#season one episode sixteen

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Juno still has the Ruby7 with him. JUNO STILL HAS THE RUBY7 WITH HIM

THE RUBY7 CAN SENSE EMOTIONS OMG WAIT HEAR ME OUT- either:

A) the Ruby7 will sense Slip Jackson is sad, unbearably sad in his 15-20 year coma, and this will add into Peter's rage (not understanding what Juno's talking about the Ruby7 sensing sadness or whatever, not understanding why Slip does feel sad), and having to let go of Slip's dream. Or alternatively

B) the Ruby7 will sense nothing. Effectively brain dead, just a machine pumping his blood working his heart and lungs. Slip Jackson isn't alive, hasn't been alive for a while, and cannot be alive. Peter's rage (he was promised Slip's freedom in exchange for his services, he's worked two decades of his thirty years and for what?), letting go of the dream, etc etc.

[kaleidoscopeaglow]

the new season of iasip is so good i love how they’re all being nicer to each other but not in a way that’s out of character

[dareduffie]

my inability to watch anything without either a) making it my entire personality for several months and obsessing over it to the point of insomnia or b) watching it so passively i couldn't name a single character or tell you any one plot point should be studied

[gleesongtournament]

Glee Song Tournament Round 1

[thepastneverforgets]

random donovan rocker gifset giving me feels about g.ward in 2024 was not on my bingo card

[looking-cool-joker]

I’m getting actual brain worms for South Park rn, i cannot stop drawing Kyle and Stan, its becoming an actual issue

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　MIGRAINE

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Spencer has suffered from headaches since his teenage years, but nothing like the one he's experiencing now. When a bad migraine decides to hit him during his work time, Y/N is right there to help him, just like she promised she always would.

WARNING: Somewhere between ep 11 and 12 from season 6 | Migraine, pain, throwing up, Spencer being "babied" and taken care of (just like it should've happened when he had his migraines).

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The first time Spencer Reid experienced a migraine, he was sixteen years old. At the time, he had chalked it up to stress. It wasn’t unusual for him to push his mind and body to the limit; classes by day, independent studies by night, and taking care of his mom full-time.

But, like most things in his life, Spencer adapted. He found ways to manage the episodes, learning which triggers to avoid. Over time, the migraines became something he lived with. He rarely talked about them; they felt too personal, too vulnerable. And vulnerability wasn’t something he had been taught to show, not in childhood and certainly not in his line of work now.

Since joining the FBI, the migraines have remained manageable. Sure, the stress of chasing unsubs and staring at evidence under glaring lights could sometimes bring on a headache, but they were rare enough that he didn’t worry. Until today.

The pain started as a faint pressure, a dull throb behind his eyes as soon as he woke this morning with a call from Hotch, Y/N's warm body against his own doing nothing to ease it, but he had dismissed it, thinking it was just lack of sleep since they've just got back from a case in New Mexico.

Y/N's eyes were sure to catch it all, how his shoulders were more hunched, his steps just a touch slower, and the faint crease between his brows that seemed to just stay there. She knew his body language like the back of her hand; something was off.

But Y/N didn’t hover or prod. She knew Spencer’s rhythm, his boundaries, and she knew that he didn’t need her hovering or asking every ten minutes if he was okay - he hated that. She trusted Spencer to come to her if it became too much.

Instead, she slid a small glass of water and Spencer's usual medication across the counter to him, pairing it with a piece of toast slathered in butter and his first cup of coffee.

She didn’t say a word about it, only kissed his cheek softly as she leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper as she murmured "I love you", her lips lingering for a moment.

And Spencer was sure that her kiss would magically make him feel better in no time - silly him. By the time they arrived at the BAU, the ache had deepened, expanding until it felt as though his entire skull was caught in a strong fist.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, sitting at his desk, Spencer struggled to focus. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sending jolts of pain that spread down his neck and shoulders.

A sharp sensation had settled behind his left eye, making it impossible to fully open without a stabbing pain shooting through his head. He pressed his fingers to the sides of his head, attempting to massage away the discomfort, but it was futile.

A tingling sensation kept creeping along his arms, the nerves in his fingertips hypersensitive to the touch of his pen. Even the faint friction of his clothing against his skin felt unbearable, leaving him breathless. His limbs kept moving around in his chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make his muscles feel like they were ready to snap.

Across the bullpen, Morgan leaned casually against the edge of his own desk, glancing momentarily at Spencer while talking with Ashley, a teasing smirk growing on his face as he noticed the younger's pace while flipping pages - it wasn't slow, but surely slower than 'Spencer's normal'.

"Looks like someone’s slower than usual today." Morgan called, his tone lighthearted as he hoped to pull Spencer into their usual playful demeanor.

But Spencer didn’t respond - which wasn't news when the genius was concentrated, squinting his eyes at the too bright lights above him, sending harsh glares on his desk that seemed to burn straight into his brain.

He tried to look up in a tentative of looking at Derek, but as soon as his eyes moved, his vision sparked with white flashes that momentarily blinded him, not noticing how Morgan's smirk faltered as he exchanged a concerned glance with Y/N across the room, who had been shooting Spencer glances for quite some time now.

Frustration started to bubble inside Spencer as the pages of the case file in front of him seemed to blurry even more when he moved his eyes back to it, the letters swimming across the paper as if they were mocking his attempts to work.

The sounds around him only seemed to make things worse. Across the bullpen, Prentiss's deep voice rose in conversation with JJ, sharp and too loud for his own taste. The gentle tapping of Ashley's keyboard sounded like a woodpecker drilling into his ears. The steady rustling of paper, the faint squeak of wheels on rolling chairs, even the scratch of Y/N’s pen on paper, it all seemed to close around him, leaving him struggling to breathe. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in an effort to keep himself from snapping.

But the worst part was the impossibility of concentrating - Spencer’s mind was usually his greatest ally, a place where he could retreat and find order even in chaos.

He stared at the case file in front of him, the report on Andrew Jacobs, a killer who had brutally murdered several women, including his own wife. Spencer knew the details of the case intimately, had memorized every little thing, every piece of evidence. But now, as he tried to write his report, the words wouldn’t come.

His pen hovered over the page, trembling slightly in his hand as the muscles in his fingers twitched. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, determined to start, but his mind was blank. No, worse than blank, it was fractured.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to write a sentence.

Andrew Jacobs exhibited narcissistic tendencies, as evidenced by-

The thought dissolved as another burst of pain shattered his focus. The rest of the sentence was lost, replaced by another white flash. His hand tightened around the pen, and he nearly snapped it in half as he exhaled a shaky breath.

He tried again.

Jacobs selected victims that resembled-

The throb in his temples flared, and he dropped the pen, his hand too weak to hold it.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to shut out the light, the noise, the overwhelming sensations. He hunched over his desk, his breathing shallow and labored, trying to ride it out without drawing attention to himself - well, more.

Maybe caffeine would help. It had worked before, maybe inconsistently. But it was better than nothing.

Pushing back his chair, Spencer stood, determined to exterminate his pain. But the pace in which he did it sent a wave of vertigo crashing over him, the room tilting precariously to one side.

His vision narrowed as he stumbled, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the desk, but his fingers missed the mark. His foot caught on the leg of his chair, and he tripped forward, nearly knocking over a stack of case files in the process.

Lucky him.

"Spence!" Y/N’s voice cut through the cloud of his disorientation, filled with concern.

Before he could even process what was happening, her hands were on him, one steadying him by his biceps, the other catching the stack of papers before they could scatter across the bullpen.

Spencer forced a quick, shaky smile, hoping it would be enough to stop her worry.

"Sorry." He said, his voice as steady as possible. The effort to sound okay only made the pounding in his head worse, and he winced slightly as he tucked a very short lock of hair behind his ear - still used to having it longer. "I'm okay. I just tripped."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she studied him. Her hand lingered on his arm, her grip gentle but firm, as if she was afraid he might fall again.

"Spence, are you sure? You don’t look-"

"I’m fine!" Spencer cut her off, his voice a touch too loud, earning a questioning glance from Prentiss across the room. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. "I just need a refill." He added, holding up his empty coffee mug as if it were some sort of shield. "Do you need one? I can get you it if you want!"

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before stepping out of her grasp and making a beeline for the coffee station. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t turn back.

Reaching the coffee maker, Spencer set his mug down with trembling hands, the slight clink of ceramic against metal sounding impossibly loud to his hypersensitive ears. He focused on the simple motions of pouring the coffee, hoping the familiarity of the task would anchor him.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee hit him, and his stomach churned in response. He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea but pressed on, filling the mug to the brim.

The first sip burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He gulped it down, the heat spreading through his chest like liquid desperation. Maybe the caffeine would kick in quickly, stopping the edges of the pain enough for him to concentrate.

But as he drained the mug, the room began to spin again. A nauseating dizziness wrapped itself around him, pulling his vision into darkness for a moment too long. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as he fought to stay up.

His stomach churned violently now, and his head felt like it was splitting apart. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way, and he knew he couldn’t keep standing. He needed to sit down. Now.

Spencer scanned the room for the nearest chair. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he half-stumbled toward the breakroom table, collapsing into a chair before his legs could betray him entirely. He set the empty coffee mug down on the table with shaking hands - almost missing it - and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The sound of Spencer��s body collapsing against the chair reverberated through the bullpen like a thunderclap. Heads turned instinctively toward the breakroom, curiosity quickly giving way to concern when the sound was followed by a groan. A deep, guttural groan of pain that struck Y/N.

She knew that sound.

Her head snapped up, her pen clattering onto her desk, and in an instant, she was on her feet, moving toward it with determination.

"Y/N?" JJ's voice called after her, tinged with confusion, but she ignored her.

As she entered the room, the sight before her made her heart squeeze. Spencer was slumped in one of the chairs, his body hunched forward, his arms clutching his stomach. His hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his shirt was rumpled, the fabric pulled and creased as if he’d been tugging at it in desperation to rid himself of the sensation of it against his clammy skin. Sweat dripped from his temples, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half-closed as though the effort of keeping them open was too much.

"Spence?" She whispered, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly near his, afraid to make things worse but desperate to comfort him.

"Hey, what’s wrong? What are you feeling?" She asked, her tone filled with concern. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any clue, but the only response she received was a low, pitiful whimper.

The sound broke her heart.

Before she could press him further, Spencer’s body stiffened, his face contorting as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. His stomach grumbled violently, and he gagged, a sharp, involuntary sound that echoed through the room.

"Oh my-!" Y/N gasped, realizing what was happening just as he tried to stand, his weak limbs shaking under his own weight.

He only managed to rise an inch before his knees buckled, sending him crashing back into the chair. His hand flew to his mouth as another gag wracked his body, his face twisting with misery. The effort to move had only made things worse.

Y/N acted on instinct, her heart pounding as she spotted the small trash bin tucked beneath the desk behind him. She grabbed it quickly, her movements fast, and positioned it under him just in time.

Spencer bent forward, his body heaving as he retched violently into the bin. His stomach emptied itself in painful spasms, each cough leaving him weaker. One of Y/N's hands cradled his shoulder to keep him from falling to the ground, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly. "I’m right here. Just let it all out. You’re going to be okay."

Her fingers traveled from his back to the back of his head, intertwining through his damp hair, tucking the short strands behind his ears as she continued to whisper reassurances. The sound of her voice was low and soft, grounding him.

Outside the breakroom, Morgan and Prentiss had gathered by the coffee station near the door, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the muffled sounds of gagging reached their ears. Morgan had been the first to step forward, concern taking over his face, but Emily stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Give them a second." She said quietly.

Inside, Spencer’s nausea began to ease, though his body still trembled, probably because of exhaustion. Y/N kept knelt by his side, her hands never once leaving him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

When he finally stopped, Spencer sagged against the chair, his face pale as a ghost, and his breathing shallow and uneven. Y/N quickly took off her jacket, gently wiping his mouth and chin before brushing the hair from his face again, creating a mental note to throw her clothing inside her washing machine as soon as they got home.

"Y/N, you don’t have to do this-" Spencer started, his voice weak but laced with sincerity as he tried to lift his head and meet her gaze, trying to push her jacket away with his hand.

Y/N didn’t let him finish, shaking her head.

"You make it seem like taking care of you is hard work." She cut him off with a soft smile, her free hand slipping over his lifted one, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into his knuckles, lowering them.

Spencer's eyes darted away, his cheeks coloring faintly in embarrassment. He hated that she was seeing him like that - so sick and so not him.

"But taking care of you." She continued, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh, warm and grounding. "Is the easiest thing in the world."

Spencer hummed softly in response, the sound noncommittal but tinged with gratitude.

"Now." She said, her eyes searching his as she lowered her head to his high, searching for his eyes. "What’s going on?"

Spencer shook his head weakly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was too drained and too overwhelmed to explain the relentless storm of pain that had consumed him in such a small period of time.

Y/N exhaled softly, her worry deepening as she took in his refusal to answer. She glanced over her shoulder, debating whether to call for Hotch or JJ.

"Okay." She said gently, leaning closer so he could hear her. "You don’t have to talk right now. Just breathe. I’m here."

The smell of vomit began to permeate the room, clinging to the air in a way that would have turned most stomachs. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She’d seen and smelled worse in her years with the BAU. Compared to that, a little puke was nothing.

"My head..." Spencer’s voice cracked as he whimpered several minutes later of silence, his words barely audible as his hands flew to his face, fingers pressing harshly against his eyes.

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she instinctively reached for his wrists, her hands gently tugging his away from his head. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and glassy, pain etched into every line of his expression.

"Oh, honey." She cooed softly, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. "It’s your migraine again, isn’t it?"

A faint, almost imperceptible nod was all he managed.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" She asked, her voice gentle. "You should’ve said something before we even left your apartment this morning."

He shook his head weakly, as if the mere thought of explaining himself was too much effort.

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing over his temple in a soothing motion.

"Alright." She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We’re going home, okay?" She paused for a beat, watching him closely. "Can you stand?"

Spencer didn’t respond right away. He stayed hunched over, breathing unevenly, his shoulders trembling slightly as if he was waiting for his body to answer for himself. Finally, after a long moment, he whispered.

"I don't think I can. I’m dizzy... really dizzy."

Y/N’s expression softened even further.

"That’s okay." She assured gently, her hand rubbing slow, comforting circles across his back. "There’s no rush, Spence. We’ll wait until you feel ready, alright?"

He didn’t answer, but the slight relaxation of his posture told her he’d heard. She stayed by his side, her fingers trailing up to his shoulders, massaging the tension she could feel knotted beneath his crumpled shirt.

"I’m going to grab some water for you, okay?" After a moment, she whispered. "Just something to rinse your mouth and maybe settle your stomach." She began to shift, preparing to stand, but the soft wince that escaped Spencer stopped her in her tracks.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it found her arm, his grip gentle but insistent. His big puppy eyes met hers with a silent plea.

"Can you stay?" He asked lowly, his fingers loosening slightly but not letting go. "I don't need water."

He actually needed it, but it could wait. He preferred her by his side.

"Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere." She assured him, nodding. "I’m right here."

She settled back into her position beside him, her arm draped protectively over his shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, Y/N murmuring soft reassurances while Spencer focused on taking slow, measured breaths.

Eventually, he shifted slightly, his posture straightening just enough to signal he was ready.

"I think... I can stand now." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, throwing her jacket over her shoulder before her hands moved to support him as she stood, then gently helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, heavily leaning against her, his weight a little awkward against her frame, but she didn’t mind.

"Easy." She murmured, her voice calm. "One step at a time. I’ve got you."

With painstaking care, she guided him out of the breakroom, her focus entirely on him. Their teammates noticed them, their concerned gazes following, but Y/N didn’t pause to explain.

She led Spencer to the bathroom, not caring to turn on the lights, knowing that it would just make his situation worse. She eased him down onto the small bench near the sinks, watching as he sank into the seat with a groan, his head drooping forward again as though even holding it upright was too much.

"Hang tight." Y/N said softly, brushing her hand over his shoulder before turning toward the sink.

She turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold, and dampened a handful of paper towels. Returning to Spencer, she knelt in front of him and gently pressed the cool towels to his face and neck. He sighed faintly at the momentary relief, his body relaxing slightly under her care.

"There we go." She whispered, dabbing away the sweat on his brow and cheeks. "Just a little longer, alright?"

She smoothed down the rumpled fabric of his shirt, adjusting it to make him more comfortable, and ran her fingers through his hair, untangling the damp strands.

"You’re doing so well, honey." She murmured, her voice gentle. "We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.

Spencer blinked at her, his pain-clouded eyes filled with love. He didn’t have the will to speak, but the way he leaned into her touch said everything he couldn’t.

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb brushing lightly over his eyebrows before standing again.

"Come on." She said, offering her hands. "Let’s get you out of here."

Spencer took a deep breath, summoning what little strength he had left, and let her guide him to his feet. Y/N steadied Spencer as they exited the bathroom, her hand firmly wrapped around his right arm - it would be barely 20 steps to the elevators. She could handle that. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but commanding.

"Spence, close your eyes for me, okay? The lights out there are only going to make it worse. I’ll guide you, I promise."

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly and let his eyes flutter shut. Y/N adjusted her hold on him, now wrapping his waist, taking most of his weight as they slowly started their journey through the small path to the exit doors.

The hum of conversation in the office dimmed as curious eyes turned toward them. Y/N’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze sweeping the room, sending a hard glare to anyone who dared look too long or seemed close to say something, as if to warn don’t even think about it.

Her eyes found Morgan when they crossed the glass doors, who was watching them, his expression full of concern. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if she needed help. She gave him a curt nod, Spencer's body against hers starting to make her legs feel tired.

Morgan moved swiftly, stepping ahead to press the elevator button, ensuring the doors would be ready for them. Then, without hesitation, he came to Spencer’s other side.

"Let me take him." Morgan said gently, sliding his arm around Spencer’s shoulders to ease the weight off Y/N.

Spencer stiffened for a moment at the unfamiliar touch, but as Morgan steadied him, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Morgan’s strength, though his grip on Y/N’s hand remained loose, as if afraid to let her go entirely.

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, pretty boy." He said lightly, his tone warm and familiar. "How are you feeling down there?"

Spencer’s lips twitched faintly, a weak attempt at humor breaking through the haze of pain.

"Not so pretty right now." He murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Morgan chuckled softly, his hand giving Spencer’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Nah, you’re still prettier than most of us, even like this."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile at Morgan’s effort to keep the mood light. She adjusted her pace to match theirs as they finally reached the elevator. Morgan shifted slightly, ensuring Spencer stayed upright while Y/N pressed the button for the parking level - he really looked like he was about to pass out, and none of them wanted that.

The elevator ride was quiet save for Spencer’s shallow breaths and the occasional comforting words from Morgan. Y/N kept her hand on Spencer’s one, her fingers tracing calming circles above his skin.

Morgan’s grip was steady as he guided Spencer to the car after they reached the garage, Y/N walking ahead to open the passenger door.

"Alright, pretty boy, here we go." Morgan said softly, helping Spencer lower himself into the seat. Spencer groaned faintly as he settled in, head resting against the headrest.

Morgan straightened, closing the door carefully before turning to Y/N, who stood nearby with her keys clutched tightly in her hand.

"You good, Y/L/N? You sure you got this? I can follow you, help get him settled if you want."

Y/N shook her head.

"I’ve got it. Thank you, though. He’ll be okay. He just needs some rest and quiet." She offered Morgan a small but grateful smile. "Can you let Hotch know that we had to go earlier? I'm gonna text him later to explain it all better, but I know he will be worried."

Morgan studied her for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, you got it. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will." Y/N replied.

Morgan gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back, waiting until she climbed into the driver’s seat before heading back inside.

Once the door was closed, Y/N glanced over at Spencer. His breathing had already evened out, his face slack with sleep. A twinge of sadness pulled at her chest, wishing she could take all his pain away. She reached out gently, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead.

"You’ll feel better soon, baby." She whispered softly.

With the car in motion, Y/N quickly decided that taking him to her apartment would be the best option. Spencer’s place, though obviously comfortable, required climbing a flight of stairs, and there was no way she was going to risk him - or herself - having to deal with that. Her building had an elevator, and she knew he’d be just as safe there.

The drive was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine. Spencer didn’t stir, his head tilted slightly against the cool window as the motion of the car lulled him deeper into sleep. Y/N drove carefully, taking turns gently and avoiding any sharp stops, all the while stealing occasional glances at him to ensure he was okay.

When she finally pulled into her building’s parking garage, she cut the engine and let out a breath. Turning to Spencer, she hesitated for a moment before reaching over and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey." She said softly, giving him a gentle shake. "Hey, we’re here. I need you to wake up for me, okay?"

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly began to rouse. He squinted, grimacing as if the mere act of opening his eyes was too much.

"I know, I know." Y/N cooed softly, her voice full of understanding. "I'm sorry, baby. Just a little further, and you can sleep again. Come on, I’ve got you."

With sluggish movements, Spencer let Y/N unbuckle his seatbelt and help him out of the car, cringing slightly at how useless he felt and looked right now. His legs were unsteady, and she quickly wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the building’s entrance.

By the time they reached her apartment door, the sound of clicking nails on the floor echoed as Snow, her fluffy little Shih Tzu, padded over excitedly to greet them.

"Hey, Snow." Y/N whispered softly, nudging the dog back with her leg as Spencer swayed slightly beside her. "Not now, sweetie. Go lie down."

Snow, almost sensing the mood, tilted his head, nudging lovingly at Spencer's leg before trotting off to his bed in the corner of the living room.

"Alright, Spence. Let’s get you to bed, too." She guided him carefully into her bedroom.

Her free hand swiftly clicks her bedside lamp on, the soft glow of it casting warm light across the room.

Helping him sit on the edge of the bed, Y/N crouched down, quickly unlacing his Converse and slipping them off one at a time. Next, she loosened his tie and removed it, setting it gently on her dresser.

"Let’s get this off too, okay?" She murmured as she unbuttoned his crumpled white shirt.

Spencer didn’t resist, his limbs too uncoordinated to help her, only moving them to press his palms hard against his eyeballs again, but his action was quickly - and gently - stopped by Y/N.

Once the shirt was off, leaving him in just his pants and mismatched socks, she eased him back against the pillows, ignoring her mind telling her that he would be mad for 'going to bed in outside clothes, do you know how many germs there is in this?'

Spencer sighed softly as he sank into the mattress, the lines of tension in his face easing just a little. Y/N adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to his waist to keep him warm before brushing her fingers softly through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his face.

"There we go." She whispered to herself, her voice as soft as the dim light of the room.

Satisfied that he was settled, she straightened up and turned toward the door, ready to let him get the rest he desperately needed. But just as she took her first step, she felt a gentle tug on her wrist. The touch was weak, barely there, but enough to stop her.

Turning back, she saw Spencer’s hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, his long fingers barely curled. His eyes were still shut, but his brows were drawn together, his lips parting as he whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

"Can you... stay here? Just for a little more."

Y/N immediately sat in the mattress, by his hips side, her heart skipping a beat with his tone of voice.

"Of course, honey." She murmured, brushing the top of his fingers softly with her thumb. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."

Spencer let out a shaky breath. His grip on her wrist didn’t tighten. If anything, it was soft and almost reverent, like he was afraid to hold on too hard.

"Sorry." He murmured, his voice cracking, so quiet she almost missed it. "I’m... sorry for all of this. For making you deal with this."

The apology was so honest but so unnecessary that it sent a pang straight through Y/N’s chest. She leaned closer, resting her free hand gently on his cheek, her thumb tracing along his jaw.

"Spencer." She whispered, her tone firm but warm. "Don’t be stupid." She smiled faintly, noticing how his right eyebrow moved slightly up, the way it always did when he was feeling confused. "You’ve done this for me so many times. How many nights have you sat with me when I wasn’t feeling my best? How many times have you made me tea, or read to me until I fell asleep, or stayed up just to make sure I was okay? You never complained. Not once."

Spencer’s lips pressed into the faintest semblance of a smile, barely there but still enough to make Y/N’s heart squeeze. His hand slipped from her wrist to her own hand, his fingers curling around hers, warm despite the cool sweat still lingering on his skin.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice raw, like it was taking everything in him to get the words out. And maybe it was. Being transparent with his feelings was the hardest thing for Spencer - something he was trying to change since putting his eyes on Y/N for the very first time.

Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment as if to let him feel every bit of affection she carried for him.

"You don’t have to thank me." She murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "This is what love is, Spence. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I care about you."

Spencer’s grip on her hand stayed soft as his features relaxed again, the tension melting away. But just as she began to pull back, her tone shifted, still gentle but also firm.

"In the morning, we’re going to the doctor, okay?" She said softly, her tone sounding rhetorical, as if not waiting to hear his opinion.

Spencer’s brows knitted together, his lips parting in protest, but he didn’t immediately respond.

"Spence." She continued. "I know you’ve dealt with migraines since you were younger, but this? This wasn’t normal. It came out of nowhere, and it hit you so hard. You have to have it checked out."

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking.

"But... what if... what if it’s not just migraines?" His voice wavered, and he squeezed her hand tighter. "What if it’s... what if it’s something worse? What if it’s like my mom?" His voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, his breathing shaky. "I can’t... I can’t risk that. I can’t risk knowing that now. I can’t risk losing you because of it."

Before Y/N, Spencer had been trying to do every test and clinical exam that would show him how close to schizophrenia or Alzheimer's he could be - his college years had been full of them - but now he did his best to stay away from it. He just couldn't risk it.

Y/N’s face fell at his words, and the fear evident in his expression. She cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at her, even if his eyes fluttered open for only a moment.

"Spence." She said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. "You’re not going to lose me. Ever. Do you hear me? Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this."

He closed his eyes again, his features crumpling as he absorbed her words. He wanted to believe - he needed to - but the example he had from his father had been everything but perfect.

"Don't keep worrying your head with this. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Right now, I need you to rest. Just rest."

"I love you." He murmured, his voice softening. "So much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

"I love you more." She whispered back, smiling softly, brushing her fingers through his hair one last time before pulling back. "Get some sleep." She said gently.

This time, he didn’t protest as she stood and stepped toward the door. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension of the day began to melt away. Snow trotted up to her, tail wagging gently as if offering quiet support.

"Alright, boy." Y/N murmured, scratching Snow behind the ears. "Let’s get this place in order and make something to eat for later, huh?"

[x-birdsong-x]

GODDD OKAY OKAY okay it's not in her playlist anymore just because I heard Florida through a wc playlist and GOD that is her song but if Miss Americana's bridge fit better i'd have kept it - but gooddddddd okay like. obviously platonically for the second verse it fits so well with 8x01 and the first verse is SO 16!adams coded and it drives me insane i'm sliding down the wall and punching the air projecting like she's a little whiteboard thinking about adams when she ran away (and when you got along with your pets better than your family what can you do but snap when you get home and find out you weren't there when your oldest dog died)

FIRST tho I just need to yell about the repeating "You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes" fitting Adams so perfectly. It's how she thinks of herself; it's how she's been taught to think of herself. What happened when she was a kid was her fault, the one time she reads House correctly is you took the first deal they offered you because you wanted to punish yourself, she gets herself fired doing House's test that for a second they both think was a mistake, as far as her opinion goes the accident in Nobody's Fault was her fault. Typical of me to put us all to shame something something

Second I can just link this post for a better explanation but watching Runaways and overanalyzing every little bit about her there is not a chance in the deepest parts of hell that Adams had good parents. They did SOMETHING to make her snap before she left. The way she responds to Callie is you could at least let her in the room and your mom knows she messed up, she's determined not to do it again and she's your mom, and for the first time she's acting like it and beyond everything else Callie is upset that her parent is not listening to her. Something something nothing scares me more than the stranger at my door who I fail to give shelter time and worth they are THE firewatcher's daughter patient/protag matchup

okay god where was i going. these are actually from last year so there's absolutely ways i'd change it now given i've dug into runaways' lines even deeper now and also my unholy amount of brain-animatics are rooted in warriors fandom song-matching so,,,, but here have the first verse(?) of my original freak-out about this . leaving out the second verse with ep 1 because there's too much i can't decide my opinion on looking at it now lol . never did anything past those verses because it just doesn't fit as well

also sorry i can't do anything about the quality firealpaca and tumblr do not get along

GOD there's SO many ways i'd change that now if i had time i'd redo it right now but they're all in pngs and idk where the actual files went

im so sorry i could go nearly line for line for everything before the bridge which is where it becomes more of a stretch but the first half of miss americana and the heartbreak prince works with adams and i can not be obnoxious enough about this she is a fidget toy to me

wait i love this. please tell me more I love hearing your Fidget Toy Adams thoughts

[simonisferal]

not you again. "scaramouche x male reader"

YOU were the smart kid in high school till he came along and ruined it. Now that he got you shipped away to your grandmother's, you're out for revenge. To beat him is your greatest wish but would that change now when he's your seatmate, partner. and roommate? Oh for fuc—

warnings: physical violence/fighting, the occasional underage drinking, heavily sexual themes and intercourse + some kinky shit (honestly, who knows), scaramouche is scaramouche 🤦‍♂️, exes to academic rivals to lovers, vulgar language, angsty(mentions of SH, suicidal thought, OD/ED), slow updates, homophobia (sort of), i know nothing about law so don't come at me, slow burn, and i think that's it!

written pieces will marked with 📖

pheonix wrights — miles edgeworths

ᴥ season one — glow up, dick up

episode one — who the hell are you and why is your bitchass tryna fight me?

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

episode three — if im sent away, im taking my dignity with me / fuck you

episode four — yes grandma, i'll rub your bare feet. just don't call grandpa over to tell his war stories again... 📖

episode five — i wonder how much he's suffering right now

episode six — in my slut era!! (i stay home with grams and gramps watching family fued)

episode seven — you'd think being the new kid is shit but it's actually worse since i'm hot

episode eight — who is juicytoot124 and why are they liking my tweets??

episode nine — fuck the school, fuck the students, and fuck the chairs too / who is he talking to

episode ten — this is NOT the USA miley cyrus was partying in 📖

episode eleven — holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

episode twelve — kaeya, pass me the bottle; i’m getting wasted tonight

episode thirteen — holy shit. am i hallucinating or do i see a bobble-headed bitch coming my way? 📖

episode fourteen — it might be the paranoia coming in but i hear cops 📖

episode fifteen — how's my day? oh i was hiding in a fucking closet with my ex boyfriend from the police because of someone decided to steal alcohol. i wonder who.

episode sixteen — so i can't be a whore but my enemy can fuck around with his ex? not cool.

episode seventeen — wait, summer's over? i was just getting ready to rot in bed!

episode eighteen — basically what i'm hearing is that i'm a god and everyone loves me! /sarcastic

episode nineteen — yeah, so, what i just said previously was a fucking lie. 📖

episode twenty — ah shit, here we go again. 📖

ᴥ season two — and they were roommates?

episode twenty one — my clear conscience can't take this anymore; time to escape prison!

episode twenty two — everything i say was a joke unless you're into it, then it's not 📖

episode twenty three — first day of hell

episode twenty four — am i interfering someone's love triangle??

status: ongoing

started: 04/13/24

taglist: @m-march7th , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku , @featuredtofu , @yourfavoritefreakyhan , @b2tr09 , @ell1e2010 , @pwaap , @vxcmx , @vamxpi , @moonslie04, @allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead , @somnium-kiss , @crxwned-mxnarch , @khisuko , @jad3-n , @emptydinner-plate , @popcorn-milk , @liuaneee , @neversore, @alicerosejane

(@simonisferal 2024)

[underwhelmingalchemist]

The thing about Ice Adolescence being cancelled isn't that it was unexpected. It's the finality of it. There's no hope of a new season, no faint hope that maybe a movie will come out one day, maybe, just maybe. The cancellation of the movie means that this is the end of Yuri on Ice.

At least for me, YOI was one of those shows that you watched an episode or two of and it felt both comfortable and compelling, and then it grabs you by the chin and turns your head towards the screen and doesn't let you go away, and a little voice in your head just goes, "Oh." You hear the theme song and your heart swells. The sounds of skates on the ice ground you in the sport. You look at these two men falling in love and you feel it.

I had a background in figure skating. I was never particularly good, but I spent most of my childhood on the rink every Friday. Watching the series, seeing the movement of their routines and hearing the sounds of the skates and seeing the rinks that looked just like the one I grew up on felt like coming home.

I watched the show at age sixteen on my tiny smart phone in the back of the school library, on an anime pirating website that was somehow not blocked by their wifi. I'd refresh the website over and over, because the episodes were always uploaded during the lunch break, and then me and my little group of queer friends would all huddle together to watch the newest episode. We would cheer and cry and get excited over every development. They kissed and we lost our minds. A few times, the one friend who could drive would take us to the only skating rink half an hour away and I would teach them, helping them size rented skates and go from holding onto to wall to gliding across the rink. I met my current girlfriend for the first time during one of those skating sessions. Viktor and Yuri fell in love thanks to the sport, and I met the woman who's currently napping in the bed next to me thanks to them.

Yuri on Ice was such a formative piece of media for me. It felt like something specifically designed for me, the queer, anime-loving teenager with a background in figure skating, with representation that meant the world to me and such a meaningful depiction of the sport I loved. And with this cancellation, that piece of media comes to an end.

Thank you for everything, Yuri on Ice. Ice Adolescence or not, you'll live on through me, and I'll never forget the impact you had on my life. Goodbye, and know that you really did make history.

[burst-of-iridescent]

The Choice of Compassion: A Scene Analysis of Aang vs Zuko

should aang have killed ozai?

the age old question. the discourse secondary only to the infamous kat.aang vs zutara ship war. the argument that's been raging for sixteen long, long years and inspired dozens upon dozens of thinkpieces on either side.

so naturally, i'm here to add one more that no one asked for.

now, this debate keeps getting mischaracterized as The Side That Respects Pacifism vs The Side That Wants A Preteen To Commit Brutal Murder when, for the most part, i don't think anyone is really staking their life on the homicide hill. the real issue most people take with aang's arc in the finale isn't him sparing ozai, but rather the deus ex-machina mechanism through which he's able to do so. i agree with that, but i would also take it further to argue that the real problem is that aang's ending is not thematically and narratively consistent with the rest of his arc as set up in the show.

to illustrate this, let's take a look at another scene that plays with similar themes: zuko choosing to save zhao in the siege of the north.

the basics of both scenes are the same: both boys choose, against all logic and common sense, to spare someone who would never show them the same mercy. when it comes down to compassion versus violence, they choose compassion, even at risk to themselves.

but where the siege of the north differs from sozin's comet is that zuko choosing to save zhao is thematically consistent with his arc in season 1, and aligns with where it will go in seasons 2 and 3.

zuko's journey throughout the show is one of rediscovery. he has to find his way back to who he used to be, before his family and his nation warped his perception of right and wrong, and forced him into believing he had to become someone he didn't want to be. it's clear as early as the storm episode that zuko is fundamentally kind, and the person he is now is as a result of being indoctrinated in a culture that perverted violence and cruelty into honour and strength.

in trying to save zhao, the personification of the fire nation's worst qualities and most twisted teachings, zuko turns against the values he's been raised with most of his life and instead chooses to remain true to himself and what he believes is right. it's a triumphant moment because it's zuko returning to the heart of who he is, and who he's truly supposed to be.

and even though his decision may be logically unsound (why risk yourself trying to save someone who tried to kill you?) you don't see anyone complaining that zuko shouldn't have tried at all, because his choice here is a direct - even if brief - resolution to the internal conflict the show has previously established for his character. the narrative consistency of the set-up and payoff allows the audience to recognize the thematic cohesion of this moment in zuko's arc - which is what makes it so powerful and satisfying.

so, the question is: does the same apply to aang's choice not to kill ozai?

the argument supporting aang's decision is usually something as follows: "aang sparing ozai is his way of remaining true to his people and making sure they aren't forgotten. it's a powerful symbol of how he's keeping their culture and beliefs alive even though the fire nation tried to wipe them out."

now that's not a bad argument, in theory. the problem, though, is that if this is the resolution of aang's arc, it has to be a direct response to a conflict established in said arc... and remaining true to air nomad values is not a struggle the show ever set up for aang until the finale.

not once in any of the previous seasons does aang seem to be forgetting his people's ideals, or losing his identity through assimilation, or struggling to reconcile his air nomad beliefs with the ideas he's encountering in this new, changed world. there isn't a long-term, sustained arc about him being worried or concerned about air nomad culture dying out completely, or about taking on the burden of keeping it alive. in fact, the only episode that does reckon with this theme in any capacity - the northern air temple - seems to push the opposite message: that aang should move on and adapt to this changing world instead of remaining mired in the past, and protecting the culture of a people long gone.

(note: i don't like how the NAT episode handled this theme, but for the purposes of this post, we will take it as it was written.)

both zuko and aang are characters whose arcs revolve around change, but if zuko's arc is about moving back to who he truly is, then aang's arc is about moving forward. it's about going from the last airbender to the avatar - about drawing wisdom from different places, about immersing himself in the practices, beliefs and cultures of the other nations, and learning to value them as he values his own.

it's the classic want vs need: what aang wants is to be nothing more than a goofy, peaceful airbender but what he needs is to become a fully-realized avatar, the embodiment of four nations in one. and this conflict is established and re-established repeatedly over three seasons, most especially in his struggle to learn earthbending and firebending, both of which called for him to adopt new perspectives and beliefs contrary to his own.

this is why aang refusing to kill ozai feels so narratively unfulfilling, because it's the complete antithesis of what the show established for aang's narrative over three seasons. the plot point of his absolute pacifism not only comes out of left field (where was this problem when he was going to battle ozai during the eclipse?), it's also incongruous with the depiction of other air nomads in the series (both yangchen and gyatso don't seem to practice absolute pacifism) and with where aang's own arc appeared to be leading.

additionally, it also conflicts with the thematic clash that the aang vs ozai fight is supposed to represent: what was meant to be balance and harmony vs dominance and supremacy now turns into... air nomad beliefs vs fire nation beliefs, which runs contrary to the fundamental message of the entire show. not exactly what you want for the final battle between your protagonist and antagonist!

all of this is not to say that aang should have gone turbo avatar state on ozai and singlehandedly yeeted him into the spirit world. but there were a dozen other ways to handle ozai's end: give him a disney death, let aang learn energybending of his own accord and incapacitate him the way katara took down azula, or - my personal favourite - bring in the spirits in a neat parallel to the book 1 finale, and have ozai's death be a consequence of the imbalance he propagated in the world (i've always felt the avatar being the spirit bridge was a plotline that kinda got shafted in book three, and bringing back someone like koh, for instance, would've slapped).

the point is that for the resolution of aang's arc to be thematically consistent with the established narrative (the validity of this narrative, and whether it should have been different, is another point entirely, but it cannot be denied that this is what the show chose to go with), he needed to place the values and beliefs of the other nations on equal footing with his own, and win because of this willingness to draw from all nations instead of relying solely on his own.

ultimately, remaining true to his compassionate, peaceful nature is not a struggle in aang's narrative the way that it is in zuko's, which is why him choosing to spare ozai doesn't have anywhere near the emotional resonance or satisfaction of zuko reaching out to zhao. meanwhile, the conflict that does characterize aang's arc - being forced to become the avatar - never comes to a meaningful resolution the way that zuko's does. rather, it's thrown out the window in favour of a last minute plot point that robs aang of both agency and development, and destroys the thematic cohesion of his narrative for nothing.

[russetfoxfur]

mcyt is NOT beating the criminal allegations

- mumbo did season eight which. ah. produced the wonderful quote: "My parents are still alive... but that can be changed."

- cub eats people

- bad is a cannibal. this is different from eating people, according to my irl. do i want to know

- fit was on 2b2t

- wilbur blew up a country and killed a buncha people

- phil blew up that country too (apparently)

- scar. ah. scar did monopoly mountain and things went downhill from there

- dont even get me started on gem. she started the whole secret life apocalypse. she killed etho at least sixteen times. she is on tumblr which means tango is scared of her AS HE SHOULD BE

- sausage had that whole esmp s1 evil thing. classifying this as sausage because i watched an episode of gem's where he appeared and nothing else and don't actually watch esmp except through osmosis

- didnt joe hills kill a bunch of dogs in s7

- etho ALSO kills people but BADLY (scar boogie kill)

- dream

- *eyeing zedaph's chamber suspiciously* this violates AT LEAST one scientific law or something

- grian. grian my beloved. why are you like this

- jaiden decimated the environment of teyvat

- see lizzie is like her husband. unhinged. shes just bad at surviving so no one gets to see it

- jimmy is like lizzie but more popular for it

- tango is a war criminal but he also makes funny sounds while he commits crimes so i think that negates the whole crimes thing

- while we're at it. all the lifers are criminals EXCEPT SKIZZ EXCEPT SKIZZ EXCEPT SKIZZ

- xisuma boils chicken and eats kiwi skin. worst offense on this list by far

- gem gets a second place on this list because why not. she deserves it

- bdubs bites ankles. probably

- martyn brought the watchers to the life smp which is bad in and of itself. also the Assigned Criminal At Life Series thing

- cherrifire gets an honorary spot on this list mostly because she SHOULD be able to bite ankles. due to aforementioned martyn

anyways please tag w other crimes our blorbos have commited. cheers <3

EDIT: I will be adding more crimes now

- keralis was a capitalist in s7 who bought. rotten flesh. for 128 diamonds. truly exemplifying a billionaire there. dont worry dont worry. hes not a capitalist anymore....but he was once

- pearl poisons people and then has her dogs bite you. reasonable

- cleo does arson. she also kills people. but she does this a lot so it also negates the crimes

- don't mess with forgelabs

- ren has become a dictator at least twice. likes bloodshed. also treebark counts for all the anguish it causes everyone. also also ACALS (assigned criminal at life series)

ALSO if anyone is going to yell at me for fit being on 2b2t. i do not watch him. he is only here because my mcyt irls go insane about him. like all the time. in fact i don't watch qsmp or dsmp but theyre popular enough i know a bit about them. <3

[picturejasper20]

Jim Lake Jr is a character that we see going through multiple changes through the series Trollhunters. He starts as a teen who wants to have ¨some adventure¨ only to found out that he has been chosen to play a very important role in protecting both humans and trolls alike as the ¨Trollhunter¨.

While different aspects of him are explored and evolve through the show, one of his biggest inner conflicts would be his ¨atlas complex¨, what would be his feeling like he has to take the whole responsibility of the world on his own shoulders, that to an extent is understandable considering his role as protector.

Even before he became a Trollhunter near the age of sixteen, Jim acted more mature and responsible in contrast to other teens of his age. In his introduction scene from "Becoming" he is seen cooking breakfast for both him and his mother, Barbara, and cleaning everything before going to school with his friend Toby. In the first episodes it gets explored that this comes from how Jim’s father left Jim and Barbara when Jim was little and never came back. This forced Jim to grow up quicker than other kids from his age, taking on bigger responsibilities with Barbara usually being busy working at the hospital.

His father leaving clearly had an important impact on Jim growing up. While it isn’t explicitly stated, Jim very likely blames himself for his father leaving, probably thinking it was his own fault or he did something wrong. He has this mindset that he has to ¨take care¨ of his mom, even if makes himself be distracted or not pay attention enough to other aspects of his life as pointed out by Strickler in the first episode.

This tendency of feeling like he has to depend on his own and blaming himself for different things that happen drives a lot of the decisions he makes as Trollhunter. He often has the habit of believing that he has to take all the responsibility on his own, going on missions on his own in spite of how big the risk can be.

Through the show Jim goes through this constant struggle between doing things on his own vs allowing his friends to help him fight alongside him and supporting him with the problems he is dealing with. More than one time Jim finds himself in trouble for his risky behaviour of going alone and eventually realizing that he should have asked for help from his team first.

It isn’t that Jim does this because he considers his friends ¨weak¨ or his is too proud to let help him. This comes from his desire to protect them and wishing for them to not get hurt for something he would think that it is his own fault. He doesn’t want to feel like a burden to other people, which it tends to end up with pushing others away as result.

One of the biggest examples of this is at the end of Season 1 in "Something Rotten This Way Comes" when Jim sees that Aaarrgghh has been turned into stone (which is seen as death for trolls) by Angor Rot when trying to defend Toby. A few episodes before this happened Jim had accidentally contributed to getting Angor Rot’s soul destroyed and making Angor Rot completely lose control ("It's About Time"). Because of this, he blamed himself for what happened to Aaarrgghh and feared losing other people he cared about.

Before anyone could notice, Jim decided to activate the gates that opened a portal to the Darklands to rescue Claire’s brother and defeat Gunma on his own. After he went through, the portal got closed, meaning others couldn't follow him from the other side. Jim is able to find and save Claire’s brother in the first episode of Season 2 but he isn’t able to make it out when the bridge gets fully destroyed. ("Escape from the Darklands")

In this first half of Season 2 the consequences of Jim’s decision get explored as his friends try to find a way out to rescue him. They have to face multiple obstacles which involve going against the Troll Market leader and making a deal with the Janus order. Finally in Episode 5 "Homecoming" they are able to get Jim out of the Darklands along with Nomura, who became an ally for Jim during the time he was trapped in the dimension.

In the episode that follows "Hiss Hiss, Bang Bang" the team confronts Jim for his risky decision at the end of Season 1 after Angor Rot’s defeat. They express feeling angry at Jim’s actions and a bit of betrayal since they are supposed to be a team. In response Jim admits that what he did was a very impulsive decision and he did it because he blamed himself for what happened to Aaarrgghh.

In "Hero with a Thousand Faces" explores this further as different sides of Jim manifest as copies of Jim and cause trouble at Claire’s parents barbecue because of a magic stone that was inside the amulet. The side that represents how Jim views himself as a hero, ¨Trollhunter Jim¨, begins to absorb other copies of Jim, seeing them as weaknesses. ¨Trollhunter Jim¨ reveals that Jim is really hard on himself and part of him believes that he would be better off if he didn’t rely on his friends along with other things. By the end of the episode Jim begins to accept that it isn’t the case and accepting helps from others is okay.

For a while Jim seems to be doing better with his atlas complex, however he still struggles with certain things. At the start of Season 3 he hides to Blinky that he has been training with Strickler to find ways to defeat Gunmar since he knows Blinky wouldn’t approve of Strickler’s methods. He still tries to hide his trollhunters duties from Barbara because he wants to ¨protect her¨.

In "Parental Guidance" Barbara is able to recall the events of Season 1 before her memories got supressed. When she remembers what happened, she decides to call Claire’s and Toby’s parents and confront the teens for what they have been hiding from them. At first Jim finds it hard to tell his mom about his duties but he explains to Barbara and his friends’ parents eventually. Through the episode Barbara reminds Jim multiple times that is her role as parent to look after him and not the other way around and he can be honest with her. She is seen helping the teens with fighting against the goblins and giving a hand in other ways in later episodes.

When Jim goes through Merlin’s plan of turning himself into half-human half-troll to defeat Gunmar, he falls into a similar pattern like he did back in Season 1 ending in "Jimhunters". At first he is thrilled about his new abilities as half troll until he realizes that it brings a lot of changes to his life: He can’t stay under the sun nor he can’t eat the same things he used to as human. All these things make him feel very confused and ran away from home.

His friends and family look for him at school where Jim is wandering and thinking about how different his life is going to be from now on. Claire and Toby find Jim in the roof and trying telling him that he is still him even if his is part troll. Barbara and Strickler join some minutes after and Barbara asks Jim to come back with her. When Jim is still unsure of what to do, Blinky and Aaarrgghh show up and Blinky tells Jim how proud he is of him, calling him ¨son¨. This is what finally clicks with Jim, as he approaches and hugs Blinky, telling him that he is scared.

By the end of the episode Jim doesn’t push others away and sees that they are going to help him with these new changes, as they remind him that he is still him after his transformation. This would act as overall conclusion of Jim’s overall character arc in the series, realizing that asking for help and relying on others is a okay thing to do and he doesn’t have to carry all his problems on his own in contrast to how he believed at the start of the show.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

The trip through the mall continues. More obstacles and surprises await. And a decision that will change her life forever.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Jealousy. Sex toys under clothing. Forced public masturbation. Orgasm denial/control. Cockwarming. Vaginal sex. Fingering. Spanking. Oral cockwarming. Oral sex. Collaring. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 11k

A/N: As this is the finale of Season Two, we have another Big Angst Episode ahead of us. Or you have, I already know what happens. Enjoy! (But be aware: there is so much going on here... mind the tags!)

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

They spend the rest of the afternoon strolling through the mall, and by the end of it, she is sore, her insides are buzzing, aflame with the need for release after hours of walking around with those damn toys vibrating inside her. He's either forgotten he turned them on or doesn't care too much about her discomfort, and she's not willing to ask him to make it stop. This is her punishment, she has to pull through to make him proud. To make him praise her.

She's desperate for it, that itch that needs to be scratched worse than the constant stimulation, and it grows every time she sees him smiling at whichever woman is serving them next. That horribly annoying (and annoyingly pretty) waitress at the cafe, the shop clerk that ran after him to sell him a new tie, that girl who handed out fliers for a local festival, the older woman giving out samples of cheese or whatever, no matter who, he's always been so goddamn nice and friendly and flirty, and she hates it.

He's charming, yes, and handsome, and sure, she is the girl whose hand he is holding, but whenever another woman steps forth, he starts to ignore her, would even let go of her hand if she wouldn't squeeze it so tightly. Sometimes he'd look at her then, his eyes dark, and she doesn't know if it's anger or annoyance or something else, but she always ducks her head, lowers her eyes, and just hopes they'll move on soon.

Eventually they do, and he pulls her in front of the cinema that's located at the far end of the shopping center. He steps behind her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, nudging her to look up at the large sign showcasing the available movies to watch. Instead of focusing on the choices ahead of her, she savors the touch, his warmth, his strength, leans against him happily, hands placed on his strong arms.

“What are you in the mood for, baby?” he whispers, his voice that low thrumming right in her ear, vibrating all the way down to mingle with the other vibrating things inside her. Her cunt clenches hungrily around the toy. “Some generic romcom with a boring guy and a too-hot-for-him girl? A murder mystery where it's usually the butler with the frying pan? Some historic tale that's probably good to fall asleep to? Or a nice, gory slasher movie full of blood and fake boobs?”

She giggles softly at the way he lists the films, and he turns his head slightly to press his lips to her jaw. “I don't know...” she says quietly, licking her lips when her cheeks burn up. “I don't mind either way...”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “How about this thriller about the jealous girl who kills off anyone who looks at her lover the wrong way?”

She freezes, clearing her throat. “Um, which one is that?” she asks, trying to hide her surprise, feigning ignorance.

So he knows about her jealousy, is that it? Was it that obvious? Probably. He's been the first man she's developed some sort of feelings for, and with how he has claimed her, it felt only natural to do the same, to claim him. Is that how it works? She isn't sure. (Also, did he refer to himself as her lover just now or is she reading too much into it?)

Instead of replying, he kisses her cheek again, then grabs her chin and turns her head, meeting her lips while looking deep into her eyes. “Sounds intriguing, though, don't you think?” he whispers between slow and soft pecks.

“I... I don't like violence,” she croaks out, gripping his arm tighter as she leans into his kiss needily. “Can we watch the love story instead?”

He huffs a laugh, his warm breath tickling her lips. “You wouldn't call that a love story too?”

“Killing people for love? Not my kind of romance...”

“No?” he breathes, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Well, it is unusual, but I'd certainly appreciate the gesture.”

She frowns at that, but he only winks and leans back, letting her go. His hand is around hers when he starts walking towards the booth selling the tickets. “Romcom it is, then,” he tells her and buys them each a ticket and some popcorn.

She's shifting in her seat, squirming all the way through the commercials until he finally acknowledges her discomfort. “What's wrong?”

“Sitting is... uh... a little... well, weird,” she stammers out quietly, biting her lip. Walking she has somehow gotten used to, but the soft seat makes her sink deeper into the cushion, causing the stiff harness to dig into her flesh and the toys to push deeper, and with the constant buzzing they move against each other through her walls, and her muscles can't keep up with the clenching.

She sees him frowning in the semi-darkness of the room. When he pulls his phone out and the light of the display hits his face, she notices the smirk. “Oh,” he says with a low chuckle. “Forgot about your two best friends,” he adds, but she knows he didn't. “You could have said something, darling,” he tells her with a stern gaze that she can't take serious with the way his lips curl.

“I'm sorry. It was okay when we were walking...” she whispers back, waiting for him to turn the toys off. Of course he doesn't immediately indulge her, and instead turns them up a notch, then another, and some more, and she grips the armrests of the chair and bites her tongue as a loud moan wants to spill from her lips.

Luckily the room isn't too crowded, there are a few other couples, a small group of women, a larger group of girls, but none of them in their close vicinity. He chose the last row for them, the corner seats, pretty much in the far back, overlooking the rest of the auditorium. And the volume of the commercials does drown out her little squeaks as she presses herself deeper into the seat, thighs clamped together tightly as she fights the sensations.

“Do you want me to turn them off?” he whispers, phone in hand, leaning over to her side. “Are you sure you deserve that?”

She stares at him, sunken into the seat, hands white-knuckling the chair. “Please...” she gasps out, her insides convulsing painfully. The strength of the vibrations goes through her entire body, makes her teeth chatter if she wouldn't grit them. The way the toys hit her oversensitive flesh makes her see stars. If she'd be allowed to come, it wouldn't even be that bad, but she's fighting the burning tension so hard that her muscles start cramping.

“Please what? Use your words, baby.” He's teasing her, and she hates him for it.

“Please... turn them off... or down... but not... like this... please... it hurts...” she stammers through tight lips. “You... you told me... to tell you... when it... when it hurts...”

He hums softly, his thumb sliding over the screen of his phone. “That I did,” he whispers, and she feels the buzzing grow weaker until it finally stops. She still feels the echo of it, the aftershocks, but slowly her body relaxes again.

“Thank you,” she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment.

Of course it's wrong to assume he'd let this go so easily. So when she feels his hand between her sticky thighs, she isn't surprised, but it still startles her. Eyes flying open, she stares at him in the dark, stiffens when he slips his fingers over the harness, then fumbles with the belt holding it together.

She's too weak to move much, to protest, so she lets him unfasten the leather strap that spans over her mound, and in the next moment his fingers don't pull on the dildo, but push in next to it. She cries out quietly, quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. He watches her intensely, fingers probing, stretching her already tense muscles, pushing the toy this way and that, nudging all the sensitive spots that make her thighs twitch.

Her free hand closes around his wrist and tries to pull him away, but he narrows his eyes at her, and she whines into her palm, hand falling back to the seat. He continues his poking until he finally grips the base of the toy and pulls, only a little, nudge after nudge, before he pushes it back into her clenching cunt, out and in, in and out, a slow rhythm that makes her thrash her head against the backrest, her muffled noises luckily drowned out by the movie beginning with a happy dance song.

She feels like crying though, overwhelmed by the sensations, too sensitive to really enjoy the motions, but he doesn't care, keeps pumping the dildo in and out, and the heat builds up inside her, more and more, stomach tensing, her body contorting in the seat, hips bucking, legs kicking helplessly. He leans over her a little more, his free hand gripping hers and pulling it away from her mouth, and she stares at him in shock, biting her tongue hard to keep the noises down, but he seems to have mercy, finally, and presses his big hand over her quivering lips, holding her jaw, pressing her deeper into the cushions as he doubles his efforts.

Her eyes roll back, stars and black spots dance all around her, head is filled with cotton that's sizzling at the edges, the heat almost unbearable as it gathers in her lower stomach, at the end of her channel, heating up with every deep plunge of the toy, and she's so close, drowning in pleasure but it's not enough, only a few more nudges, a few more...

Suddenly he's pulling back, taking his hand off her face, leaning away, and the dildo slips from her clenching core and leaves her empty and hanging mid-air as shock settles in the place where pleasure has been, and she falls, collapses into the seat, and can't help the loud “No!” that comes out as a whine that echoes through the large room.

And she freezes as she realizes just how loud she's been, staring at the screen and the seats in front of her with wide eyes, holding her breath, further pushing away the sensations deflating inside her. Luckily the protagonists are fighting on screen, bickering back and forth, and her outburst could have easily been a reaction to that because no other cinema goer notices anything or cares enough to turn around.

She huffs a deep sigh and closes her eyes, hiding her burning face behind her hands as she lets the tears flow. It's only a moment of forced reprieve, in which her mind goes into overdrive (she can still feel the heat burning away inside of her, she's been so close, she may not deserve it, may not be allowed, but she would have loved to see it through to the end, no matter how public the place is, she would have done it, would have let him push her over, after hours of being denied, of being edged with no release, and she's been so freaking close...), but the turmoil stops the second she feels his hands on her waist as he manhandles her onto his lap. Not the usual way, but facing the screen, her legs falling open over his strong thighs as he pulls her back against his chest and wraps his arms around her waist.

His cheek scrapes against hers. “Did you really think I was gonna make you come?” he whispers into her ear, making goosebumps pebble her skin. “No, baby, not yet...”

She whines quietly, gripping his arms. Her chest is heaving, heart still thundering within, the burning cotton doused with shockingly cold water, leaving it charred at the edges but still filling up her head. She stares blankly at the screen, barely follows the story, just lets her eyes rest on the moving pictures, lets the sounds sink into her body. She feels numb now, frozen in place, denied to go anywhere else.

His hands move then, one holding her hip, pushing her slightly down his legs, the other fumbling with something behind her. She barely registers anything anymore. How he lifts the back of her skirt, how he grips her waist again and pulls her back, how he moves her legs to rest between his, but when his voice thrums in her ear, she perks up.

“Come sit on my cock,” he breathes into her, heating up the cotton in her head.

She grips his knees when she leans forward on shaking legs, raising her rear and her hips, nudging against him until she feels the warm tip of his cock against her wet skin. Grinding slightly, she hopes for him to just slip in, surely it must be easy with how she's been stretched and prepared over the last hours, but it's not easy without looking at what she does.

“Please help me...” she whispers as she looks at him over her shoulder.

There's a smile on his lips, but it looks dark and menacing, causing a shiver to run down her spine. He still indulges her when he grabs the base of his length and guides it to her entrance, then grabs her hip with the other hand and pushes her down, hard, swift, and she gasps, slapping her hand back over her mouth, as she feels him sinking deep and deeper until he bottoms out, pushing through tense muscles, scraping over sensitive flesh, prodding her deepest spots.

And then he just rests there, or she is, on top of him, impaled and stuck. He pulls her back against his chest, and the tight squeeze nudges the plug in her ass, making her whimper into her palm. She's braced on his legs, her own pushed together as he strains his thighs against hers, caging her in, holding her in place. His arms come back around her waist, further limiting her movements.

She wants to buck her hips, grind on him, find any kind of relief from the tension building up all over again, but he clicks his tongue quietly, and she stiffens, just sits there, on his cock, staring at the screen through bleary eyes, with her cheeks burning and the tears rolling uncontrollably.

Eventually they dry on her warm skin, and she becomes numb again. She still feels his warmth, his strength, his steady breaths on her neck, his hands occasionally rubbing along her side or over her breasts and down her stomach, and she leans into him, into the closeness, her hands relaxing on her lap. The cotton is gone, or expanded so much she can't make out the difference. Her head feels empty, no thoughts, just him...

A freeing void. A space only for her.

And she relaxes enough to focus back on the movie, watches it with growing interest, reacts to hectic scenes by twitching and tensing up, coos when the couple-to-be is touching or, God forbid, kissing, even laughs softly when the comic relief character does something funny.

She forgets about the all-consuming need to climax, or any need for that matter. She doesn't forget about him, big and strong behind her, holding her on his lap, his cock deep inside her, warm and cozy like it should be, using her hole to keep him happy and content. That's her purpose after all.

He moves sometimes, shifting in his seat, rolling his hips upwards, teasing her, and she lets him, leaning into it, into him, smiling softly when his fingers brush against her chin to turn her head. He looks softer now, relaxed, proud of her? She hopes so, but it doesn't matter either way. She has no needs, no wants, this is all about him.

He presses his lips to her cheek and makes her mewl, then turns her back to focus on the rest of the film. She grows tired after a while, the plot sizzling out on the screen, becoming predictable and silly, or she's just too exhausted to follow along properly. Her eyelids grow heavy, her head lolls back against his shoulder, and she breathes deeply until the noises around her become a comforting drone that lets her slip into a dark soothing nothingness.

She wakes up to a soft hum, then a nibble to her earlobe, and when she stirs with a tired groan, she is already being lifted, the pressure within easing for a moment before she is draped over the seat in front of her, her hair falling over her head when she dips down into the soft cushions, a surprised yelp escaping her before she braces on her arms and lifts her head a bit more.

The auditorium is dark and empty, the movie over, the other people gone, and he stands behind her, hands on her hips, and without waiting for her to wake up more, pushes his hard cock back into her clenching hole. She wails quietly, arms shaking as she leans on them, trying to hold her heavy head up. He seems to be in a rush as he starts pounding into her right away, with hard thrusts, hips slamming into her legs, making her bounce on the backrest of the chair.

He's quick and hectic, driving himself deep, chasing his own orgasm, but as he does so, he doesn't seem to care that her clit keeps rubbing against the fabric of the seat, back and forth, making her howl and cry. She's still sensitive, and the added stimulation makes her head spin, the tension within coiling up tightly, ready to spring free, and it's when he groans behind her, picking up the pace, ramming and rutting into her, that she squeezes her eyes shut and parts her lips for a drawn-out moan as the pleasure finally, finally, washes over her tense limbs, like a cold soothing breeze after stewing in the sun for too long.

She goes limp as the lights still flicker behind her eyelids, her thighs twitching against his, toes curling in her shoes, hips stuttering, her arms losing grip before she collapses into the seat, no longer caring that she's upside down, no longer caring about anything. He must have felt the tight clenching of her cunt, and there's a pause in his thrusts, but only for so long before he continues, hammering into her fast and hard until he grunts and stills deep inside her, hands digging into her waist, holding her, his body shuddering against her rear as he spills his warmth into her depths.

He pulls out soon after, and she feels his cum dripping out of her clenching hole, a satisfying sensation somehow, like a caress on irritated skin. The moment only lasts so long before she feels something hard rubbing along the inside of her thigh, gathering his spend, and then the dildo pushes back into her, plugging her up, sealing his seed, warm and comforting inside her. Her muscles clench, but she feels too loose to hold the toy, though she doesn't have to worry as he then fastens the harness back around her mound, holding the item in place.

She barely registers any of that with her head hanging upside down, the seat pressing into her stomach. She's just a limp body, draped over furniture, a doll someone forgot to take with them. But he doesn't forget, she's pulled upright then, and his hand finds her throat, holding her as he presses her against his chest.

“Did you just come?” His voice sounds angry, and she doesn't know why. She still feels like floating, relaxed, content, and he should too. He came inside her, didn't he? They shared this beautiful moment... why is he so upset?

Slowly the cotton in her head dissolves, and her eyelids flutter, she inhales deeply, swallows against his hand, her eyes focusing back on his face. He stares at her, hard, stoic, and she blinks, blinks again, licks her dry lips, then furrows her eyebrows as cold dread crashes through her body. “Oh...” she breathes out.

Her punishment. She wasn't supposed to come.

A pained whine escapes her, and she raises her hands to grab his wrist, looking at him pleadingly. “I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I'm sorry!”

He stares at her, then shakes his head. “I'll remember this,” is all he says as he lets her go, fixes his clothes, then hers, even untangles her hair, before he grabs her hand and drags her past the row of seats out of the auditorium.

Her legs are shaking badly, and the soreness of her body returns with every step. The toys shift inside her, tormenting her all over again, even more so with how sensitive she still is, the stickiness between her thighs feels hot and uncomfortable, the welts on the backs of them sting, the skin tight and burning.

But the ache in her heart seems to be the worst. She didn't mean to disappoint him, but how was she supposed to stop that with how he handled her over the seat?

It's not fair.

She's fighting tears as he pulls her after him through the mall. After a long trek in uncomfortable silence, they stop in front of a coffee stand, and before he turns to the woman behind it with his order, he turns to her, raises a hand to wipe at her wet cheeks and gives her a pointed look. Pull yourself together, it says, she's sure, and she nods, biting her lip, swallowing hard.

She is then forced to watch yet another display of his charming personality as he flirts with the barista, who laughs and throws her hair back, enjoying herself a little too much as the tall handsome man talks to her in a soft voice that is usually reserved for her. Grinding her teeth, she clenches her hands into fists (he's just let her stand there, a few feet behind him, completely ignoring her).

Suddenly a voice chimes in her head, one she hasn't heard before, or never paid enough attention to. Run, it tells her, use his distraction and flee, get out of here. He cannot keep treating you like this! You are more than just a hole, a doll to move, you don't deserve this!

She freezes, panic rippling through her. To her own surprise, she looks along the crowded hallways, eyes scanning the various exit routes. It would be easy to slip between the other people, with how small she is, he wouldn't even notice while he's fixated on that woman at the coffee stand.

Just go. Move! the voice urges.

And then, she does, driven by the coldness spreading within her, turns slightly, takes one step, then another, putting a little distance between the busy man and herself, and her heart is pounding hard in her chest, loud in her ears, drowning out everything but the nagging voice. She reaches a group of people in front of a window display, she just has to move between them, out of sight. Cold sweat spreads all over her body, her limbs are tense and shaking, tears burning in her eyes.

She doesn't look back, but she wants to, wants to turn around, go back to him, throw herself into his strong arms. Where is she even supposed to go? All alone in a place she's never been to? She has no money, no ID, nothing. Just those damn toys inside her holes and the bruises on her skin. A sight she doesn't want to share with anyone (but him).

What if she went to the police, told them her story, what happened, they'd treat her like a dumb victim, just another case file, and what if he got arrested for it, or accused and then cleared of all charges because he's rich and can afford lawyers who'll kick him out of anything. It's her word against his, and his wrath will be even worse. He'll find her, she's sure, he told her he won't let her go, she is his.

She is his.

It's her purpose to serve him, to please him, to make him happy, proud, make him praise her. And she needs the praise. She is a good girl! She did everything he's asked of her! She made mistakes, yes, but she'll make it better, she'll redeem herself. She can still make it better. She just has to turn around...

And so she does. Sniffling pathetically, she stumbles back the way she came, back to him, back to the coffee stand, where he's still standing (and flirting), and even though his back is turned to her, she can imagine that beautiful smile on his handsome face, the twinkle in his dark eyes, things she wants to see, for the rest of her life.

She's so focused on him, on her own guilt burning through her, that she suddenly trips over her shoes, those damn shoes that give her two inches she doesn't know how to balance on, and she falls, with a shriek, landing hard on her hands and knees, several sharp pains assaulting her at once, and the tears come without warning. She feels horrible, for trying to run away, for the state of her body, for embarrassing him in public.

He's with her immediately, his hands on her elbows as he pulls her to her feet, cradling her in his arms, genuine concern on his face as he looks down at her. She sniffles, cries without restraint, lets it all out as he presses her to his chest, soothing her with soft hums. “I'm so sorry,” she wails into his shirt, gripping at the fabric, holding onto him.

He rubs her back, his hand warm and comforting, easing the hiccups that shake her small body. “It's okay, shh, calm down, it's okay,” he whispers. His voice does calm her down eventually, and she leans against him, tired and sad, but glad to be back in his arms, having his attention, his comfort.

Leaning her back by her shoulder, he watches her, wipes her tears from her flushed face, tilts his head. He doesn't ask what happened but he can't know that she tried to escape from him. He shouldn't either. He's already angry with her, she can't handle more. “Sorry,” she mumbles again and rubs her burning eyes, hoping he'll brush this off as her being too clumsy to stand on those damn shoes.

He frowns at her, then bends down to pick up his coffee cup. She's leaning into him when he drapes his arm around her shoulders and guides her past the group of people she's attempted to hide between. What a stupid idea. Why would she ever leave this man? She'd be stupid to try, she is stupid for trying. He's giving her so much, changed her whole pathetic life, gave her a purpose. She's still afraid of his anger, of the rest of her punishment, but she'll live. He won't kill her, won't throw her away if she breaks, she is his. And he'll keep her, no matter what. He has to!

It's a reassuring thought in the midst of her doubts and fears while her body screams for her to make it stop. She doesn't care about the soreness anymore, the prospect of more pain, her heart is aflame with a feeling that's burning down anything else, a feeling so strong she'd rather die than leave him, a passion, a need, a growing obsession. For him. And only him.

The sun is setting when they eventually reach his car on the emptying parking lot. She's caught deep in her mind, already making plans of how to make it up to him. He pulls her to the trunk, opens it, and, without warning, crouches down beside her, his hands slipping under her skirt. She gasps, gripping the cold metal of the car and his shoulder, her eyes darting around the lot, but nobody seems to be close enough to see them.

He's fumbling with the harness, opens the belts and then pulls the leather straps down her legs. The toy in her cunt moves first, her muscles unable to hold it, probably more willing to push it out after such a long time. He catches it before it slips out fully, and while she's burning up in a mixture of shame and relief, he turns her around and pokes at her butt plug, moves it in and out for a moment to ease her muscles, then pulls it out, one ball-shaped bump at a time. She sighs deeply when it's gone.

The loss of pressure feels heavenly, but only for a moment, then she feels strangely empty, lost without her new best friends, as he's dubbed them. She watches him discard of the glistening dildos in one of the bags in the trunk, before he closes it with a thud and nudges her towards the passenger side of the car. Her core is clenching around nothing now, her wetness a steady stream down her legs until she presses her thighs together, trapping it. She should feel embarrassed about it, but she can't bring herself to care anymore.

He guides her into the car, buckles her in, doesn't look at her when he closes the door and walks to his side. He's punishing her with silence again, and when the engine roars to life and he drives off the parking lot, she lets out a quiet sigh as she wrings her hands in her lap nervously. But she only has to stew in her dark thoughts for so long before he pulls onto a service road leading into the forest at the edge of town.

She swallows hard when he kills the engine and gets out, then opens her door, unbuckles her and pulls her out as well. Her legs are shaking, the air is cold around them (adding to the ice inside her stomach), and he leads her towards a fallen over tree trunk. Sitting down, he pats his lap, and while she's confused why he would stop here to let her sit on there, she's corrected in her assumptions when he pulls her close and drapes her over his lap with her ass in the air and her hair falling over her head.

Bracing on his thigh, she knows what's coming. She can already feel the sting of his hand on her ass cheeks, but... nothing happens. Instead she feels his hand in her hair, pulling it back and her head up by gripping it hard, then his other hand is in front of her face, holding something, and even in the darkness around them, with only the last glow of the setting sun behind the trees, she can see that it's her panties, the soft pink ones he took from her (before they visited Mistress' sex shop). They're bunched up into a ball, and before she can wonder why he's showing her that, he pushes the fabric against her lips, and she's too surprised to stop it, opens her mouth almost willingly, then croaks a muffled wail when he shoves it past her teeth.

“Bite down on that,” he tells her, his voice harsh and dark.

She sniffles through her nose, tasting the remnants of sweat and his cum on the fabric, her spit seeping into it, her jaw aching already, but she nods into his hand, holding the gag in place, forcing herself to endure. He lets go of her hair, shifts her on his lap, then pushes her skirt up and exposes her bare ass. His hand rubs over the soft skin, teasing lower at the welts still straining on her thighs, and she prepares for the first impact, for the pain crashing through her, but again, nothing happens.

His fingers tease between her legs, nudging them apart, before he slips them between her wet folds, her cunt clenching in anticipation. The first poke comes as a surprise, making her cry out into the panties between her teeth. His finger slips deep, then pulls back, pokes in again, harsh and fast, a sudden stab that confuses her body. He adds another finger, repeats the motion, sudden stabs, deep, plunging into her wet hole, the squelching noises loud in the quiet forest.

She squirms slightly on his lap, her fingers curling into his jeans, her feet kicking uncontrollably. He keeps fingering her, now with three fingers, pressed tightly together as they invade her cunt, stretch her, penetrate deep, then scissor out, pushing against her tight muscles. She moans voicelessly.

He leans over her then, hot breaths on her ear. “One day I'll put my entire hand into your cute little cunt, and I'll play you like a puppet.” His lewd words make her clench around his fingers, and a soft chuckle escapes him. “Oh, you'd like that, hm?” He pushes his fingers deeper, then rips them out, gives her time to scream into the gag, before plunging them back in roughly. She writhes, wailing, confused and aroused, and he has to push his other hand onto her back to keep her still.

The fingers disappear then, leaving her empty once more, but when he presses his wet fingertips to her throbbing clit, she arches her back and wishes he'd finger her some more. The sudden stimulation makes her jump, thighs twitching, legs kicking, her breaths ragged, her muffled noises loud in her ear.

He draws tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing, prodding, pushing, pinching, and the edge is near, she can feel it, that tension coiling up, lights flickering behind her eyelids, but she should have seen it coming: it stops before she can get anywhere, the sudden darkness almost turning red with how frustrated he leaves her.

In her angry haze she hears the sound of his belt buckle, then a strange scratching noise, and without seeing it, she knows, he's pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans. A sudden coldness crashes through her, freezes any other emotion, and the sheer panic is back, of pain she never wants to experience again, of leather hitting her soft skin, digging into her flesh to leave ugly red welts.

She's squirming on his lap then, panic turning into the hysterical need to get away, but he only has to grab her arm and twist it to make her stop moving. She howls into her gag, and he has to use both hands to fold her arms behind her back. She stiffens when she feels the leather she's expected somewhere else being wrapped around her elbows and her forearms, holding her arms in place.

Rolling her shoulders against the restraints, she realizes she can't move, and somehow that eases the panic instead of making it worse. At least to a degree. Without being able to do anything else, it forces her to focus on her breathing. Gagged and bound, she can only kick her legs, but he doesn't seem to care about that when his hand is back on her thighs, fingertips teasing up her skin, fingernails scraping over her bruises, making her gasp and shiver under the sensations.

And then he slaps her, a hard and sudden blow against her left ass cheek, catching her completely off guard. Her scream is muffled, and she almost chokes on all the spit gathering in her mouth before she tries to ground herself by biting down on her panties when he does the same barely a second later on her other cheek. He does that a few more times, and she squirms and cries out with every slap, body convulsing against the pain shooting through her.

Her skin is burning, blood pulsing in the same rhythm as her rapidly beating heart in her chest. His hand smooths over the irritations, making her whimper, and more so when he slips it between her thighs and pushes two fingers into her again. Then another slap echoes through the forest, making her jump and squirm and clench heavily around his fingers. The angle is different, he's using his other hand, and he hits spots he hasn't hit before. With his fingers stuck in her tight cunt, he repeats the motion, hitting her left cheek, then her right, the sides and the soft slope that leads into her thighs.

Not an inch of her ass is left untouched, and all she can do is cry and whimper, wail and whine, struggle and clench, and clench some more. It's a strange stimulation, and the pain bleeds into pleasure, flares up white-hot, then smooths into gentle darkness. Light, dark, slap, clench, slap, clench. He's properly fingering her now, moving his digits in and out, while the blows of his other hand become calmer, still strong and unrelenting, but spaced out more, keeping her on her toes (that hurt from how hard she's curling them in her shoes).

She wouldn't say she relaxes into it, but she finds herself lying still on his lap, legs twitching under every blow, but the rest of her body seems to give in to her fate. Her breaths are ragged through her nose, tears clouding her vision, streaming down her face, the panties in her mouth soaked in her spit. Her fingers twitch in their tight hold on her back, the leather of his belt cutting into her skin.

He gives her three more blows, on the left cheek, then the right, then onto the back of her thigh, right against the tight skin of her welts, and that last one makes her arch her back, a muffled scream stuck in her throat, her legs kicking frantically, the pain blindingly intense. For a moment she thinks she's dying, so close to finally being released into the void, but through the torment of that last blow, he pushes his fingers faster into her clenching cunt, presses his thumb against her clit, and the pleasure burst through her lower body.

She's whining into her gag, if she could have said anything she'd beg him to allow her to come (because that is what this is all about, isn't it?), and he seems to understand her struggles, when he suddenly whispers, right against her ear: “It's okay. You can come. Come for me, baby girl.”

And she does, that tight coil inside her stomach breaking free with a sudden snap, before wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her, lights like fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. Her body spasms on his lap, and she can't stop it, can't control anything anymore.

Her legs fall open, and he keeps fingering her, keeps pressing on her clit, prolongs the sensation burning through her nerves. She's whimpering, moaning, crying, head empty and full at the same time, her hips bucking, and he curls his fingers and bullies another spot, and she seems to come again, clenching around his digits as she goes stiff, then breaks out in more convulsions, and those bring a strange relief as her wetness splatters against his hand and down her trembling legs.

She's positively breathless when she goes slack on his lap, and he eases her down gently, caresses her fluttering walls, pulls his fingers out and rubs over her mound, between her puffy lips, then smooths the soft skin of her inner thigh before resting his hand on her calf.

“Well done,” he says quietly. “That was intense, hm?”

Her head is hanging limply off his leg, hair falling over it, she doesn't care, everything is spinning anyway. Being upside down only adds to it, and she wants more of it, doesn't want it to stop. Delirious in that strange space full of pain and pleasure, she barely registers how he lifts her head, pushes her hair away, his other hand on her jaw, easing it open, pulling the drenched fabric of her underwear out of her mouth. Drool follows the motion, and he wipes it away, turning her head slightly to make her face him.

Blinking her eyes into focus, she's able to see his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, a soft expression that makes her feel warm all over, even warmer than the burning skin on her butt and thighs, the echoing sensation pulsing through her core. It goes straight to her heart, and despite the state of her body, she smiles back, weakly, shyly, but genuinely, and he caresses her cheek with the back of his finger.

“Thank you,” she croaks out barely audible.

“For what?” he asks, tilting his head.

Her mind is reeling, but the words spill from her lips as if he's planted them there himself. “For... for taking the time... to correct... my m-mistakes... to p-punish me... for my... d-disobedience...”

He nods with an approving smile. “And what did you do wrong?”

Her voice is a shaking hum, her lips trembling as more words tumble over them. “I was... ungrateful... I denied you... I... came without permission... I tried to... run away...” The confession leaves her without revision, and as soon as she's done, she's stiffening, her eyes widening while his darken, the smile vanishing from his face.

“You tried to run away?” he repeats, the grip on her jaw tightening, his voice cold and stern.

“I... I didn't mean to,” she whines softly, struggling in her bend-over position, turning her shoulders and straining her neck to better look up at him. “You... you were... flirting with that woman... and I... I felt... I thought you... I... I didn't think,” she sums up her stammering. “B-but I came back!” she cries out, looking at him pleadingly, struggling against the belt around her arms. “Because I need you! I can't be... without you...”

He takes in her frantic words with a strangely calm expression. Then he clenches his jaw and she feels his hands on her waist, pulling her up and into a standing position. She wobbles on her shoes, can't seem to find her balance without being able to use her arms. He grabs her shoulders and stares down at her, towering over her menacingly.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he says quietly. “But you know what I have to do, right?”

She swallows hard, licking her dry lips. “Sp-spank me again?” she croaks out, the pain rushing back into her buttocks as her mind remembers what happened.

He shakes his head. “There are other ways to punish you, but you have to understand that you force my hand here. You did something wrong, and there have to be consequences. And I'll think of something, don't worry.”

She chews on her lip, nodding as her eyes fill with a new batch of tears. “Yes, sir,” she sniffles.

His loud exhale hits her warm cheek, then he pats it with his hand. He guides her back to the car and leans her against it, before he goes back to the fallen tree and picks up something off the ground. Shaking it out, she sees it's her soiled panties, now drenched in spit, caked with cum, and covered in dirt and pine needles. He could have left them there, she thinks, but then realizes he doesn't want to leave a trail, evidence of them being here. Of her fate.

They vanish back into the pocket of his jeans before he opens the passenger door. He considers her then, with her wild hair and reddened skin and with her arms tied behind her back. Sighing, he grabs her waist and carefully sets her down on the seat. The soft leather is cold against her burning skin, and she can't help the wince and sharp inhale when he lets go of her, her own body weight pushing her down on her bruises.

He doesn't buckle her in, though, just closes the door and walks around the car to his side, then slides behind the wheel. He pulls his seat belt down while he looks at her. She holds his gaze, even though her vision is blurry and her stomach feels tense and she just wants to curl into a ball and wallow in her sorrow, but he has other plans.

His hands are under her elbows, pulling her towards him. He makes her lie down on her stomach with her head resting on his thigh. She has to angle her legs, her shoes nudging against the window. Leaning over her, he reaches for them and pulls them off, then throws them onto the backseat, and she's grateful. They were just another thing on the long list of her aches.

He pulls her a little further until her face sits right over his groin, and she swallows and licks her lips in preparation, looking up from under her lashes. He meets her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“This is neither a reward nor a punishment,” he then says while his hands move to open his jeans and push his underwear down. “Just something for you to pass the time and me to feel good, okay?”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

He grabs his cock, semi-hard, and guides it towards her mouth, and she opens it willingly, tongue out flat. He's warm when he pushes between her lips, his scent filling her nostrils, his taste exploding on her tongue, her body shivering slightly as saliva pools around him. He arranges her head on his thigh, pulls her a little closer until she lies on his lap properly, suckling softly on his tip, unable to move away even if she wanted to (which she doesn't). His hand is on her cheek, brushing her hair away gently.

“Try to swallow,” he tells her, and she does, it's not easy in her position and with something between her lips, her mouth unable to close, but she manages, and he pats her cheek again. “Good. Now relax, we'll be driving for a few hours.”

She hums against him, nestling into his lap, fingers twitching and tingling in their restraint, feet dangling in the air, her lips tight around his cock. It's a comfort, being so close to him, knowing he still trusts her enough to let her do this. He cares about her, she knows it, and her confessing to him that she tried to run away is probably hurting him as much as it hurts her. She should have never done that. Stupid voice of reason. Destroying everything.

She has no idea which punishment awaits her, but whatever it is, she deserves it, and she'll fight through it, to make him proud, to show him that she wants to stay with him, no matter what. She is his, and she'll make sure to remind him.

By the time they finally reach their destination, as the lights of the city rush by in a blur, she is not in a happy place, not in the subspace he wanted her to be. She kept thinking back to how she disappointed him, what she did wrong, seeing the anger and sadness in his eyes, and no matter what plan she tried to think about to make it all better, she never came to any conclusion, still doesn't know how to mend the rift between them. She thinks there's a rift, even though her lips are still closed around his cock, and his hand keeps coming down to caress her hair.

Yet it's nothing like the first time she had to cockwarm him. She may have spaced out for a bit, but always came back by herself, with her mind reminding her of everything that went wrong, showing her the faces of the various women he's flirted with, and she was in a constant up and down of rage and anger and jealousy, and hating herself and hating him and hating those women. But mostly hating herself because she feels like a failure.

She was struggling to keep the drool in her mouth, unable to wipe it away with her arms tied behind her back, and she thought back to soiling his pants and how he belted her after that (and she doesn't even know if that was the reason why it all escalated, he told her he doesn't even need a reason), and her wounds stung and burned as she remembered how she got them, and the new ones are tight and warm, and yet she's grateful he made her lie on her stomach to keep the pressure off, while also fearing he'll snap again and hurt her even more. It's all so confusing, and in all that time her cunt kept clenching, needy for the thing that was stuck in her mouth.

She's absolutely miserable when he stops the car. His hand is under her jaw, gently nudging her to open her lips, but she hums, eyebrows furrowed, not wanting to part from him just yet. She moves her head closer, pushes down on him to take him deeper, and he lets her. He's hardened significantly during their silent car ride, and she feels the need to finish the job.

It's hard to bob her head without her hands to steady herself, so it's sloppy and uncoordinated, and she could be doing this better if he hadn't tied her arms together, but this is part of her redemption, another punishment, not the last one, but it doesn't matter. It has to be done. He notices her struggle and puts his hands on her head, gently guiding her movements. She looks up from under her lashes, and seeing him so calm and patient makes her vision blur again.

She's been so ungrateful. Not a good girl. A horribly disobedient thing that shouldn't be allowed to suck his cock. She still tries her best, wraps her lips around him, presses her tongue against his bulging veins, sucks long and hard, swallows around him even though it hurts, and when he pulls her closer, his grip tightening, she tries to relax to let him into her throat. Tears mix with her drool when she gags around him, body jerking, hating herself even more for not being able to take him properly, but he doesn't seem to mind the mess this time, only moves her head up and down, bucks his hips slightly, and fucks her face until he starts groaning quietly.

She keeps her eyes closed even though she wants to see him relax under her ministrations, but she tells herself she doesn't deserve the sight. Instead she keeps sucking hard, hollowing her cheeks, fighting her gag reflex whenever he hits the back of her throat, holds her breath when he pushes deeper, forces herself to stay still, relax, and let him use her like he should be using her.

Her head is spinning when he finally comes down her throat, a low grunt escaping him as he presses her head down hard, holding her there, his cock throbbing between her lips, and she doesn't fight it, too exhausted, too tied up in her own self-pity. Slowly he pulls her head back, pats her cheek, tells her to breathe, and she does, rasping heavy breaths, before she swallows, spit and cum, and he wipes her tears away when he turns her head, caressing her jaw.

“Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely, and she sniffles, the praise tainted now, because she doesn't deserve it.

She can't remember how they end up in the elevator to his penthouse, but she's there, in his arms, sees her reflection, this tiny girl with messy hair and a flushed face and swollen lips and wet eyes, all light gone from within. Averting them, she looks at him and meets his warm gaze, soothing and comforting, and it only makes her sniffle again. His eyebrows furrow slightly, a sternness crossing his features, as if he wants to tell her to cheer up, to stop fussing, and it's enough to calm her, to stop the nagging thoughts, at least for a moment.

The ding startles her. The doors slide open, and he carries her further. She closes her eyes and leans into him, remembering how she left his apartment with almost the same mindset, miserable, thinking he'd bring her back to her old life, leave her behind, but now she knows she's staying, he'll keep her, and she should be grateful, happy, but she can't bring herself to feel that just yet.

Her eyelids flutter, and she looks around barely noticing anything. Well, until he doesn't carry her to his bedroom or the guest bedroom, but to one of the rooms he told her not to enter. He nudges the door open with his hip and turns the light on with much the same gesture, and her eyes widen.

She remembers his penthouse as dark and masculine, warm wooden floors with white walls and dark furniture, luxurious light fixtures, no clutter, barely any plants. Minimalist. The view she has now is anything but. It's colorful, a room exploding with soft hues of pinks and yellows and blues, white accents. Thick pale pink curtains cover the night view of the city, there are various plush looking rugs scattered over the hardwood floor, adding to the cozy feel.

A desk stands in the corner, looking out of one of two windows, the space filled with boxes and plastic containers that feel strangely familiar. She blinks her tears away, focuses on the rest of the room. One wall is covered in fairy lights that give off a soft glow, then there are two doors on the other side, one leading to a bathroom she can't look into, the other opening up into a large closet that's already filled with various clothes.

And then there's a big bed facing the windows, covered in throw pillows and blankets and soft looking quilts, and atop one of the pillows sits a used looking stuffed animal. Mister Wolfie. She can't help the sob when it forces its way out of her throat.

This is her room, from her old shitty apartment, her room, in his penthouse. Cluttered and cozy and filled with her stuff (well, he replaced the furniture, the desk, the chair, the bed), the stuff she had to leave behind. He even added new ones, a nice sofa and a large bookshelf, thrice as big as her old one, already filled with books, and again she recognizes the few things she had owned. He even brought the old mirror with the thick white frame that's now leaning against the wall next to the bed, showing her startled reflection.

She's crying softly, completely overwhelmed, by the time he sets her down, holding her by the shoulder as he finally takes off the belt from around her arms. Her toes sink into the soft rug, and she rubs her wrists for a moment as she looks around, still not able to process it all. He had her place brought into his, made her her own little corner.

His hand finds her wet face, and when his thumb nudges her chin, she looks up at him, biting her lip, sniffling. “What do you think?” he asks, with a soft smile on his face.

She swallows hard, blinking new tears away. “I... I don't deserve this...”

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. “Baby, listen to me,” he says and cups her face with both hands. “You do, you do deserve this. You've been such a good girl for me, you did everything I asked, and more. I couldn't wish for anyone better, okay? You made mistakes, yes, and I'll have to punish you for them, but you'll take it like you did the last one and then we'll move on, yeah? I want you to feel comfortable here, with me.”

“I do!” she croaks out quickly, furrowing her brows. “But –”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, silencing her immediately. “This is your room. You can retreat to it when I'm not here or when I have to work. I still expect you to spend the night with me, in my bed, and I will use you whenever I want, how we established, right?”

She nods into his hands. “Yes, sir.”

“You are mine,” he says and lowers his head until his nose brushes against hers. “All of you is mine. Whenever, wherever I want.” He tilts his head and presses his lips to hers, but he's gone the moment she tries to kiss him back, straightening back up to walk to one of the nightstands.

She watches him with growing curiosity, slowly going back to telling herself that this is her purpose, and it's an honor, a privilege, that he cares so much about her, enough to bring her shitty little apartment into his prestigious penthouse. It's not something she's expected, not in a million years, but she is slowly accepting that it's okay to be happy about it. No matter what'll happen next.

Yet when he returns to her, she stiffens as she stares at the item in his hands. It's a thick leather band held together by a small lock between two metal rings, with another metal ring in the back. A collar. She swallows.

“I didn't intend to give this to you just yet,” he tells her, and she looks up at him, “but I think this'll do nicely as part of your punishment.”

She's breathing heavier when she watches his long fingers fidget with the collar. The lock clicks open when he presses his thumb to it, then he pulls the leather band apart.

“Hold up your hair,” he tells her quietly, and even though her hands are shaking, she follows the order, gathers her hair and twists it into a messy bun she holds at the back of her head.

He walks behind her and snakes his hands through her arms, then she feels the soft leather pressing against her throat. He turns her to face the mirror and meets her gaze. She's so tiny and frail with him bulking behind her, his big hands still moving the collar with enough finesse. The lock clicks shut again, and the thick band sits around her neck, not too tight, but barely loose enough to maybe slip her fingers under it.

“Only I can open this lock,” he says, his finger running along the thick edge of the leather before he grabs her wrists and makes her let go of her hair, his fingers weaving through it before he puts his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a little. “This collar is a sign of my possession, you are my possession, my property, my good little girl, aren't you?”

She swallows, her throat moving against the wide leather band. “Yes, sir,” she says breathlessly.

He moves his hand along her neck, then hooks a finger into the metal ring at the front of the collar. “As your punishment, because you tried to run away from me, I will leash you,” he says, gently tugging at the collar, making her sway a little. “To this room. You can go to the bathroom, you can shower, you can sleep. You'll always have food and water. You will stay in this room until I say otherwise. I may visit you, but maybe I won't. We'll see. Gotta keep you on your little toes, right?”

He turns his head and presses his lips to her cheek, catching a tear that slipped from her eyes. He inhales deeply, watching her closely.

“No need to cry. You'll get through this, we'll get through this. You understand that this is necessary, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, licking her lips. He nods, then lets go of her and shortly leaves the room. She just stands there, on the soft rug, staring into the mirror that used to stand in her old apartment. The collar isn't too bad, but it feels heavy in a way that's important. It needs some getting used to, but she'll manage (once she stops being so overwhelmed by it all).

A sudden rattling sound makes her flinch, and she turns around to see him carrying a long chain made of thin but sturdy looking metal links. There's a ring on one end, and the same small lock that he opens with his thumbprint once more. Standing in front of her, he attaches the chain to her collar, and she feels the weight of it immediately, a gasp escaping her. He notices her reaction, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll get used to it, don't worry,” he tells her, then walks to the far wall and into the closet, pulling the clanging chain behind him until it uncoils and tugs on her, making her stumble forwards a few steps. Her hands fly up to grab it and hold it in place. It feels smooth and not as heavy as she has thought. Probably stainless steel or aluminum or something, she has no idea and frankly doesn't care. It won't change anything.

She sees him attaching the other end somewhere in the closet, before another tug runs through the long line. He glides the chain along his palm as he returns to her, smiling softly. His hands find her shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her blouse before he pushes it off her shoulders, then opens the small buttons and the bow in the front.

A shiver runs through her when it falls to the ground. He keeps watching her as he moves his hands lower to slowly push the skirt over her hips. She steps out of it mindlessly, holding his gaze, holding her head up even though the chain drags it down a little. “Look at you, so beautiful,” he coos, turning her around once more, hands gliding up and down her sides, fingers teasing at the swell of her breasts.

The chain rests between them, the metal cool on her skin. She feels exposed but strangely confident as well. The way he looks at her makes her stomach tense and her cunt clench around nothing. He inhales deeply, wrapping one arm around her back to press her to his chest, then turns her slightly.

“Look in the mirror,” he tells her, and she does so, over her shoulder, and gasps at the sight. His free hand moves down her back and gently over the bright red skin of her ass cheeks. The bruises bleed into the still reddened welts on her thighs. “You've taken your last punishment so well, you can take this too. I'd prefer it if I wouldn't have to punish you at all, but I'm sure you'll learn your lesson. You already did, didn't you?”

She nods, biting her lip. “And I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“I know you are,” he replies and nuzzles his nose into the soft skin behind her ear. “And you'll be a good girl and make me proud, won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she breathes, closing her eyes as her breath quickens.

“Good,” he says and leans back abruptly, his hand smacking hard against her rear, making her cry out in pain, tears burning in her eyes. He steps away and picks up her clothes. “Now get some rest, maybe take a shower. You will remain like this, understood? No clothes, even if your closet is full of them. This is part of your punishment.”

She swallows, the collar seemingly tightening. Her lungs burn. “Yes...”

He watches her, then looks around the room once more. “I don't care how you pass the time, read or –” He waves his hand over the boxes on the desk. “Do some arts and crafts or whatever you did with these things.”

She licks her lips, wants to smirk at his words, but she feels too empty, the weight of her new situation pulling her down like the chain does the collar. She carefully sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing through the sting of her skin against the cool material of the quilt, and mindlessly moves the chain links through her hands.

“I have one condition, though,” he continues, oblivious to her struggles. “If I catch you with your fingers in your cunt, I will have to think of yet another punishment. Unless I give you a toy to play with, you will refrain from touching yourself, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, almost automatically, not even having the desire to do what he suggests. If there is one desire burning within her, it's to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, his strength, his dominance, (his cock in her cunt), but it sounds as if he's going to leave her for a bit, and that might just be the worst punishment.

She notices how he looks up into one corner of the room, and she frowns at the sight. It's hidden, but it's obvious: a little dome made of dark glass, a camera mounted to the ceiling. And even though she should be appalled by it, it makes her feel a little better. If he's willing to keep an eye on her when he isn't here, then that's better than him forgetting about her completely.

When he takes a step towards the door, she jumps up quickly, the chain rattling quietly. He stops, looking at her, his eyebrows rising up when she falls to her knees in front of him. Her hands itch to reach out to him, but she keeps them on her thighs, clenched into fists, and looks up at him.

This is my purpose, she reminds herself, my place, on my knees in front of him. He may do with her whatever he wants, but she wants this too, if not for herself, she wants it for him, to make him happy and proud. And she's grateful to be given so many chances. She truly is. Her mind is still reeling, trying to process everything that's happening, but when the words finally make it out of her mouth, she just lets them spill.

“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly, blinking away tears as she focuses on his face and his face alone. Nothing else matters. “For doing this, for this... my room, for your... patience with me... for... everything...”

The corner of his lips twitches when he reaches his hand out to touch her face, fingers slipping into her hair, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. She parts her lips, and he watches her for a moment, before pushing his thumb into her mouth, pressing hard onto her tongue. She closes her lips around his digit tentatively, giving it a gentle suck, the motion calming her instantly, her mind going quieter until he is all there is. Only him.

“My good little girl,” he coos, slowly moving his thumb back and forth between her tight lips, pushing deeper. “Welcome home, darling,” he adds, and she closes her eyes, fighting new tears that come for a completely different reason now. A familiar heat settles in her stomach and much lower. That traitorous itch flaring up all over again.

And she knows, she will do absolutely anything to be praised, to be his good girl, to make him happy. Even if it means wearing a collar and a leash, answering to his every whim. This is her purpose after all.

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

End notes: And there we go: our dear Darling is collared and leashed, fully submitting. Or is she? Well... her story isn't over yet. I am working on Season Three, so there will be at least ten more chapters. Soon.

I am taking an uploading break though as I visit my family over the holidays. Stay tuned for 2025 I guess :D

Thank you for reading and joining me on this wild adventure.

This started as a smut story, a dumping ground for my darker, kinkier ideas, but then the characters developed and plot was added and there was angst and confusion and drama and feelings? It's now so much more than just smut (even though every single chapter has at least one smut scene in it, wow what a feat...), and I hope to bring Sir and Darling's story to a proper end eventually.

See you soon!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾️SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[joe-spookyy]

who else has ever been personally victimized by season five episode sixteen of buffy the vampire slayer The Body. you know the one. the episode with no non-diegetic music. the episode with the major character death. the episode with the incredibly poorly timed title sequence. the episode that perfectly showcases how different people process grief and develops all its characters to the next level simply by showing us the both the big and little ways they react to this kind of pain. (yknow. buffy with the staying strong for everyone else and blaming herself. xander with the wall punching and quietness but still trying to make jokes. willow with the changing outfits and searching so hard for something she CAN control. anya with the trying so hard to comprehend something she went so long without having to understand. giles with the taking care of everything.) the episode thats one of only two buffy the vampire slayer episodes to be a featured article on wikipedia. the episode that might be the best done piece of television i’ve ever seen. the episode that had me nauseous cause i was crying that hard. you know the one.

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Episode 4

When Idol Factory first announced this series would be sixteen hour-long episodes, I thought that might be too much, but only four episodes in, and I NEED MULTIPLE SEASONS because I'm surprisingly loving each episode much like Pink Person Pin surprisingly loved that little cheek kiss from her Blue Beauty, so much that the blue door had to support her as she secretly blushed over it.

The major reason I love this show so much is Blue Beauty Anin is the perfect historical protagonist. She is rich. She has a trusty sidekick. She is intelligent. She has moxie! If she were a man, I'd be rooting for her to get the girl, but because she is a woman, I'm rooting even harder!

So it doesn't surprise me that her cousin also has a crush on her. She is wearing her blue after all.

Which just so happens to be when more purple starts to appear on Pin's clothing since blue + pink = purple.

But here's the thing - Just like a historical rich male protagonist, Anin's flaws are starting to show, like the fact that she made my girl Prik sad because she treated Prik like the servant Prik is by making her collect the balls rather than play with the royals.

And it could just be my bias showing since I love the actress, Looknam, but Anin is a princess. She has privilege. She has power. She has plans. And she has the means to make those plans happen because when she says she wants something, she gets it. When she says she is unhappy, people work to make her happier. And when she says move, people move.

Which is great. I support queer rights and wrongs! But what happens when Blue Beauty Anin hears "no"?

Can someone even say no? Can Pirk? Can Pink Person Pin?

Anin is using her cousin to make Pin jealous, but Ueangfah seems to actually like Anin, so in Anin's pursuit of what she wants, she is already hurting someone else beneath her because Princess Anin doesn't have to think of others.

Which I fully support.

Much like Anin letting Pin rest under a blue blanket, I think the story wants us to notice these moments so we can see Anin influence on others.

Anin is used to getting what she wants, but times are changing, and strangely enough, so are colors. Her brothers swapped colors this week.

And so did her aunt who wore a color only seen on Anin's mother up until now.

But, thankfully(?), her aunt was right back to her usual self when she left to attend to her duties outside of their beautifully large home(s).

Each character has been a consistent color, so to see everyone else change colors this episode EXCEPT Anin is interesting because, once again, I think the story wants us to see how stuck in her ways Anin is, so we can notice when her power starts to hurt her and she is forced to evolve.

Even Pin changed to purple as her feelings for Anin morphed, but Anin remained blue with a hint of how she can evolve by taking care of someone else instead of being cared for and with the color orange, which has been included in her dresses three times now.

I also found it interesting that Pin's pink was more vibrant once instead of the soft one she wears now.

And that her parents were blue and red. RIP parents who I never got to really know.

But back to Anin! She gets what she wants because she has power, but that power comes with a price. No matter how close Anin is with loyal sidekick, Prik is her servant, not her friend, and we keep getting little reminders of how little say Prik actually has over her life. Regardless of how Anin feels for her best friend, Pin is not a blood-related member of this family and (if I remember correctly) her adopted mother isn't either. Pin is beneath Anin, and doesn't have the freedom over her own life like Anin does. This isn't about being queer. This is about class.

So even though I should be delighted that the heavens approved of this relationship,

And that Pin was in Anin's blue (and her clothes) by the end of the episode,

I believe the series is already telling us that Anin doesn't have to change (her color), but that means everyone else will be forced to follow and do as they are told.

Even if they want to follow her until the very end.