#some of these songs sound overworked

[juliamccartney]

not to sound mean or pretentious but i think we need more labels that encourage genuinely creative and skilled musicians to do whatever crazy things they come up with and then just go with it & give them the resources to put themselves out there

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[muntitled]

Sweet Hearts

♡ Mark Lee x afab!reader

♡ Summary: Nothing could sway you from finding your producer attractive and you were okay with that fact...Before you knew it, every recording session was filled with stolen kisses that bled into fiery make-out sessions.

♡ Warnings: Language, Producer!Mark, Idol!Reader, Forbidden Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Humor Overworked Losers In Love, Smut (+18) Dom!Mark, Brat Taming, Minors DNI, Massive, Praise Kink, Slight Exhibitionist!Kink, Dirty Talk, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mark,

RAHHH, kinda feral writing this, I'm sorry

From the moment you established yourself in the industry, you had been quite comfortable viewing yourself as an independent career woman, thank you very much. Many men had tried and failed to sway you from the retches of your passion projects respectively. Hyuck being onesuch romantic endevour that had failed to shine in the shadow of your work. You had tried to make it work. You really did.

No amount of dick could keep you away from the studio. It was your hapoy place: nestled in a stuffy booth with your notepad opened on your lap filpped with slightly manic notes and lyrics.

No one, before Mark had ever seemed to share that sentiment.

"I'm a busy girl," your words barely left your mouth before being kissed away by Mark's eager lips. He was panting heavily. You both were, as he pressed you up against the wall of some record exec's boardroom. He swiped your braids out of the way, to better reach the expanse of skin by your neck. Both of you pawing at each other's clothes. Both of you overflowing with yearning.

"I'm a busy dude," he whispered back. "We don't have to turn this into anything serious, Sweetheart..." Mark's thumb was rubbing tentatively at your soft hips, as if waiting for the go ahead before he ravished you.

You had both decided this secrecy was enough. You and Mark perused the halls of your record company, greeting amicably as if you hadn't felt his hands around your throat.

He had kissed and kissed and kissed you, until someone inevitably walked by.

You had never met anyone as sonically obsessed as you are, until you were acquainted with Mark. He, would quickly become not only your incredibly talented and driven producer but also a friend with added benefits.

Before you knew it, every recording session was filled with stolen kisses that bled into passionate make-out sessions. You were developing a frankly perplexing habit of overanalyzing how attractive he looked when he runs his hand through his hair during spells of frustration- or when he got the incomparable burst of genius to freestyle over a beat as if it was a long lost friend. Nothing could sway you from finding your producer attractive and you were okay with that fact...

You couldn't retain satisfactory orgasms from your music alone, could you? You weren't inhumane... you needed a companion.

"I just want you..."

And he had you.

So badly it was beginning to mess with your concentration.

"Alright, let's run it from the top-"

It's not everyday a girl falls helplessly in love with her producer.

"Yo, you good?" Mark's voice sounds from the intercom, dragging your eye from your notebook up towards the two men on the other side of the sound glass.

"From the top?!" Haechan cries incredulously. Without looking at him, Mark nods. Wholly unimpressed by Donghyuck's whining. "I think the song's fine," Hyuck runs a hand through his hair. His large feet stomp on the carpeted floors and you fight off a grin.

Mark scoffs in that way that only Haechan gets him to do and you suck on the straw of your mocha from inside the booth. Your disposition screaming, 'the girls are fighting.'

"Yeah you would think the song's fine," Mark before he rolls his eyes, Hyuck petulantly screams, "What's that supposed to mean!?"

"She clearly wants us to carry on," your teeth clench down on your straw as you're ripped into the middle of their argument.

"Do you want us to carry on?" Mark asks and your throat goes dry. Behind him, Haechan's palms are clutched together as he mouths 'Please, no, please!'

"I-"

You were at a crossroads.

The urge to people please was gnawing at your insides as your eyes drifted from Haechan, a vocal coach you loved and adored and Mark, a producer you'd just started working with...

The urge to give into them both was hanging heavily on you.

"Remember, Sweetheart, it's okay," Mark's voice sounds from the speaker, eliciting a wave of... something you're not quite sure of yet.

A crush... perhaps.

"I would..." You clear your throat, swing Haechan's eyes, "I would feel better if we polished some things up,"

Mark nods along, a small smile tugging at his lips. A look of betrayal on Hyuck's face.

You knew perfectly well that the song was fine, better than fine, actually. The only thing stopping you from leaving the studio was the boring life that awaited you. Your boring apartment with your boring cat (whom you loved dearly). Everything beyond these four walls was as monotonous as the day is long. No one waited for you out there.

In here though...

"Okay, yeah, no. I can't do this," You watch Haechan gather his belongings with incredulous eyes.

"You're abandoning me? We haven't even gotten to the chorus and you're abandoning me."

Haechan's hair is in complete disarray as he types hurriedly on his phone and you're left to watch from inside the booth. "While you re-record and re-record an already perfect record, my stomach has growled 5 times-"

You roll your eyes, "Haechan, food is for the weak. We can do this."

"I can't," He shook his head, evading eye contact as he pulled on his letterman jacket, effectively stowing away hi will to work and be persuaded to work.

"Let him leave." There's something in Mark's tone to suggest you quit trying to persuade Haechan.

"You psychos can overwork yourselves together."

When Haechan left, he took with him, a sense of platonic ease. Here, with Mark staring directly at you, his presence was stifling.

~

There aren't any actual windows in here... if it weren't for a quick glance af your phone, you would've never known night has already fallen.

"What would really be hot is if you added the last word of the verse, ad libitum. So if you said 'takeoff' but with like a lower pitch in between the chorus and the second verse. I think that would be great," You realize you had taken to swaying in one spot and quickly corrected yourself as you placed your hands on your headphones and nodded, vaguely agreeing but never really hearing anything after the words 'great'. Hearing anything falling from Mark's plump lips at this very moment would send your imagination hurtling into the fiery pits of hell. Him, staring at you so intensely through the glass and behind the soundboard left you unable to focus.

"Sweetheart?" He says, with a finger on the intercom. "Do you get me? If you do, I'm gonna need to hear you use your words, okay?" With his eyes fixed solely on you, waiting patiently for your compliance, you are convinced he was literally and figuratively trying to kill you.

"Sorry," You say, trying to dispute how heavily his words weighed down on you, "I'm thinking about all the babies that die in between you purposely using the words ad libitum instead of just saying ad lib." Saving yourself with swift and easy rebuttal had always been a specialty...

"Sorry, sorry!" Said Mark, "I'll stop with the annoying producer talk," he rolls his eyes behind the glass of his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Dont stop," You find yourself saying, "Its hot.

Seconds pass with Mark's index finger tapping away at the soundboard.

"Continue."

But it was incredibly difficult to continue with your mind and all its unsavory thoughts seeping out of your skull and straight into your lyrics. Perhaps working on the more explicit songs with Mark had been an utterly dire decision, one that practically solidified your downfall.

As you rattle through the dirty lyrics, you make sure to keep a firm gaze on him. Mark maintains eye contact from behind the glass, giving nothing away under his black cap, clad in his short sleeve black shirt and his all black attire.

The dimness of the studio suddenly feels too dim.

This 'mood' that Mark had strived to create in the peroration of your session is suddenly working too well.

Soon, the track is being replaced by Mark's slightly gruff voice echoing in your headphones.

"Sorry to cut you off, Sweetheart," The coolness with which he utters the nickname releases a wave of arousal in your core, and you inadvertently take a seat on the stool closest to you, subtly crossing your legs in front of you.

"I just want you to take note of something for me real quick..." for a moment you’re only nodding slowly, waiting for him to continue but he never does. Mark sits silently staring at you with yet another earth shattering, unwavering gaze. You're confused, which Mark would have found incredibly adorable if you weren't actively being such a brat.

"I said take note of something for me, please." He finally lifts his hand, making vague scribbles into the air.

"Mark. You want me to actually write this down?" He only responds with a succinct, I-dare-you-to-argue-with-me "Please."

You make a petulant display of rolling your eyes. His chuckles bleed into your headphones, disrupting your nonverbal tantrum when he says, "You really are trying it today..."

"Maybe if I had someone to correct this attitude, we wouldn't have found ourselves here, would we?" You mutter the sentence as you're staring into you notepad, completely evading his heated gaze. Silence grows pregnant between the two of you before Mark continues, completely choosing to ignore you.

"I'd like you to take note of the brisk allegro that erupts in the pre-chorus," He spins his pen between his fingers as he reads from his own notes. He looks absolutely worn out and so unmistakably beautiful it makes you want to scream.

"I think that part in particular might be vital in solidifying the overall kick of the actual chorus." Not to mention, seeing him in work mode tickled your ovaries in ways you could never have foreseen. In the studio, you had always been the one wading through the laziness of others, picking up the slack where needed and making it your obligation to ignite your producers with the zeal to work with your meticulous ass. But Mark had turned the tables and for the very first time you find yourself unable to think about work.

"Mark," You send him a bored expression, "I literally make slut music, do you really need to be calling it an allegro?"

He is quick in pressing the intercom to clap back, "Slut music deserves a well mastered allegro too, don't you think?" You're only left to slump your shoulders as he continues.

By this point, you know that he knows exactly what you want for him.

Why you're being particularly difficult to work with.

Why you were fighting him on every term but for some unexplainable reason, he's keeping you from it.

"It's good but I feel like we need a pure unprocessed sound... the song sounds too wet, I dunno,"

You inhale sharply, raising a finger into the air, to which, Mark completely ignores you, keeping his eyes on his notes, his brown locks brushing along his eyes.

"And if you're gonna say 'I could tell you something else that's wet' don't bother, because you'll only get muted."

Your shoulders once again sag and you find yourself audibly whimpering into the mic. That quickly catches Mark's attention, and you're left wading in the scrutiniy of his gaze.

"Fuck, I cant work with you like this." He rakes his fingers through his hair, forcing you to rub your exposed thighs under your miniskirt together for the umpteenth time. "Tell me what you need."

"You know what I need..."

He curses under his breath before sending a worried gaze over his shoulder and you realize you have won. It was custom for Mark to send a worried gaze over his shoulder at the door, as if terrified that Hyuck might storm into the studio, face crimson and finding his best friend not only fucking the object of his interest but dominating her.

"I think you need it too." You're quite literally the snake tempting Eve in the garden and he sends another helpless glance at the door before complying.

"A-Alright. Come out here for me real quick," this is what excited you most about Mark. Hearing the trepidation in his voice mixed with Mark's innate nervousness made you dizzy with desire. His anxiety yet still a need to be dominant... it drove you wild.

"Where is this attitude coming from?" He asks, once you appear by his side, inching towards him as if terrified by your own creation. He does not bother to get up, does not bother to tell you stand in front of him, in between his legs. You just do.

It's as if he's saying 'Do what you want. You're your own person.' Knowing full well how effortlessly you tended to submit to him.

"How wet are you?" He asks then, letting his hands graze your hips as you stand before him. His eyes squeezing shut as he rests his head on your abdomen. Your hands come up to pat down at his hair. Overgrown and brown.

"Why don't you find out?"

Mark is slow to closing the notebook on his lap and putting it vaguely near the soundboard without ever taking his eyes off You.

You can see the dark half moons underneath his eyes, stabbing at, not only your arousal, but your innate need to just take care of him. His eyes remain focused on you as he moves to clamp his hand on your exposed thigh, watching your lips part ever so slightly.

"Consider this a brief, very brief recess."

"Yes sir," You had intended for the words to come off more teasingly than it actually did, but it runs straight through to Mark's dick and he's removing his hands from your skin like you have mustered the ability to spontaneously catch on fire.

"Fuck," he replies, sending one more gaze at the door before looking at you once more. With a shaky breath escaping through his lips, he looks utterly wrecked and completely conflicted. You let him wade through the motions without any input.

You just stand there, waiting patiently for his next command.

Mark sits back in his seat, running both hands down his face before saying, "Fuck, alright. Take your underwear off for me..." You speedily oblige as your hands delve underneath your denim skirt. Mark watches with bated breath and clenched teeth as he rubs his fingers along his lips like he's thinking very deep and very hard about something. You hook your fingers into the sides of your pink laced panties, slowly dragging them down as you and Mark both watch each other with steel gazes.

"Keep the skirt on," His resolve melts, his sight set on your ruined underwear. He notices far too quickly that it's his favorite pair, eliciting another wavering breath from him as his other hand clamps around your thigh to pull you impossibly closer.

"You planned this, didn't you?" You can feel the warmth of his shallow breathing as he places his forehead on your abdomen, while he brings his fingers up to your lips.

"Open your mouth for me..." You automatically obey, bringing your mouth around his middle and index fingers. For a short while, his face remains hidden in your dress as you suck, almost petulantly on his fingers. Perhaps he feels a mixture of shame for enjoying this entire scene far too much and soon, he feels he has to peel his face away from your dress to watch you suck so prettily on his fingers.

"F-fuck, baby," His voice is strained between a mixture of a coo and a moan as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, almost immediately delving underneath your skirt, slotting them inside your drenched cunt. He is utterly ruthless as he sits on the edge of his seat, one hand claimed around your thigh as his fingers fuck in and out of you with absolute vigor. The man is utterly overcome with lust, sporting his own hard on in his joggers as he looks up at you, "Come on, baby... tell me you feel good, you know you want to."

His voice is dripping sex and your mind is completely blown with pleasure as you throw your head back. It is a mystery how you're still standing, but Mark's grip on your hip is concrete.

"Oh God- your fingers feels so good inside me, Fuck." He rewards you by letting his fingers drift over your swollen clit, racking another torrid moan from your throat as he begins to circle it with purpose. You clamp your head against Mark's hunched shoulders, his face once again buried in your dress.

"I just need'a take care or my little angel, don't I?" He's an incoherent, mumbling mess, his words as sloppy as the hands sliding against your clit, "But she makes it difficult when she's being a stuck up little brat," Your head is still craned back while his face is buried against your abdomen and it is as if you both cannot stand to truly see yourselves in such a depraved, animalistic state.

"You're squeezing my fingers baby- Fuck, is this how bad you needed me?" Mark finally cranes back to look up at you. His cheeks are ruddy and his hooded eyes are blown into saucers, "It's so fucking distracting having you so close to me." Your hips cant against his hands until soon, your legs begin to quiver. Mark brings his arm around your waist, forcing you to stand and take everything he gives you.

"You know when you're really needy like this, all you have to do is ask, baby. You know I love taking care of my baby, don't you?" You nearly cum then and there.

"Please Markie-"

"F-Fuck I didn't plan on fucking you today, least of all here. But I really need you right now, alright, pretty girl?" Your body shudders at the lost of his fingers inside you, one more flick against your clit and you would have came all over his fingers.

"Bend over for me, yeah? Mind the sound board." Mark finally rises from his chair, immediately cupping your face with his hands as he bows his head down to you, "I just wanna feel my baby girl squirm around me-" that particular string of words has you whimpering incoherently as Mark crowds behind you, pushing you up against the desk. Your hands grip the edge, careful not to temper with any sonic equipment as Mark raises your skirt lightly. His hand grazes your bare ass and you're sent reeling as your own anxieties begin to set in. You're made strikingly aware that you had never actually had sex in the studio. Lightly touching and horny pawing at each other is the most that has ever been achieved within these four walls but going all the way...

"Daddy- I m-mean, Mark, can we-"

"Shh- it's okay." He says, as if reading your thoughts, "It's totally fine, barely anyone's here. They all left-" while he coos in your ear, you feel Mark lightly push you over the desk before lifting your skirt. He tries to brush over the 'daddy' thing for the sake of your own pride but he can't help the way his cock twitched at your slip of the tongue.

"Holy fucking shit." His curses bring your mind to unholy places, being someone that rarely ever swears. Mark is absolutely far gone as he is quick to bring his cock out of his sweat pants and ease into you without a second thought.

"I need you to call me daddy again." He admits as he begins fucking you with absolute fervour. His hand is on your hip, forcing you to take each and every bit of him.

"F-fuck," is all you're able to say as he bottoms out inside of you. Your walls contract around him, stopping him for pulling out too far, and only swallowing him deeper until the head of his cock is pushing up against a bundle of sensitive nerves. You're left to squeeze your own breasts as Mark fucks you from behind, lost in the haze of chasing his own orgasm.

"Baby, if you want me to cum quick enough I need you to call me Daddy in that sexy fucking voice of yours. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"F-Fuck daddy you make me feel s-so"

"F-Fuck, I'm not gonna last long-" He warns.

You'repanting, as Mark begins to rut against you with little to no more constraint.

"No one slese can make you feel this good, baby?" His eyes are half crescents as he says, "Tell me you love me baby,"

"I love you, daddy- I fucking need you-"

Oh-fuck I'm going to c-cum" He exclaims, eyes squeezed shut before forcing them open.

"Oh-god, oh fuck,"

His orgasm, sparks your own. Mark hisses as he drags his cock out of your cunt before spilling his seed all over your ass. He's shaking so bad, some even reaches your skirt but he's too far gone to care.

Soon, your orgasm blazes through you like a million suns burning in your core all at once. Mark is absolutely enamored. "Back to work."

"Mark- my underwear."

"Just..." he sughs, his lips pressing against your cheek in a lingering kiss, "Get back in the booth."

[tinytinyblogs]

Take Me Back

After the breakup, all they can think about is you.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan had been isolating himself since the breakup, retreating into his studio and shutting out the world. At first, he thought it was what he needed—to be alone and process everything. But as the days blurred together, he wasn’t sure anymore. Was he giving himself space to heal, or was he just drowning in his own sadness? The once-productive sanctuary of his studio became a place of frustration. The half-finished song on his computer screen mocked him, the melody incomplete, the lyrics refusing to flow. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus. All he could feel was the heavy ache in his chest. In that moment, he swore all he could think about was you. His mind reeled, his breath caught, and he realized he had never known just how important you were in his life until now. Sometimes, he swore he could hear your voice, faint but clear, nagging him gently like you used to whenever he overworked himself. The familiarity of it almost brought him comfort, but it was just a reminder of how much he missed you. His friends were worried.

They tried to coax him out, to remind him that he didn’t have to deal with this alone, but Chan would just shake his head and offer a weak smile. He spent his days clicking his pen absentmindedly, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. One evening, as the pen clicked rhythmically in his hand and he stared blankly at his computer screen, the door creaked open. He didn’t look up at first, too lost in his thoughts. But then he caught sight of you standing there in the corner of his vision. He blinked, startled, his heart skipping a beat it's a quiet exchange of gazes between you and him. "Stupid imagination," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the screen. “Until when are you going to keep caving yourself in like this, Chan?” His head snapped up, his wide eyes locking onto yours. The sound of your voice was too clear, too real. He couldn’t believe it. “Have you eaten?” you asked softly, stepping closer to him. Before he could respond, you reached out and gently took the pen from his hand.

Chan froze his voice seems caught in his throat, perhaps because he's too surprised to see you standing there in front of him. His breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, but when you didn’t disappear, he stood abruptly. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you close. “It’s real... it’s really you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “God, I missed you so much.” His face buried itself in the curve of your neck as if he couldn’t let go. Your hand gently patted his back, and he exhaled shakily, some of the tension in his body melting away. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Please don’t leave. Keep nagging me, please. I need you in my life.” You let him hold you, your presence grounding him. “I thought I’d lost you forever after that stupid argument,” Chan said, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “But now… I know I can’t lose you. Not when I need you the most.” And for the first time in weeks, his heart felt just a little lighter.

Minho

Minho was stubborn, always had been. After the messy breakup, he carried on as though everything was fine, pretending nothing had changed. To most, he seemed unaffected, moving through his days with the same routine. But underneath the facade, he felt hollow. Without you, his world felt off balance. Motivation, once his driving force, slipped through his fingers. He went through the motions, but everything felt heavier now. Minho became more irritable, snapping at small things that would’ve never bothered him before. He wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but even he couldn’t deny that everything felt wrong without you. Though Minho had never been one for overt displays of affection, he missed the simple things—like holding your hand, the warmth of your fingers intertwined with his. It was ironic how much he craved it now, a reminder of what he’d lost. In quiet moments alone, he’d find himself staring at his phone case, the one you’d given him. The stickers you both had printed together—the ones that matched like high school sweethearts—mocked him with memories of happier times.

He’d trace his finger over them absentmindedly, his chest tightening at how much he missed those days. One particularly rough day, overwhelmed by the mess of emotions he kept bottled up, Minho decided to go for a run. The cold air burned his lungs as he pushed himself harder, as though he could outrun the ache in his heart. But when he stopped, panting and catching his breath, he froze. He was standing in front of your apartment building. His feet seemed to have carried him there without him even realizing it. Somehow, he found himself wondering just how much he had been longing for you. Before he even realized it, his feet had carried him to your place—but even then, he couldn’t bring himself to turn back. For a moment, he debated turning back, but the pull was too strong. Before he knew it, he was stepping inside and walking toward your door. And then, as if fate had planned it, the door swung open. You were there, about to head out. Both of you froze. “How many times do I need to tell you to zip up this jacket?” Minho broke the silence, stepping closer.

Without waiting for permission, he gently pulled the zipper up, shielding you from the cold. “Winter’s coming soon.” His voice was soft but firm, and the gesture was so familiar that it made your heart ache. His hand gently cradled yours, feeling the coldness of your hand, and slowly, his warmth began to transfer to you. There was a beat of silence as he looked at you, his gaze searching yours. Finally, he spoke again. “We should... get back together.” Your breath hitched, but you didn’t respond, letting him continue. “We made that silly promise, remember? To stay together forever,” he said, his voice quieter now. A hint of tears welled up in his eyes, revealing a side of Minho you had never seen before. “I still want that. I still want you.” Minho’s hand reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment. “I’m sorry... and I love you.” For the first time in weeks, Minho allowed himself to hope.

Changbin

Changbin couldn’t take it anymore. The weight of his own words—those impulsive, thoughtless words that shattered everything—had been suffocating him from the moment they left his lips. A few days had passed since the breakup, but each one dragged on endlessly, a torment he couldn’t escape. Regret gnawed at him like a relentless shadow, keeping him restless and desperate. That evening, he sat alone on the couch in his apartment—the same one you used to share. His leg bounced nervously as he buried his face in his hands, trying to untangle the chaos of his thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried, every thread led back to you. The empty space beside him, the silence that filled the room, and the constant ache in his chest all screamed one thing: he needed to fix this. He needed you back. By midnight, the longing became unbearable. Grabbing his jacket, Changbin bolted out the door, his heart hammering with every step. The cold night air stung his cheeks, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed with you—your smile, your laughter, the way you looked at him as if he were your whole world. How had he let it all slip away?

When he reached your place, his hand trembled as he reached for the spare key you had once entrusted to him. The metal felt cold against his skin, a stark reminder of what he had lost. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, his heart pounding so loudly it echoed in his ears. The sight of you stopped him in his tracks. You stood in the dimly lit kitchen, reaching for a glass of water. Your movements froze as you noticed him, your wide eyes mirroring his surprise. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Changbin’s teary eyes locked onto yours, his longing laid bare. You were the one he had missed more than words could ever express, and seeing you now, so close yet so distant, nearly broke him. “I... I’m so sorry,” he finally stammered, his voice quivering. “For the argument. For the awful things I said. I didn’t mean any of it.” He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes glistening with tears he could no longer hold back. His shoulders shook under the weight of his emotions, but he pressed on. “Please… don’t leave me.”

His voice cracked as he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. The familiar warmth of your touch sent a jolt through him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. His thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, a silent plea for forgiveness. “That day was stupid,” he admitted, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Everything without you is stupid. I can’t think straight. My heart hurts so much, longing for you.” He tilted his head, his teary eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “What should I do without you?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Can we… can we try again? Please. Let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything—just don’t let this be the end.” For a moment, the room was filled with silence. Changbin held his breath, his heart suspended between despair and fragile hope. As his hand squeezed yours, his eyes pleaded with you. And in that stillness, he dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same ache he did.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin sat on the edge of his bed, his phone resting in his trembling hands. The screen illuminated his face in the dimly lit room, his thumb hovering uncertainly over your contact. It had been two weeks since the breakup, and those fourteen days felt like a void swallowing him whole. He wanted to reach out, to see you, to explain everything, but his pride and fear kept him chained. The idea of showing up unannounced at your door was tempting, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he turned to his art, pouring his emotions onto blank pages as a silent plea to you. Every sketch he posted on social media held pieces of your story: your favorite flower, softly rendered in delicate lines; your favorite place, drawn with a wistful longing only he could convey; and little moments only you two shared, immortalized in graphite. They were messages without words, confessions without context, but still, you didn’t respond. Each day of silence cut deeper, leaving him questioning whether you even saw them or if you had chosen to ignore him altogether.

Tonight, the uncertainty became unbearable. His thumb hovered over your contact name once more, hesitating as doubts clouded his mind. What if you didn’t want to hear from him? What if he was only making things worse? But the ache in his chest pushed him forward. With a shaky breath, he finally typed out a message 'Can we talk?' He stared at the words for a long moment, his heart pounding as he debated whether to send them. When he finally hit the send button, relief and anxiety washed over him in equal measure. The message went through. You hadn’t blocked him—that alone was enough to spark a fragile hope. Emboldened, he typed again, his emotions spilling out 'About us. I want to explain myself… and I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance.' After hitting send, Hyunjin couldn’t sit still. He started pacing the room, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. Each passing second felt like an eternity, his mind racing through possibilities. Maybe you wouldn’t reply. Maybe you were done with him for good. Just as his resolve began to waver, his phone buzzed. He froze, staring at the screen as your reply appeared 'Come over.' Hyunjin didn’t waste a moment.

He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of his apartment, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the world around him. He ran down the street, barely remembering to slip on his shoes, his thoughts a chaotic blend of hope and fear. When he arrived at your door, he hesitated for just a moment before knocking. The door opened, and there you were. His breath hitched as your eyes met, the weight of the past two weeks settling between you. You stepped aside to let him in, and he entered slowly, his hands fidgeting at his sides as the door clicked shut. “I miss you,” he began, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His dark eyes, brimming with sincerity, searched yours. “And I’m sorry. Losing you—my anchor, my everything—was unbearable. I’ve been falling apart.” He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he clasped them together. “Can we… try again?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t let you go. You’re the one for me. Please, give me another chance.” His vulnerability lingered in the air, and for a moment, the silence felt infinite. But as you looked at him, his honesty and pain breaking through your defenses, the barriers between you began to crack.

[darylssunshine]

Torture

summary: you teased daryl, and now he's getting his revenge.

word count: almost 3.7k

genre: smut

warnings: p in v, choking, biting

era: commonwealth

a/n: this picture got me so deranged that I wrote several essays worth of smut. god. || thanks to @dixons-sunshine and @shadowcitrine on some parts of this!

~~~

Rubbing a hand down his face, Daryl opened the door to your shared home, exhausted from his supply run. The sound of the door clicking open and his hard boot steps on the floor were unmistakable, so you hollered down at him from upstairs.

“Hey, Dar!” You shouted in a sing-song way.

Immediately in a slightly better mood just by hearing your voice, he replied back in a louder than normal talking voice. “Evenin', sunshine.”

Grunting, he set his bag down near the door, noting to deal with it tomorrow when he didn't feel like he was going to literally fall apart where he stood. He gripped his elbow to stretch his forearms, followed by his neck.

He had lost his stealthy grace that he had when he was hunting just hours before, as his loud footsteps climbing the stairs could be heard throughout the house, the floorboards creaking loudly. He headed towards your shared bedroom when he noticed the bathroom light illuminating the adjacent wall, along with an interesting looking leaf you found and thumbtacked to the wall for “decoration.” What he was greeted with when he turned the corner into the bathroom was something he had definitely not been expecting. He was catatonic in his tracks.

You turned around to greet him in a silky, red dress that hugged you just right. It had a v-neck neckline, and it came down to your middle thighs, not showing any signs of you wearing anything underneath.

He raised an eyebrow while slowly looking you up and down, drinking you in. “S’all this?” He leaned his forearm on the doorframe to get a better look at you, suddenly not thinking about his sore neck anymore.

You noticed your husband's sultry look and grinned, redness adorning your cheeks. “Just something I found while I was out a couple of weeks ago. Nothing special.”

As an act of disagreement, Daryl slid behind you to grip your hips and put his face in the nape of your neck, breathing in your scent. His stubble tickled your neck, making you giggle. “‘Nothin’ special’ my ass.”

His hands began to explore your body, rubbing your exposed shoulders, contrasting your smooth skin with his calloused, overworked hands. They went back down to your hips, savoring the curves and the dips. You snapped out of your trance of feeling Daryl's perfect hands on you when he snaked said hands under your dress.

“Hey! Handsy!” You squealed playfully and quickly turned around to face him, disconnecting his hand from your body. You then slapped his arm, and he smirked in response.

“Ain't I allowed to appreciate ya?” He purred rhetorically, pulling you in again by your waist and resting his forehead against yours. Giggles erupted from your lips once more, very much enjoying the state your husband was in and how you alone made him like that.

“You definitely are, but…” You broke apart your intimate embrace, much to his dismay. “This isn't for you. I'm going out with a friend.”

“Oh?” Daryl questioned dangerously. He had no problem with you going out late and hanging out with your friends, but God damn it, he was horny.

You turned back to the mirror to fix your hair before you headed out the door. “Yeah, remember Emily? The person I introduced you to at the party?”

He grunted affirmatively.

“We’re just gonna catch up over some drinks, I just felt like putting on something fancy.” You stated matter-of-factly, carefully squeezing past Daryl in the doorway to step down the stairs, him following in tow.

He leaned against the banister of the staircase, arms crossed. “Aight. Have fun.”

“Dar, I won't do anything stupid. I swear.” Your eyes never leave his as you clasped your arms around his neck, emphasizing your seriousness.

Daryl placed a short yet loving kiss to your lips. “I know ya won't. Go on, now.”

You reluctantly separated yourself from him, but not before giving him yet another kiss in response. You both said your goodbyes, and you headed out to visit Emily.

---

The Commonwealth was lively, children’s laughter being heard from afar. You still weren’t that used to the usual hustle and bustle of everyday life there, but you were thankful that, in an apocalypse, this reality can still even exist. You were actually thankful to have a job again. You ran a small clothing shop right next to Princess’ vinyl shop. It was nice. A routine. Safety. Almost like a home.

Despite this, your shared home with Daryl had a tense atmosphere at the moment. He was grumpy all morning, only answering you in one or two word sentences. You tried and tried, pressed until you thought he was going to snap, anything to get him to talk to you. To communicate what he was feeling. But still, nothing. He was never that good at communication, even now. So, you let it go after a while, chalked it up to him waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You couldn’t help but worry if something was wrong, though. If you had done something wrong.

He was out doing God knows what, considering this was his day off from scouting with the Commonwealth Army. Hunting, probably. It’s what he did to get his mind off things. Get his anger out. Whatever he was feeling at that present moment.

Your suspicions were proven incorrect, though, because while you were standing outside your shop to get some fresh air, he seamlessly came into your peripheral view and leaned against the outside wall of the shop. You turned your head towards your husband's figure, and didn’t know how to react to what you saw standing before you.

He was in the outfit he practically lived in, his black jeans and long sleeve black sweater, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. His hair was matted, but still perfectly wavy, framing his face, only a few stray hairs in the way of his eyes. Three deskinned snakes adorned his neck, hanging limply against his chest. That was normal, though. He showed up with dead animals all the time. What was the most jarring, however, was his bloody hands, both of his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. It was almost like he had made absolutely no effort to clean them off in any way. Covered in blood and grime, excess blood dripping off his fingertips and onto the grass below. Dirt underneath his fingernails. Those three thick veins on both hands popping out a little bit more than usual. Almost like he knew that you wanted to see them like that. Imagining how they would look around your ne-

“Ya starin’, sunshine.”

Physically shaking your head, you forcefully broke yourself out of your Daryl induced haze. You cleared your throat and immediately sputtered out, “Nope. Nope. Not at all.” The clothing rack you were standing by suddenly seemed very interesting, so you absentmindedly flipped through the t-shirts, definitely not trying to hide your slightly flustered expression.

He hummed in amusement, and just like that, he was off to the communal kitchen to drop off his successful kill. Once you knew his gaze was out of view, you watched him walk all the way there until he shut the door behind him.

What the fuck?

—

The sheer strangeness of that interaction had you confused. Bewildered. Turned on. What?

You couldn’t focus. Thankfully, it had been a very slow day, only having one person browse the clothing within the last hour. You busied yourself with stock that you had been procrastinating for a few days.

You were about to bring the last box of clothes to the back, but your path there just so happened to include a window, and there was Daryl again, back against a nearby tree, staring at you through the glass. You shifted the box to be held with one arm to offer him an awkward wave. Of course, he did not return this greeting. Instead, he simply pulled something out of his pocket. It was a… peach that was cut in half. All while his half open eyes were locked with yours, he lifted the peach to his mouth, and you expected him to take a bite. What he actually did, however, was take a long lick down the middle with his tongue.

Oh.

He continued this at a purposely slow pace a few more times, and when his tongue went back into his mouth, you thought he was done. But he then raised his opposite hand to the peach and used his middle two fingers to glide over the fruit’s surface. Moving them back and forth, his fingers digging deeper into the squishy substance each time. He had gone about a knuckle deep before he took out his long fingers from the fruit. His fingers were drenched when he raised them up to his mouth and took in both fingers easily. They slid out of his mouth at an excruciatingly slow pace, his lustful gaze intensely boring into yours.

You didn't even know how long you’d been staring or how long your mouth had been agape when you ripped yourself away from the mirror and quickly hid in the back.

Your breathing was heavy and your cunt clenched.

What the fuck?

—

You definitely weren't focused on your job, now. That being effident by the few customers that came in after that interaction having to say your same several times at rising decibel levels to get your attention.

It was only thirty minutes until the end of your government assigned shift, so you resorted to walking around from behind the cashier’s counter to the main floor and pacing back and forth to try and release some of your anxious energy. It wasn’t working that well.

What was Daryl’s deal?

He clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk earlier, but now his mood was bolder. Daring. Flirtatious. It confused, and excited, but mostly confused the hell out of you. What could he be thinking? What reaction is he trying to achieve with this?

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the main entrance door open and heavy boots step on the tile floor below.

“Hey.”

You yelped in fear and snapped your gaze over to the door, only to be met with the man that you were just thinking about. “Jesus, Dar! Scared the shit outta me!”

Instead of apologizing, he stepped closer to the back wall where you were standing and said “Am I th’ one gettin’ ya all worked up? Hm?”

You wanted to retort with a pissy and witty response, but your brain could only muster up a sputtered, “Well- you- I was-”

“Use yer words, baby.”

You bit your cheek and took a deep breath. He was going to be the death of you.

“What the hell is your deal today?” It was a layered question that required a quite lengthy answer.

He didn’t give you that satisfaction, however. He instead stepped forward even more, leaving you with no more room, bumping into the wall behind you. His large hand then raised to your throat, wrapping it around easily, and slid it up, simultaneously raising your chin up to force you to look at him and slightly restricting your air flow. He looked at you like you were his prey, and he was ready to pounce.

“Guess you’ll haveta see.”

You didn’t even have time to process what just happened before he turned around and walked out the door.

What. The fuck.

—

Your heartbeat was noticeably higher as you locked the main entrance door at the end of your shift and started the walk back to your house. This entire day had been a fever dream. You had been racking your brain all day to figure out Daryl’s angle in all of this torture he was springing upon you. Was it a special day? No, Daryl remembered those, you thought back to him telling you that he made an extra effort to remember certain days to make you happy. But this was just a random day.

Was he trying some sort of kink out? You never thought that Daryl was into extra kinky stuff, but if that’s what it was, it was working.

Did he just think getting you all hot and bothered was funny? Some sort of game? This was impossible to crack.

You’ll have to have a talk with him, you thought as you stepped inside your safe haven. You were about to loudly announce your presence, but that proved to be unnecessary when you moved your head to the right, because there he was, and it took everything in you not to drop the keys that you were holding.

He was spread out on the couch that faced the doorway, so he was completely in your view. Both of his arms were resting on either side of him on the back of the couch. His legs were deviously and very obviously spread apart. He was manspreading.

Your mouth watered, and you swallowed hard.

Almost as if on cue, he tilted his head in a mocking manner. God, even him tilting his head had you weak in the knees. He knows you were being tortured. He knows.

“See some’n ya like?

Your eyes unconsciously went to the bulge that was growing his pants. Yes. Yes, you did.

Shaking your head again, you ripped yourself away from his crotch and forced yourself to look at him in his fiery blue eyes, walking more into the living room. “I’m not answering that until you answer my question from earlier.” You spoke almost nonchalantly. Almost.

He shifted, bringing his arms down to cross them across his chest and then crossed one leg over the other. As if he knew you wanted to see more, but he wasn’t allowing you. Not yet.

“‘Member last night when I came home and ya was wearin’ that dress?”

“Of course I do, and I had a nice time last night at Emily’s, thanks for asking.” You tried to sound snappy.

“Wanted ta fuck ya right then n there. Wanted to rip it off ya. Ta fuck ya ‘till ya couldn’t walk fer days.”

Any chance of forming a coherent thought was now lost. He took advantage of your silence and continued.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout ya that night. How I wanted ya so bad and ya just walked out the door without even lettin’ me touch ya. So…” He tilted his head again. “I did the same thing ta you. Made ya all hot ‘n bothered, then left.”

So many thoughts were in your head just then. But one was more prominent than the rest.

“So, you were jealous?” You raised an eyebrow and let a small grin creep onto your face.

“Ya wanna say tha’ again, brat?”

That thoroughly shut you up, your wide doe eyes locked with Daryl’s, the confidence you just expressed suddenly lost.

He raised his head a bit and huffed in amusement. “The teasin’ that I was doin’? Ya liked it, didn’t ya?”

An affirmative nod was all you could muster.

“Words, sweetheart.”

Fuck, he was going to kill you.

You bit your lip in embarrassment. “Yeah. I did.”

With that, he pushed himself off the couch. Within a couple seconds, he was standing right in front of you, his hand being placed on the wall right beside your head. Your eyes flicked down to his lips as a force of habit. He took notice of this and leaned down towards yours, your eyes already closed. But, the kiss never came. He had stopped only a couple inches from your face.

“Yer so needy ‘n I haven't even touched ya.”

A high-pitched whine bubbled up in your throat.

“Need you.”

You didn't even think you were going to say that. It just came out. An honest knee jerk response straight from the depths of your brain. You felt as if the world was going to collapse around you if you didn’t have him buried deep inside you.

Daryl jerked his chin towards your shared bedroom. "Bed." He watched with impassive eyes as your chest heaved with heavy breaths. "Now."

As if a feral animal had possessed you, you hungerly latched onto his chapped lips. He happily returned the passion, gracing you with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He licked your lower lip to gain entrance, and you granted it without a second thought. You leaned into the kiss, craving more. When he leaned back, you were reminded that you were still right next to a wall.

He was a mind reader, you thought. Because right after your head softly impacted with the wall behind you, he grasped the back of your thighs and effortlessly picked you up and supported your weight, all while continuing the fight for dominance with his tongue. You yelped when he squeezed your ass with his large hand, but it was muffled by the mouth that was currently connected to yours. Your arm instinctually wrapped around the back of his neck, while the other grabbed his hair and pulled, desperate to touch any part of him you could.

He fucking growled.

The next thing you knew, you were being gently but firmly tossed onto the king-sized bed. You wasted no time getting your clothes off, and neither did he. Shirts, pants, bras, and vests were discarded to the floor with no care. The room was filled with heavy breaths and anticipation.

He crawled on his hands and knees to get to you, his eyes never leaving yours; a predator stalking his prey. He started marking his territory by sucking and biting your skin, earning a sudden hiss of pleasure from you. The squirming and unholy noises started when he bit and sucked right on the side of your neck, leaving no question who you belonged to. He gazed at his work like an artist admires their newly finished painting.

“Now everyone’ll know who owns ya.” He popped a tit in his mouth and lightly bit your nipple, rolling the other one with his pointer finger and thumb.

You had a vice grip on the sheets, neck straining to see your beloved.

He brought a hand down to your crotch and lightly swiped the area with two fingers, then ran fingers along the inside of the waistband teasingly.

“Dar…” You pleaded.

“Yeah?” He retorted, acting clueless as to what you needed, slowly removing your black panties and throwing them behind him to the floor with the rest of the garments. Neck still straining, you had so many things you wanted to say, but your limited brain function only allowed you to bat your eyelashes at him. He left a trail of purposefully wet kisses from the middle of your abdomen down to the very top of your lips.

“Tell me what ya want, baby.” He teased your sensitive folds with a calloused finger tip, and a deep, mangled breath crawled its way through your throat.

“You. All of you.” You obediently responded. You couldn’t have been more sincere, your words breathy and desperate.

That was all Daryl needed to hear before he eagerly pulled his boxers down, his cock springing to life, the tip already angry and red. You tried so hard to keep your eyes locked with Daryl’s, but your eyes involuntarily flicked to his other head. And it got even harder to concentrate when he got impossibly closer, the tip grazing your folds. Your chest heaved with loud, open mouth breaths.

“Needy little brat.”

A broken yell could be heard throughout the house when he entered you almost entirely.

You clumsily wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to be closer. He could never be close enough. His strong arms were placed on either side of your head to watch and listen to the symphony that you were currently performing for him.

“Mhm. Yeah. Wanna hear ya.” He grumbled softly into your ear, nibbling the lobe below.

Your mind had already gone blank, now filled with only thoughts of Daryl. How good he was making you feel. How deep his voice could go when he wanted it to. How he hit your sweet spot just right. Daryl. Daryl. Daryl.

Judging by his weak chuckling, you must’ve said that last part out loud.

You were in absolute bliss, mouth agape and eyes starting to roll and seeing stars, and Daryl couldn’t get enough of it. One of his favorite things about sex wasn’t his own pleasure, but yours. Giving it to you and seeing how you react while doing it.

“Feel so good. Fuck. So good.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth, no thought behind them. Pure honesty and ecstasy.

Daryl could tell you weren’t going to last long.

In an act of lust driven confidence, he propped himself up on his left forearm resting on your upper abdomen, while his other arm gripped the hair close to your scalp and yanked. Hard.

A high-pitched gasp filled the air. Your core became unimaginably tighter, begging for a release.

Daryl grunted through a half open mouth while giving you another hickey near your clavicle, roughly biting down just enough to hurt but not break the skin. His hazy eyes bore into you before he crashed down onto your lips, his hot breaths only exciting you more. “Let go, (Y/N.) I got ya.” He huffed in between when he was basically eating you alive.

Your insides became white hot fire. A mangled scream ripped through your throat, everything going blurry. You went limp on the bed, unmoving except your labored breathing. Daryl was in the same catatonic state but had his forehead pressed against yours so you could clearly see his sweaty and exhausted state. You both lay there for a few moments in sweet content silence. When you brought a hand up to stroke his cheek, he smiled.

“So, ya gonna wear that dress again?”

“Oh my God.”

Of fucking course you were.

[elmushterri]

Semester One of university had me unable to post 😭😭 so sorry!

In the meantime I was thinking about musicals (before Wicked, I promise 😭 I worked so long on this dumb idea)

I was thinking of a hypothetical musical… about the Solar System? You guys know me, my name is literally Jupiter.

It would start with the solar system forming and the Sun saying to young Jupiter that they’re also going to be a star at some point, time skip within the song and and uH, they’re more like the Sun’s overworked assistant. Until they snap and the story’s about overthrowing the Sun, planet shenanigans, and regretting it.

There’s also Saturn cause I envision Saturn being very uptight, isolated and a routine enjoyer (If you’re wondering, I totttally took inspiration from Pitch Black’s design and for the ring). Saturn has skeletons in his closet but only cause he keeps the solar system running too.

There’s also an element of Jovians Vs Terrestrials (Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus, Neptune VS Mars, Earth, Mercury and Venus) and this rivalry.

Also Jupiter’s four biggest moons (Io, Callisto, Ganymede and Europa) are her backup singers.

I have written a couple songs (The first one w/ Sol) and one where Jupiter blackmails Saturn to help them out but of course, I’m not a music producer so it sounds very… unmixed.

(And don’t worry I’ll address a bunch of asks and tags later, I just got off Uni for break 😭😭😭)

[potatomountain]

"Why Do You Love?"

❤️‍🩹 pairing: ex Hongjoong x gn!reader x bf Yunho

❤️‍🩹 wc: 2k

❤️‍🩹 au: idol

❤️‍🩹 genre: angst, exes to lovers.

❤️‍🩹 warnings: one punch, hurt/comfort, angst

❤️‍🩹 summary: Your ex finds out who you left him for, just before he released a song that shows just how he feels about your absence

❤️‍🩹 AN: how DARE Kim Hongjoong just drop that mv and put me in my feels so here I am putting him in some feels

❤️‍🩹 an unedited piece written during an overworked weeked at 4am every night i should've been in bed but Kim Hongjoong dictates my life so here we are

❤️‍🩹 nets: @pirateeznet @mirohs-aurora-society

❤️‍🩹 Banner made by me- would have included Yunho but could not find a Pic that matched the vibe I wanted. For other works: Masterlist

The way Hongjoong's expression crumbled tore your heart to pieces all over again. You had only seen that expression once before, the day you had broken things off with him a couple months ago. You told him then you had fallen out of love with him, and in love with someone else.

But you never said who.

Now he knew, staring at the way Yunho's hands pulled the blanket over your shoulders to cover your exposed torso as Yunho himself maneuvered himself to shield you from view.

Without looking at his elder, his Captain, Yunho addressed him, “It's usually polite to knock Hyung.”

You attempted to look at him over Yunho's shoulder, but Yunho moved to block you, meeting your gaze instead.

Both of you knew you couldn't keep it from him forever, but this wasn't how you wanted him to find out. How could you tell him that the man you figuratively left him for was his own group mate? 

“I- Yeosang forgot- offered to grab-” Hongjoong’s trembling voice was so loud in your ears, despite being so soft, that you flinched at the sound.

It wasn't like you ever wanted to hurt him, never intentionally, breaking up with him hadn't been an easy decision. Yes you told him that you didn't love him anymore but that wasn't really the case, you just realized he didn't have room for you in his life and it was hurting you with how hard you were trying to make a place. 

Touring was understandable, so was his work, but when you found yourself giving all your free time for just a crumb of his attention, it had been too much.

Especially since his own band member showed you that it didn't have to be that way. Yunho made time for you. He messaged you between locations for filming, and on breaks from practice. He invited you over for games, brought you food whenever you were waiting for Hongjoong to leave his studio, and comforted you on many occasions when you cried with the realization that Hongjoong wasn't going to text you or visit despite waiting hours.

Neither of you had wanted to fall in love with the other, but it had taken Yunho having a breakdown over Hongjoong’s treatment of you for you both to realize it had happened. 

You had kissed him on impulse, and that led to your decision that you needed to break things off with Hongjoong.

Lost in the spiral of your emotions, you were brought back by Yunho's hand on your cheek. He opened his mouth to speak but you could hear someone else calling out to your ex-boyfriend instead. 

“Shit. Shit…Hongjoong.” Seonghwa’s voice got closer and closer until he was panting in the doorway to Yunho's bedroom. . “Oh fuck-”

Seonghwa was the only one you both told, as Yunho had gone to him for advice. Which you had been following.

Break up with Hongjoong- check.

Keep away from the boys, in particular him for a few weeks- check.

See how you and Yunho click as a couple before Hongjoong finds out- also check but you both wanted to hold off until the man seemed to move on. 

This was not how he was supposed to find out. And the reason, what you all predicted would happen… did.

He was either going to implode or explode and the realization that Seonghwa had known resulted in the external conflict. 

Yunho kept the sight hidden from you but you heard plenty. He was yelling, the hurt in each word twisting the guilty knife in your gut that spurred tears.

Seonghwa shrunk under his harsh words, trying to get a word in but Hongjoong was having none of it. He started accusing you both of cheating, a few harsh demeaning words you had never heard Hongjoong say before we're now being thrown at you.

You sobbed out, covering your ears and hunching over to try and hide yourself in the blanket further now that Yunho wasn't by your side: he had stood up to intervene when Hongjoong had started insulting you.

There was a moment of silence at your sob, and then an echoing sound of skin on skin impact. Your head snapped up, Hongjoong's head twisted awkwardly to the side and Yunho's fist balled up in front of him. Yunho had hit Hongjoong.

“This was a mistake. This was-” You scrambled to put your clothes back on, feeling their eyes in you as you did. You and Yunho hadn't gotten far, it was your first time attempting intimacy past a few kisses, but of course Hongjoong didn't know that, considering he accused you a moment ago of two timing him and probably fucking Yunho whenever he was at the studio.

It hurt, and all you could think about is that you ruined their relationship, that you made their lives so much harder now. Could they even work together now? Yunho hit Hongjoong. What if Yunho got removed from the group?

Your tears made it difficult to find your bag but it was Seonghwa that held it up. Your eyes met his briefly and there was so much emotion there. He pitied you, an apology there you didn't think you deserved either, but you didn't dwell on it. You were out the door without looking at the other two.

By the time you reached the front door, you heard Yunho's harsh tone directed at Hongjoong, repeating some of the things he told you when he had broken down about your treatment. Now he seemed to be saying them to the source, angrily. 

You didn't stick around to hear how it went.

Not even two days later you saw it. His socials were plastered with it, as were the group's main socials. You expected another teaser for the upcoming Japanese release, but it was the YouTube notification from KQ you clicked on that brought you to a music video. 

“Why Do You Love?”

You should've backed out as soon as you saw his face, should've exited the video as you heard his voice- but just like everything else Hongjoong does you were captivated.

Tears were running down your cheeks by the end of the video, vision too blurry to even see the image any more.

What were you supposed to do about this? You knew, knew it was for you- but for him to release it right after he finds you with Yunho? It hurt so much.

You could only sob, the guilt on your shoulders heavier than before. The song was playing on loop as your own form of personal torture.

The worst part is he was right, you still thought of him. You still loved him, wanted him, even when you were in Yunho’s arms. 

That didn't mean you loved Yunho any less, that you would leave him for Hongjoong if he changed his ways. You didn't know what it meant.

And under all the crushing weight, you did nothing. Your inaction stretched for days, even ignoring the texts and calls of your boyfriend, and everything to do with Ateez.

You unfollowed the official accounts, even muted the apps. Your phone you kept on silent, only paying attention to work. You ghosted Yunho, and the longer that went on the harsher the guilt.

A couple weeks passed and this day felt different. It didn't… hurt as much. You braved the Ateez YouTube channel again, turning on the music Video and pulling your legs up to your chest. You stared at Hongjoong's face on the screen, letting his voice ring around you and soak into your soul.

You shut your eyes to stop the tears from falling as you murmured the last lines of the song. “No you, there's no me.”

There was a loud crash that jostled you out of your once more depressing thoughts, physically jumping and swiveling in the direction of the sound. Your eyes about bulged out of your skull at the sight of Hongjoong there, on his knees, tears in his eyes.

Yunho of all people stood behind him, attempting to mask the pain that the sight of you caused. He murmured your name, but didn't come closer.

Turning the TV off, you stood up on shaky legs. “What are…. Why are you here?” The question was directed at them both, but you couldn't look at either. 

How pathetic were you right now? When was the last time you did your skin care? Or washed the pajamas you were in. You stunk of depression, and the fact that they felt looser on you than before showed that you lost weight- reminding you that your appetite had been almost nonexistent these last weeks.

Depression does that you suppose.

“I'm sorry.” Hongjong gasped out, picking himself off the floor and making his way to you. His presence was a reminder of the last words he said and you flinched away from him.

You looked away when you spotted the hurt in his eyes by your actions. “I'm not a cheater. I never did.” You weakly defended yourself, weeks later.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I fucked up. I'm sorry I really fucked up I shouldn't have said- I know you didn't cheat baby.” He reached out for you almost desperately. “I know you didn't do anything wrong-”

“Then why the video?” You sobbed out, having no energy to stop him from pulling you against his chest. The best you could muster were your hands on his chest to keep some space.

He pressed his forehead against yours, hand on the back of your head. “I wrote it before I found out. It was already in our editors hands and scheduled, I didn't remember about it until it was too late."

“Then why-”

“Because I'm selfish. I wanted all your time but wouldn't give you mine. I… they set me straight, I know now how much I was hurting you baby, I'm so sorry. Yunho shouldn't have been the one to make you happy when I was yours. That's my fault.”

You shook your head, pulling away. “It's too late. I-I ruined everything. You fought with your members and and- got physical I-”

“We've made amends.” Yunho clarified for you as he finally approached, no longer a bystander to the conversation. “And we want to make amends with you…”

You looked at them both, fresh tears in your eyes. “How? Joongie- ah Hongjoong-”

“No no, call me Joongie again. I missed it. I missed you Baby.” He nuzzled closer, rubbing his cheek against yours. “I want another chance. Please? Please can I have another chance. I'll do better. I can't… I can't do it without you.”

The lyrics of his song floated through your mind, taking your breath away. “I- but- Yunho-"

“We talked about that too.” You felt Yunho's large hand on your back, a kiss on the crown of your head. “We’re… willing to share. Especially after seeing you like this.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, pulling away to look at them in disbelief. You expected some hesitation or jealousy, some sort of tell this wasn't true. That they hadn't really come to such a decision. Your mouth gaped like a fish out of water, trying to find words.

Yunho sighed, pulling you back to them. “Let’s clean you up first and feed you properly. You can decide then but I know you. I know you love him. I know you miss him. He’l have a place in your heart I won't but-”

“-But Yunho is special to you too. He cares for you in the way I should. Makes you happy, keeps you grounded. And without you… we’re both pretty miserable. So you need us both as much as we need you.” Hongjoong finished for him.

Yunho smirked as he pulled you to your room. “Look at you, taking Seonghwa  Hyung’s words as your own.”

Hongjoong flushed prettily, grabbing your hand and rushing to catch up. “Shut up. He's not wrong.”

You found yourself astonished how easy going they were now after the last time you saw them. Yunho chuckled at the shorter man and stuck his tongue out, the mood between them becoming playful. Enough it had you laughing, both turning to look at you in confusion.

Both had grins spreading across their faces that matched your own.

Maybe this love could work. Maybe.

Taglist (Form): @candypop1611 | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou

| @minheeskitten | @sousydive | @alextheweeb7 | @thesafecafe | @euphoricem

| @meepsters-world | @mysticfire0435 | @yejisuu | @apriecotte | @amphiroxx 

| @cloudysannie | @sugarnspice630 | @isiloiale | @plutoneu | @venn-ie

| @therealcuppicake | @lavishloving | @pearltinyy | @vampiregirl215

| @heihaneul | @gugggu6gvai | @oddinaryxfever | @smally97 | @pandagirl-016

| @hecateslittlewitchling | @arinyyy | @lovelgirl22 | @stayatinykatsy | @noone356097

| @misskarynie | @cookiesandcreammy | @atinycravings | @klllerwaifu | @joongscheese |

| @missweepingwidow | @callmemaysblog | @yunhowooyo | @zzzaaajaaa | @00iheartmingi00 |

| @intowxnderland | @lover-ofallthingspretty | @fanficsruinedmylife |

[jaykesgirly]

Take Care . LHS

pairing: idolboyfriend!heeseung x gn!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend heeseung has been overworking himself with schedules and producing so you convince him to finally come home and spend time with you

warnings: overworking? lack of eating (heeseung), slightest bit of angst if you squint

wc: 626

Heeseung has been coming home late night after night, whether it’s due to schedules or staying behind at the company to produce. With his increasing involvement in the group’s music, he has been spending any free time he can get in the studio writing songs. This has led to you becoming worried about his health and whether he’s eating his meals or not, so you decide to call him on one of these late nights.

“Hey baby what's up? Are you okay?” Heeseung answers the phone, slight concern in his voice because he assumed you would be asleep by now.

“Everything’s alright love, I just wanted to hear your voice that’s all. I haven’t seen you in what feels like ages,” you try to hide the worry and sadness in your voice but Heeseung picks up on it right away.

“I know baby I’m so sorry. With the comeback being only a few weeks old there’s still so much promo to do and I barely get any free time to work on music, which is actually what I’m doing right now.”

“That’s what concerns me though Hee. You’re not coming home until closer to 3am and then leaving by 7am for schedules. I know you really want to have the time to write songs but you also need to consider your well being. Are you even eating properly?”

“I try to but sometimes–”

“You need to always prioritize eating well, especially now with all the traveling and promos you’re doing. I’m really worried for you,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear the excuse he was going to give you.

“I know love, I’ll try to be better with my meals. How about this, I wrap up what I’m doing now and order some food to bring home and we can eat together.” This didn’t sound like a bad idea, especially because it’s been four days since you’ve seen your boyfriend.

“That sounds lovely Hee I can’t wait to see you. Just hurry up since it’s already midnight.”

With that, you two said your goodbyes and hung up the phone call.

As promised, Heeseung showed up a half hour later with food and drinks in his hands.He set the bags down and gave you the biggest hug he could without crushing you.

“I missed you so much baby, I’m so sorry I haven’t been around to hug you and spend time with you.” He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent as you smelled like home to him. He had been constantly going day after day; he almost forgot what you smelled like, so he’s glad you called him and brought him back to reality.

“I know bubs I missed you so much too, I’m just glad you’re here and we can enjoy some time together.” You run your hands through his hair, leaving soft kisses on his head.

The two of you pull away, taking the bags of food to the living room to eat. As you two enjoy your meal together, you let Heeseung talk about his recent promotions and trip to LA for KCON. It felt like you two were talking for hours, wanting to catch up on all the things you have missed in the time you hadn’t seen each other.

Once you two finish eating and cleaning up your mess, Heeseung embraces you in another hug, “I’m so lucky to have you as my partner, what would I do without you?”

Before you could respond to him he traps you in a loving kiss, making sure you can feel just how much he adores you.

“I love you so much I hope you know that,” he confesses, pulling away.

“I love you too.”

[urwhorecrux]

⋆ ˚⁀➷ ₊˚⊹⋆ 𝗛𝗣 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗙𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦 - 𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗔 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗘

ft. harry potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, cedric diggory, & james potter.

pairings. harry potter boys x gn!reader.

a/n. the last one makes me sad :( these were all so rushed lmao

warnings. mentions of anxiety, some angst?, mentions of death, gn!reader.

masterlist

— 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

you awoke in a sweat when an unexpected nightmare had occured. this one had been bad, and unusual even for you. this time it’d had been worse, voldemort actually had harry and was stronger and confident. the sounds of faint whimpering filled the room, as you felt a hand reach out for you, you awoke in a panic.

“what’s going on love?”, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into a comforting hug.

you admitted the truth about your nightmare, and how you fear for his safety given everything that’s going on now.

“i know its a lot happening right now, but i’ll be here by your side throughout all of it darling.” he brings you closely and gently presses a kiss on your forehead, reassuring you that he was there.

— 𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

it had been past midnight when you woke in terror, loudly gasping for breath. ron, by your side, quickly awoke too, reaching out for your hand for comfort in the moment.

“what’s going on what happened?” he asked, attempting to quickly calm you.

before you could even start gathering your words to say, he pulled you close into his chest, mumbling his reassuring words to you.

after a while of feeling the warmth of his hug and hearing his comforting words, he cups your face pulling you close into him, asking you what’s really wrong.

“y’know, mum used to sing me this song that helped me sleep when i was little, would you want me to sing it to you love?” he suggests.

he calmly and quietly sings to you softly, as he hold you close in his arms.

— 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘

after a long day of school and studying you’d both decided to stay in his own dorm for the rest of the night, him suggesting you stay the night with him. with that, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, happily.

with him being a light sleeper, it was easy to wake up to the sound of heavy breaths and frantic footsteps.

“y/n?, what is it?” he questions, reaching for you.

“just a really really bad dream” you say, hiding your face of tears in your hands.

“c’mon darling it’ll all be alright, just c’mere, come closer” he pulls back the duvet and makes room for you to come back to bed.

he quickly spoons you, pressing soft kisses on your forehead before mumbling his reassuring words.

— 𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘

you’d been worried and stressing due to exams, and cedric was worried about you overworking yourself and about your sleep schedule.

he made sure you stayed in his dorm so you’d been getting enough sleep.

one night quidditch practice ran late, making him stay an extra hour than usual while you wait for him in his dorm.

when he gets back he notices the lights still on, with you awake and frantically pacing across the room with teary eyes and a rough face.

“baby? what are you doing?”

you turn to him and quickly run to his arms, slightly sobbing while holding him closer.

he notices you trying to come out with words but everything came out all wrong, all in mumbles he couldn’t start to understand.

“shh no need to explain love, just let me hold you alright?” you nod as he strokes your hair, trying to softly calm you down.

after he calms you and listens to your explanation, he cuddles you back to sleep, reassuring you that he’s always there, and holding you until you fall back asleep.

— 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 (post!hogwarts)

james always makes it home from work on time just so he sees you before bed in the perfect amount of time. you’d usually wake up in the middle of the night with him already laying there even though he wasn’t there when you fell asleep, so it was quite an unusual experience when he didn’t wake up next to you.

“james?”, you call out, noticing the timestamp on the clock, which reads 3:44 am.

“james?!”, you yell louder, quickly growing suspicious of the area.

he heard your yells down the hall, quickly rushing into to the bedroom worried.

“y/n? what happened darling?”

you sigh in relief knowing he’s still here, holding out your arms and wrapping him into you.

“i thought you-“

“you thought i what love?”

you tell him the truth about your worries given everything thats going on lately, with going into hiding nightmares didn’t make anything better.

“it’s alright though love, ‘m here i promise, we’ll be safe and this will all be over soon.”

he pulls you back into bed, holding you as close as possible and for as long as he could, hoping this would never end.

[lonelym00n]

You stole my heart (but you're too young)

Sam Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Sam thinks you deserve better than her, you couldn't disagree more.

Warnings: Nothing? Age gap but everything is legal (I left it up to interpretation but Sam is like 26 while R is 20ish). Kissing, if that's a warning.

A/N: Based off of this! Marrying my love for music with the scream franchise one fic at a time <3!! This one uses Tyler the Creator's song, Fucking Young/Perfect!

Day that I met you girl, knew that it was something special

With heavy footsteps and a yawn, Sam Carpenter made her way up the endless stairs leading to her apartment. Her boots thudded against each step particularly loudly today, a direct result of the ache in her legs that came with working a shift for not just one of her shitty jobs, but both of them.

At long last, she approached the door that signaled she’d finally made it through her tiring day. Sam momentarily struggled with opening the series of locks on the door- as it turns out, unlocking a door is especially hard when balancing her work bag and two boxes of pizza. 

She manages to unlock and open the door eventually, and steps into the comfort of the apartment. Like a hot shower after an extra hard gym session, her overworked mood fades away at the warmth of her home. 

Sam calls out a greeting and makes her way over to the table, setting down the pizza. Her bag is tossed onto the nearest chair, and once her hands are empty, she takes a moment to roll out her tense shoulders, groaning softly.

After some long overdue stretching, she shuffles towards the living room to announce the arrival of the pizza and to take a mental note of the apartment’s occupants. She’d heard Tara speaking with someone when she’d walked in, but had a greater need to first set her belongings down, and then engage in her daily check-in of how her sister’s day had gone.

“Tara,” Sam calls out before rounding the corner that leads to the living room, “The pizza’s here.”

Tara’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers, two different notebooks, and a few pencils. Her laptop is propped up in front of her. To her sister’s right sits a girl Sam has never seen before and she pauses slightly at the sight. 

Tara huffs at her notebook and lets the pen she’d been holding fall out of her grasp. She looks up at Sam.

“Thank god,” she whines dramatically, “I needed a break.”

The small girl stands, lightly brushing herself off. Tara turns toward your seated form.

“Come on, pizza time.” The girl’s scarred hand enters your vision, breaking your intense concentration by offering some help in standing up. 

You take it gratefully, letting her pull you up. 

Sam, who’d been sneaking glances at you throughout the whole interaction, sucks in a breath now that she can fully make out your features. Your eyes twinkle and your preferred style of clothing suits you perfectly. You’re effortlessly beautiful, and Sam is utterly captivated by the allure that you exude.

She’s snapped out of her slight daze at the sound of Tara’s voice.

“Sam, this is Y/N. We have Chemistry Lab together.”

You wave, wiggling your fingers slightly as you do so. A tiny smile is on your lips and she swears you’re batting your eyelashes up at her, either that or her tired mind is playing tricks on her. Probably the latter.

“Hi Sam, it’s great to meet you.”

She hates the way your smooth, sweet-sounding voice almost causes her to let out a shudder. You stretch out a hand and suddenly she’s nervous, hoping her own aren’t too rough like they sometimes could be.

She meets you halfway, ensuring she’s extra gentle about clasping her fingers around yours. The contact has a spark shooting up her spine, and she clenches her jaw to bite back the gasp that almost escaped.

She clears her throat, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

You pull away, and her hand almost feels cold at the lack of warmth. All too suddenly, Tara’s quickly pulling you towards the waiting pizza.

Sam stays rooted to her spot, rapidly trying to process the sudden pounding in her chest. The light laughter trailing from the dining table knocks her out of her stupor. She blinks and retreats to her bedroom to take a much needed shower, hoping it’ll not only help lull her into a more relaxed state, but clear her mind too.

She sets the water to the hottest temperature and strips out of her soiled clothes. A small hum slips out of her chest when the scalding water makes contact with her body. She stays in the shower longer than necessary, and throws on a tanktop and shorts when she exits.

The apartment is quiet when she resurfaces from her room. The digital clock on the oven reads 11:27 PM, and she ignores the small pang in her chest that rises up at the realization that you’ve likely returned to your own home by this time. 

Sam heads over to the dinner table where the pizza boxes (thankfully) still sit, grateful that Tara only had one friend over tonight because it meant there was still plenty of food leftover for her to eat. As much as she loved Mindy and Chad, they had a habit of eating first and being considerate second. It’d left Sam to have to scrounge up a meal for herself on several different occasions, but she cared more that everyone was eating and getting fed, so she never complained. Besides, she’d always put the twins and Tara before herself, the older girl felt the strong need to protect them because of the hell that they’d gone through together back in Woodsboro.

Tara pads into the kitchen while Sam’s polishing off her second slice of pizza.

“How was work?”

Sam swallows the last piece of crust, then answers. “Long, boring.”

The younger girl nods. “Thanks again for getting the pizza. By the way, sorry I didn’t tell you about Y/N coming over, it was kind of a last minute thing. She offered to help me with the pre-lab.”

Sam shrugs, “No big deal.” Then, cautiously, “She seems nice.”

A small smile pulls at Tara’s lips, “She is, super smart and funny too. You should see her and Mindy together, they’re hilarious.”

Sam unknowingly files the new found information away. She hums, “I bet.”

“Actually, I invited her to game night tomorrow. Are you gonna be home in time?”

Every Friday night the sisters hosted some kind of get together, whether it be a movie night, craft night, or their most recent obsession, a game night.

Sam mentally runs through her schedule, luckily enough she didn’t have a shift at the bar, so she’d be home by six.

“I get off at 5:30, so yeah.”

Tara smiles, “Good, you could use some fun.”

Sam rolls her eyes and lightly punches Tara’s shoulder, “I have fun!”

The shorter girl laughs, “Keep telling yourself that.”

The two girls share a brief hug before Tara heads to bed. 

Sam tucks the leftover pizza into the fridge, double checks the locks on the door, and goes to her room. She climbs into bed and burrows into her pillows. She drifts away with the quiet excitement of getting to see you again tomorrow.

We met through mutual friends and this is where the story and confusion began // ‘Cause I was at Nirvana but I had to pretend that I wasn’t

Tara was right, you and Mindy were hilarious together, Sam can’t stop herself from chuckling at your shared antics.

“Uno,” you smirked. 

Mindy slammed her hands down on the table, narrowing her eyes, “There’s no way! You have to be cheating!”

You lean towards Mindy, whispering teasingly, “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m just that good.”

Mindy grumbles. “Someone hit her with a plus four, for the love of God.”

You laugh heartily. 

Tara plays, then Chad, Anika, Ethan, and Quinn take their turns.

“None of you had anything?” Mindy asks incredulously.

She has a skip, but with Sam sitting between the two of you, it wouldn’t be useful to play it. She groans and throws down a yellow two.

“Do something Sam, she can’t win again.”

Sam laughs and scans through her cards. She has a pretty good hand, and surprisingly a few different cards that could stop you from winning. The card she chooses to play, however, is a simple five.

What? It’s not like she wanted you to win or anything, she just liked seeing Mindy lose.

Dramatically, you slam your hand down on the top of the pile, ridding yourself of your last card and giggling gleefully as you go. 

“You had a wild card as your last card?!”

You smile so brightly at Mindy that Sam’s sure the other girl might go blind.

“Read it and weep, Meeks!”

“I hate you!”

There’s some brief discussion on which game should be played next, and everyone agrees when Quinn suggests Pictionary. 

“Let’s do it in pairs,” Chad chimes in, throwing his arm around Tara.

“I get to pick first, since I won!” You gloat.

You scan the members of the table, searching for whoever would be best to assist you in scoring another win. When your eyes land on Sam, you know exactly who to pick to secure your victory. Plus, you might’ve been harboring a secret crush on the girl, so it’d double as a good bit of bonding.

“Wanna join me, Sam?”

She gulps, but nods rather furiously. Her words come out so quick, she nearly stumbles over them altogether. “Yeah, yeah count me in.”

You grin at her and her heart flutters. 

Tara and Chad pair up, and Mindy chooses Quinn, which Anika snorts at. She and Ethan happily team up, even though the choice was out of their hands.

The game goes exactly as you thought it would, with you and Sam in the lead by two points.

“Suck it Mindy, another point for us!”

Mindy fights back a scream of frustration, “You’re only winning because of Sam!”

You shoot her a cheeky grin, “Yup I know! I’m not afraid to admit that she’s carrying our team, it still means I’m winning!” 

You place a hand on Sam’s bicep, patting it softly as if you’re thanking it for its drawing skills.

Okay, so maybe you’d been dying to feel the hard muscle, watching it flex as she sketched out each prompt, but that was for you to know and you alone.

“Sammy’s unstoppable, so glad that I have such an amazing partner.”

Everyone laughs, with the exception of Mindy who glares. Sam is eternally grateful for her tan skin, because it hides the blush that erupts on her cheeks at both the nickname and the compliment.

You and Sam win. You cheer and hop out of your seat, dragging Sam up with you. You dance around while she grins, just watching you. Suddenly, you’re leaning up to throw your arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a victory hug. When Sam’s hands land on your waist to return the embrace, it’s as if time slows. She’s completely engulfed in the scent of your flowery perfume and it makes her head spin deliciously. You’re so warm against her, and she can’t ignore how the two of you fit together so perfectly. It feels right to have you in her arms, and the thought scares her slightly.

When you pull away, she swears that her heart goes with you. 

You flop back into your seat to gloat at Mindy a second time. Sam sits gingerly. She feels anxious, like one of her friends might be able to see how the rhythm of her heart shifted during the hug to match the pace of yours. 

She wasn’t used to this feeling. When she was with Richie, he never made her feel things so intensely. And god, this was all because of a hug? A hug with one of Tara’s friends, no less.

Sam sank further back into her chair, realizing how utterly fucked she was. 

Now me and she held hands and we danced, nothing more // She kissed my hand a couple times, FaceTime when we’re bored

You were a frequent visitor to the Carpenter’s apartment after the game night. You’d find any excuse to come over, whether it be helping Tara with chemistry or gossiping over a cheap bottle of wine with Quinn. 

Tonight was one of those nights, where you and Quinn were sipping wine in between exchanging stories. Both you and the redheaded girl were sophomores whereas everyone else in the group were still freshmen. It helped having someone to recount the horrors of the frat-obsessed days with, and Quinn was nice enough to drop by the corner store to supply the wine, so it was always a welcome occasion to spend some time with the other girl.

Normally it was just the two of you, since Tara was usually off with one of the twins or Anika and Sam was almost always preoccupied by work.

Today though, was one of those rare dares where the older girl ended her work day early. She’d already finished a shift and gone to therapy, so with nothing else to do, she headed home.

Upon noticing that you were in the apartment, Sam tried her best to keep her distance. Her plan was to hide inside the walls of her bedroom and drown out the lovely sound of your laughter with some TV, but it was quickly spoiled by Quinn.

“Sam, you’re here! Come sit with us.”

She smiled nervously and made her way over to the couch. Quinn was of course already taking up the lone chair, so she was left to join you on the loveseat. 

Ever the observer, Sam’s dark eyes took in the flush that rested in both yours and Quinn’s face, and the half-empty bottle of wine. 

A light slur fills Quinn’s voice, “Y/N was just about to tell me about this girl she met last year.”

Sam’s ears perk up, and she turns to fully face you. Her knee bumps into yours as she shifts to be more comfortable, her skin burning where it had made contact with yours.

You snort out a laugh, “She was kind of cute, I guess. I met her at some bar. She was tall, and like lean, and totally my type and all so I started giving her little signs to buy me a drink or something.”

Sam’s nostrils flare at the talk of your attraction for this girl. Her dark eyes are boring into you, tracing over your entire body while you speak.

“She came up to me and started flirting pretty heavily and then out of nowhere, some guy came up to us and threw his arm around her shoulder. It was weird ‘cuz she just kept flirting with me and then he started flirting too and then all of a sudden they told me they wanted a threesome.”

Quinn laughs hard, leaning over to shove your shoulder. The alcohol has made her limbs heavier, and she pushes you with a lot more force than she likely planned, toppling you over and onto Sam’s lap.

Sam reacts quickly, catching you by the waist to stop you from tumbling off the couch. She internally screams at the feeling of her hands on your bare midriff, the cropped shirt you were wearing leaving part of your lower torso uncovered. 

You squeal and break into laughter, uncaring that your limbs are now tangled up with Sam’s legs.

You make no move to readjust yourself, so she doesn’t either. The way your weight is partially leaning up against her is too good, feels too right. 

Quinn’s phone rings and she gasps, waving her phone around for you and Sam to see. “It’s Max! I gotta go, he’s the one who actually manages to get me off.” 

The girl races up to get ready.

Sam, the protective person that she is, calls out to her.

“Quinn, be careful! Take an uber or something.”

“‘Kay!”

She runs out the door, leaving the amalgamation that is you and Sam behind.

You untangle your arms from her legs and flip over to face her. Her legs open to instinctively make room for you, and you lay yourself in between them, your cheek resting on her tight core.

She’s panicking at not just the position, but your proximity. Though she had spent a considerable amount of time with you due to your recurring presence in her apartment, she’d never stopped being slightly nervous around you. She understood it was because of the feelings that she harbored, but she wished some of her usual confidence could translate over to the time she spent with you too. It was slightly embarrassing to be a clean six years older than you and still fumble around like a schoolboy. 

You turn and blink up at her from your spot on her abdomen. She stares down at you in response.

Things are still for a moment, as you look at each other, wondering what the other is thinking. 

The liquid courage helps you break the silence.

“You’re really pretty, Sam.”

She’s stunned, because she’s been called hot, even sexy on a few different occasions, but never pretty.

Her heart sits high up in her throat.

“Really?”

You nod, all soft and encouraging, and she has no choice but to believe you because you look so sure.

“You’re strong too, not just physically, but mentally. You’re caring and always look out for everyone.”

She’s not sure what brought on this onslaught of compliments, but it causes so many different emotions to rise up in her chest. She’s lost on what to say, but she doesn’t have to speak because you continue.

“Sam, you're the most selfless person I know. You do so much for other people, it’s crazy!”

She laughs lightly, but it comes out more watery than she’d planned it to be.

Your shiny eyes twinkle up at her, and you shimmy up her body so that you’re now lying on her upper chest, near her shoulder.

She could lean her head down and brush her lips against yours so, so easily. But she doesn’t.

No matter how much she wants to, she holds herself back.

And god does she want to, more than anything, because you’re looking at her with a gentleness she’s never seen before. With your eyes on her, she doesn’t feel like the schizophrenic daughter of a serial killer who’s rumored to have covered up a series of murders. She doesn’t feel broken, or like the mistake that tore her family apart. You’re looking at her like she’s whole and like she’s worth something good. 

She knows that if she kisses you, she’ll probably never be able to stop, because you’re everything that someone like Sam Carpenter needs.

Loyal, loving, uplifting.

But she’s scared, because every good thing she’s ever had, she’s broken. She couldn’t risk bringing that upon you, because it’s you and you don’t belong on the long list of people who have gotten hurt because of her.

You’re too good, too perfect, too fucking young. 

Her heart hurts. As much as she needs you, she won’t let herself have you.

As if you’re able to hear her internal battle, you continue your previous thought, “You do so much for other people, but never anything for yourself. I wish you’d do more for yourself.”

A tear slides down her cheek, but in your tipsy state, you remain blissfully unaware. Instead, you’re playing with the ends of her hair and twirling it around your fingers. You don’t even know it, but your touch comforts the vulnerable girl immensely. 

You sigh heavily, press a quick kiss to her clothed shoulder, and push yourself off of her. You stand and move to gather your stuff, clearly getting ready to leave.

“You’re leaving?” She asks, despite it being obvious that you are planning to.

Wobbling slightly, you slip your jacket over your shoulders. “Mhm, it’s late.”

She sits up and moves to stand by the door, grabbing her trusty bomber jacket. 

You tilt your head confusedly, “What are you doing?’

Sam looks at you like it’s obvious, “I’m gonna walk you home. It’s dark, you shouldn’t go alone.”

A series of giggles bubble out of your mouth, “No, you stay here Sam. Besides, if you walk me home, I’ll have to walk you home so you aren’t alone in the dark.”

She smiles despite the stupidity of it all. Then, a thought crosses her mind. She probably shouldn’t, she knows, but she can’t help herself from offering it up as an option.

“How about you spend the night here?”

Your eyes are wide, doe-like, and you pause to consider the offer. “Hmm, okay. That’s the most fair thing to do.”

Sam’s pleased with herself, glad to have found a happy medium where neither of you would have to worry about the other’s safety. 

“Take my bed for the night, I’ll do the couch.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, no.”

You walk over to her, grab her hand, and tug her towards her bedroom. She doesn’t protest.

Once inside her bedroom, you nudge her so that she’s standing in front of her bed. 

“You sleep here, I’ll take the couch.”

She goes to argue, but you shush her.

You lift your still-joined hands and press a kiss to the top of hers.

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

You release your hold on her and shuffle out of the room. 

The next morning, she smiled at your sleeping form as she passed the couch on her way to work. 

Things shifted in your relationship after that night. Sam still told herself you two were just friends, despite the way you both acted like more. 

You started coming over to the apartment just to see her whenever she was free. The two of you would cook together, flirty comments thrown in here and there as the food was prepared. Other times you would watch a movie on the loveseat, sat so close together that your thighs touched.

When you were too busy to travel through the chaotic NYC transportation systems to visit Sam, you’d FaceTime her. Though you claimed to be bored, you both knew the real reason for the calls.

Her feelings for you grew, and yours did too. 

Though you had a sneaking suspicion that she returned your feelings, you didn’t want to pressure the older girl. She’d gone through far too much, and so you’d be patient and wait for her to come around to the idea of something more.

And when temptation calls, I never pick up

Sam’s urge to kiss you popped up a few more times.

You were always so thoughtful, she couldn’t help it.

On days when you knew she’d worked a late shift the night before, you’d appear at the door with her favorite coffee and a muffin the following morning.

You texted her nightly, reminding her to eat if she hadn’t already. 

You’d go to parties with Tara, not because you wanted to, but to keep an eye on her for Sam’s sake.

You memorized her therapy schedule and made sure to send a heart or some sweet little message right when the session ended.

Safe to say, Sam had fallen for you despite her desperate attempts not to. 

Though she was tempted to say something to you, she always made sure to hold herself back.

She was deeply traumatized and had the scars to prove it, you deserved better than someone like her, someone your age who was actively building a future for themselves instead of working two dead end jobs and struggling to afford the city’s high cost of living.

More than that, she had her younger sister to consider. She didn’t know how she could possibly tell Tara, wasn’t sure if the shorter girl would find it weird for her to be dating someone practically the same age as her.

You were just too young and it would never work out between you two because of it.

You bring me joy, joy, joy, joy and you fill a void that was once missing

Sam had been avoiding you for a while, and you were upset. You’d grown used to spending all of your time with the older girl and quite honestly, you missed her. 

So you did what any person would do and showed up on her doorstep. You were slightly nervous, Sam usually sent you her weekly schedule so you knew when she’d be working but she hadn’t this week.

You aren’t sure if you’ve done something wrong or if something has happened, but you’re sure that you’re about to find out.

Sadly, you aren't, because it’s Quinn that opens the door. 

“Oh hi, sorry I’m just looking for Sam?”

Quinn gives you a small smile, waving you in. “She’s not here, I think she’s working late at the bar tonight. You can come in and wait though.”

“Okay.” You enter the apartment and chat idly with Quinn for a bit. She shares a few stories of her recent hookups before she has to leave to attend her evening class.

You’re alone in the Carpenter’s apartment, so you decide to make yourself useful and prepare a dinner for them. They almost never had time to do so, practically living off of cheap takeout, and you’re more than happy to try to sneak in a few solid meals for them here and there.

Sam always looked at you so gratefully whenever she came home to a nice dinner, so maybe it’d get you back into her good graces. If it didn’t, at least you’d know she got some sort of nutrition in her diet.

Lucky for you, someone has gone shopping recently, so you get to work on making a spaghetti dish with a salad to go with it.

Along the way, you lose track of what you’re doing. When you’re finally finished with cooking, you realize that you’ve unconsciously set the table and dimmed the lights to create a more calming atmosphere. 

Whoops?

The apartment door opens, and in walks a very tired looking Sam. Her shoulders are hunched over, and she kicks her boots off, uncaring of where they land.

You make a small noise and she halts, snapping her head up and gasping at the sight of you and the display of food on the dining table.

“Hey Sam, sorry, Quinn let me in and I kind of got carried away but I can go if you wan-”

Her firm body slams into yours, and she wraps you up into a tight hug.

You sigh and melt into the contact, tucking your head underneath her chin. A pleased sound rumbles through her chest and she pulls you impossibly closer. 

When she pulls away, she tilts your chin up gently so that you’re looking into her eyes. The deep brown color is swirling with emotion and you’re struck by the beauty of them.

“Thank you,” she says softly, “This week has been so shitty and you just made everything better.”

Your eyebrows knit together, concernedly, “I’m sorry to hear that. Here, go sit.”

She obeys, and sits in her usual spot. You fix her a plate, making sure to grab an extra bowl so she can serve herself some salad.

You place it in front of her and move to sit across from her.

Sam eats while you make little jokes and teasing comments, and she’s sure that this is the way things are meant to be. All her troubles are pushed out of her mind. Her father’s voice is silent. The people that hate her are so momentarily insignificant she forgets they even existed in the first place.

You make her so happy, and with you, the person she was before she was attacked, before the drugs, before her father walked out on her, that person feels safe enough to come out. The piece of her that was missing returns, and it’s all because of you.

You’re washing her dishes, and carefully listening to her talk about her horrible week, and Sam finally feels herself snap.

When you’re drying your hands on the small towel that hangs beneath the sink, she’s grabbing you by the shoulders and twisting you around to face her.

“Wha-”

Her lips are on yours, no hesitation, no going back. You’re too stunned to return the kiss for a moment, but god when you finally do? It’s perfect, too perfect. Your soft lips against her slightly chapped ones drive her wild, along with the soft little gasps and groans you’re releasing. It’s everything, but she’s waited so damn long for this that it’s still somehow not enough.

Her hips are pinning yours to the sink, her hands clutching both sides of your face. It’s then that she growls lowly, bites your lip, and slips her tongue into your mouth when you moan in pleasurable pain.

Sam’s kisses are incessant, furious and intense, just like her. You want to get lost in them forever, would gladly do so.

But then, all too soon, she’s pulling back and touching her lips as if her mind has finally caught up to her actions.

You should find someone else // I’m not the one for you, shit, I’m still growing up by myself

“Wait, wait, we can’t.”

You’re still dazed, not quite sure what she means. “Huh?”

“I can’t do this, I-” She runs her hands down her face, clearly in distress.

“Sam, it’s okay, calm down.”

She shakes her head, “No, I can’t.” She continues, “I’m sorry, but this will never work. You deserve better than me.”

She’s sighing, raking a hand through her long hair, “I’m older than you, I’m fucked up. I’m not what you deserve. I don’t have anything figured out. You’re young, you should find someone else, someone your age who’ll be grown up by the time they’re my age.”

You’re frowning at her. “Sam, none of that is true.”

Boy I know that we could be more than just friends // But you’re scared

She’s scoffing, doubtful. 

But you refuse to give up so easily, “Sam, look. It doesn’t matter, okay? I don’t care that you don’t have a stupid college degree or a 9-5 job.”

She looks at you so sadly, “But you should. I’m a mess, and that’s not what you deserve. We’d never work.”

You’re frustrated. “Look, I don’t care about what I deserve! It doesn’t matter to me, not when you exist.” 

You step forward, moving into her personal space. You cup her cheek, thankful that she doesn’t move away from the touch. Your thumb strokes her skin softly while you talk, “We both know that we aren’t just friends. We could be so much more, and it would work, Sam. You’re scared, and I get why, but this is what we both want. Please don’t punish yourself for thinking I deserve more than you. You’re what I want, the only one I want.”

You lean up on your tiptoes and press a chaste kiss against her lips before pulling back.

“I love you, Sam. So much. All you have to do is let me, and I will.”

Sam searches your eyes, and finds only love looking back at her. 

She’s been selfless for so long now, maybe it’s time she started thinking about herself and what she deserves, what she wants, what she needs.

She deserves to be happy with you, she wants to, and she needs to.

So for once in her life, she stops being so worried about everyone else, and lets herself have you.

With a sweet, meaningful kiss to your lips, you get your answer.

“I love you too.”

And girl I know that you’re the one for me

[mmhcs]

Not Tonight

Warnings: Slightly suggestive opening, implications and mentions of trauma and traumatic events, implications of flashbacks, descriptions that may be uncomfortable, reader needs a hug (and therapy)

Finally.

You sigh, hooking your arms around Miguel’s neck.

Finally, it’s happening.

After a week of barely seeing each other, you and Miguel finally have a night to yourselves.

Originally, you had planned to spend your Friday evening alone on the couch, catching up on the new season of that TV show you religiously kept up with.

Miguel didn’t watch it (he only loosely followed along during those times that you two had watched it together) but you still couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the fact that tonight you would follow the show's plot from beginning to end without distraction, less-than-stellar remarks, or need for explanation every two seconds.

Well, at least I get to watch, you had told yourself as you settled onto the couch.

It wasn’t a perfect evening, but it would be a fun one. You only hoped that Miguel, probably still in his office, wasn’t overworking himself. Hopefully Lyla was there to bring some playfulness into the otherwise sterile environment that he would submerge himself well into next morning.

If only he was here.

You relaxed into the couch, bringing your blanket up as the theme song to your show began playing. Within a few seconds were immersed, but clearly not fully so as you jumped when you heard your front door open and the sound of keys jangling.

“Miguel?” you called, both excited and in disbelief.

Nobody else had a key to your apartment but you still had to see him to believe that it was true.

“¡Cariño!” Miguel replied, coming into view.

Before you had the chance, he, in two wide strides, walked over to the couch and scooped you into a hug.

“What are you—”

“I took the night off; I missed you.”

“Took the night off” was a generous term. Miguel had no boss; he was his own superior. His “staying late at the office” was because Miguel felt it necessary, that if he didn’t then something would happen and the “Arachno-Humanoid Poly Multiverse” (as he called it) would collapse.

Since the two of you started dating, Miguel had gotten better at taking breaks. But you knew that you alone couldn’t bring him to ultimate healing—just like he couldn’t do the same for you.

But the two of you tried. Tried to work through you issues, not only for the other but for your respective selves. Which is why hearing Miguel say that he took the night off because he missed you made your stomach flutter with butterflies and an ache start to pool in its center.

Needless to say, you and Miguel didn’t make it past the ending of the theme song.

And that’s how you two ended up here: on your shared bed, you in Miguel’s lap and his mouth dragging itself against your neck. The warmth of his breath tickled your neck, eliciting a sharp moan from you. Your hands flew from his neck to his hair, pulling at it as if it were a life raft, your only way to keep yourself from falling back onto the bed.

Not yet.

“Yes, Miguel,” Your breath hitches as he begins to suck on your neck, concentrating on the spot between your neck and shoulder. “I like that,”

He gives a moan of response, his mouth still on your neck.

Almost unconsciously, your head tilts itself to the side in order to give him more room to work.

“Like that,” you cry out once more. “Likethatlikethatlikethatlike—”

I don’t like that.

You look down, feeling newfound warmth at your side—Miguel’s hand kneading just above your hip.

Focus. Breathe. you tell yourself.

But it’s too late; you can feel the ache in center fading and being replaced with fear and disgust.

In an attempt to preserve your arousal, you gently place a hand at the back of Miguel’s head—as if to tell him to keep going—but it’s no use. What was just been considered hot, tantalizing kisses is now just slobber, each one further cementing that cold and hollow feeling into you.

Just one night. That was all you wanted. Just one night where you could enjoy yourself and Miguel’s company.

“Baby?”

You jump, startled. Slowly, you blink once, returning your attention to the moment. When you look down, you see that Miguel’s gaze is already on you, wide eyes and furrowed brows.

You frown. How long had you been staring at the wall?

“Hey, quierda,” Miguel begins gently. He readjusts himself to his full height, also slightly shifting you so that you now reside on his thigh instead of his lap. He removes his hands from where they had previously been and uses one to cup your cheek and lift your head to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Miguel, I...” you start but you don’t know how to finish.

What do you say? What can you say? How do you begin to explain how you feel? That yes, you want him but you just couldn’t get your mind to settle down. That parts of you are still stuck in a time way before this and couldn’t seem to move on?

“I’m sorry,” you say, gently removing his hands from your face. “I just don’t feel—” you pause, taking a deep breath. Your emotions are all over the place; the last thing you need right now is tears. “—Not tonight, Miguel. Not tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Miguel wastes no time answering. “Are you hurt?”

His eyes immediately start looking you over for cuts and scratches that would need to be tended to.

In the past, you’ve discussed some of your trauma with Miguel. He didn’t know the full story—he didn’t need to—but ever since that first time you informed him, he swore that he would do whatever he could to alleviate some of your pain.

He couldn’t take it away—he knew that for a fact—but he could be there for you. Which is why he’s running through his mind now, thinking of the best way to help.

“How about a shower, yeah?” he finally suggests. “You take a shower and I’ll make dinner.”

You sigh and bite down on your lip, trying to steel yourself.

Though you and Miguel had stopped, you still feel anxious. Your heart is banging against your chest and you feel a knot growing within your throat, making your voice hoarse and strained. But those pale in comparison to what you feel mentally.

Despite being with Miguel, you don’t feel safe. You feel the overwhelming urge to hide under the covers and sob and scrub yourself raw. Your senses are on-edge, gifting you a numbing headache that pummels against your temples despite there being no danger present.

You can’t focus. You want to sleep. Forget. Wake up tomorrow when this is all over.

“A shower sounds nice,” you finally say. “But I don’t think I’m that hungry right now.”

“That’s fine,” Miguel reassures you. “You shower. I’ll be in the living room when you’re finished,”

“Alright,” You give him a small nod, willing yourself to stand and head to the bathroom.

As you go through the motions, you can’t help but steal glance at your body every couple of minutes.

You don’t know how to feel. You don’t know what you’re feeling. A part of you feels scared. Scared because you’re trying so hard not to let your mind go to where your body has seemingly returned. Another part of you feels frustrated. You want Miguel—or at least you wanted him—but you...You didn’t feel fully present. It’s like no matter how hard you tried to be present in the moment, you just couldn’t. You can’t move everything out of your mind. Not by yourself, not with Miguel—hell, sometimes not even while you sleep.

You sigh, running the loofah along your arm again.

Great, another thing to mention in therapy.

You have to be patient with yourself. That was a fact that you learned a long time ago. But sometimes—sometimes it’s so frustrating that it brings tears to your eyes. You feel like a lost cause. Some days you even wonder if you’ll ever be able to feel “normal” again. To be able to relax and let go. To have both your mind and body be on the same page.

The uncertainty of it all brings tears to your eyes and they fall in fat goblets, mixing with the show water as they trickle down the drain.

An hour later, you pad into the living room wearing a pair of loose sweatpants, a light shirt, and the ends of your hair slightly damp.

“Hey,” Miguel turns from the sink to the kitchen counter, turning off the faucet. You look around the kitchen with furrowed brows, hoping that he really didn’t cook anything because you don’t think that you have much of an appetite at all now.

“I made some agua de fresa”, Miguel explains, pointing to the living room. “I know you said you don’t have much appetite but just in case you feel dehydrated, it’s there.”

You look, seeing two glasses of agua de fresa and the TV paused on the first few minutes of your show from earlier. On the couch is your favorite blanket and slightly more pillows than there were earlier.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, your throat raw with emotion.

Miguel simply nods, his eyes still scanning your face. “If there’s anything you need—or anything you want—please, just tell me.”

Minutes later, you and Miguel find yourselves on the couch, blanket draped over your laps and a glass of agua de fresa in your hand. The blanket acts as a tether between the two of you—close enough for the two of you to feel each other’s warmth but not close enough that you were on top of each other, a sensation that you couldn’t handle right now.

“...Ay Dios mío, why would he do that?” Miguel frowns, angrily pointing to the TV. “I swear, I don’t know how can watch this show so calmly; some people are really stupid,”

For the first time tonight, you giggle and you feel some of the tension from earlier dissipate. You smile down at your stomach, as if it would return the gesture.

Patience, you remind yourself.

It most definitely hasn’t been a perfect night but it’s starting to get better. And, for the first time in a long time, you feel yourself relaxing a bit, getting consumed by the moment.

As you look around you, you can only sigh in relief.

In due time. Maybe not soon, but you’re on your way. In due time.

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading. Admittedly, this fic was a little personal and I just wanted to clarify that I know this isn’t everybody's experience or way or handling things but it is mine so that’s what I went off of.

To everyone in a similar situation: It will be okay. Maybe not now but one day it will. Please keep going and take care of yourselves.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

How skz would react to 9th member y/n getting sick from overworking themselves?

LA Shenanigans!

Wanrning: passing out.

Pairing: Skz x 9th member

Summary: a hot day causes a lot of problems in the studio.

!not proof read!

Enjoy!😆

-🩷

*

Falling sick was never my intention.

Overworking was never my intention.

"And we are here with stray kids!" Everyone in the studio starts cheering and clapping making us smile and wave at them.

"So tell us how you guys feel about being here in LA and have you enjoyed it so far?" The interviewer asks us as a whole and Chan starts to speak.

"We feel great if I speak on everyone's half, the food really great and the weather too. Ummm I'd just like to say it's really good to be here and thank you for having us." His beaming and smiling really hard which causes a warm feeling fill the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah I'd like to say that the weather is really good aswell," Felix adds onto Chan's statement and smiles.

"That's great to hear! I actually heard that You guys are working on a new album is that true?"

Chan looks over to me and gives me and encouraging look, "you can answer this I think," he says causing me to sit up and talk into the mic,

"Uhhh where can I start? Ahahaha, we are working on a new album for stays and we would just like to hope that they will like it when it is finished and released but all I can say yeah it's in the works," I do a little clap and everyone agrees with me.

"Oh that's what I like to hear! Any new tours? Any new news? Tell us!" She says enthusiastically.

The room was becoming a little hot as I continued to listen to the conversation that was going back and forth.

I clear my throat and drink the water in the cup they had given us.

I shift in my chair trying to get comfortable. My stomach starting to churn.

What was going on with my body?

"Y/n! So a little birdie told us that you're working on a solo song! Any comments on that?" My neck snaps at the direction of the lady ripping me out of my trail of thoughts.

"Uhhh," I cringe at the nauseous feelings that had grown upon me, "yeah yeah I am..." my smile slowly fading away, "I'm excited to share- to share the new. What's is called? Oh! The new song.." I pause furrowing my eyebrows.

The boys started to look at me confused at my response. Han giving me a little nudge under the table.

"You good?" He whispers as the interviewer asks Seungmin a question.

"Yeah, just really hot," I whisper back and untie my collar.

"Drink some water you look tacky" he passes me cold water and goes back to looking at the lady.

My body goes cold us sweat starts to form on my forehead. Was I this tired? I know I had skipped a few meals and pushed my work hours a little but I had totally been fine until now.

Everyone laughs at a joke Changbin makes causing me to pay attention to the conversion again.

The feeling of vomit still lingering in the pit of my stomach.

"Uh...can we-" the room starts to spin really fast and is stop what I'm about to say.

"What's wrong?" Chan asks looking over at me.

"Can we take...a five." My eyes start feeling drowsy. My body feeling sluggish

"Y/n? What's wrong?" Felix quickly asks noticing my distress.

"Is she okay?" The interviewer asks now sounding very nervous, "she looks like she's about to pass out, is she okay?" She asks Han who's sitting next to me.

I stand up from my chair trying to make my way to the bathroom so I could wash my face atleast. Maybe to wakeup my body?

"Woah woah woah, Han hold her!" Hyunjin yelps as he realizes my body slowly fall to the ground.

“Y/n, talk to us how do you feel?” Felix who was on my other side rubs my back trying to get me to sit upright but words refuse to form.

I feel hands grab me. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?" I hear Han asking while shaking my body. "Somebody get me water! Now!"

The cool feeling of water pouring down my face makes me moan as the nice sensation. "Is she okay?"

I nod and wakeup. From the little trance I was in.

I can't talk I can't move but I can hear and feel. The feeling of people's hands trying to shake me awake even more.

"I got the wet cloth!" I hear Seungmin say panicking. The stuff on our team was also getting worried trying to get to me.

"Let me carry her on the couch, guys move," Chan's hands wrap around my waist as he holds me close to his body.

"Yah! Why would She pass out? Is she sick?!" Changbin says running his hands through his hair. He was walking back and forth trying to calm down.

"I don't know! She was telling me about hot it was inside here now she's passed out," Han runs his hands through his hair.

My eyes land on Chan’s and he gives me a soft smile

“Are you with us love?” He asks, “talk to me, it’s just you and me ignore these loud boys,” he glared at them causing them to all shut up and look over.

“I-I’m okay just really tired..” im able to finally say. “I- I need water. Too hot.”

He quickly grabs the water bottle and starts to feed it to me. His hand keeping the wet cloth in place.

“Try and get some energy so we can take you to the hospital yeah?” He softly says.

“No- no…no hospitals.” I groan trying to get up.

“Hey hey hey, just lay down. Shhh. It’s okay we don’t have to go to the hospital right now.” He pushes me back down and waits for me to finish drinking the water before I hand it back to him.

“How do you feel now? Hm.”

“T-tired and hot.”

“Okay just take a short nap and I’ll carry you to the car okay?” I nod in response and close my eyes.

“Ever-body shut up she’s asleep!” Seungmin yells causing a few people to chuckle.

I hadn’t had a goodnight sleep in a long time due to the long rehearsals and long schedules. It felt good just sleeping and not doing anything and I knew my body likes it because when I woke up with an IV in my arm and Felix sitting by me. The energy run through my body making me feel like I could conquer the world.

“How are you feeling love?” He asks whispering not to disturb the other members who were apparently also asleep in my hotel room.

“I feel amazing, thank you guys for taking care of me,” I whisper back and he smiles

“Always! You’re our little Angel.”

*

[kaciebello]

Money tree

Masterlist Money mail ☼ Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff!reader (fem) Summary: Sell it or wear it Warnings: no use of y/n Authors note: Mrs. Zabini is a icon word count: 1.5k Song: I like it - Stray Kids

The girl was sitting on Blaises bed. His mother was kind enough to give them some clothes she no longer wears. Blaise was simply gonna throw all of it away. Luckily the girl is better than that. It has been about 3 hours since that encounter and they were still going through it. Starting out what they can and cannot sell. Most of it they could as Mrs Zabini does not wear things twice. Blaise has been taking pictures of some of the jewellery as it was easier than anything else. Shoes were next on his list.

Fain ‘ hello boys’ misses both of them. That's why they are surprised when the door bursts open and a pile of teenage boys spills in.

“There you are! Blaze mate, please don't hog my girlfriend.” Enzo says first thing in the room. Taking huge steps to the girl and spinning her in a hug. Not even a gagging sound from Theodore can stop him. Blaise just looks up from his phone with raised eyebrows. 

“What the fuck is all this.” Draco chimes in, gesturing to the not-ending pile of clothes on the bed.

“Our next few thousand,” Blaise answers, very aware that they can all of it for way more than they actually need. The boys just nod. Theodore dived in and rumbled through the pile. 

Back to taking pictures neither he nor the girl noticed Theodor and Matthew putting various items on. Giggles from Draco are what caught their attention.  They both snap their heads to them. There stood Matheo, in a vintage Chanel short dress while Theodore was trying to put on Versace platform boots. stopping in their tracks when he noticed them staring at him. Blaise just let out a sigh and went back to take a picture of the jewellery. The girl just stood there, mouth hanging open. Enzo closes it for her. 

Shaking her head to recover. She has regained her composure.

“Boys, are you serious right now?” she asked, struggling to hold back a smile as she looked at Mattheo, who was attempting to adjust the straps of the dress.

Theodore grinned mischievously as he wobbled around in the Versace boots, nearly toppling over.

 “Serious as fashion week, darling,” he quipped, striking a dramatic pose. Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. 

“If you lot are done playing dress-up, maybe we could actually help. That’s a lot of stuff, Blaise. Are you really going to sell all of it?” Blaise smirked, still focused on photographing the jewellery. 

“That’s the plan. Mom has expensive taste, and there’s a market for this stuff. Why not make some money off it?”

Enzo, still holding the girl close, nodded approvingly. “Smart move, mate. But don’t overwork her. You’ve got to let her breathe, too.” He gave her a playful squeeze, earning a light shove from her in return.

The girl smiled up at him, appreciating the gesture but still shaking her head. 

“You guys are impossible. But if you’re going to stick around, you might as well make yourselves useful. There’s a lot more to go through.”

Draco, still examining the pile, picked up a sleek black dress and held it up to the light.

 “This one looks expensive. Maybe I should try it on next,” he teased, earning a round of groans from the others.

The room filled with laughter, the tension of sorting through Mrs Zabini’s wardrobe easing as they all fell into a rhythm of playful banter and teamwork. The girl, now back in control of the situation, couldn’t help but feel a bit more at ease with this odd but endearing group of friends.

As the laughter settled, Blaise finally looked up from his phone, satisfied with the progress he'd made with the jewellery. 

"Alright, enough fooling around," he said, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone. "Let’s get serious. The faster we sort this out, the sooner we can get it listed."

Theodore, who had finally managed to wobble out of the platform boots, nodded and tossed the shoes back onto the pile. 

“Fine, fine. But just so you know, if I end up modelling any of this stuff, I’m charging extra.” Draco snorted, folding the black dress over his arm. 

“You wish. I’m pretty sure no one wants to see you in a dress, Theo.” Matheo, still in the Chanel dress, struck another exaggerated pose.

 “Speak for yourself, Draco. I think I could start a trend.”

The girl, rolling her eyes but clearly amused, stepped between them.

 “You're acting like all of this is not going to the bouncy house. We need to organize this stuff by type—dresses, shoes, accessories—and then by brand. Blaise, you keep taking pictures, and we’ll make sure everything’s sorted.”

Enzo, ever the doting boyfriend, grabbed a handful of scarves and started folding them neatly. “You heard the lady. Let’s get to it.”

The group fell into a rhythm after that, the initial chaos giving way to a surprisingly efficient operation. Blaise continued photographing the jewellery, expertly capturing the shine and detail of each piece. Draco and Theodore focused on sorting through the clothes, occasionally tossing an item at Matheo, who was still hamming it up in the Chanel dress. The girl and Enzo worked together on the shoes, organizing them by size and style.

As they worked, conversation flowed easily between them, punctuated by the occasional joke or comment. The girl had found some red bottoms sues and turned to Blaise.

“Can I keep these?” She motions to them. The boy stops for a minute before nodding. They have more than enough. One pair of sues is not gonna make a dent.

“It’s not like Mrs. Zabini will miss any of this. She probably doesn’t even remember half of it.” Enzo metined.

They all shared a chuckle at that, but the girl couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Despite their playful banter, they were all contributing to something bigger than just making a quick buck. There was a sense of purpose in the room, a shared goal that brought them together. The last time she saw them work together so well was when they all decided to learn Morse Core to cheat on an exam.

A couple of hours later, they finally finished sorting everything. The bed was now neatly organized into sections—clothes, shoes, accessories, and jewellery—all ready to be listed for sale. Blaise put down his phone and stretched, satisfied with their progress.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” he said, glancing around at the others.

“Not bad at all,” the girl agreed, her eyes shining with excitement. “This could actually work.” I can almost feel the plastic of the bouncy house.”

“ Girl that's weird.” Chimes Matteo but lets it go regardless.

The boys agree with her in a way, the weight of what they’d accomplished settling in.

Matheo, who had finally changed out of the dress, grinned. “So, when do we start counting our millions?”

Blaise chuckled. “Soon. Very soon.”

With that, the group began to clean up. Theodore lets out a gasp. The group of teens turn to look at him. There he stood, a bag made out of cow leather in his hand. Horrified expression on his face.

“Maybe don't show this one to Betsy.”

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Taglist @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys . @mxryxmfooty , @hoeforvinniehackerrr

[sofiareidings]

Coffee Runs

Summary: The guy who's been coming to the cafe you work at finally asked why you've never called him by his name.

A/N: I'm sorry this story is so late, especially since I missed Monday's post. School has been so busy this week and I've also had a bunch if extracurricular lately. I'll try and be more on time from now on (Don't hold me to that) Also! I got the idea for this one shot from @hanllo-kitty

Word Count: 0.8k

Song Suggestions: Invisible String - Taylor Swift

It was a good job, a great job really. The cafe was in a nicer part of town and people would subconsciously give nice tips so your pay was good. Rarely were customers terrible. Most people that came in were students or really busy people rushing in and going.

There were a few regulars. Like Joe, Joe was an eighty year old man who came in everyday for a coffee and a sandwich. While he waited he would talk about the lotto numbers and how his kids were doing. There was also Lola, she was a journalist who spent most of her day sitting in the corner of the cafe while refilling the same cup until closing.

But there was only one regular you would think about while getting ready for work.

Come on, I don't know his name. Don't shoot the messenger.

He'd been coming in for the past three months almost everyday, right after the cafe opened for a coffee. He always looked a little tired and acted like it too. He barely made conversation and normally shuffled out of the store in the same fashion as the other overworked people; quickly.

You hadn't learned his name yet. He always seemed to forget to say it when you asked, which resulted in you making up something.

"Guy with the sweater vest!"

"Guy in the purple!"

"Guy with the scarf!"

You get the point.

He was your favourite regular because of his looks. God, even when he was incredibly sleep deprived he looked beautiful. He had brown hair that fell just below his sharp jaw. Brown eyes that always happened to be in the light from the cafe window, making the small gold flakes in his eyes shine. He was normally dressed in a sweater vest and neutral pants, he probably worked at some type of office. The one part of him that stood out in his outfits were his converse, odd for the rest of his outfit. You could've sworn a few times you saw brightly coloured mismatched socks.

***

The sound of the cafe bell echoed through the nearly empty shop, having only opened half an hour ago. Smiling in the direction of the person walking in you quickly noticed it was 'Guy with *whatever he had on*" who came in. Something was different, he had thick glasses on. That was new.

"Hey, just the regular coffee and donut?" You put the order into the computer, looking back up at him. Taking in the new look.

"Yeah, thanks." His lips creased into a line, you called it a tired smile, the same one he made everyday. He handed over his money and poured the change into the tip jar then stepped back to wait for his order.

A couple minutes later you came back to the counter with his order. "Guy with the glasses!"

He did his usual, smiled and grabbed his order saying bye. But just when he reached the threshold of the door he paused and turned. "Why do you do that?"

Having already turned around you paused, this was the first time he'd talked to you in a clear voice. You weren't really sure what he meant. "Do what? Did I get your order wrong?"

He cleared his throat and seemed a little frustrated. "You never say my name, you just call me guy with something. Is it just to annoy me?"

"What? No, you've just never told me your name." Laughing a little, realising the misunderstanding.

"I didn't?" His face changed to confusion, "Oh my gosh, I didn't." He realised his mistake then his face flushed a shade of red.

"Don't worry, it's okay. Guy with the glasses." You laughed, looking around the cafe for a minute, strange it was still pretty empty.

"I am so sorry, I thought I told you and you just wanted to annoy me. I feel like a jerk, you seem so nice." Genuinely sorry he apologised profusely. "Can I make it up to you?"

Deciding to take the chance, you'd been daydreaming about this guy for months. "Well, maybe you could take me on a date." A little shocked by your own boldness, your face went up like twelve degrees.

"Uh, yeah…" He trailed off, clearly flustered. "Yeah, I would really like that."

"Well then, it's a date." You beamed, internally jumping up and down out of excitement. Since when were you so forward? He made that smile he made everyday before turning towards the door again.

That's when you realised.

"Wait!" You shouted, louder than you expected. Causing your coworker to drop a cup. "You still haven't told me your name."

"It's Spencer. I'll make sure to be back tomorrow." He nodded again and chuckled lightly before finally walking through the door.

God could tomorrow morning come any quicker.

[yourmomxx]

Family Line

father of mine masterlist

summary: the hunt for the monster starts. We find out what happened all those years ago between Dean and his daughter.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, descriptions of blood, descriptions of murder, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,5k

a/n: we did it, guys! this is the last part of the father-of-mine series. I’m really sorry about the late upload, but I do hope it was worth the wait! This might be the ending of this series, but not quite the ending of the story … thank you all so much for sticking around and supporting this story, sequels and prequels about dean and his daughter will definitely come!

pt1 pt2 pt3

Sioux Falls 2007

It was late at night, and in Bobby Singer’s Junkyard, the lights were still on. Accompanying the chirping tunes of the cicadas, a fading pop song from somewhere in the ‘70s was trailing out the windows.

On the small wooden table in the kitchen, Dean and Sam Winchester had spread out a multitude of lore books found in Bobby’s bookshelf, some worn out, some torn, and Sam was currently leaned over a particularly ugly-written paragraph dedicated to the magical use of a pan’s flute.

“Dean, I can hear you being silent.” Sam raised his head to look his older brother in the eye. “What is it?”

Dean shrugged, threw a look at the numerous variations of old books about supernatural creatures laid out in front of them, then at his little brother.

“You’re overworking yourself, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. The keyboard clicked as he typed something on the laptop.

“Dean, we’ve been over this,” Sam said. “I’m just trying to find a way for you to not die. You can’t exactly blame me for that.”

“Yes, exactly, we’ve been over it,” Dean countered. “And I told you there’s no way around it. I made a deal, that’s it. Period, no refunds.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Well, I don’t want that to be it.” He muttered under his breath.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when they heard the sound of tiny footsteps over the floor.

Dean perked up and turned his head.

“Hey, my little love.”

A while ago, the soft tone in his brother’s words would have caught Sam completely off guard. By now, he was already getting used to the way Dean’s eyes had a different look in them – one of pure love – and he spoke with a softness as if his words alone should wrap their recipient up in satin cloth.

Sam turned around to look at who Dean was talking to, and was not surprised to see a small girl trutting towards them, little legs still uncoordinated after only just waking up. Her small fists were rubbing her squinted eyes, the light in the living room must be blinding her.

Y/N made her way over to Dean and made grabby hands up at him.

Dean chuckled and picked his daughter up under her arms, placing her carefully on his thigh as she nuzzled into his dark flannel shirt.

Sam smiled at the contrast of Dean’s shirt, and her bright yellow children’s nightgown with the washed out Led Zeppelin-logo printed on.

Dean’s big hand was rubbing circles on her back, as he craned his neck to bow it down to her.

“What are you doing awake so late, sweetheart?” He hushed.

Y/N nuzzled her nose into his neck. “’d a bad dream,” she mumbled.

Sam could see the emotion cross over his brother’s face for a brief second as he made eye contact with him.

They both knew that this could – would – happen. That little girl had been through so much already, at her young age, had seen and lost things no child should ever see or lose.

They both had known that nightmares would probably eventually start haunting her, but yet, they had still not been prepared for when it was the time.

Dean didn’t know what he should be feeling, his daughter had had a nightmare, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, keep her there, and kill everything in her way to becoming happy.

But he knew he couldn’t do that. And that’s why he wanted to, so much more.

“Really?” He asked instead, hand not leaving her back. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“Everybody was leaving me,” Y/N sniffled, small fist rubbing her nose. “You, Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam, Grandpa Bobby.” Another sniffle.

“I was all alone.”

Dean felt like sobbing. A heavy weight had latched itself on his heart. Oh, his little girl. How much he loved her.

“Sweetheart, it was just a bad dream,” he promised to her. “We are not going to leave you alone, I swear.”

Y/N pulled her face from the crook of his neck and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Pinky promise?” She asked.

Dean lifted his free hand and linked his pinky finger with hers. “Pinky promise,” he said.

Something told him he had made a mistake. But he couldn’t care right now.

Still, he felt like a liar.

“Now,” he said, a conspiratorial tone in his words, “What do you say we get you back to bed and I stay until you fall asleep, hm? How does that sound?”

Y/N didn’t fuss long about it, she just nodded her head and nuzzled closer to him.

Dean understood the silent command, and lifted her into his arms as he stood up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Sam looked after them as they disappeared up the stairs. Now alone, he turned his attention back to his research. Why he was reading everything about the dog Cerberus right now, he couldn’t quite decipher, but he was grasping onto every straw.

A few minutes passed by, and Dean was still not back. Another few, another few.

Sam frowned as he looked at the clock on the wall. 5.13 in the evening. Sam realized now that the clock was broken.

Curtly, he stood up from the table and climbed the stairs to the bedrooms.

The door to Y/N’s room was open, hiding the colored sign she had written her name on (with Dean’s help) to inform everyone of her territory.

Careful to be quiet, Sam stepped closer to the threshold, peeking into the dark room. A dim night light in the form of a crescent moon was burning on the nightstand. In the bed laid a small bundle of blankets and stuffed animals, which Sam could only guess was Y/N.

Next to her, holding the girl in his arms, Sam spotted Dean, probably holding on for dear life on the edge of the narrow bed.

Sam smiled at them.

Through the silence, a soft, hummed melody reached Sam’s ears, and he perked up.

He knew that song from somewhere, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Na-na na na. Nana na-a.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, are you singing her Smells like Teen Spirit?”

Dean looked at him, grinning. “Yeah. It’s a classic.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sam was the stupid one.

“I mean, look at her,” he said, his gaze shifting to his daughter again. “She’s gonna be a badass one day. Right? One day, you’re gonna be as badass and cool as your daddy.”

Oh yeah, that girl was out like a light.

Sam just shook his head chuckling. “All right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Dean didn’t answer him, but he knew he heard him.

A few minutes after Sam had left, currently sitting at the kitchen table again, starting a new chapter of the same book, Dean came downstairs.

Wordlessly, he took his seat across from Sam, and pulled one of the lore books closer to him.

And though he had an idea where his brother’s new sense of determination came from, Sam didn’t say a word when Dean started reading.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

When you called, for a brief second Sam was worried that Dean was gonna crash the car. The way his face morphed into shock, concern and then anger, while he was talking to you on the phone had his little brother worried.

After you hung up, Sam pretended not to notice the way Dean pushed further into the gas pedal.

The first rays of the morning sunlight made their way over the hills, when Sam and Dean arrived at the Group Home. Dean didn’t bother with a neat parking maneuver, and just turned the motor off, then made his way with fast steps over to the castle.

Sam trailed behind.

They had no problem entering the building, Maria had given them an official key card for their investigations. Dean stormed down the hallways with a fast step, as if he had memorized the entire way by heart.

Sam wouldn’t blame him.

You were sitting on your bed when they came in. Or more, cowering there.

Sam was all too familiar with the look of disturbed terror in your eyes, even when you firmly avoided looking at either of them.

“Y/N?” Dean moved a step forward, stretching his hand out towards you as if to soothingly touch your shoulder, but hesitated in his movement and pulled away.

Sam threw him a worried look that Dean didn’t seem to catch.

“What happened?”

Your fingers were continuously drumming against your knee pulled close to your chest.

“’d a bad dream,” you mumbled. Sam could hear the fear in your voice. Dean sat down in your chair opposite the bed.

“When I woke up, there was …” You swallowed and hardly squinted your eyes. “I don’t know what it was. Looked like two yellow … eyes.”

Sam couldn’t help the disgusted twist his face made at the word. He couldn’t imagine waking up to something like this.

Dean exchanged a look with him. Your story confirmed their theory even more.

On the bed, you had gone quiet again. Your fingers were still drumming an uneven pattern on your skin.

This didn’t make sense. This didn’t make sense. She was dead, Cass was dead. Roy was dead. Dean Winchester was here. He left you, and now he was here, but not for you, no, but for Roy. They were all dead.

And you were next.

“Have you ever heard of an alp?” Your head snapped up as Dean’s question pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“An Alp?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean - yes, I came across that lore when I was still taking German literature.”

“You took German Literature?” Dean regretted his question as soon as he asked it.

“Yes,” you answered, but something had shifted in your tone. It was low and pressed. Shit. He knew he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Sam felt like smacking his brother across the head.

“So you know what they are?” He asked instead, and you shrugged, looking at your feet again.

“Yes, well, I know that the Germans believed that an Alp would sit on their chests while they slept, and it would feed on their good dreams - plaguing the sleeping person with terrible nightmares. That’s why they used to have shortened beds, because if they weren’t lying down, the alp couldn’t sit on their chest.”

While you talked, realization hit you like a brick. Or more like a huge wave, rather, if the feeling of being violently ripped of all air was anything to go by.

“Oh my God,” You breathed out. “Cass and Roy both had nightmares before they died.” You looked between Dean and Sam with shock-widened eyes. “This Alp thing was the reason for all of this, right? I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“Not if we have a say in it.” Dean’s jaw remained stoically clenched as he spoke his promise.

“What did you dream about?” Sam asked.

You ducked your head even further into yourself and picked at the skin next to your nails. “’s it important?”

“It could be.”

You took a deep breath and bit the inside of your cheek. “Same as Roy,” you simply said. “Worst day of my life.”

And, okay. Sam didn’t get into college for being slow, he knew exactly what day that was. And judging by the brief flicker of emotion crossing over Dean’s face, he knew, too.

But he didn’t address it and only cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, if it really is an Alp – which it probably is – then we already know how to get rid of it.”

“We would lure it into a trap. You know, get us some … bait and then just –“ Dean symbolically dragged a finger across his throat.

You raised your eyebrows in concern. “And how do you think that’s gonna work?”

Admittedly, this hadn’t been your smartest moment, but given the circumstances you were in, you figured you could be forgiven.

Sam dipped his head. “That’s where you come in.”

“You can always say no,” Dean carefully offered. “If you don’t want to do it.”

You lifted your chin in the air. “This thing is the reason two of my best friends are dead,” you said. “I want to pay back the favor.”

Sam nodded. “Alright then.”

“So you guys got a plan?” You asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we do.”

—

It was loud in the cafeteria. It always was. Today, though, you were especially aware of it, because most of the noise was heavily directed towards you.

Or rather, about you, which had just the same effect in your opinion.

You had barely entered the big room and had already felt a few dozen eyes fixated on you. The whispering had started when you got closer to the buffet, and the occasional double-take and looking-fast-away-when-she-is-looking had continued when you had sat down.

Of course, how else should it be, you had been given the rehearsed “My condolences” or “I’m so sorry for your loss”.

Long story short, to you it felt like the day of Roy’s death all over again.

Except this time, they were serving pasta, and not chicken with rice.

It was days like these (which, in your opinion, had been happening far too often over the past few weeks), that made you hate this place even more. It’s not like you had had a reason for that before, the supervisors were nice, so were the helping staff and, of course, Maria.

Maria, who had taken you under her wing from the first day you arrived here. She had acted like a mother towards you, the one you had never had, no matter how hostile you had acted towards her.

Still, as you grew older, the whole thing felt simply more washed out and sickening.

Maybe this really was just a side effect of puberty, as your gynecologist had said.

As you let your gaze travel over the many familiar faces, you couldn’t help but notice that Finn wasn’t under any of them.

Finn, your beloved Finn. You then suddenly remembered the text conversation the two of you had had the other night. Before, well – everything. You still needed to stay true to that.

Silently, you made a note to yourself in your head, to drop by his room straight after lu-

A broad silhouette squeezing into the seat opposite you blocked your view over the hall, and your eyebrows shot up as you realized who it was.

“Uhm, hello?” You asked as Dean folded his hands on the table.

“You told everyone I was dead?” He asked, purposely skimming over your question.

You frowned and opened the small package of parmesan. “Well, aren’t you? About six times?”

Dean frowned and you caught him counting something under his breath with his fingers.

You shook your head, making a point of ignoring him and poured sauce over the dry spaghetti.

“That’s not even my point.”

“What, you’re saying you didn’t barge into the middle of my lunch – after the night I had – to scold me over the inaccuracy of your death rate?” You clicked your tongue. “Surprise.”

Dean apparently didn’t deem it necessary to address your sarcastic tone. That, or he knew just how much he deserved it, which you were fine with, either way.

“Look,” he started, and Jesus, this was going to be serious. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night.”

Confused, you tilted your head.

“I mean about the dream,” Dean quickly added. “I mean, we both know what it was about, and I just …” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, and let out a short breath that was probably supposed to be failed attempt at a laugh.

“I’m not a big … talking guy, you know? But I just … I always told myself, if I ever had kids, that I would be different then. That …” He stopped again.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You scoffed. “You’re a bit late for that,” you spat. “I mean, it’s been what, almost a decade? ‘Sorry’ travels far, but not that many years.”

“I know that,” Dean said, “But I want you to know, that-“

“Well, I don’t want to know!” You interrupted him. Maybe too loud, if the simultaneous turn of heads was anything to go by. “I don’t want you to tell me anything. No excuses, no explanations, I want, and I need absolutely nothing from you, you understand?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, I do.” He said. “But still-“

“No!” The dishes clattered as you slammed your hand on the table. “Dean, you don’t understand! You just left me here, at this orphanage –“

“It’s a group home.”

“Same thing, Dean!” You snapped. “Just a fancier word.”

Dean carefully pulled his hand away from the table, folding it with his other in his lap. You could feel him watching you, but you consequently avoided his gaze.

“Look, I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” You decided. “I am going to go talk to my best friend, and when I go to sleep, I’ll try not to get killed! So goodbye.”

And with that, you picked up your still full lunch-tray, dumped it on one of the cleaning wagons, and made your way out of the cafeteria.

You never turned around to see Dean looking after you.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

St. George, Louisiana 2012

Dean Winchester was standing by a window. Through the clean glass he had a clear view of green gardens, well-kept flowers and trees leaning in the soft breeze of the wind.

Further away, he spotted the tall hedge walls of something that had to be a garden maze.

“I hope you know just how grateful I am for what you and your brother did for me.”

The voice of Maria Whitlock lifted Dean out of his thoughts, and he turned around to face the older woman.

She spoke in a soothing tone, one that reminded him of a mother he never had, but learned to long for.

Dean nodded. “That’s our job.”

Maria gave him a look and tilted her head. He was standing in her office, a neatly tidied room with a shelf for books and files, and a rather expensive looking desk. Very clean as well.

“What you decided to do was probably very hard,” she continued. “But I can assure you, in most cases, it turns out to be the better option for both parties.”

He didn’t like the way she talked about his plan like it was a good thing, when it wasn’t. It didn’t make him a good person for doing it.

“I’m sure, Dean, that there will be a lovely family out there who will take care of her –“

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly interrupted her. It was the first time in here he had spoken more than for words. “I don’t … I don’t want someone else to take her in.”

Maria raised her skeptical eyebrows at him. “Do I understand correctly, Dean?” She asked. “You want her to just - stay here?” And her tone was implying exactly what she held of that idea.

“Look, I know how that sounds.”

“I really hope you do.”

“But my job doesn’t allow me to properly take care of her. When Bobby was still - well, she stayed with him, and we visited her from time to time.”

Maria nodded. “I understand. But what you have to understand, is, that this will surely not be easy for her. Whereas many of the elder children indeed do live here, the younger ones are usually adopted by a foster family who can take care of them. Who can love them,” she added.

Dean looked out the window again.

“I understand that,” He said. “But this is how I want it.”

He couldn’t see Maria behind him, as he was turned away from her, but he could well sense the way her observing, maybe judging gaze was burning between his shoulder blades.

“Well, then.” She sighed.

And as Dean watched the flowers dance in the wind, listening to Maria shuffling through her papers, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the most selfish decisions he has ever made.

—

Soft wind was tugging at Dean’s hair. Somewhere in the distance he was aware of the rippling water of a small fountain.

Dean tried to not actively think of what he was doing here. Of the consequences his actions would inevitably cause. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Y/N’s hand was holding his in a strong grip, as they walked up to Maria and he greeted her.

Maria leaned down to be on eye level with his daughter and smiled at her.

“Hello Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. Your Dad has told me so much about you! I’m sure you’ll settle in here just nicely.”

Dean crouched down and placed both his arms on Y/N’s for her to look at him. She had been eyeing Maria and the castle suspiciously.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he started. “Maria is really, really nice. And because Uncle Sam and I have to work so much, she is going to take very good care of you.”

Y/N averted his eyes and stared at her shoes. Then, sh burst forward, slung her small arms around Dean’s neck and buried her face in his chest.

“I wanna go with you,” she mumbled into his jacket. Dean sighed. With a heavy heart, be broke out of the embrace. “I promise I’m old enough, I want to go with you!” She pleaded again. With every word, Dean’s heart shattered just a bit more.

“Look, you remember when you stayed with Grandpa Bobby for a while when me and Uncle Sammy had to work?” She nodded, sniffling.

“This is gonna be just like that. I promise.”

Y/N sniffled again. Then she held out her hand to him. “Pinky promise?”

I promise that we’ll be fine.

I promise that we’d never just leave you alone.

I promise that Grandpa Bobby will be alright.

Dean pulled Y/N into his chest again. He breathed in deep, as if that would somehow help him savor this moment, savor her to be engraved in his brain to never forget. His little girl, the only thing good and pure in his life.

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart again.

He stood up, and even though he wasn’t that old, everything in his body hurt at the movement.

“But I don’t know anyone here!” Y/N said again. It has been her go-to argument the entire car ride to the castle.

“I want to go with you and Uncle Sam!”

“Y/N!” The sharpness in Dean’s tone felt like it was cutting him. “I said you can’t.”

Her bottom lip started to tremble, before a big tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one, and another one, until she was full-on sobbing.

“Please, Dad!” She cried, and Dean’s heart shattered.

Behind her, Maria put a caring hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, sweetie, say goodbye to your dad.”

Y/N violently shook her hand off her body. “No! No, I don’t want to go with you! I want to stay with my dad!”

Maria and Dean exchanged a look. In her eyes, he recognized something that told him to change his mind.

It took everything in Dean to turn around and walk away.

He fixated his eyes on his car a few feet away from him. He wasn’t walking very fast, but with the weight that felt tied to his feet, it was the best he could do.

Behind him, Y/N kept crying. And as she was pleading and pleading, for him to come back, for him to stay, the feeling of realization started heavily sinking in, that he was really waking away.

Not only from this situation, from his daughters cries, but from her. From his child.

His feet felt even heavier.

When he reached the car door and opened it, he didn’t feel anything. Everything happened in a haze. He vaguely registered starting the car and pressing his foot on the gas pedal.

His daughter’s sobs were still replaying over and over in his mind like the sounds of a broken vinyl, as the naked road flew by the dirty windows.

Sam didn’t address the single tear that rolled down his brother’s cheek. And Dean just kept driving.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

Since forever on, you had never been quite good with your emotions. Portraying them, talking about them, feeling them.

It was an obstacle.

Looking back at it, you figured it was probably somehow running in your family, the whole being emotionally unavailable thing.

Could that be inherited? According to your biology teacher, yes, but you didn’t know how well you believed that.

Nevertheless, as you knocked on the cold door that was the entrance to your - only left – best friend’s room, emotions welled up in your throat as choking as a tidal wave clashing its weight over your head.

It was dark in there. The curtains had been pulled closed and the thick material wouldn’t let a flicker of daylight in the room.

A smell hung over the entire place, of stale air and leftover food, and the sensation of hopelessness. Finn was sitting on the edge of his bed, a dark silhouette staring crooked at his hands in his lap, only illuminated by the weak light of the bedside lamp.

Without properly acknowledging him, you took quick strides to the other side of the room, and without further ado, ripped his curtains open.

The sun was already lowering down the horizon again, but the leftover light was still enough to turn the dark silhouettes in the bedroom into concrete shapes, of dirty plates, glasses, and clothes scattered all over the floor.

From his place on the bed, Finn groaned lowly, like a small bear being awaken from hibernation.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes as you sat down next to him. The bed dipped under your weight and you moved over a few study sheets that laid on his duvet.

“Hey,” you said.

Finn dropped his hands into his lap again and turned his tired gaze on you.

“Hey,” he said back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Finn’s eyes tiredly scanned the room around him, the mess it was in, and then shook his head.

“Nah.”

“Alright.” You weren’t, really, but that conversation could wait until another time.

“How you holdin’ up?”

Finn tilted his head to you in a way that said ‘Ain’t it obvious?’ and you shrugged in response. “Stupid question, got it.”

Finn sighed.

There was a silence building between the two of you that you didn’t like. You kept yourself from fidgeting impatiently on the sheets.

“I just-“ Finn cut himself off and ruffled his hand through his hair. “Ever since – well, yesterday – I’ve been thinking about …”

He broke off again, blinking with his face towards the ceiling to avoid the falling of tears.

“Y/N, the last thing I said to her, was – we fought.” Finn’s confession was almost a whimper as he looked at you, awaiting your reaction.

Your heart broke at the look in his eyes, so clouded full with guilt and self-loathing, you almost didn’t recognize him.

“Oh, Finn, she loved you.” You sighed, and placed a gentle yet firm hand on his arm. “She knew what you were going through, what we were all going through. And trust me, she never, not for a second, held it against you. That was one moment out of almost ten years we all spent together. It didn’t mean anything, not in the long run.”

Finn sniffed and rubbed his nose, diverting his gaze to his hands again.

“Finn, she didn’t die hating you.” You put emphasis on every word as much as you could, because you wanted him to hear you, to understand, to believe. You didn’t want to let him wallow in his own self-destructing thoughts about something that wasn’t even true, not in the slightest bit.

Finn just hummed, but didn’t meet your eyes, just kept them trained on his lap. You sighed and let your hand slowly slide from his arm.

For a while, it was quiet again.

“My father is here,” you then blurted out.

Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that died?”

“Yeah.” You weighed your head. “In my defense, I thought he died too, until he showed up in a fancy suit, investigating my best friend’s murder.”

The typical phrase of ‘seeing gears turning in someone’s head’ was the only way you would describe what you were seeing displayed on Finn’s face right now, just before the realization hit him.

“Wait, your father’s one of the hot FBI agents?”

You pursed your lips and nodded.

Finn blinked in disbelief.

“Wow,” He breathed out.

“Yup.” You said, popping the ‘p’. “Just got a lot less hot, huh?”

Finn raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “For my own safety, I’m really not gonna answer that.”

You let out a laugh and playfully shoved him with your shoulder.

“Idiot.”

Finn grinned. “You love me.”

You hummed. “You’re right, I really do.”

A long while later, the door closed behind you again with a click.

Finn had to promise you to get in touch with you if he felt the need to, and to at least try and keep his room in order. After a brief conversation of how his view of himself and his ‘need to call you’ was very different from yours, you had hugged him and decided to leave.

Before you had walked out, your hand had rested on the handle, and you had turned around to Finn, not quite looking him in the eye.

“You know I love you too, right?” You had said. “No matter what happens.”

Finn frowned, but if he got suspicious, he didn’t mention it. “I know. Same here.”

You swallowed and nodded.

Then you left the room.

Now you were standing outside of his door, gaze drifting into the distance, and the same weight that had been lifted off your shoulders replaced by another one, just as heavy.

Funny, how, even if indirectly, saying your Goodbyes, made the lingering presence of death looming over you like a dark shadow much more real. If only one thing went wrong tonight, then-

You shook your head at the thought. No, Sam and Dean were going to take care of it, they promised. You had to put their trust into them with this.

But if tonight really was it, then you were content with the feeling that the last conversation you had, had been with Finnegan Beckett.

The walk back to your room stretched longer than usual.

--

Sooner than you would like it to, the sun disappeared behind the hills and night reigned over the land.

Sam and Dean were standing in your room, rehearsing their – honestly, pretty vague – plan with you, making sure you knew exactly how everything would go down. To be fair, you didn’t really play a big part in the whole thing, but it was nice having some sort of reassurance.

“Alright, so you know what to do?” Sam questioned once again.

Slowly, you nodded your head. “Lay still and look pretty,” you joked. “And try not to get killed.”

“Leave that last part to us,” said Dean. “You don’t have to worry about anything. By the time you wake up, everything will be over.”

You nodded.

You had seen it in Dean’s eyes, that he wasn’t all in with the idea of using you as bait, but you had done it nevertheless.

You weren’t a little child anymore, especially not his, he wasn’t going to decide what you wanted or not wanted to risk.

You took a deep breath that lifted your shoulders and huffed it back out. You were going to do this. It was easy.

—

Like hell it was.

Whoever told you you had the easiest part of the plan had been fucking lying to you. Turns out, sleeping is way harder with the knowledge of probable death hanging over your head like a dark cloud.

Every time your eyes slipped closed, a glimpse of doubt squeezed its way into your mind. What if Sam and Dean didn’t make it? What if everything went wrong? What if, in the end, you did die?

The sheets were already pooling crumbled by your feet when you slipped out of consciousness.

--

The mass of hot bodies pressing together and towering over you was clamming. A figure was running away from you, you were chasing after it. You smelt old leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted. You wanted more of it.

Gravel clattered underneath your boots as you got out of the car on your own, like all the big girls would.

“Look, Daddy!” But Daddy wasn’t there.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” There she was again, the nice girl with the black hair. She held out her hand and you went to grab it, her warm presence looming you in, and then the floor opened up under your feet and you were falling into nothingness.

--

Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, as you startled awake in your bed, feeling your lungs tighten up and making it hard to breathe.

Your panicked gaze flew to the door of your room – wide open, the light of the hall casting a dim shadow into the room.

“Wha- Sam! Dean!” Hastily, you pulled the covers off your body and hurried out the door. Something must have gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

You followed the sound of footsteps and scuffle down the hallway, turned the lights on where it had gone off at a few junctions.

Your breathing was still shallow, but you pushed through that and your still dazing mind, adrenaline pumping through your veins with every step you took.

Rapidly turning around another corner, you almost stumbled over the long legs of Sam’s body on the floor. You came to an abrupt halt and kneeled worried next to him.

“Sam? Oh my God, are you-“

Sam groaned and moved his head, eyes still pressed shut. “’s strong,” he babbled, and you tried your hardest to understand what he was saying.

By the way he was slurring his words, you had well reason to think he had suffered a concussion.

“It’s alright, stay here,” you ordered him, as he tried to sit up.

Only then, you first noticed the struggling noises a few feet away from you, and lifted your eyes away from Sam to check where they were coming from.

What you saw almost made your heart drop into your stomach.

Not that far away from you, maybe a few armlengths, was Dean, laying on the floor on his back just like his brother. But he was wrestling with something sitting on his chest, something small and hairy, hunchbacked like an old witch but only with the size of a cat.

The thing, which had to be the Alp, had long, bony limbs, and was fighting tooth and nail, hissing, biting and scratching, against Dean.

It reminded you of a gremlin, of sorts.

In your head, you heard Roy’s voice scold you, “There’s a distinct difference between all supernatural creatures. Elves don’t equal fairies, and gremlins don’t equal goblins, because while gremlins are fuzzy and cute in the beginning and only bad later when they turn, goblins have always been known for harassing humans.”

Alright, so no gremlin then.

Near you, Dean was still rolling around on the floor, fighting for the upper hand with the Alp.

Your heart sped up as you realized that something had to be wrong. Because why wasn’t he just killing it?

--

“So how do you kill it?”

Sam pulled something out of his duffel bag and turned it in his hands, the dim light of your lamp reflecting on the material. “Silver dagger dipped in vampire blood.” He spoke.

“Wait – vampires bleed?”

Dean scoffed. “This isn’t Twilight, kiddo. Yes, vampires bleed.”

You shrugged and inspected the phial he had laid into your hand. “I was thinking more of Fear Street, but alright.”

Dean ignored that he didn’t know what that was, but made a mental note to look it up later.

Sam stuffed the dagger back into his arsenal.

“You don’t have to worry about that part, though,” He assured you. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Dean nodded. “He’s right. You just dream sweet, and we’ll handle the rest. Fool-proof.”

You nodded, passing Dean the blood back. You could only hope they were right.

--

The shining silver of the dagger caught your eye. It had most likely been scattered away from Dean and landed near a wall, far out of his reach.

You took quick steps over to pick it up, Dean’s struggling grunts making you alert, and probably the reason why you didn’t think about what you did next, you just did it.

The silver dagger felt light in your hands, coated in the dark fluid of what had to be vampire blood. The blade reflected the clinical white light from the hallway as you lifted it up over your head, and, using the strength of both your hands, pushed it with force into the monster’s upper torso.

The squelching sound it made, as it penetrated bristly fur, skin, and organs, would later make you feel repulsed and gagging, sort of like nails scratching on a blackboard, but in this moment, you just clenched the dagger tighter and pushed it further into the monster’s chest.

The screech it let out could not be compared to any animalistic sounds you had ever heard before. In a swift move, you pulled the weapon out of the Alp’s body, and the small creature slumped to the floor right next to Dean.

You waited for a second. Two, three panting breaths. Dean was the first to move. He put a hand somewhere where the thing’s neck should be.

Then, swallowing in-between his hard breaths, he nodded. “Done,” was all he said. But it was enough for a sigh of relief to leave your tired lungs, and you sunk to the ground right next to him.

Looking closer at its lifeless body, the Alp had more similarity with one of those dead, stuffed animals that hunters hung in their houses as trophies. But maybe that was just rigor mortis.

Through your haze, you barely registered Dean clapping a firm hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to look at him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy as the adrenaline was wearing off. Like sucking air out of a balloon.

“You did good today, kid.” He said, and though you were tired, in his eyes you could see that he meant it. It filled your chest with a warmth that hadn’t been at home in there since … God knows when, and it made you smile.

Near you, Sam staggered closer, still holding his hurting ribs, and tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at the lifeless Alp before you.

“Is it just me or does it … look like a cat?”

You and Dean both looked over at him, and then at the dead monster on the floor.

“Looks more like a gremlin-goblin hybrid,” You panted. “A gromblin.”

Sam threw you a look of pure confusion, while Dean was grinning proudly. You smiled back. It felt honest.

And very likely, it was.

-- It was quiet again.

From the fight and struggles a few days ago was no trace left, as you stood by your desk and sorted through some old photographs you had replaced on your wall.

The pictures you were sorting through mostly showed you, Finn, Roy and Cass together.

At school, at the movies, going out to eat.

You sighed and plucked some tape from the back of another one.

Right at that moment, a knock sounded from your door. Without even looking up from Cass and Roy smiling at you, holding a stray cat, you let out a “Come in,” at the person on the other side of the door.

The familiar sound of the hinges creaking signified the opening and closing of the door. And then, Dean Winchester was standing in your room.

“Uhm …” He was rubbing his neck awkwardly, as you looked at him expectantly.

“Hey. What’s up?” You asked, and put the photographs in a drawer.

Dean took a deep breath and looked at you. He wasn’t wearing the same casual clothes as he had been that terrible night, but had settled on his FBI suit again. Maybe for effect.

“Look, I was just-“ Dean fumbled for a second and then took a seat on the small chair that was standing around. “We should talk. This time for real.”

You tilted your head, and avoided looking at him.

Dean didn’t wait for any response, he simply kept talking. Maye rambling.

“I know I already tried, but it wasn’t my best, so I …” He sighed.

“I never explained anything to you. why things went down how they did. Y/N, please look at me.”

You had sat down in your deskchair, pulling your legs to your chest and now did your best to fix your eyes on Dean.

“What we do, the hunting … it’s no way to grow up for a child. I know how that is. And I never, ever, wanted that for you. I already had plans to end things sooner than they did, but then ..” He shook his head. “Didn’t work out. So, when Bobby died, I saw no other chance than to get you somewhere else. And I took that chance to just … remove you from my life, as hard as it was.”

“But I promise you, Y/N, it was all just to keep you safe. I never would’ve done it if there had been another way. And I wanted you to know that.”

Dean stood on his feet again and placed the chair back on its original spot. You looked away as he reached for the door handle, to get out of your life, again.

“So you’re just gonna leave? Again?” Your words were accusing and they were meant to be that way, but still you almost felt bad, as Dean dropped his hand by his side and let out a sigh.

“Like I said, it was for the best. Still is, in my opinion.”

“What, to remove me from your life again?” You jumped out of your chair, fury burning in your eyes and voice growing louder with every word you spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t get it-“

“No, you don’t get it!” You jelled at him. What was burning in your eyes were now more tears than anger, but it didn’t matter.

“For years, I’ve been trying to … to figure out what I did wrong. For years, I’ve been trying to do better, every day, I wanted to be better, because I thought —. I thought that if I had good grades, and if I started working out, and if I was always on my best behavior … I thought that you would come and get me. But somehow you never did. And I just … I don’t understand, I want you to tell me, what did I do wrong, what made you leave, because I swear, I’ll change. I’ll change, and I’ll work on it, just please…” A begging undertone accompanied your tear-choked words. “Don’t leave me here again.”

Wordlessly, Dean quickly crossed the room and put his arms around you. it took you a second to realize what was even happening, before you clung to his suit jacket, digging all your strength into it, as if the fabric was the only think that kept you from drowning in black water.

You felt the shadow of warmth, as Dean turned his head to press a featherlight kiss into your hair.

“I regret having to leave you.” He murmured next to your ear. “But what I do not regret is keeping you safe. Even if that meant leaving you.”

You sniffled, and pulled away from him. Dean’s own face wasn’t full of fresh tear stains, but still you could see the sincerity and something like sadness on his features.

You wiped your cheeks to clean them off the drying liquids.

“I’m older now,” You said, and Dean scoffed, already knowing where this was headed. “No, please, listen to me! I’m older, I can make my own choices, take my own risks. You saw how great I was a few days ago!”

“Yes, but that was one monster!” Dean countered. “Out there, there are hundreds of those things. We don’t get enough sleep, no nice food, not even nice beds! Trust me, Y/N, compared to this-“ he gestured around your room, “what we do has nothing on it.”

You shook your head. “But you’re together when you do it. You and Sam. And I just want that, I want to be with you.”

Dean sighed and took a step back.

“Please, Dean, I’m begging you!” You urged. “You said you never wanted to come back here, but now you had to, I mean – don’t you think that’s some sort of … sign or something?”

“I don’t believe in signs.”

“Well, screw signs, I’m here!” You pointed to yourself. Your voice was desperate, but so were you.

“I am here, and I want you to take me with you.” And in a whisper, you repeated, “Please, Dean, this time – let me come with you.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Dean heavily sighed and pulled the chair closer to him to sit down.

--

The church bells were tolling a loud, fast tune. It was ironic, you thought, and you didn’t know if you should cry or laugh about it.

You watched as two dark caskets were lowered down into the earth, into two separate 6-feet deep holes right next to each other.

The gravestones had not yet been prepared, but you didn’t exactly need those anyway. If the huge pictures were any indicator on who was getting buried here.

This was your last time saying Goodbye. To Cass and to Roy, and, unfortunately, to the last one remaining.

Funerals weren’t for the dead, you had once read somewhere, they were for the living, for those seeking closure in their desperate times of grief.

You had thought it to be bullshit, what difference would a burial make in a journey of overcoming the loss of someone so important?

But, as you threw a full hand of dark earth onto each of the dark caskets, you somehow understood. It was one weight less.

They were still here, some part of them. Something you could always come back to, they hadn’t just vanished off the back off the earth. That thought was, indeed, comforting.

Damn life lessons that are right.

“Hey,” you suddenly heard a voice next to you, and were a bit surprised to see Finn standing there.

You had been too lost in your own thoughts to even notice him approaching. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help your attention skills much, either.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Look, I need to tell you something,” you started, just at the same time as Finn said, “I know what you wanna say.”

Both of you let out quiet laughs.

“You first,” He said.

You took a deep breath and avoided looking at him, scanning the gravestones before you as if you had known everyone buried under them personally.

“Sam and Dean,” you started, “I mean, they’ve been here for a while and honestly, I never even thought I’d see them again. So I never really thought about what would happen if they would just – show up, you know?”

Interesting, Peter Gravill only lived to be 57 years old.

“But now they’re here, and I just-“

“I get it.” Finn suddenly interrupted you. Your head whirled around so fast you were afraid you were gonna get whiplash.

At your confused look, he added, “I mean, if my parents suddenly showed up on my doorstep and gave me the option of going with them –“ he shrugged his shoulders. “-I would most definitely take it.”

Before you could even think about it, you already lunged forwards and wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck and holding him tightly.

The hot feeling of tears burned behind your eyes, but you managed to put them away. You pulled Finn even closer.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

“You’re still younger than me.”

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The hug lasted endless, but endless went by way too quickly. You fixed Finn’s suit jacket, apologized for the tear- and make-up stains you had gotten on the expensive material, and waved him a last Goodbye.

Down by the parking lot, a black car was already waiting for you, two adult men leaning against it. They had been watching the entire thing go down from a safe distance, not wanting to interfere in either the funeral, or the emotional Goodbyes.

Sam tried not to think about what laid ahead of them, or behind them, as his niece walked towards them, away from the graves of her best friends, and leaving the only one that was still alive, behind.

His niece. How long hadn’t he said that title, let alone thought it.

He liked the familiarity of it. The rightness.

Dean opened a creaking car door for you, as you reached them.

“You ready?” He asked.

Sam could see your shoulders tighten, as you lifted your chin, and looked his brother straight in the eye.

“Yeah.”

Dean nodded, and you got in the backseat. He slammed the car door closed behind you. With one last look at his younger brother, Dean rounded Baby and took his place as the driver, Sam claiming shotgun.

Behind them, you leaned your head against the window as the engine roared and you drove off.

The car smelt like leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted.

And in the backseat of an old 1967 Chevy Impala, listening to the music that was a mix of Metallica, Kansas and Billy Joel, you slept the best night’s sleep you had had in weeks.

taglist:

@psycho-magnotheric-slime , @openmindedperson2200 , @emily-roberts

[w--zii]

a surprise

bf!jihoon x fem!reader

[minors dni]

smut warning: needy jihoon lol. male masturbation. audio recording, thats all. let me know if theres more.

vc: 530

being away from you... wasn't his favourite. even though most of the time he was in his studio creating masterpieces, barely coming home or having time for you, when things aren't in his control it drives him mad.

this is one of those times. he is aching for your touch. palming himself through his pants, he's been staring at white ceiling for 15 minutes now. with a crying groan he took his phone from nightstand and checked if he has any new messages from you. zero, of course, you are probably overworking yourself again, he thought.

jihoon's mind raced as he lay there, his thoughts consumed by images of you. the memory of your touch on his bare skin, your scent, the way you looked at him every time you took him inside your mouth, feeling your tongue on his pink-ish head.. all the thoughts fueled his desire even more. (he has a tent now)

his fingers tapping on the screen as he navigated to the voice recording app. all his song drafts welcomed him. with a smirk on his face he pressed start button and set down the phone beside his head, where the microphone can get every single sound he makes. now some pant unzipping sound can be heard. he took his cock out and gave it couple of strokes. he brought his hand mouth to spit on his fingers, especially leaning towards mic.

his slutty smirk never left his lips. he started smearing his precum all over his head, small whines leaving his mouth, he felt his heart beating faster. how many days its been since he grew this horny? he doesn't even know anymore. all he knows is how he wants you on top of him.

hand tightening around his cock, he couldn't let go of the image of your warm throat welcoming him. he didn't hesitate to make noises, even he's making sure that you can hear how needy he is for you when you listen to it.

his hands fastened as his desire for a release grow bigger. he let out breathy moans every 2 seconds, making every noise known to humans. he slowed down his movements to edge himself, moaning your name and mumbling about how much he needs you, misses your tight cunt around him. he knows that if you were to be with him here right now, you'd get bratty and torture him, of course, only to get punished afterwards. but anyway.

“y/n.. princess, i wish you were here.”

“wouldn't you want to suck me off, hm?”

“i know you miss my cock.”

“a–ah, y/n”

“i'd rather cumming on your pretty tits than my own hands..”

“mmh. my slut. i miss you.”

and.. more of him yapping....

he let out his hungry groans as hips chased his hands, bucking and going after his climax. long ropes of cum covered his stomach, glistening and making an absurd shape, it was sad that you weren't there to lick him clean. he rested both of his hands on sides as he ride though the orgasm.

he stopped the recording with his clean hand and continued staring at the ceiling. proud of his actions (lol).

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

not proof read. © w--zii. do not repost.