonder what kind of decisionmaking happened in the planning and the background — i say this specifically bc it’s all been making me wonder if the shift to more ~gimmicks instead of player interacrions as a means to move the “plot” forward was something that was a strategy consciously and actively decided on? like it makes me wonder if grian/the other ccs/whoever were feeling like it was getting harder to maintain viewer momentum in a medium like the life series because of knowing just how much of an emphasis the audience places on mundane words and conversation if that makes sense. even if /we/ know the fandom would never get tired of overanalyzing that stuff. like i wonder if the shift to gimmicks was intended to provide a crutch of sorts to give the ccs more of something to work with to make content, instead of consistently feeling like they’re trying to squeeze interesting and dramatic content out of being on a minecraft server with their friends, which i feel like could be an understandable worry after so many seasons of the same? does any of this make sense im mostly just pondering aloud, do you have any thoughts? obviously everything in the world can be infinitely nuanced and i don’t necessarily agree w the logic if that is the case but idkkkkk i hope the ccs are truly just having fun with their friends if nothing else

not unwelcome at all, and i agree with a lot of what you've said but i do think you're falling into the same trap a lot of people discussing this series do, which is that you have put the focus entirely on the fandom space you (and i) engage with, when in actual fact, that's only a small section of the people the ccs are trying to please. the gimmickification of recent seasons could be in part a response to fandom's interpretation of events (because we know some CCs feels the need to deal with this- see sos amp's "lore ban" and the resulting backlash) but i think it's far more likely an attempt at dealing with youtube's push for content-heavy videos.

this also sort of ties into the idea of "so much of the fanbase" disliking yesterday's session, which i'm guilty of falling into the trap of too, as i said my dash was very divided. but any one of our dashes isn't a great indicator of what the majority are feeling, just like hate posts on reddit or children misunderstanding roleplay in youtube comments aren't. i follow around 700 accounts on here- say even half of those are life series fans, and a further half of that expressed discontent with wild life. that's around 200 people. if you look at the most popular posts in the tag and the amount of followers some tags have, there's about 10k people on tumblr who are fans of the series (likely more, but that's the best i can estimate). the subreddit has 30k+ members. grian's first episode this season got two million views. the criticism coming from some parts of the fandom here is definitely worthwhile and much of it is well founded but that doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be reflective of the vast majority of watchers- and again, many of these watchers don't actually care that much about story, roleplay, or game "fairness", and will just be watching casually as entertainment.

[inkykeiji]

ok wild concept but hear me out. i have been obsessed with your touya-nii fics for. i literally sprouted on sunday but ive been a dabi seedling for a while now. but the point is that im a frequent flyer. now i say all this to talk about how i recently re-read the keigo addition to that series and this could honestly be a product of his newest imagery BUT I DIGRESS the important thing is hear me out again

so keigo naturally knows that touya is involved with his sister but touya also doesnt share outside of natsu. but ive been thinking right? what if its not always just touya’s sister as an individual that he’s attracted to? like yes he thinks she’s pretty and when he can get a round in, he finds her incredibly hot. but WHAT IF its more about the taboo dynamic and he’s projecting??? like WHAT IF keigo has his own little sister? raised beside him at the orphanage and the two of them are close but depending on your take of modern keigo, id imagine the first few years before they settled were rough. and like kei loves them, like so so much. thats his everything, like if it would only be them at the end of the world he’d be satisfied

but deep down he feels like guilty about it? like thats his sibling yknow and he knows the stigma would weigh the two of you down and he’s never wanted anything more than to see her fly high on her own aspirations. and tbh he was getting over all that. he truly was growing out of that stage. but then he met touya’s sister and all that ‘get yourself right’ shit just went out of the window. bc he’s just there witnessing in 4K while touya and his sister are just like together?? the way they share each other’s space, the way touya responds to her coos. and like he knows it doesnt take rocket science for anyone to figure out that the two of them are so obviously fucking on the side but he’s just like yo no one cares??

and i think that just like makes him spiral and he just starts craving what touya has literally bc he thinks he can never have it. bc when he catches her in the moment all fuckout out in the head, just sometimes she’ll whimper out kei-nii and he just blows his whole load

and yeah, sorry for the rambling. i just think that kei is just like why cant i have that too? and low key i think dabi knows

and yeah with that im back on to my sunday agenda. and i would your latest reply so delicious that it refueled my week and im looking forward to what comes next!! hope you’re having a great week 🌱

oooh okay so!!! this keigo actually reminds me a lot of my tag you’re it keigo, because he kind of feels the same way about his (flesh n blood) lil sister.

but anyway i digress!!! this is a really interesting idea and it is RIPE for keigo angst. i definitely do think that keigo being around touya + his lil sister with such frequency possibly would wear down his desire to be a Good Big Brother and foster a hunger to finally act on his impulses. it’s a slow erosion of his barely existent morals, but it’s constant, and envy is one hell of a monster. envy gnaws on his conscience, envy devours his common sense, envy hollows out the pit of his already empty stomach with jade claws and gnashing teeth, making room for his compulsion to fester, rot, grow.

and touya 100% knows, because touya can read almost everyone around him like a children’s storybook. and touya loves it. because touya loves flaunting what he has, what others don’t; touya loves knowing that people wish they were him. so touya turns up the PDA to fucking eleven, just to make keigo’s blood itch with want, just to watch keigo shift and squirm and avert his eyes only to bounce back and stare brazenly merely half a second later.

this really only rubs salt in the wound, nurtures the disgusting desire tangling in keigo’s tummy and ensures that it thrives.

[rweoutofthewoods]

heyy, first of all I am sooo glad that the tornado didn't get you, I got scared for a sec, but dw abt being mean in the past, you had boundaries and ppl should respect them and you lashing out bc they didn't isn't really your fault (or something idk I feel like I'm not writing this as eloquently as I wanted to) and you changing those rules is also ok because this is your blog and your account so the only one who has a say in what happens here is you, I think I'm too sleep deprived to be writing an ask but who cares, am I right? Anyway I just wanted to say that, have a good day(night? midday? noon? morning? idk timezones are confusing af)!

YEAH TY I lived thru it (it wound up going past me 😭)

But you’re too kind 🫶 I definitely think there’s boundaries I needed to set in the past and I don’t regret making them only that I didn’t go about it in a better way.

Something I noticed in this fandom and made a hard goal to change in myself a few months ago, was that there’s so much negativity that people expect the worst in each other, and react negatively on first instinct. And that really didn’t sit well with me. I hated I did that too. Like I noticed for example: if someone gets an ask that could be perceived as negative we then instantly react negatively and we just go around in this cycle. I’m guilty of it. But when I started answering mean or negative asks nicely I felt so much better and my blog became a much brighter space too. Then, I started getting less negative asks. And boom, the cycle is cut off.

Anyway that is all to say I appreciate you so much, and I would still set boundaries if the need came up, but go about it differently. I truly believe we don’t need to go an eye for an eye all the time and someone trying to hurt me doesn’t mean I should hurt them back. There’s enough hatefulness in the world already xx

It is night for me rn, so goodnight from my time zone to yours <33

[runningfrom2am]

coryo: money is not an object, i just want you to have the wedding of your dreams.

r, realising the who is paying for everything: the wedding won’t be perfect if i don’t have at least seven dresses.

-and i love her for it.

SEJANUS AND LUCY GRAY MENTION!! had they not returned to capitol, sejanus and lucy gray would have been the best man and the maid of honour. this is going to haunt me.

at first i was shocked that tigris wasn’t the maid of honour but then i read the reasoning behind it and everything, once again, made absolutely perfect sense. someone who is almost everything but not quite, fitting the image but still less than her. also her thinking tigris is prettier than her while coryo doesn’t even consider tigris pretty.

“we agreed on the wedding and this is the reception.” he thought he did something there didn’t he? the audacity. he was late too.

living for the fact that %90 of the impulsive decisions the bride makes are what the groom wished he could at one point in his life.

imagine getting livia cardew thrown out of a social event for causing a scene. with the award season starting recently, let’s give r an oscar for the best actress.

no bc first of all AS SHE SHOULD i love that energy for them i just know she had the time of her LIFE planning this wedding.

also AHH yes sejanus and lucy gray and HERES THE THING: r is all like “hmm idk maybe it would have been them guess we’ll never know 🤷‍♀️” but i can 100% tell you right now it would have been them, no questions even asked. up until the very bitter end she truly did love lucy gray, and she loved sejanus even after that. i think he was so much harder for her to get over and i would LOVE to expand on that one day in another oneshot maybe but i digress…

i truly believe that at this point r really does love tigris, but the love she gives out is fragile so as we have discussed it wouldn’t last forever and it would end abruptly. BUT i think that honestly the only reason she didn’t ask her to be MOH was because she believes she’s prettier than her. clemensia was not doing well, she was still recovering from the snake bite and clearly a mess physically AND emotionally (if her drinking habits are any indicator) so r thought she was perfect for the job because she under no circumstances could steal any positive attention from her. with tigris, i do think that in some subconscious capacity r feels threatened by her. she’s the only one who knows coryo as well as she does, possibly more, and that scares her after what happened with lucy gray. i believe she firmly does honestly think that tigris is prettier and that’s why she picked clem, but there is more behind that decision than even she understands. i think that she was embarrassed that her family would not be playing any kind of role in their wedding, so what would people think if his cousin did? they needed to be equally independent from their families, otherwise people would ask questions she did not want to answer.

edit from an hour later: i’d also like to note that when tigris talks to katniss, she claims that she was let go from her job as a stylist in the games (r’s games) bc snow “didn’t think i was pretty enough anymore”, so which snow did she mean?? just food for thought idk

okay and then on the topic of her father,, coryo ate him UP. enough said, honestly hahahaha

moving on to your next point, that’s totally a big part of why coryo loves her so much. that’s evident from the very beginning of the series too, though back then he views it a little differently. while other people look at her and see recklessness, anger issues, and general unpleasantness, he only sees that she’s a lot more honest and brave than anyone else is. he’s said it a billion times- she’s braver and stronger than anyone he’s ever met; including himself, and he admires that she can take what she wants without feeling guilty or embarrassed about her actions.

and FINALLY,, so true bestie she does deserve an award. even if the acting itself fooled no one, who are they to say that it wasn’t genuine?? rumours would not stick on her- livia would be at fault regardless. also shoutout coryo for understanding the vibes immediately and going along with it. he’s so real for that.

ONE MORE THING on the topic of livia,, this was so fun to use her to show how much r has changed through the whole ordeal. this takes place a little over two years (ish) after the finer things in life, and the way she treats livia is so so different, but livia has stayed pretty much the same, if not hardened up a little. r went from livia kicking her out of a party for bringing drugs only to hug her in response, to kicking livia out of her wedding for wearing a dress that had a little too much white on it and her first urge was to get violent over it. idk, i feel like i could talk ab this more but it’s just a little thought i wanted to share.

thank you as always bestie!!

[selchwife]

hi. Bitching

had some sort of major freakout meltdown for some reason and ended up reinstalling that stupid calorie tracker that ate holes in my brain back in 2018. my head feels totally stuffed with cotton now. i feel more lucid but i’m like 90% sure it’s just that i hit a critical level of losing my shit and started dissociating

i got really upset like…it’s DUMB but there was a prompt about what kind of full meal with a drink and dessert your wol would like on twitter. and i was like “i think pfeil would feel bad about this bc he has an eating disorder but he’d want xyz and feel guilty about eating that much. i feel guilty writing it lol!” and then like i blinked and suddenly it was “NOW THAT IM NOT COUNTING CALORIES IM A HORRIBLE GLUTTON AND EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH ME AND I NEED TO STOP EATING FOREVER.”

and then i ended up downloading the stupid tracker app again and setting my daily goal to zero. which it ALLOWED ME TO DO and just won’t show a progress meter now. frankly i’m appalled that they just allow that now. it’s been a while but i’m fairly sure when i used it last time they wouldn’t let me set a goal below 1200 AT ALL and were like Hey that’s not good for you! not that 1200 is reasonable either but i feel like they should have hardcoded in some big pop up that says “YOU’RE ANOREXIC GO TO THERAPY.” but then they wouldn’t be able to make money off anorexic people lol

i don’t really want to go back to counting. i feel reluctant to eat more today (i am at 173cal, 95% of which has come from 1 cup of coffee and a few sips of Gatorade bc all i’ve eaten today is a couple handfuls of popcorn, somehow have mixed feelings on this) and kind of reluctant to delete the app. i still am going to like. try. i don’t know.

it’s been a long time coming i think. like idk what’s so wrong with me recently (pms), yesterday i had a huge sobbing breakdown about my gender dysphoria and today it’s this, but like. i’ve had increasing anxieties for a few months about not being Anorexic Enough Anymore and feeling guilty for getting a little better and worrying about eating too much and feeling guilty for eating and enjoying food and even feeling anxiety about drinking water and at a couple points trying to make myself puke again blah blah blah so it was going to come to a head sooner or later. idk i still feel like i’m kind of bad for not being sick enough or not being Really Truly Legit Anorexic like other people. idk what the fuck my thought process here is. stupid fucking disorder.

[legionnaireslover]

Here Gator, let me fix that "letter" to BC for you...

Hey Ben, (Corrections have been done in RED TEXT)

I know you think that I am nothing but the kid who keeps running to tattle on you to the teacher, but you need to remember that I wouldn’t be doing it if you’d help YOURSELF. I know you don't know I even exist but I really want my few remaining followers to pay attention to me, so here goes another "Hey Ben" letter.

And don’t forget that I know a LOT more than I have leaked/tattled about. Here's the part where I sound like I'm threatening you and at the same time let it be known to anyone reading that I reeeeeeally am IMPORTANT so DON'T IGNORE ME!!!

Things are coming to a head, what with Iger taking control again, Zero’s health, $$$ running out, Adam, Usher and Birkin trying to find a new victim (and I know how they plan it, btw), and you feeling guilty about the kiddos. I know I've said this dozens of times before but THIS time I really, really mean it!  SHITS going happen!  Disney is going to END THE SHAM!!

I also know you’re scared. Team Z is doing whatever they can to hold onto you and your access to money. I saw that article about the farm you and Sophie bought and of course it completely destroys (again) all my "Sophie is ruining BC financially" stories, so I have to distract my few followers from this news!

I’m sure they are planning another trip to the Sunken Place for you, as I type this. Let me throw in another veiled reference to make it sound like I'm in the "know" concerning your fate!  It's all bullshit but it makes me sound "important"!

But you should know how many people are questioning the different pics of the kiddos. If I was being honest I'd say that number is probably around 6-8 people. But hey, how can I spread any lies if everyone knows it's only the hardcore Haters that are questioning the existence of your family!

It sucks. It really does. But Disney is playing hardball. You can work with them or they will let you go down with Team Z, for all the trafficking and other crimes…maybe even all the sexcapades online and off…You know and I know, Iger doesn’t bluff. And, unfortunately, most courts of law do not allow DID as a valid defense. Now I have to remind everyone about just how scummy I said you are (you know - the "sexcapades" and all!) and also show that I have dreamed up this DID thing that would excuse all the BAD things I blamed you of doing! 

There may even be a part of you that believes you should go down, since you couldn’t stop them. But that is survivor’s guilt. There is truly only so much you can do for those kids. Here's my latest bullshit  - I'm going to say YOU are complicit in harming CHILDREN!  Of course, I don't want you to look irredeemable, so I'll just say that you aren't really capable of truly helping those "fake" kids, who I'll say are TRAFFICKED BY SOPHIE! 

The BEST THING? Use their trust money to get them away from Team Z, into Therapy, and placed with a good person as their caregiver/nanny. Maybe a good Day School, so they can avoid what happens in Boarding Schools. Now, not only is Disney holding YOUR $$$$ in a TRUST, apparently the 3 children who keep popping up beside you, NOW HAVE TRUST FUNDS TOO! 

And it’s not like you are really doing anything to protect them RIGHT NOW. ONE more reminder that i really think you are SCUM!

The only thing you REALLY can blame yourself for is letting the Fixer die in vain. still time to avoid that. Oops!  Just ANOTHER reminder of how little I respect you - I'll lay a fictitious "death" at your feet!

Also, it’s out there about Zero’s drug trafficking…and her human trafficking. No one would be blame you for walking away and letting Disney handle the spin. You deserve to be treated like a human. You should not feel like you still have to be abused to get jobs. YOU ARE AN ALISTER WITH TWO OSCAR NOMS AND TONS OF OTHER AWARDS. You have paid your dues and should be able to live your own life now. Here's the part where I have to pretend I "care" about you as a human being!  By the way,  when I say that you "should be able to live your own life" I mean LIVE YOUR LIFE ACCORDING TO THE HATER NARRATIVE!

But you keep putting your head in the sand and trying to ignore your problems. You don't pay any attention to ME and I NEED ATTENTION!

I can tell from personal experience, that doesn’t work. And you are so much stronger than you know. How many others in your shoes died young? JUST A LAST SHOT AT ANOTHER VEILED THREAT BECAUSE I'M A REAL FAN, DON'T CHA' KNOW!

[silverliing]

ahhhhh i’m going to cry me and my brother aren’t very close or rather we grew apart when i moved away for school and i never saw him for more than a week or so at a time for like 6 years, we grew up catholic and so we grew up feeling guilty for even breathing sometimes so things have always been kinda awkward between us and asking for time and affection was like scary and out of the question but anyways he watches stranger things too and i remember talking to him abt it one time and about our favorite characters and him telling me his was jonathan bc he really related to him and at the time I remember being just like “that’s cool” bc to me jonathan was just Some GuyTM (i don’t feel this way anymore) ((also this was way back before s3 and the creepy bit from s1 was fresh in my brain… )) but just now i started thinking about the time when my brother was about 11 years old and i went missing for a pretty long period of time (real story) and it left him traumatized bc he felt like it was his fault since my mom asked him to take care of me. like we don’t really talk about it (it was a scary time for us both) but whenever it comes up it’s very clear that experience always kinda stayed with him and I think he’s always gravitated towards stories about siblings with the ‘protective older sibling, headstrong younger sibling’ dynamic and it’s making me emotional to think that this aspect of his identity and interests is in part because of me and our relationship and shared traumas and i’m just having a moment bc we never give each other affectionate words or spend much time together sadly but without having to affirm it we have each other’s backs and truly care about the other yo im fine i’m fine anyways i told him my favorite character was will (obv) bc i relate to his experience being queer and different in a conservative place but now that i’m thinking abt it it also really boils down to his relationship with jonathan and their shitty dad/not always there mom,,,,, kms fr😭😭😭 it’s like it’s almost like familial relationships don’t just exist in your head, like other people perceive you the same way you perceive them, like you exist in other peoples lives the same they exist in yours,,, it’s almost like you affect and change and leave a mark on people and places it’s almost like you’re not a ghost, you’re not a ghost😭

[passed-up-for-peace-of-mind]

12.30.23 4:59pm

Jackson (my manager) just sent us the schedule for next week, and I’m scheduled for brunch with Erin (friend who I also work with), [Ex}, Katie (work mother), and Jackson. Truly could not envision a less comfortable situation for [Ex]. Laughing haha. He hates brunch so much, and then also I’m there. My heart is beating very fast; reasons unclear. Oh man he just texted me asking if I want Annabelle (friend who I also work with) to take my brunch shift. I said she can have it if she wants it or if he wants me to give it to her. I really don’t care if we have to work together; as I suspected, he is the one who is uncomfortable (seemingly). We’ll see what he replies! Maybe he’s turned his read receipts off too! Which would be insane bc he has them turned on for literally everyone. “I don’t foresee it being a particularly happy shift for either of us and I don’t really want that.” Okay, pussy. I said I’d text her; he said she’s there and already told her and Jackson. I wonder if he told them I didn’t want the shift or if he didn’t want to work the shift with me. Can’t wait to find out! Only a week away! What a funny little turn my life has taken. There are 8-10 robins in the front yard right now. We’re having a meal that I dislike the two major elements of (tofu, peanut sauce). How am I supposed to feel in a world like this.

5:22

You know what, I’m not done! This sucks! I hate working brunch, and I’m glad I don’t have to. But I am going to be livid if he told everyone that I didn’t want to work that shift with him. He is the one who doesn’t want to work the shift with me. I am going to be angry if he told them anything other than the truth: I don’t want to work with [pufpom] before I leave because I broke up with her last week. Okay this episode of Twilight Sanctorum is actually so funny. I’m not really that mad. Maybe he told everybody when the shift started. Maybe everybody is going to know by the time I get there, and everybody is gonna feel bad for me. Maybe he’ll say that we broke up instead of saying he broke up with me. Let’s break it down. We have a couple of options.

[Ex] tells people first.

He tells them we broke up. (This seems normal)

I don’t say anything. (I seem like I’m being mature to some degree by not making drama about it)

I tell them something.

I say we broke up. (Both stories line up, and no one’s the wiser)

I say he broke up with me. (It makes [Ex] look dishonest for leaving out the part where he dropped me to live free in [city he's studying abroad in])

He tells them he broke up with me. (Unknown how this might be interpreted by others. Guilty? Gloating? Right to do so? Truly depends on the person)

I don’t say anything. (I seem torn up about it and not willing to engage with anyone about it)

I say he broke up with me. (I seem brave and strong and sad)

I have to tell people first. (I seem like I’m being extra because everybody already saw [Ex], and he didn’t feel the need to say anything to anybody)

I tell them we broke up. (Normal seeming, perhaps)

He says we broke up. (Normalness confirmed?)

He says he broke up with me. (I look like I was trying to protect my pride by saying it was mutual)

I tell them he broke up with me. (I look like I’m trying to get sympathy)

He says we broke up. (Either I look like I’m lying, or he looks like he’s trying to seem less guilty than he really is)

He says he broke up with me. (It all lines up. The truth is finally revealed.)

Thank god we have all these options for all of the interactions I can have with the people we mutually know and work with. If [Ex] reneggs on his claim that he’s not coming back to [restaurant we work at] after [his study abroad], he’s gonna have another thing coming if he thinks I’m bowing out. I’m going home for the summer, but I’m sure as hell not giving up my job when I get back to campus next fall. This is so lame. Idk how everyone at work is going to deal with this because everyone adores him. Thank GOD Nina and Mari (former manager and coworker who love ex dearly) are gone. I wouldn’t want to put them through this test of cognitive dissonance. I will just be vague but honest and let people come to their own conclusions. Do you think Tracy and Max (my friend in Ex's major, also one of Ex's best friends) are staying together? Oh I bet I can get Tracy on my side. I bet if they stay together everything Max says is going straight through Tracy and to me. Will Tracy encourage me to wait for him? Will she say I should get back out there out of spite? To show [Ex] I won’t just wait around? I am so excited to hear the fascinating takes from my more vicious and self righteous homies. What will Julie (friend in my major) have to say? What about Steph and Maryam (also friends in my major)? DANIEL? I bet if Max and Tracy stay together then Max will have a few choice words as well, especially if Tracy makes the case to him. I don’t even want to tell Chris. I don’t want to tell Erin or Sophie (friend in adjacent major). I don’t want to tell Maddie or Savvy (friends and former roommates). Oh god Sarita (my roommate)… I don’t know if I’m ready to have that conversation. Sarita will definitely have some things to say. I’m most excited to hear from Tracy, but I think Maryam, Steph, Daniel, and Sarita will have the most compelling hatred to spew re: his choice. I’ll give it another week. It will come up when it comes up. What a rich world of opinions awaiting me… All I have to do is sit back and wait. As long as I don’t seem self righteous and pushy or dramatic about my opinions, everyone will be able to form their own opinions. We’ll see!

[caitsmith08-blog]

People make me out to be a monster, but I’m not. I’m a stranger they want to force ill will upon, yes I’ve made my mistakes…. I’m human. Is that not the only way we learn? Today I went digging, this woman, accused me of being a “killer”, for the longest I couldn’t make sense of it. This woman doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know I have a heart of gold and soul that’s pure, that I share empathy with a homeless person or animal. That I do good deeds when no one is looking and without video. So, I’ve been carrying this burden, of this strangers opinion on me. Bc I’ve always wanted to be accepted, loved, cared for, appreciated, so on and so fourth. And for the longest, I was exactly who I wanted to be, the life of the party, a hometown celebrity if you will. A household name. Then I bought bad drugs. Drugs that took the life of one and almost 3 others, drugs that I think about daily, bc they were daily, not to the point of addiction per say but…. Socially acceptable. Except that night, they weren’t. What I thought to be cocaine turned out to be pure fentanyl. What I thought was the unimaginable became my reality, it didn’t just hit home, it hit me. And everyday since October 4th I’ve thought about my misfortune that claimed a life of a man I truly loved. I feel guilty, most people, good people, tell me they wouldn’t expect any less…. But I couldn’t hurt any more. To me, in a sense, I took a man away from a woman he loved, kids he created, and a family that unconditionally loved him. And believe me, if I could change places with him, I would, in a heartbeat but back to this woman. So, I got in somewhat of a mental rage, and looked up this lady on social media, basically to dig up dirt to hit her where it hurt, because she hurt me. And, well, truthfully, people don’t forget. Then when I got to digging I saw her son had passed, of an overdose. So, everything in my body that wanted to put physical harm on this woman for socially downgrading me and emotionally ruining me…. It started to make sense. I’m sure her son passed of a similar incident. Now, I didn’t go too far into it but I’m sure it hit home for her, her anger wasn’t necessarily aimed toward me but perhaps to the person who she feels like, took away her son. The thing about grief, is there’s no instruction manual how to deal, bc everyone is wired differently. 3 months to the exact date I received a phone call from my father that my 20 year old nephew was “gone”. At the time I couldn’t really comprehend what gone meant, gone where? Where did he go? And then he repeated himself, “he’s gone Caitlin”, and in that moment I knew what he meant. And he was such a good kid, heart of gold, saved baby birds, was into Pokémon, hugged before you left…. My heart hadn’t healed from this man I loved, shared an obscene amount of time with, considered his family mine… and now my baby nephew?! Why? How? When? How did I not see the signs, being somewhat of an addict myself, now - I don’t want to water it down…. I never had shakes, or illness, stole, there was never really consequence to my actions… I never ever, ever considered myself an addict. But I was, I am. I’m addicted to the escape, to the feeling of being something other than me, to feel alive, to not care, to rage, I felt like when I was drunk and on drugs, I was the true version of myself. And maybe, in a sense I was. But I was also manipulated, mean, hateful, angry… and it was no one’s fault but my own. You are how you let people treat you, and I was a doormat, until I wasn’t then I was just…. Hateful. All the time. And I feel like these emotions are similar to the lady that passes judgement without knowing me. It’s true what they say yanno, misery does love company. Sad truth of the matter is nobody wins out of those equations bc at the end of the day all the anger, remorse, sadness, regret in the world will bring back ur loved ones, the hardest path I’ve ever taken was the road to forgiveness. Forgiving myself, forgiving the ones who can’t forgive me, forgiving the people I hold accountable, forgiving everything and everyone…..

[awrkive]

Aww I don’t think oc made the dinner and used the fancy plates and stuff to be malicious or to twist the knife extra hard you know? it sounds like her and Jk have never come close to breaking up before so I can imagine she would be incredibly nervous and stressed about making this huge decision that she probably feels intense guilt over. I can see myself making a few misguided decisions if I was in that state!! I also don’t think Jk holds the fact that she made a nice dinner over her head either, like he knows her well enough to know she wasn’t intentionally trying to be cruel and given the circumstances in that moment that was probably the last thing on his mind!!

I do hope they have a happy ending together, my heart is soft for them because they clearly love each other so so much!! I agree the breakup was traumatic and probably not the best way to handle things and they’ll most likely need lots of love and communication to heal from it but it sounds like they’ve cleared hurdles in their relationship in the past so I believe in them this time too!!!

I can’t wait to see where the story goes whenever the next part comes out!! Im especially excited for the dialogue!! I keep going back to part 2 during their fight because it’s written so frickin good and just so realistic and raw?! It seriously hurts me to read it (in the best way possible)

hi thank you for saying this! i can see why some people might think she was intentionally being cruel esp abt the dinner thing LOL but im glad u think otherwise and decided to share it! To add, the dinner was indeed a last minute decision! (Jk, in turn, thought it was a surprise thing) and we all know how .... Hasty and unthoughtful last minute decisions are... But those were her nerves getting the best of her. i think there were lots of moments where u can feel like she's near to bursting (i.e the first scene when jk greeted her by squeezing her ass and her uncharacteristically getting genuinely offended by it (jk mentioned she doesn't ever mind it) her refusing jks help with opening the wine, and esp the conversation abt the toxicity of her workplace) and that's bcs she was really REALLY truly nervous and stressed and guilty abt what she was about to do. also, I agree. Jk def knows her well enough to not think that. he also noticed anyway how she's been so tense the whole time, otherwise he wouldn't have asked if something was wrong.

if they were to think their relationship over, you're right that they really do need lots of love and assurance and HEALTHY, OPEN communication. i feel like it's kind of hard getting over that kind of thing...

again thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts!! i hope u have a good day 🫶

[lexivass]

I see what you're doing, Alice: you're trying to distract us with cute and sexy moments, then when we THINK we're finally figuring out the mystery you throw us down the rabbit hole again. Wicked wicked woman! Just kidding, I'm loving the crime plot line, and the dialogs between the team are just the coolest! 😍 It's like watching a Criminal Minds episode (back when it was still good, lol).

Ok, so there is a connection between Julia and the second victim after all, but I'm still holding on to my "escape goat" opinion regarding the doctor. The line about him being safer in prison made me insane. People said he was acting weird that week. What if he was acting weird because he knows who's behind the murder of Julia's sister and her child and the disappearances? And he got scared when he heard about the second body, so MAYBE he knew who it was already.

Me thinks, which might be the product of the voices in my head speaking and it probably sounds really stupid bc I don't know anything about Julia's sister but ME thinks, Julia's sister and her child's death were not random or just "another death" to this killer. While Julia may have been killed in a crime of passion, I don't see how this could apply to her sister unless the doctor was having an affair with both of them and did it, but that goes against what Lloyd observed so far. Also, it's just too much coincidence that two sisters who (probably) never knew each other being killed around the same time and found in near sites. Unless they knew each other? Did someone wanted to hurt her sister and the doctor just cleared the way for them bc of his abuse? 🧐 This is frying my brain

"He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it."

Alexa, play "You are in love" by Taylor Swift 💕💕

"(...) and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning. He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions."

Domestic caring (future) boyfriend 🥰🥰

"If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

Lloyd has siblings????

"Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom. There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones. The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors."

These descriptions were so fucking good, Alice! Truly a delight to read 👏👏👏

“You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?” So cute ksksksk 🥰🥰

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend? (...) He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

I agree with everything 👆👆

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd talking to a journalist must be the funniest thing ever ksksksk

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.” Also agreed.

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

Thank for writing Lloyd being bitter about this. I think it's very realistic (and rightful in my eyes bc I don't think children of abusive parents ever need to forgive them) him not giving a fuck about his father but still feeling something.

Part XII of “The Princess & the Lawyer”

Summary: Lloyd notices Princess’ rising stress but he’s distracted by some unexpected news. Lloyd gives Mr. Bishop his impressions of Nguyen and Princess meets Detective Roth, who reveals a shocking development in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8,481

Warnings: Smut. Sexually explicit writing, erotica level heat. Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, stalking, violence, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part 12

“Careful!”

Lloyd caught your elbow and steadied you. After traveling for twenty hours straight, waves of exhaustion were crashing down. First, the weariness had made your head swim. Now it was disturbing your usually good sense of balance.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Lloyd said.

You leaned into him and blinked, trying to focus.

“Uh-huh…”

You felt drunk. Even navigating the familiar layout of Lloyd’s front hall was a challenge. He guided you around the corner, to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

As you climbed them, his hand never left your waist. When the bed came into view, the sight of it turned your knees weak. Excitement and relief propelled you the last few feet before you dropped face first onto the mattress. Lloyd chuckled as you buried yourself in the green jacquard duvet, savoring the feeling of the cool fabric. With effort, you dragged yourself up the bed and then sorted through pillows until you’d found the right combination.

The moment your eyes shut, you were asleep.

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

Lloyd smiled at the sound of the deep, rhythmic breathing that signaled your unconscious. He slipped off your shoes and socks, and when that didn’t rouse you, he unbuttoned your pants and tugged them down. Trusting the effects of jet lag, he removed your shirt and bra, then dressed you in one of his button-ups. You didn’t stir during the entire process.

He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it.

You were stressed out about something.

He’d felt you tossing and turning all night yesterday, and knew your sudden collapse wasn’t strictly due to jet lag. The emotion had become visible in the same moment you’d learned the bad weather had cleared. He watched it build and was mildly put off that you hadn’t shared the cause of your feelings with him. Not yet, at least.

Comforting you was impossible when he didn’t understand the problem. He’d held you last night, but it hadn’t settled your racing pulse. Your heart had pumped so hard and fast, he could feel the beat of it vibrate through you and invade his own body. All night he’d felt it thundering, like drums shaking the walls of a concert venue. This morning at the airport he’d asked if you were feeling okay. Your denial was unconvincing, but he’d marked it down to the public setting. He knew something had gotten your tail in a twist. It was only a matter of time before he found out what it was.

Since this was hardly an appropriate time for that conversation, Lloyd headed downstairs. He reset the alarm system and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning.

He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions. Then he put a load on quick cycle and went to check the mail. He was standing in the kitchen sorting it when his phone buzzed.

The screen showed a 208 area code. He didn’t recognize the rest of the number, but picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Lloyd Hansen, if he’s available?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Abigail Essex. I’m calling from St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ketchum. Before we continue, can you please confirm the nature of your relationship to Joe Hansen?”

Ice formed in his chest and slid down to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Joe Hansen is my father.”

“Thank you. I’m a nurse in the medical ICU. Your father was admitted a few days ago for generalized weakness and nausea. His condition took a turn for the worse today.”

She paused. Lloyd stared at the glossy white wall. The message was straightforward, but his typically agile brain struggled to comprehend it.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Mr. Hansen, but your father’s condition is quite serious. He’s suffering from viral influenza which is complicated by his existing liver failure. From the medical records, it looks like his general physician diagnosed him six years ago. The illness was already so advanced that his treatment options were limited.”

Limited treatment options. That meant terminal, didn’t it?

Abigail cleared her throat. “Mr. Hansen? Lloyd?”

“I’m here. How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. His condition is deteriorating. There’s a note in his file that Joe is estranged from his children. However, during end-of-life care we always try to reach out to the family. Social work searched for next of kin, but only found your records. If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

He cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay. We have his POLST on file, so there’s no need for you to make decisions.”

“POLST?”

“I’m sorry. A POLST is short for physician’s orders of life-sustaining treatment. It’s a form filed with the state to express final wishes. Joe already documented his refusal of invasive life support, which is what our next steps would be. You don’t need to decide. Like I said, it’s standard practice to contact family members when we initiate palliative care, in case they’d like to pay their final respects. This call is strictly a notification.”

His lip curled, and rage tightened his belly. Final respects.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can unplug him.”

Shocked silence filled the line.

Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom.

There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones.

The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors.

“Is there anything further?” Lloyd asked.

“Would you like to be notified when he passes?”

“Call if you want, I don’t care. He’s been dead to me for years.”

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

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

Lloyd hit snooze with enough force to send the clock skittering across the nightstand. You curled into your pillow and groaned. He stretched and climbed out the bed to open the curtains.

On Mondays, he usually jogged the five-mile loop from Old Town to Belle Haven. He shoved back the drapes and saw the sky was ink black and the sky was spitting rain. The humidity would be a bitch and even the light rain would soak him to the bone in minutes. Blankets rustled faintly behind him as you rolled over. He glanced back and smiled. There were other forms of cardio, which were just as effective, and he’d stay warm and dry doing them.

Lloyd sat down by the cocoon of blankets you’d coiled into during the night. He ran his hand over your back and lightly scratched between your shoulders. You made a noise, something halfway between a hiss and a moan, like a cranky kitten.

“It’s Monday morning, Princess. Time to rise and shine.”

“No…”

“C’mere,” Lloyd purred.

You whined as he dragged you into his arms, trying to grab for the pillow. Because you hadn’t opened your eyes, you missed it by a mile and flailed in protest as he hauled you into his lap. He kissed your cheek and rubbed the bridge of his nose against your jaw. Instantly, you softened. He took advantage and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Lloyd. I’m tired.”

“You’ve slept ten hours, you need to stretch your muscles.”

“Go away! I’m not going jogging! Self-respecting humans don’t run at this hour of morning.”

He pretended to be hurt. “You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?”

“Muggers don’t get up at this hour.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Because they’re such nice, polite, self-respecting humans?”

“Yes. You have a screw loose, Hansen.”

“Several,” he agreed. “What if I did my cardio here? Would that repair your impression of my respectability?”

“Mmmmhhh. Okay.”

You were falling asleep again. He could hear it in your voice and feel you relaxing in his arms. Lloyd pushed off the remaining blankets and undid the dress shirt’s buttons. You stirred as he drew apart the sides of the garment to expose your chest. Kissing a feather-light pathway from your ear, down your neck, to the swell of your breast, he took his time.

You arched and lifted your arms over your head, an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rise and fall of your chest quickened as he explored the sides of each breast and nibbled on the delicate swells of their undersides. He kissed your sternum, making sure his mustache tickled your skin.

You squirmed and giggled.

The sound made him smile, even as heat throbbed in his groin. He returned to your lips for another taste. You kissed him with feverish demand, your fingers delving into his hair as you tilted your head back. The innate submission of the movement cracked his control. He growled and his tongue flicked into your mouth as he teased your nipples with his fingertips. You moaned when he cupped the soft flesh and stroked the tender buds. They were rock hard, biting into his hand like pebbles. Every little whimper you made inflamed his desire.

Your nails raked the back of his neck, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. When your hands moved from his shoulders, down to stroke his chest, he inhaled sharply. The caressing exploration made him groan. Your touch felt almost innocent, as if you were still fascinated by his body, despite your increased experience. You traced the swirl of a cowlick in his chest hair. Then your nails scraped, and he hissed at the flash of pleasure.

He lunged, attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, eager to retake the upper hand. Lloyd pinned you to the bed, easily countering your half-hearted attempts to squirm away. Then he bit your neck, and the startled cry it elicited from you went straight to his groin. He licked the mark he’d left and savored the taste of your sweat. When he took a deep breath, and scented the tang of your arousal, hanging thick in the air, it shattered the last of his control.

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

All the pleasure you’d experienced at Lloyd’s hands paled compared to this. It was like he was everywhere at once. Your lips, neck, and cheeks buzzed with heat. A bead of sweat rolled between your breasts - Lloyd licked it up. His eyes flashed to yours and he purred, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

During the week in Qatar, you’d done nothing more than cuddle. His experiences there haunted him and you understood the lack of desire was nothing personal. It seemed this morning he’d shaken off the ghosts and was making up for lost time.

His kisses were dominating, and his touch was tinged with a new sense of property. He was focused on your physical reactions and the caution he’d shown with you in the past was nowhere to be found. His tongue drove into your mouth and your teeth clashed against his. He restrained your wrists above your head without a second of hesitation. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that the flash of dominance he’d shown in Qatar had come out to play again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you threw yourself into the kiss, matching his feverish assault with equal heat.

He broke the kiss to return his attention to your breasts, and you whined at the loss. Lloyd chuckled, low and warm. His teeth scraped over the pounding pulse in your throat. He nipped at your collarbone and across the mound of your breast. The brush of his mustache as he nuzzled the side, a spot you’d never known could be so sensitive, made you shiver. When his lips finally closed around an aching nipple, the sensation made your back bow.

Fire licked over your skin and raced to your core. The sensitive walls of your sex convulsed, frustrated by unmet need. You felt the wetness soaking your panties as desire built and your body prepared to be filled. Lloyd took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts. He seemed to take pleasure in foiling your attempts to gain control and drew out the foreplay as long as possible. When he finally eased back, you were sobbing and quivering at each brush of his lips against your hyper-sensitive nipples.

Tears glazed your eyes. The pulsating heat in your core was nearly painful. The intense desire rippling through your muscles had turned them weak. Hunger throbbed in your blood and sweat soaked your skin. It was unclear what portion of it was yours and what amount Lloyd had contributed. His body was feverishly hot against yours and his eyes burned with the same hunger that had you writhing helplessly against him.

Finally, he settled over you, peeling off the damp lace covering your sex and shoving it down your legs. He lifted the panties to his face and breathed in the scent. His eyes flashed to yours and their cobalt depths radiated victorious heat.

He growled. The authenticity of the sound stole your breath. It rumbled from his chest, raising the hair on the back of your neck at the barely restrained violence it contained. His fingers delved into your pussy and he groaned, flexing his digits and stretching your inner walls. The searing heat building in your channel turned molten as his fingers expertly stroked and teased. You cried out, sensation rippling from your womb, down your thighs, up your spine, until it crested and you bucked against his hand.

“Lloyd!”

He grunted, then his thumb swiped over your clit, eliciting a scream. The ecstasy made your whole body shudder.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go.”

His fingers kept moving, plunging in and out, teasing your sweet spot, and caressing your pulsing clit. You trembled on the cusp of orgasm, wanting the release, but not quite able to reach it. Lloyd captured the peak of your breast between his lips. You screamed and shattered. Your body surged, hips canting off the bed as you convulsed. Lloyd continued to draw the pleasure out of you, moving steadily even as your powerful inner muscles seized on wave after wave of climax. His thumb teased your clit, even when you tried to jerk away and twisted, trying to dislodge the tormenting stimulation.

“No, no, keep going. Come on, Princess. Give me one more.”

Your shoulder blades pulled together, clenching, as his coaxing words triggered fresh spasms of climax. Right on the heels of the first orgasm, a second wave dragged you into mindless rapture and knocked everything out of your head. Lloyd sucked your nipples, using the strength of his arm to increase the roughness of his ministrations. The change pushed your orgasm to new heights. You keened, thrashing, clutching the sheets for purchase, and wailing as the pleasure refused to let up.

Several minutes later he eased his drenched fingers from your channel. You could only hear the blood pounding in your head and the ragged sound of your breath. Every muscle was shaking. There was no way to count how many orgasms he’d taken from you, or if they’d been separate, because after the second, they’d all blended together. The final tremors of climax lingered in the shaking muscles of your thighs and clenching sex. It felt endless and overwhelming. Despite that, a deep ache inside of you demanded something more. It needed a more complete pleasure to be slaked than his hands alone could give.

He settled between your legs, stretching over you. Lloyd tilted your face up and when your lips met, his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He gently teased your swollen lips before his tongue darted into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him with fervor.

“Good girl,” Lloyd praised. “Slide down for me.”

He guided you lower, tugging your hips, pulling you away from the headboard. His hands went under your legs and he pushed your knees up, then widened your thighs as far as possible. A tremor ran through you as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds. He explored around your clit without touching it directly. Just that was enough to make you shake. Lloyd groaned.

“Such a responsive little thing. You’re so fucking tight, Princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed your slit, teasing you with the promise of relief. You whimpered at the slow, cautious breach of his cock sliding into your sex. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on your face. His girth burned, but the discomfort only made your sex flutter harder. The delicate channel beat with a welcome pulse as it struggled to draw him deeper. You groaned at the delightful stretch as he worked himself into you inch by inch. When he was halfway there, he drew back, and with a powerful thrust, drove home. You shrieked when the throbbing spot, deep in your body, that inferno that had demanded relief, was struck hard by the crown of his cock. A blinding surge of pleasure made you thrash, toss your head and claw at his back.

Lloyd snarled. His hips pistoned forward, triggering another blinding surge of pleasure. He rocked again, then set a brutal pace that electrified your spine, making your pliant muscles undulate with a new intensity. Your hands were weak as they grasped his biceps, clinging to him for security.

“Look at me.”

His rough command made your eyes open.

“Say it…”

Your hormone addled brain stuttered, unable to process the demand. He pounded into you harder at your speechlessness, eyes flashing.

“Princess, I wanna hear you.”

He jerked his hips, impaling you deeper than you’d ever felt him. The devastating flood of pleasure made your toes curl, eliciting a scream as tremors became convulsions and you unraveled.

“Say it!”

“Lloyd! Aaaahhh…”

His fingers found your clit and rubbed, quick and hard. You jackknifed at the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name!”

The pace of the thrusts increased as his control slipped. You recognized the signs of his orgasm and whined in anticipation. His hands tightened on your hips and he lifted you slightly to pound into you at a deeper angle. It brought on another orgasm. This one was fast, sharper than the first. He put his weight behind the thrusts, driving impossibly deep. You screamed.

“Lloyd! Uuhhh…”

The climax felt unending. A groan rose in your throat, low and reverberating, as an entirely different kind of pleasure sent you reeling. The depth of his penetration caused the waves of climax to spread, up into the muscles of your belly, and down your quivering thighs. He teased your clit mercilessly, even as you sobbed. Ripples of pleasure caused your legs to jerk, seizing around Lloyd’s hips as they stripped you of your senses. You shuddered helplessly, crying, whimpering, consumed by a delirium of passion.

His thrusts grew quicker, turning harder and shorter, before his seed flooded you. Lloyd gasped, moaned and then collapsed. In your post-orgasm stupor, all you could manage was to curl one arm around his back. The other was limp, along with the rest of your body. You felt disconnected, so much so that even the pressure of Lloyd’s crushing weight was a distant echo.

This couldn’t be normal. How could so much emotion pour out during something so profoundly physical? You weren’t built to handle this kind of intensity. It had been like the first time, when the sheer excitement of being with him had short-circuited your brain. Except today there had been more. More power. More raw, unbridled passion.

Was it because of the foreplay? Or the brief period of abstinence last week in Qatar? Or was it just the especially potent chemistry between you and Lloyd?

He moved first, rising to his elbows. His eyes were glassy and the emotions in them mirrored exactly what you felt. Recognizing it calmed your racing thoughts. You brushed back his hair and kissed him. His arms flexed around your waist and you felt another pulse of release splash against your womb. Then you realized your bodies were still joined, and you were sticky with more than just sweat.

“I need a shower. We both do, actually.”

He grunted. “Can you move?”

“Probably not. I feel boneless.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

Lloyd’s eyes skimmed your figure appreciatively as you walked ahead of him, entering the lobby of Bishop & Howard.

“No ogling before 10:30, Counselor.”

“If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t wear skirts that make your legs look so tasty.”

“When did I say that I didn’t want to be ogled? I only said it had to be after 10:30.”

“10:30 p.m. came and went nine hours ago.”

“I hate lawyers.”

He followed you to the elevator car and leaned against the wall, his eyes still tracing your curves.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“And you look like a troll that woke up on the wrong side of the bridge. Are you jet lagged?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The car arrived with a chime and you stepped in. Lloyd tapped the button for the fifth floor.

“All that cardio this morning probably didn’t help. Why don’t you take a catnap on your sofa? I can cover for you.”

“No. I need to see Bishop.”

Your humor faded. “You’re going to tell him?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“Alright. Just make sure he’s caffeinated.”

Lloyd snorted. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

The elevator doors opened to the unexpected sight of Bishop, waiting for you. He had a take-away carrier of coffees balanced in his left hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I already had two cups.”

You assembled in Lloyd’s office, and everyone fell into the same places you’d taken on the day the case was introduced. Bishop settled into one of the armchairs while you and Lloyd shared the couch.

“How was Singapore?”

“The interrogation went smoothly. Nguyen wasn’t forthright, but he wasn’t as hostile as he could’ve been,” Lloyd said.

Bishop considered. “Age could do that, but so could twenty years of living with a guilty conscience.”

“I wouldn’t say the good doctor has an overdeveloped conscience,” Lloyd said.

“I’d concur. Did you learn anything new?”

Lloyd leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together loosely and met Bishop’s gaze.

“I don’t think he did it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know my prosecution didn’t have the strongest evidence, but I stand by that verdict.”

“There are significant inconsistencies in the case.”

“Nguyen’s history, and his obvious motive, were evidence enough.”

“He had a motive for Julia’s murder. But there’s no solid connection between him and the missing women. In the best cases all there was is circumstantial evidence and in the worst cases, it’s pure conjecture.”

Bishop waved his hand as if wiping away the claim.

“He had opportunities and he’s the only person directly connected to all the victims. When his girlfriend turned up dead, we knew. But the real nail in his coffin is that when he was prosecuted, the disappearances stopped.”

“Roth sent us the files on the other suspects. I’d hardly call those ‘investigations’ thorough,” Lloyd said.

“When your list of suspects is the whole town, it’s hard to be thorough,” Bishop fired back.

“Fine. But this is an instance where the simplest explanation was molded to fit the public’s theory and calm the community.”

“Don’t chase zebras, Lloyd. You spoke with the man, you’re an astute judge of character. It takes all of five minutes to know what he is.”

“Emotionally unstable. Intelligent. Manipulative enough to identify emotions but cold enough not to feel them. His sense of empathy is strictly cognitive - he can understand why people have emotions, but I suspect he doesn’t feel much more than pleasure, excitement, anger, frustration, and disgust. He’s pretty high up on the spectrum of psychopaths. But he’s not excited by violence.”

“How could you tell?”

“His reactions. He feels, or at least pretends to feel, a sense of shame for how he treated Julia. The investigation scares him. But what really made him react was hearing about the second body. He knows more than he’s saying. It’s probably why he didn’t fight the charges harder. He knew he was safer in prison.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Bishop asked.

Lloyd snorted. “Everyone in town, unfortunately.”

“The media has dragged this story through the mud, and back again, several times. They’d whipped the locals into a lather long before Dr. Nguyen’s name entered the investigation, and they’re fixing to do it again.”

“I expect it will be a challenge, but that’s why you brought me in. Roth provided the original case files. The kindest way I can phrase my opinion is to say that their investigation never really got both oars in the water.”

Bishop’s hand covered the joint of the ankle that rested on his left knee. He tilted his head back in what most people would have taken for arrogance, but knowing him, you pegged it as discomfort.

“The state police took one look at Julia’s case and immediately decided it fit the pattern of the disappearances. Nguyen wasn’t just a convenient suspect, he was their only suspect. Extrapolating from a solitary murder, one that occurred within the setting of a domestic violence situation, to a broader accusation doesn’t track.”

“What tracks is that after he went to prison, the disappearances stopped.”

“Nguyen is an emotionally unstable, deeply insecure, coward of a man with an unquenchable need for control. Beating on his woman gave it to him. Why seek other outlets for his anger, when he had a perfectly good punching bag waiting at home?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. Why he committed his crimes isn’t my concern. My concern was that women stopped disappearing in Harmony once they locked him up.”

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend?” Lloyd asked.

“Dumb luck. Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket. Israel Keyes used a credit card from one of his victims. Anyone can get sloppy - even serial killers. When they do, it’s a lucky day for the justice system.”

“Murdering your girlfriend is one type of crazy. Serial killing is another. It’s no stretch to imagine Nguyen in the first category, but the second? He doesn’t have the patience, the emotional control, or the guts.”

“He had connections with all the missing women,” Bishop said.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Given that Harmony’s such a bustling metropolis, and considering Nguyen was a local doctor who treated hundreds of patients a year. Most of those so-called ‘connections’ were pretty thin.”

“Well, along with being connected to all the victims, he lied to investigators and showed guilty knowledge about the circumstances of Julia’s death. He also had a documented history of violence against women and no alibi.”

“He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction,” Bishop said.

“Nguyen had a personal attachment to Julia, and he was violent toward her. However, I suspect anyone who got too close with him would be at risk. Dominating someone else, taking away their control, that’s how he relieves anxiety. It’s a feedback loop, one that only works when there’s an emotional bond between him and the victim.”

“That’s interesting. But the fact stands: locking Nguyen away precipitated the end of the abductions in Harmony. Twenty years have gone by without another case.”

“Coincidence.”

Bishop bristled at Lloyd’s dismissive tone. “No more victims equals no more offender.”

“That’s a non sequitur. No more kidnappings equals no more kidnappings; drawing any other conclusion is bending the facts to fit a theory.”

“I disagree, but common sense isn’t a flower that grows in everyone’s garden.”

Lloyd snickered. Just like that, the thick layer of tension hanging over the room evaporated.

“You asked my opinion, and went to a lot of trouble arranging the interview, because you knew I wouldn’t be anything less than candid.”

“You’re a blunt instrument, Hansen,” Bishop sighed.

“Always have been, always will be.”

“I considered sending Zach to interview Nguyen. The trouble is, my objectivity in this case took a hike long ago and whoever went to Singapore…”

He trailed off, cheeks flushing with embarrassed color.

“Whoever went to Singapore had to come back and pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw,” Lloyd said, filling in the rest of the thought.

“I needed an unfiltered perspective on Nguyen from someone I trusted. You’re the only person I respect who’d be irreverent enough to speak your mind, regardless of it pissing me off.”

“Irreverence is a speciality of mine.”

Bishop laughed, then sighed. “It’s difficult to re-investigate a cold case under the best circumstances. When the media learns there are new victims, and where they were found, they’ll descend like a plague of locusts.”

“No doubt,” Lloyd agreed.

“When I met with Roth, he mentioned reporters had already come sniffing around. Nguyen probably contacted them himself.”

“I can handle the media,” Lloyd said.

“Uh-huh.” Bishop glanced at you.

“I’ll keep him away from reporters,” you promised.

“Just try your best. Even reformed, he’s damn near ungovernable.”

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd said.

“No, you won’t. If they call, you forward it to me. If you’re approached in person, the only acceptable answer- even to stupid questions - is ‘no comment.’ Under no circumstances will you say anything else.”

“She loves to cramp my style,” Lloyd said to Bishop.

“I know… my peace of mind often relies on it.”

A tap sounded on the door frame, and three sets of eyes swung to the noise.

“Visitors for you, Mr. Hansen.”

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a uniformed police officer. Beside him was a man you’d have guessed was his partner, if he’d worn the same navy blue. Instead of a uniform the second guest was dressed in slacks and a blazer. The jacket was the most hideous shade of burnt orange you’d ever seen. It should be a crime to dye perfectly good fabric such an ugly color.

“I’m here to see Mr. Hansen,” the officer said.

“That would be me.”

“May we come in?”

Bishop moved to the couch, directing the newcomers to the matching armchairs on the far side of the conversation area. You slid to the middle seat and let him take the end.

There was a grimness in the officer’s features that suggested this wasn’t a casual visit, or a pleasant one. Bishop frowned, apparently picking up the same vibe. Lloyd, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the apprehension the guests carried into the room.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m Officer Audley, of the D.C. Metro Police. This,” he gestured to the man in the hideous jacket, “is Morgan Lopez, our community coordinator.”

Audley paused and scanned Lloyd’s face.

“I have some bad news, Mr. Hansen. Your father was admitted to the hospital in Ketchum, Idaho last week. He had chronic liver disease, which was complicated by a bout of influenza. I’m sorry to tell you he died earlier this morning.”

The statement hung in the air, wiping everything away with its finality. Lloyd’s father was dead. Your heart twisted unpleasantly. Your father was your rock, the steadiest, most reliable man you knew. In Lloyd��s position, you’d be devastated.

“Alright. Thanks for stopping by.”

Officer Audley blinked, and Mr. Lopez’s eyebrows lifted. Even knowing Lloyd like you did, his reaction was unsettling. He noted their response and gave a tight smile.

“Look, there isn’t much to say. My father and I haven’t spoken in almost 25 years.”

Audley’s expression shifted, recovering its professional mask. “I understand. The Blaine County Sheriff asked us to pass on some information.”

He waited for Lloyd to nod, then flipped open a small notebook.

“According to the sheriff, your father had downsized his cattle ranching operation but the… uh…” Audley squinted to read his writing. “Brand inspector?”

“That’s right. I take it there are cattle to be dealt with?”

“367 of them according to the Brand Inspector’s records. They’ve contacted the feed store and some local cowboys will take care of things for a couple days.”

Audley’s tone was tinged with disbelief as if he found discussing the day-to-day operations of a cattle ranch utterly bizarre.

“Was anyone available?” Lloyd asked.

“Just for the next two days. Sheriff Holbrook said he’d put out some feelers to see if anyone was available for temporary hire, but all the cowboys are employed, or busy rodeoing.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Lloyd said. He looked at Bishop.

“Go. Take care of your family matters.”

“The case-”

“Zach will take the lead and Princess can keep you in the loop. If you’d like to be in the loop, that is.”

“I do. I want regular updates.”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t spare a thought for the investigation, just take care of what you need to. Your team can handle things.”

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

You closed the door behind Officer Audley with a quiet sigh of relief.

Lloyd’s complete lack of reaction made enduring the rest of their visit hard. It was difficult not to comfort him. It was even harder to sit there quietly, aware of his pain bubbling up, as the shock wore off. Bishop had charmed the visitors and skillfully ended the visit by escorting them to the elevators. You felt like an eon had passed before he’d led them away.

Lloyd stood by the desk, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the items lining the edge. You stood with your back to the door and braced for the crash of him shoving everything off the desk. Even with therapy his strongest displays of emotion leaned toward volcanic.

A minute passed and the crash didn’t come.

“Lloyd?”

You stepped closer and when he didn’t react, approached him. Making sure he saw it coming, you touched his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.”

You stroked his arm, observing the quick rise and fall of his chest. The increase in respirations was the only visible sign of distress.

“I didn’t come up with that,” Lloyd said.

His tone was remote, as he stared sightlessly at his desk. The vacant expression called to mind the pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from the First World War. After seeing them in your third-grade history textbook, those photos had given you nightmares for months.

“Some dead Pope came up with that saying. My father, he grew up Catholic… he repeated that phrase. Repeated it a lot. When I was a kid I thought it was nonsensical. Then one day the meaning of it hit me, and I realized he knew exactly what a shitty excuse of a father he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His voice prickled with defensiveness, the kind that always reared up after he revealed something painful about his past. You usually eased away when he signaled discomfort, because comfort was something he despised, especially when he was the one who needed it. Today you couldn’t offer him that space. Your arms went around him and you slid between his body and the desk, cuddling into his broad chest.

Lloyd’s arms banded around your waist, loosely at first. Then they tightened into a fierce hug.

“I got a call last night. His nurse asked about end-of-life care and I told her it was fine by me if they unplugged him. But he’d already put his last wishes on file. No life saving measures. He stole the only chance I could’ve had to legally kill him. That pisses me off.”

His voice was gravelly with a hurt that ran deeper than anger ever could. You could feel the sorrow welling up in him. After a minute he lifted you to sit on the desk and buried his face in your neck. You spread your legs as far as your tight skirt allowed, drawing him close.

“I thought I’d feel relieved.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while, you felt dampness on your shoulder. It didn’t surprise you that his tears came, or that they fell silently.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

But he was still your father.

You didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t comfort him or lighten the weight of his grief. The fact was, nothing could break that primal tie between a child and a parent. That was the cruel nature of heritage - it endured, no matter how hard a person tried to break away.

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

Trying to be subtle, you glanced up and down the hall. When you were sure you were alone, you ducked into the stairwell for a secret meeting on the fifth floor landing.

Jake was already there, with Landon McAnanny.

“Have you talked to Lloyd?” Jake asked.

“I couldn’t, something came up.”

“What the hell came up?!”

“His father died!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Lloyd’s father is alive?”

“He was until this morning.”

“Uh… he’s never mentioned his father before.”

“He’s going to Idaho to settle his affairs.”

“He’s leaving today?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

You cringed at the concern in his eyes. Seeing his reaction fanned the anxiety you’d been fighting back for days.

“I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.”

Landon eased a half step closer. “Look, reaching out to Aiden’s father was a good start, but he can’t control his son for long. The anger is escalating and there’s a subtext of entitlement in the latest messages. It stinks of trouble.”

Jake nodded emphatically as Landon continued.

“You’ve already documented everything. It’s more than enough to file a complaint.”

You were shaking your head before Landon finished.

“They can’t do anything. Aiden’s texts are anonymous and he’s been careful not to be spotted.”

Landon’s right eye twitched. “I know. But reporting your suspicions-”

“Will be little more than an exercise in humiliation.”

The men exchanged a sidelong glance. You sighed, knowing they probably didn’t share your distrust of the police, especially not in a matter like this.

“Look, cops are notoriously bad at handling stalkers. A lot of it comes down to the fact that anti-stalking laws have to be balanced against the bill of rights. Using other avenues to resolve this is a much better option.”

“Mr. LeDoux is a cop, and he said he would help with that,” Jake pointed out.

You sighed. Having Mr. LeDoux’s support behind your complaint would count for a lot in a town like D.C.

“With the amount of evidence you have, they’d be completely negligent to ignore you,” Landon said.

Someone coughed. You looked up and froze at the sight of Bishop on the sixth floor landing.

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but if I can interject…”

“Please do,” Jake invited.

Bishop came down the steps and joined you on the lower level.

“From what I gathered, your ex is making a problem of himself, Lloyd doesn’t know, and the situation is escalating.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad are the messages?” Bishop asked Landon.

“Bad. He’s gone from annoying and sadistic to action-oriented threats. The past three days he’s been sending pictures of her building like he’s staking it out.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started when I was in Singapore. I contacted his father already, and he holds the purse strings, which should help, but so far…”

Bishop nodded. “Uh-huh. Legally speaking, it would be beneficial to start a record with the police sooner, rather than later.”

“I’m coming around to that… slowly. I’m going to tell Lloyd, just not right now. I can’t add to his stress.”

“You’re working in the field with Zach this week,” Bishop said. “Stick close to him. Outside of work, you’re going to be house-sitting for Lloyd while he’s out of town, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The thought of Lloyd’s security system brightened your mood. Your top priority was not returning to your apartment for the foreseeable future. Not when Aiden might be sulking around.

“What about telling Zach?” Jake asked.

“How do you think Lloyd would feel if I told Zach before him?”

“You told me, and I told Landon. What’s the difference?”

“It’s different. Zach is his best friend.”

Bishop frowned. “Under the circumstances, I think he’d understand.”

“Can she work from our offices?” Landon asked. “The rent-a-cops down in the lobby aren’t much more than window dressing.”

“You can work from home, Zach’s offices, even the State Police building if Detective Roth allows it. Until Lloyd can be here with you, our building has too much foot traffic for safety,” Bishop said.

“Weston might not be thrilled with that.”

Bishop sighed at the mention of your supervisor. “He’s still annoying you about time cards?”

“He called me in Singapore to inform me that my card from last week is wrong.”

“You’ve never had an issue before, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Have Jen approve your card and tell Weston it’s resolved.”

“Thanks.”

Bishop opened his phone and typed out a message. Your phone chimed, and you saw he’d shared a contact card.

“That’s the information of a detective I’m acquainted with on the Robbery-Homicide squad at Metro. He’s in the second district office. Just in case you feel the need to speak with someone, keep his number handy. You’re going over to Fairfax with Zach, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Lloyd and stop by to pick up the keys, learn the alarm system.”

“Stick close to Zach. Between Lloyd’s security system and him, you should be okay for a few days.”

“And file a police report. Tonight,” Landon said.

You scanned the serious faces of the three men and gave in.

“Okay. I will. Tonight.”

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

You arrived at Lloyd’s finding his luggage packed and sitting by the front door. From the back of the house, a door slammed, and you followed the sound to the kitchen where Lloyd was re-lining the trash can.

“Hey.”

“I just finished cleaning out the fridge. You might need to pick up some groceries. There’s $300 cash in the cookie jar, don’t waste your own money.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

You hugged him and he propped his chin on top of your head as he returned the embrace.

“We hadn’t spoken in decades, so I don’t know why this feels different. But it does. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay to be confused. And you don’t owe me any explanations,” you said, rubbing his back.

“I can’t understand how I can hate him so much and still feel grief.”

“Feelings aren’t required to make sense. They get to be complicated, and if you don’t want to unravel them right now, that’s okay. Just don’t feel like you’re alone. Whenever you need to talk, or just be with someone, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

So were you, but for entirely different reasons.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will. Text me about the meeting. Even if it won’t get through until I’ve landed, I want an update.”

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

At the state police headquarters in Fairfax, you met Zach in the parking lot.

He peppered you with questions about Lloyd’s reaction to his father’s death. You realized he knew far more about their relationship than you did and traded bits of information for the scant details he could offer about the late Mr. Hansen.

A young female officer escorted you to a conference room, where Detective Roth was waiting. Having spoken with him on the phone, you’d formed an image of how he looked, which was completely wrong. He wasn’t in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair as you’d expected.

Instead of hair, he had a shaved head. At first glance his eyebrows appeared blond but when the sunlight caught them, you saw he was actually a redhead. Most surprising was that he wore rimless glasses, the kind Steve Jobs was famous for, though his were more oval than round. When he stood, he towered over you. Even Zach, who wasn’t short by any means, had to look up at him.

“Good afternoon,” Roth greeted.

There was a hint of a Georgia drawl in his vowels and his eyes were arctic blue. The icy gaze carefully examined both his visitors before he invited you to sit.

He opened the meeting with the usual pleasantries and you noted his manners matched the Southern drawl. His relaxed posture didn’t hide the cunning intelligence in his pale eyes and within a minute you recognized that he was every bit as dangerous as Lloyd or Zach. Questions flowed naturally into the conversation, like slippery eels, and his nonchalant mannerisms disguised the intense scrutiny behind them. Roth took his time, thoroughly analyzing you and Zach, before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Given Bishop’s history with this case, I’m not comfortable with his people involving themselves in my investigation.”

“We’re here to help, nothing more,” Zach said.

He’d been trying to connect with Roth, using the good old boy affability he wore like a veneer when he was trying to be personable. It wasn’t working, not even a little.

“Help,” Roth repeated.

His tone was bland, despite the twinge of annoyance you caught around his eyes. He pinned Zach with a hard look.

“You’re here to help, alright. And to keep your boss informed. He’s already been down and given me his version of the charm offensive. To be honest, Mr. Hightower, I liked his style more than yours. But I didn’t answer his questions and I’m hesitant to share anything further, knowing he’d like to influence my work.”

Zach smirked. “I don’t work for Bishop.”

“Employee or not, he pays you. That’s working for him in my book.”

You jumped in before Zach could dig a deeper hole.

“Detective, we understand your concerns. Trust won’t grow overnight, but we’re here. What can we do that would be most helpful to assist your work?”

“I have a nightmarish list of records to locate, if they even exist, and organize. That’s priority number one.”

“I had a thought about that the other day,” you said.

“Creating a database of publicly available records from that time would streamline the research process significantly. With some help from the Harmony library and the courthouse, I can get started. Once we’ve logged our own copies of everything, it will save a lot of time cross-referencing later.”

“That could be useful.”

Zach cleared his throat. "Speaking of useful, can we get access to the recent labs?”

“No. But if you file a request with the front desk, they’ll get back to you.”

“File a request? Are you kidding me?”

“Does the look on my face suggest that I’m joking?”

You had to smother your laughter. Roth’s face didn’t suggest anything. He might be the most closed-book person you’d ever met. You especially appreciated the way he pushed Zach’s buttons.

“Have you had any media attention on the case lately?” you asked.

“Fortunately, no. But my luck won’t hold for long. Any help managing that shit storm would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll leave you my card.”

“And I guess I’ll go file my request with the front desk,” Zach said.

The tiniest smile curved Roth’s thin lips. He waited until Zach began to unfurl himself from the chair, then reached for a folder.

“Here’s the DNA results.”

He turned it over, so the print side was down, and slid it across the table. Zach picked it up and held it so you could both read. Your eyes scanned the page quickly. As you took in the meaning, you bent forward to check that you’d read it correctly.

“They’re sure this is accurate?” Zach asked.

“Yeah. We were surprised, too. Not by the first result, but the third comparison they did was a heck of a plot twist.”

You studied the results. “The first test established that the woman in the recently discovered slab is the mother of the child found with her. But what about the DNA sample labeled X? Who is that from?”

“A relative. We do that a lot in cases like this, trying to identify a family tree. DNA from mother and daughter matched with a known sample in CODIS.”

“50% match with the mother and a 25% match with the daughter. You found a grandparent?” Zach asked.

“We identified a full-blooded sister of the mother,” Roth said.

“Who is sample X from?” you asked.

“Julia Xiarong.”

“Holy shit,” Zach murmured, staring at the report.

“That wasn’t the strangest part. Now, I’ve confirmed this next piece of information five different ways, trying to wrap my head around it. By all records, and from interviews with people in China who knew Julia as a child… Everyone confirms the same thing. She didn’t have a sister.”

You struggled to absorb the revelation. Roth pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d rested. A disbelieving smile twisted his thin mouth.

“There’s no record of Julia Xiarong ever having a sister.”

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

Coming Soon: Part XIII

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

Masterlist

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me @patzammit

@badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst

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Masterlist

Taglist:

[dreamersparacosm]

Oh my gosh, the wedding and pregnancy drabbles are gorgeous! Would you consider writing one about the day Austin and reader's baby is born, and the first hours post birth? 👶🙃

september 6th - austin butler

note ; aw stop ur too sweet im blushing… but father!austin truly sends me to another dimension bc i just know he would be the best father on the planet and spoil his daughter or son and he would be so overprotective AH skdjdjdk

warnings ; literally none. this man is an angel

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

austin had always wondered why people thought ‘daddy and me’ classes were useful. he thought they were full of people who tried too hard. it reminded him of school, and all those parents in there were teachers pet. it was not his forte. but, somehow, he still found himself perched in a toddler-sized chair for the 5:30 p.m class of ‘daddy and me’ every thursday for 6 weeks. how was he convinced? well, that would be his needy and persistent wife.

at least now he knew how to change a diaper.

he had returned home from one of these classes on a typical thursday evening, joining you as you laid on the couch. he enjoyed these mundane things with you; being an actor made him feel as though he shouldn’t be allowed to partake in the little things in life. but, sitting there with your feet propped up on his legs as he massaged them was the greatest joy he could ever experience.

it had started when you sat up, trying to readjust yourself. you thought the sharp pain was just a cramp, nothing more. you weren’t due for another two weeks. however, the consistent stab of pain was enough cause for concern. austin, to put it nicely, was shitting himself. you groaned out, “i think it’s time,” and he nearly felt his eyes fall out of their sockets.

he knew better, though. he had to remain calm, because you were also going to freak out if he did. he scooped up the hospital bag that has been prepared weeks in advance, helping you out into the mid-sized car he had picked out with you a few months ago. he was in a haze, trying not to forget anything while also simultaneously not having a heart attack.

the cramps had continued, announcing their presence even stronger than the last. nothing would have prepared you for the pain you were feeling. austin felt guilty, knowing one drunken night of getting carried away had caused this for you. that guilt still hadn’t subsided when you made it into the hospital bed, claiming you were never having sex again.

he was at your beck and call, running around the hospital like a lunatic. doctors raised eyebrows at your frazzled husband, who ran up 14 flights of stairs to get you those ice chips you so desperately needed. he even fought the nurse who wasn’t quick enough to check how dilated you were. your nurse, who had said back in response, “sir, there’s other women here giving birth.”

in which he fired back, “i don’t care. i need you to take care of my babies first.”

somehow, you ended up being more calm than him, the doctors joked as they entered your room. you were in relief when they announced there was a baby to deliver. a 12 hour labor. that’s what you had endured. but, you couldn’t shake the excitement that creeped into your body, rattling your bones and aching your teeth. you were about to meet your baby for the first time.

austin had never gripped your hand tighter, or kissed you as hard before. he wasn’t scared of blood. he was scared of you getting hurt. and the way you screamed as you pushed yours (and his) baby out of you was enough to make him almost collapse. he kissed the top of your head, encouraging you as much as he could. he knew you could do it, you were the strongest person he had ever met.

“it’s a girl!”

the words echoed in his ears. he was a father, that was his baby girl. he cupped your face into your hands, pressing his forehead against yours, “you did it, baby!” you laughed at his words, sighing in relief. somehow, you never thought it would be more possible to love someone more than him. now, you had a bundle of joy.

september 6th. that was your angel’s birthday.

oh, how he had never loved anyone more. holding her fragile body in his arms made him overcome with blissful happiness. he had won oscar’s, he had traveled the world. but nothing, and he truly meant nothing, compared to the way it felt holding his seed in his arms. even after you had gone to sleep, knocked out from the painkillers and exhaustion, he stood by babygirl’s hospital crib, soothing her as she cried. he rocked her back and forth, utilizing everything he learned in that damn ‘daddy and me’ class. “sh, sh, i’ve got ya. i’ve got ya, sweetheart.”

under the moonlight, he had a strike of inspiration. he looked at your baby again. you two hadn’t decided on a name yet, still battling between the list you had made months ago. there was only one name he could think of in that moment. “lori,” he whispered into the room. “your name is lori.”

although he thought you were sound asleep, you smiled with your eyes closed as you heard his gentle words. lori michelle butler, named after his mother.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

keep your ideas coming here!

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

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[againwiththeturtles]

Honestly such a serve though, like that’s right man, your intrusive thoughts do not make you a bad person. And the fact that he says this out loud right before he finally admits what he wants and his number goes to 0 is SO cool. Like, a huge part of coping with OCD is distinguishing between your own desires and the intrusive thoughts, because if you can’t, you repress everything, and obey external rules out of fear. For Min-Gi, these rules mostly come from his parents, school, and society’s perception of Asian people, gay men, and failed artists. The thing is, though, those external rules do absolutely nothing to stop the intrusive thoughts, it just gives you something tangible to point to to say, “see? I would never do that, brain, wtf”

Some of healing from it comes from “oh actually? this thing is fine” which is part of what’s happening when Min-Gi gets his exit. He’s able to accept what he wants, and realize it is not a moral failing for wanting or doing that. And that’s great! Important part of the process, because not being able to trust your very real desires is part of what intensifies compulsions. However. At this stage of coping you say, “well actually i am going to do that thing now” (whatever it is. for Min-Gi, maybe it’s not going to college, disobeying his parents, having gay sex, whatever) and your brain goes “oh? what about the actual heinous shit we’ve cooked up? are you gonna do that too?” Of course the answer is no, but it’s hard to trust yourself enough to do that when you’ve been relying on repression. [Which Min-Gi has ABSOLUTELY BEEN RELYING ON REPRESSION. Like, he’s not *lying* about college, and finance, and music, and being straight. Like, Ryan is lying to make sure Min-Gi doesn’t know what’s going on with him bc vulnerability is scary, but Min-Gi has half-convinced himself that this is actually how he feels.] Anyway, somewhere around the party car, Min-Gi accepts that leaving home and playing music with Ryan is what he actually wants. But in order to admit that, you have to find a way to shake off the shitty intrusive thoughts. And here comes the fun part:

The Docent monster is such an incredible personification of intrusive thoughts. Because EVERYONE is susceptible to them. Everyone gets them. Everyone thinks to themselves “damn maybe I should commit an act of violence” sometimes. And a lot of the time, people can go “whoa that was crazy, anyway” (like Kez) or think about it and then think, “that was scary. where did THAT come from, yeesh” and then get yourself out of the triggering environment (like Ryan). But then if you have OCD, it’s like shit. is that. is that me? Do I secretly want that? And you have to go through the process of convincing yourself by “checking” or with a compulsion, both things that keep you stuck in the triggering environment. Which is why Min gets stuck in the art gallery car while Ryan and Kez get out.

It seems like Min-Gi’s compulsions are a lot of being snippy and dismissive towards others (Ryan, mostly) when his intrusive thoughts are triggered so it’s easier to do the same to himself when he feels like he needs to. Which is why it’s SO cool and shows such deep character growth when Ryan confides in him that he considered leaving Min-Gi and is feeling really guilty over it, and Min-Gi tells him hey don’t worry about it. (I think that was more of an impulse that wasn’t the best move more than an intrusive thought, making the guilt more intense for someone like Ryan who can usually shake off intrusive thoughts. That was a real option he considered, not an intrusive thought.) And then he goes even FURTHER by considering his own intrusive thoughts and saying that he doesn’t think he’s a bad person either. And that’s fuckin wild!! That’s tough!! But he did it!!! He distinguished intrusive thoughts from what he truly wanted, quieted the intrusive thoughts without using compulsion, (# drops significantly) and then he very calmly did what he wanted without letting another person (Morgan) talk him out of it then he makes eye contact with Ryan and it’s very gay and intentional. AND THEN HIS EXIT OPENS. Not saying he’s free from OCD now, of course, but he’s doing Considerably better and knows he’ll be able to navigate his life without relying on other people’s judgement to guide him.

One thing about Min-Gi Park is that boy has OCD. “I have bad thoughts all the time” Ok.