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thetreestumptherapist · 2 days ago

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I don't really care about the font. As long as it is easily readable for me while I am working. I started some stories in Google docs, but moved them to Microsoft Word and am considering going back for convenience sake and I haven't touched them since I moved them partly because of the default fonts. (I am aware I could change them, but I am too lazy to do so) Maybe I do care after all...

I 100% could write it by hand, and have considered it. The only reason I don't is because editing is more difficult on paper.

I haven't been writing long enough to develop a specific ritual. So maybe my lack of ritual is the real curse?

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. That and Hippopotomonstrosesqippedaliaphobia. Yes, these are spelled mostly from memory. I checked the spelling for the phobia, I did not do so for the osis.

I don't know if it's a superstition really, but your characters are alive and will 100% change the story on you and there's nothing you can do about it if you want your story to come out good and cohesive.

I have two. That I will never get it the way I like it, (I know this is an unsolvable dilemma, but it's still a fear) and that no one will like it or even see it when I publish it.

Watching my story come together. As well as coming up with a solid idea for the next part of the story.

Dialogue, because I suck at it.

I do believe in ghosts. Probably not the ghosts you're thinking of though. As a Christian I do believe spirits do things we can't see, but not quite like the stereotypical ghosts in fiction. Although they are very similar.

Depends on your definition of haunted. Haunted as in I was horrified by it? I can't think of one right now, but I am almost positive it has happened. Haunted as in hung over my head because I haven't finished it yet? Yes, my own writing has done that. As have many stories that I need to finish reading.

I am not sure what that old advice is, and I don't know that I want to. Yes, I grieve the darlings lost. I have not yet killed a darling, but I am a sucker for pain and suffering. It just has to be handled correctly. So, if I ever kill a darling, believe me, it will be felt throughout the story and your life. A darling graveyard is a wonderful idea. Thank you for the suggestion. >:)

The Lorem Ipsum is a cruel and unusual punishment. As for the wishes, gaining the ability to actually finish my work, having the dialogue come out correctly, and having the writing be less awkward. I think those would be my wishes. The ability to finish my work could possibly be replaced with the ability to come up with ideas easier, like no writer's block or something. But they are essentially the same thing.

I don't know what subject I would have difficult writing about. Again, I haven't been writing very long or a lot, so I don't have much experience with it yet. Same with easy.

My lack of physical social life does not allow for me to easily lend books to people. But I can guarantee you I would know EXACTLY who had what book, but I probably wouldn't get them back because social anxiety.

Don't do it to my books and I will tolerate your book abuse. I would love to read in the bath, but I am scared of damaging the book.

The weirdest thing I've ever used as a bookmark would probably be a post it note, or gift card maybe, if I actually used a gift card for that. I am very boring with my bookmarks...

I cannot, to save my life, think of any details to tell you that won't make it into the text. I am sorry. I world build as I write and I'm still near the beginning of the story. My dnd campain tho? That would need a whole post of it's own. 👀

"Knowing how the Sangheili felt about their swords and other people using them, she hoped that given the circumstances they would understand her desperation. She picked two of them up while thanking the Sangheili, both for joining their cause and for the sacrifice they made. Then she left the battlefield, but not before paying respects to all the fallen soldiers, human and Sangheili alike. Some simple words of gratitude spoken over the battlefield was all she had time for." This is a passage from a Halo fanfiction I am writing. The story came about because I wanted to emphasize the Sangheili's focus on Honor and Respect and how their views of humans changed during their allyship with us. The MC's name is Emira (subject to change) and respect is also a core value in her morals. She has not gotten to respectfully return the swords to the Sangheili yet, but that will happen soon. If I can figure out how she is rescued or escapes from danger. The battlefield spoken about in that passage has already been left by the conflict and is inactive when she finds it. The Sangheili she thanks are fallen soldiers, and she took the swords from beside their dead bodies. The passage did not change much during its creation.

I started writing because I love making stories up in my head, but I wanted to share them. The bumps are I always picture them as movies in my head, so turning them into words and having it come out as a well-written story is difficult. I am currently writing fanfiction and short stories, but I would like to turn one of my stories into a novel. I just haven't figured out how and I don't know if I will try to get them officially published or not.

The one true love. Life gets lonely, and they can give me emotional support while I struggle with my writing skills.

I wish I could start. 💀 I have 3 WIPs, all my first stories that I actually started writing. (I consider my dnd campaign a WIP because I am considering turning it into its own fic and it is a joy to work on) I haven't published anything and am getting very annoyed by my lack of progress on all of them.

Another reason why I haven't touched my stories for awhile is because I liked Google Docs' organization abilities better than Word's. With Docs they have tabs inside the document so you can actually have your stories separated with in the same document. Whereas with Word, at least to my knowledge, the only thing separates them is the headings. I should go back to Docs...

My couch? And an ungodly amount of clutter? I watch tv in the evenings and sometimes I decide to write while I do so. I get my computer out and have it on my lap, while I sit on the couch and watch tv, ignoring the clutter caused by my undiagnosed ADHD and complete lack of motivation to do anything related to chores...

People put prep work into their stories? Like, they get prepared to write the story? I just sit down and write whatever I can come up with if it fits my current story. Sometimes I have to tweak things so it all fits together.

I haven't come up with any irrelevant details yet. Everything must be part of the story somehow.

Given that most of my characters are based on me, yes I very much regret going into their heads and I haven't come up with a way to get back out yet. Please send help. I think I took a wrong turn back at Imagination Avenue?

I can't think of a specific character that was stressful. The most stressful situation to write though, has been the wedding reception for my (healthy) romance story. I have no idea what to do with it.

My MC for the romance story has probably been the most delightful. Either her, or Nialith Madgarb, (pronounced nye-uh-lith Mad-garb) from my DND campaign.

My brain is a cesspool for the craziest ideas. I pull inspiration from everywhere. Sometimes I wish the inspiration well WOULD run dry so I could have a moment of peace and quiet, but nay, I am doomed to an eternity of infinite ideas that I simply must run with. I am exhausted.

I have not yet written my dreams, nor dreamed my writings.

"Thank you for reading my stories. It means a lot to have people who enjoy my writing. Or are open to civil discussion about why they don't like it. I truly appreciate y'all"

Do deepfakes count? There is a series called "Master Chief teaches" and it's a bunch of videos of an ai recreation of Master Chief's voice and a script where "Master Chief" teaches you how to do stuff. In the video titled "Master Chief teaches you what to do when things go sideways" he says "adopting a solution-oriented mind helps you stay focused on what is most important during any crisis and that is taking action. Without action there is no movement, and without movement problems remain what they are" "Without movement problems remain what they are" is something I return to regularly when I start feeling overwhelmed by school, chores, etc. I could sit there and avoid the problem until it's so bad I can't anymore, or I could take action and make a move to fix the problem when I encounter it instead of sitting there overwhelmed and frozen. I recommend giving the video a watch, even if you don't play or like Halo.

I like to draw and paint (with watercolor, acrylic, and/or ink), and I have dabbled in cross-stitch, embroidery, and diamond art. I plan to draw some of the characters from my stories. I really want to paint Nialith Madgarb in my inks, but I am still working on mentally designing her character.

"Let's eat grandma"... Use the Oxford comma, people. It saves lives.

I cannot remember a single writing rule to comment on right now. If it works for your story and style, go for it. If it doesn't, yeet it into the abyss. Idk

I know an entire alphabet's worth of star wars character's and then some. This has nothing to do with my ability to write. Also, Halo 5: Guardians and Star Wars: The Force Awakens came out the same year, one in October, the other in December. Again, not related to my writing.

They wouldn't even consider me lol. And if they did, they'd think I was insane. And had severe ADHD. And they wouldn't be wrong...

My writing process is too slow and barely existing. Nothing about it is super weird except for the fact that I bounce all over the story and fill in the missing parts once I come up with a way to do so. As for the cats, they like to think they don't care about us, but they 100% do. And they would die of embarrassment if they knew we know they care.

Nothing. If I feel like giving up, I take a break until I inevitably come up with an irresistible idea on how to continue the story. Rinse and repeat.

I don't know if you mean a poem someone else wrote, or one I wrote, so I shall do both. Robert Frost's Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening: Whose woods these are I think I know His house in the village though He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year He gives is harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep. My poem: Where’s my Neverland?: Where’s my Neverland? I’ve got so much in my hand Meetings and school I know you do too We want an adventure But life forces expenditure Paying the bills By wasting our skills Wish I could read until 2 a.m. But, alas, an adult I am And my days are made up Of working towards a paystub I wish we were kids Lying down in our beds Looking out at the sky Where the stars are not shy People today are depressed and dismayed All the time worrying about being betrayed Worried about being laid off from work And still somehow not giving a "fork" Where is our Neverland? Where is our wish? Of fun-filled times and Mom’s favorite dish? Where’s our adventure filled with imagination and beauty? Of digging in sand to find pirate booty? The answer is simple, and yet oh so sad Those days are gone by, the best days we’ve had Those memories are all that we have Of those days made whole by a laugh But, worry not, for there’s always tomorrow So, please don’t obsess over yesterday’s sorrow Look straight ahead While lying in bed Dreaming of heaven Those days will be back soon I reckon Where sorrows will be traded for unending joy And kids in sandboxes again shout “AHOY” And we can always smell the finest of food And all work turns to play and we know that it’s good

I hope this answers all your questions and confirms that writers are in fact weird. :) And I hope the poetry was satisfactory.

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

#writing #writers #authors #poetry

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pyxxiestyxx · 3 days ago

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Alright, time for my mandatory Wellness Check, sigh...let’s get this over with.

The door opens

"You’re late, you know the deal. You can do the Class-A cuddles for another day of independence, or you can attempt the Class-C cuddles for three."

Here in Affini Civiliz-...Compact, no one chooses to Class-C for independence. It’s better to be safe and do the Class-A cuddles for one day, rather than risk your entire life for just a few days more. "I...feojnbgofommmmmmrrrmph. O-okay, I did it, Miss."

"Good flower~. Now tomorrow, you better not be late, or you’ll be getting both as punishment."

"Yes Miss, sorry, I won’t be late next time."

In here, us independents only get drugged up cuddles once a day. One five minute cuddle is just enough to get you to the next day. But that’s the life in the Affini Compact. If you want to survive, you have to cuddle. Every Independent Noob has the same goal, and that’s to make an escape from the Compact where all the Free Terran Pros live, except most Free Terran Pros are born out in the wild.

If you’re an Independent Noob, there’s only one way out, and that is through the Temple of Cuddles. The Temple of Cuddles is the only structure in the ship that gives sophonts a ship to leave. To make it up, you have to do an impossibly hard drugged cuddle session that no Independent Noob has ever completed, and that's assuming you even get the chance to complete the course. The inside of the temple is protected by a barrier, and the only way an Independent Noob gets past the barrier is if they’ve earned a ticket. I’ve never even tried getting a ticket before, but if I’m going to rank up to a Free Terran Pro one day, I’m going to have to.

In my neighborhood, pretty much everyone has fallen into hedonism and florted, except for the guy who lives right next to me. He’s been my neighbor for five years!

neighbor attempts the Class-C for the three days and collapses into Miss's vines immediately, starts calling her Mommy and reveals she is a trans woman; vine boom

NO! WHY DID SHE TRY GOING FOR THE THREE DAYS!?!?!? Well, I guess I have to change my statement; I now live in this neighborhood alone. In the Affini Compact, only Free Terran Pros are allowed to break rules and engage in capitalism. For Independent Noobs, it’s strictly prohibited, and unfortunately, I found that out the hard way. A while ago, I was searching around and I somehow stumbled upon a Terran Accord Credit. No one has seen a Credit in years, since currency don’t exist in the Affini Compact, so I had to try to take it.

“Stop right now!”

Oh no, I’m done for.

"You really thought you could take that without me noticing? What, were you going to try to trade that for goods and services?"

"No, Ma'am, I didn’t try to take it. I just thought it would be super rare and I wanted to collect it."

"Stop talking, give me ten minutes of Class-A and Class-W cuddles now."

"Ten minutes of cuddles!? Okay, sorry Mis-aroo. Ruff ruff yip bark!"

"You know what? You keep monologuing when you think we aren't listening~ let’s make it fifteen."

"A-aroo?...arf...."

"You know what? Now let’s make it twenty minutes in a row. And you have to do it while wearing this floretwear, petal."

Ah, a...a p-pretty, comfy dress?? Come on.

does 'his' punishment.

In the Affini Compact, it should be no surprise that all 'punishments' were just more forms of love and affection, and that was the last time I ever tried doing a capitalism.

"You’re lucky you got off easy. Don’t forget, you’re at the bottom, so follow the rules. Also, schedule a meeting with your Vet for some Class-G's, sweetie."

It’s safe to say that if you’re an Independent in the Affini Compact, it’s not exactly the-

sound of door thudding, splintering

What was that?

CRASH

"Petaaaaaal~ Remember me? Your Hab AI told me you were monologuing to empty space again, and I'm afraid the clip it sent me was so adorable that I just had to come and see. Here, come try this collar on for me..."

...Oh no.

#human domestication guide #hdg #dirtposting #I'm so sorry #Jk #no im not #please understand this is not an accurate representation of HDG #Its just a shitpost I swear

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mvrlqni · 1 day ago

Note

( i might send a few requests ) in ho x wife¡reader join the games together ?

BOUND BY LIFE AND DEATH

pairing - hwang in-ho x wife!reader

synopsis - you really meant it when you promised your husband you’ll always be there with him, even if it means joining the deadly games with him.

warnings - guns, blood, violence, swearing, brat!reader (sort of?), age gap, 20’s reader, 40’s in-ho, spoilers for s2, small mention of miscarriage, reader has a fake name obvi, this doesn’t really include a lot of in-ho now that i look at it…

wc — 1.6k words

AN - this doesn’t have a lot of in-ho in it so im sorry if thats disappointing 😞💔

in-ho had always spoiled you with his money that he earned from overseeing the games. you had always been accustomed to wearing the finest clothing, so you never expected that you would wear those flimsy green tracksuits like what the players wore.

the number ‘002’ was stitched onto your tracksuit whilst your husband had ‘001’ on his, an ‘o’ attached to both your shirts. the voting session had just finished and the second game was about to start.

in-ho stood in front of gi-hun, leaning down as gi-hun explained what he thought was the second game. you watched from behind as in-ho leaned back up.

“umbrella?” he asked with a scoff. “some people chose umbrella? those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”

you grinned as gi-hun raised a brow before looking away. you knew exactly what your husband was doing and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly.

in-ho’s lips twitched up slightly in amusement at the sound of your giggle before disappearing immediately.

oh how he adored hearing your laughter.

before the second game started, you excused yourself to the bathroom, in-ho doing the same minutes later. you stood outside the bathroom, speaking with a guard before in-ho came into your view.

“how much longer do we have to play pretend?” you whined, looking up at him as he cupped your face, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“after we find out what gi-hun’s plans are, darling.”

“what a pest, he should’ve gotten on that plane…”

in-ho raised a small brow but grinned.

“he really should’ve.”

the guards escorted the players into the room where the second game would take place, you walked close to in-ho and looked around, feigning confusion as the PA voice spoke.

“welcome to your second game. this game will be played in teams. please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes.” the PA explained, repeating its last sentence once more and you watched as gi-hun’s face was slowly turned to one of confusion.

“is dalgona usually played in teams?” you questioned gi-hun, but he didn’t answer, snapping his head towards player 100 when he spoke up.

“aren’t we playing the dalgona game?”

“no, it doesn’t look like it.”

“what are we playing then?”

gi-hun looked hesitant to answer, not making eye contact when he finally did. “im not sure.”

“what? you said you’d done this before, that triangle was the easiest. was that all bullshit?”

again, gi-hun looked hesitant, even alarmed as he looked down. “im sorry.”

“sorry won’t cut it! you talked like you knew everything, all these people believed your bullshit. what are you going to do? will you take responsibility?”

“that’s quite enough yelling.” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at the old man. you can already feel a headache forming. “old man, you should watch your tone. don’t want to wear it out, when you do all that talking after all, do you?”

player 100 scoffed at the sarcastic undertone in your words and glared at you, taking a step towards you. “who do you think you are, you little bitch?”

in-ho immediately stepped up from behind you, glaring at player 100. “that’s enough.” his voice was firm and authoritative which personally had you jumping with joy at your husband.

player 100 seemed to falter as he stayed quiet while the PA voice spoke again, the large doors from where you came from shutting.

“please divide into teams now.”

the loud beeping of the timer began before the player next to 100 spoke. “yeah, just drop it, dont waste your time talking to this nutjob. we shouldn’t have fallen for his nonsense, jesus. come on, let’s form a team first.”

you scowled down a the players as they walked past gi-hun, each insulting him as they did. it wasn’t that you were annoyed they were insulting him, but the audacity for that old hag to call you a ‘bitch’ had your jaw clenching. you were on the verge with ordering the guards to kill him. but you stayed quiet.

standing with gi-hun and his new found friends, you all made up five people so there was no trouble at all. however, a young girl, player 222 came up to all of you.

“excuse me, can i join you?” looking down at the girl, your eyes went to her stomach. you could tell she was pregnant. you used to look like that before.

“sorry, we’ve already got five people.”

“please help me,” she continued, placing a hand on her stomach. “im pregnant.”

everyone else glanced at her stomach while you eventually spoke up giving the girl a small smile. “its okay, you can join them. i’ll find another team.”

she muttered a ‘thank you’ whilst nodding returning your small smile with one her own as you walked away from the group, in-ho’s eyes on you.

the PA voice began again, as you walked away, informing of the team selection nearly finishing. you spotted a group needing only one person left and came up to them. “excuse me, do you need one more player?”

player 149 turned towards you and instantly gave a motherly smile, ushering you closer. “ah, of course!”

“thank you, miss.”

after the team selection had finished, all the players were sat inside the circles as the game was explained.

“the game you will be playing is six-legged pentathlon. you will start with your legs tied together, each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. here are the mini-games; number one, ddakji. number two, flying stone. number three, gong-gi. number four, spinning top. number five, jegi. your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. please decide players for each mini-game.”

your team began talking when player 007 turned towards you. “what game are you good at?”

“i think i’ll be better at the spinning top.”

it wasn’t long before two teams were placed on the rainbow shaped circles, their feet locked together as a gunshot rang out, signalling the beginning of the first round.

both teams did terrible. one of them only just finishing the flying stone at the twenty second mark while the other team made their way to the last game when the timer had ended.

both teams were shot, everyone falling to the ground, flinching and shaking as the loud sounds of the guns going off went on before the PA voice listed the players that were eliminated.

your team was up for the second round and stood on the rainbow circle, which was now littered in blood in certain areas.

“that’s right. i, jang geum-ja, survived the korean war. i will not die playing some kids’ games.” Player 149, or as you now know, geum-ja, paused, grabbing her sons hand and the players’ hand on her right, looking around at the team before continuing. “everyone, let’s pull ourselves together and do this.”

“im the son of ms. jang geum-ja who survived the korean war. im park yong-sik.” the man introduced himself, turning to you. “ma’am, what’s your name?”

“oh, um, kim seoun-il” you lied, giving the group a nod.

“i believe we can do this. let’s show everyone else here that these games are no big deal.”

it wasn’t long before you all had your legs locked together and your arms holding each other, immediately running or trying to the first mini-game. you watched, holding your breath as player 095 proceeded to fail her third flip, the girl beginning to breathe heavily as 120 stopped her as she picked the card back up.

“hang on, young-mi. try with the other side. the other side.”

young-mi flipped the card and threw the card down, successfully flipping the red card. you couldn’t help but cheer with the group.

in-ho watched your smile from afar, noticing how it seemed genuine. he knew you would have some fun playing these games.

your team made your way to the second mini-game, yong-sik failing his first throw. your team walked to retrieve the stone, walking backwards and his mother stopped him.

“yong-sik, look. imagine the stone is the face of the crook who scammed you.”

yong-sik started at the stone in front. “that asshole ruined my fucking life!” he yelled, throwing the stone as it knocked the other stone down.

by the third mini-game you were already tired of chanting along with the team and so you stayed quiet, settling down onto your knees as geum-ja began playing gong-gi. yong-sik, noticing his mothers downed look when she failed the first two times immediately went to comfort her.

“you said you played gong-gi with bullets during the korean war.”

geum-ja stayed quiet but began flipping the stones again, this time you could notice determination in her movements as she did. she stopped at the last flip and yong-sik began speaking again.

“mom, just imagine the stone is dads mistress’ face.”

“rotten bitch!” geum-ja exclaimed as she caught the coloured stones. everyone cheered as the guard did the ‘pass’ sign whilst your team prepared to move to the next mini-game, everyone was chanting with the team.

even in-ho chanted as he watched you make your way to your mini-game.

taking the spinning top into hand and the rope, you carefully rolled it around the top before going to the bottom. everyone watched as you managed to tie the rope around the spinning top and they each held a breath as you threw it down, spinning it successfully.

everyone erupted into cheers, and your team hounded you before you each took each others arms again, making your way to the finish line.

a smile was painted onto your face as you all cheered after reaching the finishing line. that genuine, soft smile again.

in-ho’s heart ached at the sight of your smile, wishing it was just the two of you back in your quarters together, that it was him making you smile again.

but for now, you two had to focus on gi-hun and what his plans were. the quicker you two find out, the sooner he could have you in his bed again.

#hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho #squid game x reader #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #lee byung hun #player 001 #front man x reader #front man

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poguehearted77 · 7 hours ago

Note

rafe with pogue!reader with a mouth. she’s so sweet unless you don’t deserve it. and we all know rafe has done some things to get him in the dog house. she’s not afraid to put anyone in their place. but he finds that bending her over id the best way to shut her up.

mmfff. I love this ask.

Pairing: Sweet Girl! Reader x Rafe Cameron

a/n: answering some requests bc i'm finally back lolll

Rafe considers himself a lucky man to have a girlfriend like you--the luckiest, some would say, and he wouldn't disagree. You're sweet, kind, empathetic and probably too good for him if he's being honest.

You're the girl who bakes fresh bread and brings it to the nursing home on the weekends and volunteers her time at the local food banks whenever you have the chance.

It's a stark contrast to your stone-cold boyfriend who was rarely caught smiling in the presence of others except for his closest friends, but even they had a hard time making plans with him.

He's hard to get a hold of, and no one understands that more than you do at this moment. You're currently sitting at the elegantly set table in a reserved section of the Italian restaurant Rafe had booked just for the two of you.

Your diamond-embroidered watch which was a valentines gift from your overbearing boyfriend receives another frustrated glance from your intense stare. With precision the minute hand strikes, signifying the top of the hour and the end of your patience.

You couldn't believe Rafe had stood you up, despite your efforts to call him and the few gentle reminders you sent to his number. They were all in vain.

"Would you like more bread, ma'am?" The waiter comes back for what you guess is the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Your cheeks rose over at the repeated question, realizing you'd have to admit that there was no one joining you any time soon.

"No, I'm alright thank you. Just the check will be fine." Your words paint a perplexed expression on the waiter's face before he visibly understands what's happened.

The waiter is sweet when he returns with the bill, "He's an idiot."

You didn't quite catch what he whispered under his breath, "Pardon?" His shoulders relax as a small smile graces his lips, "The guy's an idiot for standing you up." It's said thoughtfully, not with any ulterior motives, and you agree, feeling what was just surface-level disappointment morph into a simmering bitterness.

Rafe was going to deal with a bitch at home.

You found yourself stirring your freshly blended smoothie behind the kitchen island as Rafe continued his desperate attempts to get back in your good graces. "I'm so sorry, baby. The meeting went long and I couldn't get out of it." His hand tries to wrap around your waist from behind and you smack him away.

"Don't even, Rafe." The words come out through clenched teeth. He's startled but not surprised. He's seen this side of you before, though only once when a rude cashier had been insulting to your mother at the store.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? The meeting ran longer than-" You don't even give him a chance to finish when you interrupt, "Oh my god, Rafe. Leave me alone!" You scoff, trying to push past him with your drink in hand but he holds you at the waist, cautiously taking the cup from you and placing it on the counter behind him.

He holds a stern gaze as he talks down to you: "Listen, I get it. You're upset, but you're not even giving me a chance to expl-" He tries to reason with you, but you don't want to hear it from him.

"Shut Up." You make dead eye contact, his towering height not intimidating you in the slightest. You're pissed off and now Rafe is too. Within the blink of an eye Rafe had you pinned down to the cool marble of the island with an arm behind your back.

"Ow~ Rafe!" You whine and he chuckles. "M'sorry baby. Am I hurting you?" He tightens the hold he has on your pinned arm, pressing his hips into the fat of your ass giving you a vivid understanding of where your attitude was taking you.

"You're such a fucking-" With his other hand he forces your head back down against the counter roughly but making sure not to hurt you. "Don't you dare." He warns from behind and you bite your tongue at the harsh tone he was using. He was not in the mood to play around.

"I'm sick of you avoiding me. I'm tryna talk to you-- tell you I'm sorry and you're not fuckin' listening." He curses as he lets your arm go, now moving its way under your dress the caress your ass.

He leaned forward, ensuring the breath of his words would tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Such a shame too, you're usually such a good listener. A good girl." An icy chill runs down your spine as you feel him flip up the fabric of your dress.

There's a laugh, one of amusement.

"No panties? Thought I was supposed to be going to dinner with my girlfriend, not a whore." Your lip is tucked between your teeth when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. "Huh? Where's all your backtalk now, dollface?" You whine, arching your back up against your boyfriend.

"Rafe please-" He doesn't let you beg before he's sliding himself between your soaked folds, letting himself be overcome by the wet, hot sensation of your contracting walls. "Tell me you forgive me," He all but purrs in your ear. His words paired with the way his cock stretched you so good, you almost said it.

Almost.

"Fuck you."

He made you eat those words. The way he pistoned his hips into yours over and over with no remorse filled the kitchen with the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh. Your acrylics scratched against the marble tops desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"Say it." He grits and you shake your head, pathetic moans slipping with each thrust he gives you. "N-no!" He angles his hips, the head of his cock perfectly hitting the sweet spot. "Oh fuck- Rafe! I'm-"

"I won't let you finish until you say it-"

"I forgive you, fuck! I forgive you. Let me cum, please please-"

He gives you everything you need to stumble over the edge of ecstasy and more, he finishes soon after you. His weight leaning on your back, feeling his chest heave as he catches his breath.

"The waiter called you an idiot, you know." You mumble, cheek still pressed against the counter. "I am an idiot. I'm sorry, baby. Let's put this gorgeous dress to good use and let me make it up to you."

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carasspice · 2 days ago

Text

I'd been invited over to an old college friend's new house along with two other semi close friends if you can have such a thing. I guess I'd been there for maybe forty minutes with Jason happily chatting along about work, homes and so on when I asked where his fiancée was as I'd expected the two of them to be present along with the other two who hadn't turned up yet.

His face was almost ashen as he took a ring from his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand and dissolved into tears.

"She's gone Wendy, two days ago we had a chat followed by one hell of an argument and she said she couldn't live with me any longer. We only bought this place a few months ago, I spent a fortune decorating it as she wanted and she walked out. What do I do? I can't afford to pay for this on my own and she wants her half back as soon as it's sold."

"I knew something was wrong when you opened the door but never imagined, oh fuck it, I'm so sorry Jason, I thought you two were so happy together."

"So did I, how wrong can you be but I don't know what to do."

I had my arms around him with his head on my shoulder for a while before I noticed his hand stroking up and down my side. Maybe I was stupid or out of order but I took that hand and placed him on my breast. As soon as I'd done it I realised that I was probably as surprised as he was and even more so when he kissed me and his hand settled on my thigh.

"Suspenders Wendy?" he queried just as I wiped his tears away with my thumb.

"Always Jason, tights are functional for work or whatever, any other time I go for stockings."

"That's good, I like stockings." he replied rather nervously but his fingers appeared to like following the outline of the suspender clasps on my leg. I looked at his face and streaks of those tears and my brain jumped into one of those moments when you can't tell if you're being stupid or whatever.

"Listen Jason, why are we wasting time? Don't be angry with me but would you like to take me to bed? I suspect you might and I'd like the same, what do you think? You need a life after ... what was her name? Anyhow, I can fuck as well as she could most likely."

"Her name? I forget but we shouldn't, should we, could we?"

"Why not? She's gone and won't be back. You're single and so am I, I'm happy to share your bed and if you are then ... tell you what, give me ten minutes, take the champagne to your bedroom and I'll join you. Allow me to show you what this gal has to offer and I promise not to walk out in the next hour or two."

My dress was hanging behind the bathroom door as I gave my teeth a swift clean with my fingertip. I checked the mirror and tried to make my hair look a little more attractive or even sexy, took a little make-up from my bag and immediately put it back. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment and told myself there was no going back but maybe I wasn't looking for a way to go back. I should have checked before stepping into the bathroom but I only discovered the correct bedroom after looking into two others.

"Wow, now that is some bed. Am I okay Jason? I don't want to disappoint you and more importantly are you okay with me being here. I left my dress ... I'm talking too much, right?"

He smiled, shook his head and then nodded whatever those movements meant, pulled down the bed clothes and held out his hand.

"You look sensational Wendy, turn around and ... how many straps do you have there?"

"No idea Jason, you'll have to check them out and why are you wearing boxers? I never wear anything in bed for very long and always sleep in the buff. Did you remember her name yet?"

"The boxers can go and the name will be on the calendar somewhere."

"Hey, I'll deal with the boxers, you do whatever you like with the lingerie. I'm not a shy girl Jason. Let's look at this as your first step in your new life without whatever her name was ... was and not is as she's gone."

"You do talk too much Wendy, I need to check out those straps and you can ... mmmmmm ."

I never allowed him to say another word as I tugged those boxers away, his left hand was inside the back of my thong while his right pulled my bra up and over my boobs.

"Unfasten the thing Jason, get rid of it all, I love naked and I'm staying the night, okay?"

"I think so, yes Wendy, absolutely." he replied as my bra strap was unfastened first with the one at my waist and one just above my hips being twanged and unfastened."

"Don't forget the straps to my stockings Jason."

"I'm leaving those but this thong has to go and then I'll refasten the belt."

"Oh okay, funny how guys love stockings and suspenders, did you remember her name yet?" I teased. "So how do you plan to get the thong out of your way?"

"Bugger, I hadn't worked that bit out, I need to unfasten one stocking don't I?"

"Forget it, just get me naked and fuck me. Oh hell, you have no idea how much I wanted you to fuck me back at uni, but you were with the nameless one."

Within seconds my belt and thong were stripped down my legs taking my stockings with with them and just as all was stuck around my ankles his face plunged to my muff with his nose and mouth swiping and twisting from side to side, every which way there was. I was in hysterics by the time his rather lovely cock slid inside me while my feet tried to get free from at least one leg's encumbrances.

"Fuck me harder you college boy."

"Yes Miss Wendy."

So our friendship was well and truly cemented about seven times that evening and during the night plus another two after a breakfast break.

Jason was in the bathroom when I answered a call for him only to discover it was the ex. "Oh good morning Alice, I hear you two split up and ... What was that? Okay so yes I am in his bed and yes I stayed the night as his fiancée fucked off and left him in tears, yes I fucked him for hours and yes I will fuck him again once he's finished in the bathroom. I don't give a shit if my language offends you, I fucked him Alice and not the other way round. I've wanted to fuck with him since our second week at uni so you can blame me as much as you like but not Jason. Actually, you can blame yourself, did you want something?"

"How much, no chance you bitch?" I exclaimed as she demanded a fortune yet couldn't be bothered to speak to Jason. "You must be in fucking cloud cuckoo land, I know how much this would sell for and I can imagine how much the mortgage is, you'll get twenty quid after legal fees and not much more."

We had a few more words before I slammed the phone down.

"Hey Jason, Alice is on her way round to empty the wardrobe unless you want me to dump her things on the drive. I'm going nowhere and if the evil bitch wants a fight I'll give her one."

"No, it's not your fight Wendy."

"Oh I think it is now, I just told her she'll get twenty quid from the sale if she's lucky and that I fucked you about fifty times, shall we make it fifty-one before she gets here?"

xxxx

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thesquidgame · 1 day ago

Text

The Moments After

Hwang In-ho x wife!reader

Part One Part Two

Summary: In-ho deals with your sudden collapse while you receive treatment.

Warnings: angst, medical emergency, hospital, stitches, blood, viral infection, understaffed hospitals, trauma, violence

Word Count: 2.5k~

In-ho didn’t know how slowly time could pass before today. Sitting in the sterile white hallway of the hospital, bouncing his knee, staring down at his blood-soaked hands, every minute felt like hours. He always thought that was an exaggeration, but here, in this moment, he knew it to be true. Every now and then he would look up when he thought that at least half an hour had passed, only to find that it had been less than a minute.

After he had run you into the ER, chaos erupted. An entire medical staff instantly swarmed you, asking countless questions, all that he was almost too frazzled to answer. He told them only what he knew; that you had been acting strange lately, what strange behaviors you had, and that he woke up earlier that night to find you throwing up blood. And that you hadn’t stopped since you had started.

After that he could only focus on you, screaming your name over and over again as you blinked your eyes slowly, in a daze of blood loss and whatever had happened to you to make you throw up so much.

And then, the hand he didn’t even realize was gripping yours slipped away from his. A nurse held him back as they wheeled you into a deeper part of the hospital that he couldn’t enter. It was suddenly very quiet. Unlike the insanity that had just happened around him, there was complete and total stillness around him. He was far enough into the hospital that the noises of the ER were inaudible. In-ho never knew how quiet a hospital could be, but between the silence, the white walls, and the glacial pace of time, it felt like he was being tortured.

It had been an hour since he had arrived in the hospital, he only knew because of how often he glanced at the clock before any staff talked to him.

“Sir? Are your feet alright?” 5 AM, the time he knew the doctors changed shifts in your hospital. The man speaking was young and looked terrified by seeing a 40-year-old man covered in blood sitting in an empty hallway. “Are- are you okay?”

In-ho glanced down to see that tracks of blood were running from his feet. He just noticed the pain. He still didn’t care. “No, I need to know what’s happening to my wife?” He demanded as he stood up.

Shame washed over him. Why hadn’t he asked before? He knew the answer, he didn’t want to talk to anybody, that would make this real.

“Sir, I- I think you need to get some stitches first, your feet look-”

In-ho made the difference between him and the young doctor. He picked him up by the collar and slammed him against the wall. In-ho didn’t consider himself a violent man, but right now he had no idea what he was capable of.

“What happened to my wife.” He wasn’t asking, he was demanding.

“I- I think I need to treat your feet fi-” In-ho pushed him further into the wall.

The doctor gulped, “What- what’s her name?”

In-ho let go. “(Y/n) Hwang.”

“Nurse Hwang is your wife?” The doctor looked away.

“Yes.” In-ho had done countless trainings and interrogated countless criminals. He knew when someone was afraid of something. “Why are you looking away from me.”

The doctor started walking away, stammering, “If you come with me, I can help you find out what ha-”

“Don’t walk away from me. What aren’t you telling me.” The doctor stopped in his tracks.

When he turned around, In-ho saw tears on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. We- we didn’t know.”

In-ho stalked towards him, leaving almost no space between him and the younger man. “Didn’t know what.”

“We noticed she was acting strange. We thought- we thought it must just be stress.” He gulped, “and if it wasn’t,” he got quiet, “we didn’t know how to deal with it. We were all so stressed out all the time. We- we didn’t have any time or resources to step in or talk to her about it.”

They knew something was wrong with his wife, but they hadn’t done anything about it. In-ho wanted to grab the doctor and slam him against the wall. But he couldn’t. Hadn’t he done the same exact thing? Hadn’t he been too stressed to prod further about what was happening? In-ho thought that because you were a nurse, you would do something if you thought something was wrong, or talk to him about it. He was just as bad as them. No, he was worse. He was your husband. He was supposed to take care of you, that was what he had sworn to do on the best day of his life, your wedding day.

In-ho wanted to break down. He wanted to collapse and roll into a ball on the ground and cry. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know anything about your condition, he had to figure out what was happening, he had to do something.

In-ho croaked, “What happened to her?”

The doctor silently walked away, sensing what had just happened, and In-ho followed behind. “I’m going to see if anyone can come tell us what happened.” He pressed dials on a phone and called someone. “A doctor will be here soon. The surgery is almost over.”

Surgery? In-ho knew there was a reason that all of the doctors and nurses had rushed away and not come back, but hearing it was different than just simply knowing it.

“Can I look at the cuts on your feet?”

In-ho didn’t respond, just sat down in a chair and put his head in his hands.

It was another long wait before anyone came out to talk to In-ho, and eventually, a woman and a man came out wearing scrubs, “Mr. Hwang?”

In-ho stood up immediately, staring at the doctor who looked to be the same age as him. In-ho didn’t have to ask the question, the doctor already knew what he was waiting to hear. The other doctor sighed, “She’s alive.”

In-ho let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “My name is Dr. Park, would you like to take a seat?”

He didn’t like that. In-ho knew that tone of voice. He had used the same one at his job when he was giving bad news. “No, tell me now.”

The doctor reached up and took off his surgical cap. “Your wife had a large blood vessel in her esophagus explode, causing internal bleeding. We were able to help correct it using bands in surgery.” The doctor sighed again, as In-ho held his breath. “However, that isn’t the concerning part. There is almost always an underlying condition causing this. We sent a rush blood panel down and found that your wife’s liver results came back abnormal. We believe she has cirrhosis.”

Cirrhosis. He had only heard about this in passing when you were studying for your nursing exams. You had made a stack of notecards at least three feet tall, and he spent weeks quizzing you. In-ho had always had a good memory and was usually able to pick out pieces relating to the disease, but for some reason, he couldn’t remember anything relating to cirrhosis.

“What, what does this mean?” In-ho said, panic exuding through his voice.

“I’d like to talk further when your wife wakes up, it’s best if we discuss with the patient and the patient’s family there.”

In-ho wanted to was rush over and hit this doctor until he told him everything he wanted to know, but his priorities were still on you. He had to conserve his energy, and arguing with the doctor would only take more energy than he had to waste. “Can I see her?”

“Yes, she’s right this way.” This doctor said nothing about the blood In-ho was leaving on the floor. He had been doing this a lot longer than the other one and knew that stitches were the least important thing in In-ho’s mind at this point.

You were lying in the bed, still unconscious from surgery. “We were able to go in laparoscopically, meaning that we put a tube down her throat and operated from there.”

In-ho didn’t care about what that meant, he just rushed to your side and grabbed one of your hands in both of his. Your hands felt cold and clammy, and he looked to your side to see that there was a blood bag attached to your arm next to another one giving you other fluids.

“Is there anyone we can call for you? You were listed as her emergency contact, so we weren’t sure if you had any family you’d like us to call.” The nurse waiting next to Dr. Park asked.

In-ho didn’t pause, “Yes, my brother.” He realized that he had left his phone in your apartment in his rush to get you to the hospital. He quickly gave Jun-ho’s number and went back to directing his complete and full attention at you.

In a couple of minutes, the young doctor from before came into the room pushing a small metal cart. “Mr. Hwang, can I quickly treat your foot wounds? You won’t have to leave her side. It’s best to do it now so you won’t have to leave her side later if it gets worse.”

In-ho didn’t move, and the doctor took it as a sign to continue. The younger doctor had clearly been lectured on what best to say to the loved one of an injured person. He painstakingly pulled glass piece after glass piece out of In-ho’s foot, washed each cut carefully, and then stitched up each one. He was in miserable pain, but In-ho didn’t move. It was a small dosage of the punishment he deserved for ignoring your illness.

The doctor silently left after he was finished wrapping the wounds, and In-ho continued the self-inflicted torture he put himself through inside his head.

The door burst open, and Jun-ho rushed inside, a nurse hot on his heels. “Sir, you can’t be in here! It’s not visiting hours.”

“It’s 6:45, visiting hours start in 15 minutes,” Jun-ho said, ignoring her further protests to run forward and kneel next to his brother. “In-ho, are you alright? What happened? They wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone.”

“She’s sick. She’s really sick.” In-ho said.

Jun-ho’s face was shocked. “What are you talking about? How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know. I- I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think it could be this.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “she had to have surgery. She started…” In-ho shuddered, “she started throwing up blood earlier this morning, and I had to drive her to the hospital.”

Jun-ho didn’t know what to do, or say. His brother was glued to your side, so he couldn’t hug him. They had been through something slightly similar when Jun-ho was 8 and their father had died, but past it both being sick family members, everything else was different. In-ho was 20 when their dad died, and he was the one comforting Jun-ho. Now it was Jun-ho’s turn, and he had no idea how to do it.

This was his wife. The reason In-ho got out of bed in the morning; you were his entire life. Your wedding date was his passcode, and his lock screen was you on the day you graduated nursing school.

“In-ho, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. Do they know what it is?”

In-ho squeezed your hand tighter, “I don’t know the details, but it’s something with her liver. It’s… It’s bad Jun-ho.”

There was nothing else for Jun-ho to say. No band-aid that could fix it, not call to anyone to change it. He sat down next to his brother, and like In-ho, waited.

It was only a couple of hours before you woke up, dazed and blinking slowly. Your eyes immediately moved towards the man holding your hand, “In-ho?”

Your voice hurt to speak, it felt like there were rusty nails in your windpipe.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” In-ho surged toward you, beginning to stroke your hair with his hand.

“What- what happened?” You saw In-ho’s brother push a button next to your bed.

“What do you remember?” He said, slowly and soothingly.

“I remember feeling sick, and getting up to throw up, and- and that’s it.” You said, blinking in confusion.

In-ho looked like he started to say something before a doctor and a nurse walked into the room, both of them being people you had worked with before. Dr. Park was the nicest doctor in the hospital you thought. He was a man of few words and never sugarcoated anything, but he always took care of his patients' needs. The nurse was a new hire, she was one that you always covered for, and there was a strange expression on her face.

“Ms. Hwang, I’m glad you're awake.” He said, pulling a stool forward that had been in the corner of the room.

“My husband was just about to tell me what happened.” You said, still confused at what was happening. You looked up at In-ho, and there was a look of sheer terror on his face, confusing you even further. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He did his best to wipe that look off his face, but it didn’t really work, “nothing, I just want to hear what the doctor has to say.”

Dr. Park took a deep breath, before explaining something that would change your life forever. “Ms. Hwang, your husband brought you in early this morning after you threw up blood. He told us that you had been having some odd symptoms, and frankly, some of the staff were able to recount some for me as well. We did some blood work, and noticed some unusual things.” You held your breath. “The first thing we noticed, was that you tested positive for Hepatitis C, do you have any knowledge of this?”

You and In-ho were both shocked, “no, I- I had no idea.”

Dr. Park sighed again, a sound that was quickly becoming foreboding, “Do you have any past use of drugs, any knowledge of any family members carrying the virus, or any contact with used needles.”

And then it hit you, “Yes. When I was in my first month as a nurse I got stuck with a used needle. My boss- my boss told me that it happened to everyone at some time or another and that we were busy and had to move on.”

In-ho looked at you horrified, “Honey, what does the disease do?” He whispered, addressing you and not the doctor.

But Dr. Park cut in, “It’s a virus that can go away on its own, but other times it can stay in the body symptom-free for decades before showing harmful symptoms. It’s unlikely to be transmitted through sex, but you should get tested as well.”

While the doctor was speaking, the pieces connected in your head. Hepatitis C, vomiting up blood, the symptoms you thought were nothing. “My liver is failing, isn’t it.”

The four other people in the room turned to you. The look on In-ho’s face killed you, so you had to look away and move your glance to Dr. Park.

He stared you in the eyes, and said, “Yes, it is.”

I'm taking a break from the series, I'll probably write part three after my next fic!

Tags: @bigdaddddyyyyy @kimeungun114 @eviesmoon @jspidey5 @kyl13sm1l3y @watasinekoru @starkeyszn @multifandomgirllol @annasnape7 @sylviavf @foulbreadpaenut @unaaasz @vrystalius @ultimate-simp-10

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covenofagatha · 1 day ago

Note

author, can you make agatha x reader, where agatha as the head chef at the high-end restaurant and us reader as the new worker in the kitchen?

Another one from November finally done 😅 also thank you so much for the picture GOD she looks good as a chef

I have also never worked in a restaurant and I know absolutely nothing about cooking/the culinary world so I apologize for any inaccuracies just roll with it lol

Under her knife

You finally get the job of your dreams working at Agatha Harkness's restaurant

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: spanking, fingering, Agatha is a mean boss, slight dub-con, praise kink, manipulative chef!Agatha

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

It was a dream come true when you got the call that you were hired at Agatha Harkness’s restaurant, Nicky’s Steakhouse.

She was a celebrity in the food world and getting an audience with her was near impossible.

As luck would have it, she came into one of your classes at The Culinary Institute of America a few days before your graduation for a demonstration on how to make gateau saint honoré, a French pastry dessert and one of the most difficult to make.

She had asked a question and you were the only one out of fifty students who raised your hand. Your voice shook as you answered and she looked surprised when you said the right thing.

Throughout the rest of the assembly of the ingredients, she kept looking over at you, like she was making sure you were paying attention. After the lesson, she asked to speak with you in private. You had never been so nervous in your life and you would never forget the way her blue eyes burned into yours when she told you that she saw something special and wanted you to come in for an interview.

At the high-end restaurant that she owned.

Just because you answered a question correctly.

But you were disappointed when you went in for it and you were met with just the sous-chef. Part of you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Agatha and was hoping you’d get to see her again.

She asked you questions, both about your experience and school, and how to make specific dishes. And then she put you in the kitchen and told you to make lobster thermidor.

She watched you intensely the whole time and when you were done, she took one bite and told you that you would find out within the next week.

A day later, you got a call from Agatha herself, who told you that she wanted you on board and that you start in a week.

And the day is finally here.

The first day of the rest of your life. You take a deep breath in your car and count to ten to calm your nerves. Your stomach is twisting in knots and you’re not sure you’ve ever been more anxious in your life.

But you’ve got this.

You were put on the evening shift and the moment you walk through the door, your nose is hit with the most delicious of smells. The restaurant is packed, like you’ve heard it is every night.

You’ve never actually eaten here before; it costs an arm and a leg and culinary school wasn’t cheap.

Winding through the tables to the kitchen, you catch sight of some of the most delectable food you’ve ever seen and your mouth waters.

You give yourself a tiny pinch just to make sure you aren’t dreaming, but it stings. This is real. This is happening.

The kitchen door swings open and you’re immediately almost knocked to the ground by three waitresses bustling out of the kitchen, carrying steaming bowls of pasta and platters of meat and towers of croquembouche. You jump out of the way, muttering a quick “Sorry” before carefully entering and staying close to the wall as you look around for Agatha.

It doesn’t take you long to see her, or rather, hear her.

“Are you incompetent?” Her voice rings out over the clambering of pots and pans and line cooks shouting to each other and you see Agatha Harkness on the other side of the kitchen glowering over a cowering man, a waiter by the way he’s dressed. Her white uniform is form-fitting and her dark hair is neatly tucked in a bun under her chef toque, her blue eyes filled with a dangerous heat. She’s wearing little gold hoop earrings and her lips are painted slightly pink.

The man standing in front of her visibly trembles. Fear twists in your stomach even though you’re not the one in trouble. What did he do? “Chef Harkness, I’m sorry,” he stammers but she slams her hand down on the countertop to shut him up.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” She scoffs and holds up a fork. The man gulps. “What kind of fork is this?”

“A salad fork,” he answers immediately.

Agatha drops the fork and it clangs on the floor. “So then why,” she hisses, leaning in closer, and you can feel the fear radiating off the man, “did you put it on the right side of the dinner fork in the corner booth? Did you forget that salad forks go on the left?”

He shakes his head furiously. “It was a mistake, I’m sorry!”

“I don’t have time for mistakes. Get out of my kitchen. You’re fired,” she barks and your jaw drops.

What have you gotten yourself into? You didn’t realize how ruthless Agatha was going to be. What if you mess up tonight?

Will she fire you just as quickly?

The man, to his credit, doesn’t put up a fight. He takes off his name tag vest and hands it to her before stalking out of the kitchen, brushing past you on his way out. No one else has even looked up from what they’re doing. Is this just a standard routine?

You swallow roughly and turn back to Agatha and find, with a jolt, that she’s already looking at you, a throbbing vein prominent in her forehead.

She beckons you forward, and as if in a trance, you make your way over to her, stopping every now and then to let someone with food slide past you.

“There she is,” Agatha says when you get to her and she studies you like she’s judging if you know where a salad fork should go.

You offer a shaky smile. “Hi, Chef Harkness, I just want to say thank you so much for this opportunity and I’m going to do my best with every single meal. I promise I won’t let you down.”

Agatha snorts and thrusts the fired man’s name tag and vest into your hands. “Easy there, y/n,” and a thrill runs through you at her knowing your name, “Your uniform is in the backroom. Put it on and get to work.”

Nodding, it becomes clear to you that she doesn’t want to talk anymore, so you rush back and find a double-breasted coat, checkered pants, apron, and toque neatly folded on a bench with your name printed on them. The uniform fits you perfectly which you’re a little surprised about.

You’re not exactly sure what to do with the fired man’s stuff, so you just leave it there.

Even though you’re a bit weary from the display you just saw, you can’t help but feel incredibly excited that you’re actually here. You have worked so hard, spent so many hours pouring over recipe books, gotten so many burns on your skin from boiling water, cried over dishes that didn’t turn out well no matter how hard you tried — it finally paid off.

Emotion rushes through you but you tamp it down with a deep breath. You need to focus. You need to be at the top of your game and show Agatha that you do deserve to be here.

It starts out easy enough. Roast prime rib au jus. Grilled yellowfin ahi. French onion soup.

Every so often, Agatha comes over and stands over your shoulder, close enough that you can feel her hot breath on your neck. It gives you goosebumps and you have to remind yourself to keep working.

“Good girl,” she says into your ear after you put a plate down of lobster bisque and that particularly makes a shiver run through you.

You find yourself getting a little distracted after that, your eyes following her across the kitchen wherever she goes and hoping that she comes back over to give you some more praise.

Agatha yells at someone else for using too much salt on a dish, dumping it off the plate into the trash and demanding the cook make a new plate, and you duck your head down when she looks over at you so she doesn’t see you watching. Too late.

You can almost feel her coming over to you, dread filling in your stomach as you wait. Is she going to get mad at you for not minding your own business? Everyone else here has seemed to learn how to.

Her front brushes against your back. “You seem a little on edge,” she murmurs and your heart skips a beat. “Don’t worry, hon. I won’t punish you — unless you deserve it.”

It makes your cheeks heat up and your hand shakes just as you’re carefully scooping a teaspoon of garlic salt out of the container. The spoonful drops onto the counter and Agatha chuckles from behind you before reaching around and swiping it onto the floor, effectively getting rid of the mess from your workspace.

If it was anyone else, would she have gotten mad? Maybe she’s just taking it easy on you because it’s your first day.

“No harm done,” she remarks and then she’s gone and you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding.

It’s almost fascinating to watch her work, to watch her sweep through the kitchen and check out everyone’s dishes, sprinkling in some advice and ingredients every now and then. She doesn’t hesitate to make someone redo something because it’s not good enough, but it surprises you that no one complains. If anything, they agree.

You suppose that’s the sign of a good Head Chef. They make you better. And when you’re blending all the ingredients of butternut squash soup together and Agatha comes over and wraps her arms around you, her hands on top of yours, to show you how to more effectively stir, you really do feel like you’ve learned something.

“She’s being really nice to you,” one of the other line cooks says while you’re both waiting for new orders to come in.

You shrug. “It’s my first day. Guess she’s just showing me the ropes.” The cook doesn’t look convinced, but there’s no time to think about it as you have to start making stuffed gnocchi.

The next few hours pass quickly. You barely have a chance to think as you’re running back and forth, grabbing things and throwing them into a pan and making sure they’re perfect. You’ve worked up a sweat and you find a few seconds to wipe the beads from your brow before you’re back to work.

But as the night stretches on, the orders come in less frequently as the rush dies down and soon you only have about twenty minutes left. Your final dish of the night is a raspberry walnut torte.

Because it’s almost closing time, about half of the cooks finished their shifts a while ago so it’s an intimate setting, just you, Agatha, and four others, everyone quietly moving around and trying to finish up the food they have left. You are absolutely exhausted and you cannot wait to go back to your apartment.

You’ve just finished your dessert and placed it on the rack at the window, finally feeling like you can relax.

And then Agatha’s voice cuts through the relative silence. “Who just made this torte?”

Your stomach drops and you sheepishly raise your hand. What did you do wrong?

She grabs a fork and pokes the slice and the center sinks down almost in slow motion. Fuck. “What temperature did you cook it at?” She asks and you think you could just combust with embarrassment on the spot.

“Three-sixty,” you rasp, and the moment you say it out loud, you realize your mistake. Tortes should be cooked at three-hundred and fifty degrees, and if they’re cooked too hot, the outside of it cooks faster than the inside.

Leading to a cracked or sunken torte.

“Chef, I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” you plead, panic and terror spiking through your blood. You were doing so good — now she was certainly going to fire you.

Agatha sighs, closes her eyes, and pinches her nose like she’s trying to decide what to do with you. When she opens them, the steely blue frightens you. “Make another one,” she says.

Your mouth drops open. “But it won’t be done in time,” you protest and she smirks.

“I know. I’m going to go out there and tell them that there was a mishap and that we won’t be able to get them their raspberry walnut torte that they were so looking forward to,” she says and it makes you feel even worse. “It won’t be pretty. You’ve just lost yourself and your fellow line cooks their tip. So the least you could do is show me that you do in fact know how to make a torte and that I shouldn’t fire you on the spot right now.”

She storms out of the kitchen and you make a tremendous effort to not look at any of the other cooks while you go back to your station and pull out the ingredients to make it again.

By the time Agatha comes back into the kitchen, it’s time for everyone else to go home. Shame burns your cheeks as they leave without saying goodbye to you and Agatha quietly sits on a stool and watches you work to finish the torte.

When you pull it out of the freezer where it’s been cooling for a few minutes, you feel like you could pass out on the kitchen floor right there.

Agatha pokes it with a fork again and you almost sob with relief when it doesn’t crack or sink. But it’s not over yet.

She takes her first bite and chews thoughtfully like she’s tasting for every single ingredient. “Adequate,” she says after she swallows. “But you’re still fired.”

“What?” You gasp, your heart skipping a beat. “No, please, Chef, it was an accident, I can make it, look!”

Agatha puts her fork down. “You fixed it this time. But how can I be sure it won’t happen again?”

“I promise, please — I’ll do anything,” you say desperately. “I’ll be careful, I won’t mess up again!”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrow raises and a slow smirk spreads over face. “Anything?” She asks.

You nod earnestly. “Anything!”

Agatha stands up so quickly it makes you step back from where you’ve been standing next to her. She cups your cheek and then slides her hand down to tap under your chin. “How about…” she muses, eyes looking you up and down. She looks hungry. “I give you ten spanks.”

“What?” Did you hear her wrong? Is she joking? She doesn’t look like she is.

“One spank for each degree hotter you cooked the torte at. It’s the only way you’ll learn,” she explains like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Bend over on the counter.”

Despite the sheer insanity at it, a heat rushes through your body. You wanted her attention earlier, didn’t you?

Seems like you have it now.

So you try to slow your racing heart and obey. Your forearms rest on the cool metal from where you pushed your sleeves up to work earlier and your head slightly hangs downward, waiting. There’s a little voice in the back of your head that says this is wrong, but you shut it down. You can’t get fired.

She unties the apron and lets it fall to the floor at your feet and you let out a small gasp.

“I’m a little disappointed in you, to be honest, hon,” she says as she pushes up your coat. It tears at your heart a little. “But I know that you’re going to make up for it. You’re about to take your punishment like a good girl and show me that you’re really committed to being here. Isn’t that right?”

You nod and try to ignore the burning in your stomach. What is she doing to you? “Yes, Chef,” you answer hoarsely and let out a little whimper when she yanks down your pants. You curse yourself for deciding to wear a purple thong. “What—”

“Shh,” she says and rubs your now-bare ass. You hate that you can feel your underwear sticking to you. Can she see it? “Count for me.”

And then she spanks you and it makes you jump. For some reason, you thought she’d at least ease into it a little, but the impact reverberates through you and makes you gasp.

“One,” you breathe and she chuckles.

The next three follow in quick succession, with Agatha waiting only long enough to hear you count.

After the fifth one, you’re squirming, head resting on your forearms to hide your tears, but the sting has ebbed into pleasure. You’re getting off on this.

And when Agatha makes a surprised sound and cups your pussy through your underwear, making your hips rock forward instinctively, you know that she knows. Her hand disappears quickly and you let out a little whine.

“All the best chefs like a little pain,” she remarks conversationally, spanking you again. You gasp out a “six” and she keeps talking. “It’s the only way to get better. To strive for greatness is to accept that it will hurt. I see your potential, I see how good you can be. Just keep working with me, honey, and I’ll get you there.”

She spanks you again but you can hardly feel it with the fuzziness that has crept into your mind at her words. Agatha Harkness, the best chef in the world, believes in you.

“Seven,” you remember to say after a moment and she tuts in your ear.

Agatha soothes the red skin and you relax for a moment before she slaps your ass again. “You’re doing so well for well, honey. Keep going to these lengths to impress me and rectify your mistakes and you could be my sous-chef in no time.”

The promise makes your head spin. “Eight,” you count when she slaps you again.

“Such a good girl,” she coos and you are aching. You need her to touch you more than anything.

Never in a million years did you imagine your first day would look like this.

She spanks you again. “Nine,” you croak, the feeling spreading throughout your body almost unbearable.

“Last one. And then I think you deserve a reward,” she purrs and slaps both your asscheeks at the same time, making you yelp.

Agatha gives you a moment to recover before pulling you up by your coat collar and turning you around and you gasp at how flushed she is. Her cheeks have a red tint to them, her bottom lip swollen — she must’ve been biting it — and her eyes have a heat that you saw earlier, when she fired the waiter.

But this is a different heat.

You’re sure you look the exact same.

She steps even closer to you and slides a hand into your underwear, making your jaw drop.

“God, you’re wet,” she taunts and you can’t even argue. She wastes no time shoving a finger into you and rubbing at your clit with her thumb and your arms wind around her shoulders for leverage.

“So I’m not fired?” You ask, and obviously there were a million other times that would’ve been better for that question, but it seems fitting.

Agatha laughs breathless and fits a second finger into you, making you moan. “You’re not fired, honey. We’re going to do great things together. Knew it the moment I saw you.” She curls her fingers roughly and you keen, tightening your grip around her. Your walls spasm around her and try to draw her in.

Her fingers feel absolutely delicious inside you, filling you just the way you needed to, and you can already feel the tension building in your lower stomach. The spanking got you close, her praise got you closer, and now the great hands of Chef Agatha Harkness are going to finish you off.

Your head falls back when she scissors her fingers, stretching you out and you hiss at the burn, and she chuckles while she takes in your thoroughly ruined state.

“What temperature do you cook a torte at?” She asks and you almost don’t hear it over the wet sounds coming from your pussy every time she thrusts inside you.

It takes you a moment to answer, but when you at last moan out “Three-fifty,” she smirks and bends down to nip at your neck over your collar. You tilt your head to the side to give her more access and she takes it all. She flicks her tongue against your clavicle and sucks, pulling another moan from your mouth.

You’re so close, the pleasure almost overwhelming, and your breathing has gotten faster, your heart rate through the roof.

The kitchen has been where you’ve felt most alive your whole life, nothing better than creating something from scratch and carefully curating it to make it into something new — is that what Agatha is doing with you? She plucked you out of your classmates from culinary school, gave a freshly graduated chef a job at her high end restaurant, turned up the heat, and is promising that under her, you’ll turn into a great chef.

Agatha twists her fingers and you moan, babbling something incoherently, and she rubs your clit harder.

“Cum for me,” she growls into your ear and thrusts her fingers inside you as far as they can go and you do — a whine falling from your lips as your pussy walls clench uncontrollably around her, tension exploding through your body.

She keeps fucking you through your orgasm and doesn’t stop until your breathing has evened out and you start to squirm away because of how sensitive you’ve become. And yet, you still whine when she pulls her fingers out of you.

Agatha lifts her fingers to her mouth and sucks on them, holding eye contact and moaning like she’s a world-class chef and you’re still the best thing she’s ever tasted.

You awkwardly adjust your underwear, pull up your pants, and clear your throat. Should you thank her for the fact that you still have a job? Or that she just fingered you in her restaurant?

“Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Agatha says before you try to break the silence. “You’re not going to make any more mistakes?” Her tone is teasing — you smile and shake your head.

“No, I promise.” Your voice is still a little raspy and it makes her smirk.

She grabs her purse and wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you out of the kitchen and to the entrance of the restaurant. Her head tilts down and her forehead presses against your temple. “Good, cause I’d hate to have to punish you again.” Except Agatha doesn’t sound like she means that at all and it sears through you.

At least it seems like you have a little bit of job security, even though you don’t want to mess up any more. You’re going to prove to Agatha that you do deserve this job, that you can be as good of a chef as she thinks you can be.

She stops at the bottom of the stairs at the entrance and takes her arm around you, immediately missing the warmth it brought you.

“Good first day, honey,” she says with a wink and it makes your cheeks heat up.

And then she’s walking away and you stumble to your car while trying to figure out what the hell you just got yourself into.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along

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yourtypicalhuman09 · 23 hours ago

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Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Prologue: Why me?

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Why is this happening?

The woman in front of me stood close. Too close. A hand was outstretched in an attempt to comfort me. I don't want her fucking comfort. I want answers.

"Why..."

The word left my lips before I could process it. My world was crashing. The room was spinning. It was getting hard to breath. I knew I sounded pathetic. I know I look pathetic. God I'm pathetic. Why can't I fight for this? Why does it seem like the only thing I can do right is fall behind as the world moves on without me.

"I'm sorry (Y/N), but we found someone better suiting of your position. We had no choice, the whole student body petitioned for Tim to become president of the student body."

Tim Drake. God I loathed that name. Every time I have something good one of those bat bastards has to make my life miserable again. For as long as I could remember I had been alone. I had to be the perfect child and yet I was never praised for the things I've done right, only punished for the things I've done wrong. Is this another punishment... Did I linger too long during diner yesterday? Did I not provide a good enough reaction during Damian's beating? Did I not hide my exhaustion well enough? Did I accidentally start a scandal?

"God (Y/N) what are you still doing here? We both know you have things to do at home. Plus you're not needed here anymore."

I heard his voice before I saw him. His condescending tone never ceases to send a chill down my spine. I steeled myself and turned to face my brother.

"I'm sorry Tim. looks like I lost track of time, I'll head back now"

I returned his dark look with a cold look of my own. I will not let him, or anyone for that matter, have the pleasure of seeing me break. I may have lost but I will not give him the chance to laugh and jeer at my failure. I turned and left the room, my posture straight and my head held high. I don't know what I'll do now but I will not let myself be seen as some pathetic hopeless child with no potential or worth. I ignored the feeling of Tim's calculating gaze boring holes through my figure and continued to walk on. Maybe I should take that person up on their offer. Maybe I could use their help...

Authors note: Omg prologue is done! Thank you all for participating in the polls and reading! I hope this is a good prologue, I'm super excited for this story. Thank you all for your support and please feel free to send me any asks I love hearing y'all's thoughts! Anyways with nothing else to say I wish you all a good day/night and I'll update you all on chapter 1 soon, until next time!

@simpingpandas

#neglected reader #x reader #yandere batboys #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere platonic #barbara gordon #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #tim drake

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midnite-c6 · 1 day ago

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Sequel to the thanos x namgyusgf!reader? 👀👀

hmmmm alot of ppl asked for pt. 2 of that one fic so heree, love u all anons!!

pt. 1 here <3

thanos (choi su-bong) x namgyusgf!reader pt. 2 warnings: 18+, cheating

already ⁠nsfw below!!-> (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

つ⁠｡⁠☆ ..after what felt like the most awakening time of your life, realizing how much you'd miss dick. you're thankful for your amazing friend, su-bong, there to make you feel full again. "you're so pathetic." su-bong blurted out, after hours of only sitting in his lap, escaping reality, that's what he chose to break the silence. "fuck off.." he chuckles, "mmm, of course i wouldn't call you that. your boyfriend did." you'd freeze for a moment, excuse me? he'd play the video he sent to nam-gyu a few hours ago, hearing your muffled moans against his cock, how you were gagging against him, it was only now you'd hear in the video:

"nam-gyu, this bitch is actually so fine, why are you ..fuck.. neglecting her, huhh?" why is it only now that you're hearing this? "i toldcha' bros before hoes, but never hoes who give good head." you could even see him pull on your hair harder as you cry from choking against his cock.

within your view was nam-gyu's reply,,

"that bitch is so fucking pathetic."

you were literally about to cry, they're both fucking jerks, "you sent that shit to him??" you've been caught, not even caught to be honest, he fucking outed you!! what are you gonna do now? you swear you were an angel ! "don't worry, i was just bragging about you, trust me, i'm sure he's learnt his lesson." you'd get off his lap immediately, slapping him across the face, and he immediately wraps his hand around your neck. "whatcha tryna do? learn your place, slut. you're the one who wanted it." "that's fuck- i -" you can't even defend or explain yourself. "you did that shit sober too." his stupid giggles were filling the private room, but you can't help but tear up, :(, he would sigh, patting your messy hair, "shhh, atleast it's with me, angel."

su-bong wipes your tears, "you're too fine to cry 'bout this.." leaning in to kiss you sweetly on the lips. "he deserves it remember? shiit if i was him i'd treat you so much better." you know that's not true. but the words were still nice to hear. he'd lean in to whisper in your ear, "if i was him i'd fuck you so much better. you already got the free trial, babe. c'mon tell me, am i better?" you'd calm down, quickly forgetting what he had done, "b.. better." he smiles, that was a good voice message to send to his bestfriend, your confirmation, your whiny voice. "you deserve the best, my bro can't handle 'allat." he kisses you again, "i love you, so much." was that true? it's not, obviously. "you deserve me." you slowly nodded, you were so dumb, but he was dumb aswell, so maybe two minds do think alike, the two of you deserve eachother !

bonus for the nam-gyu lovers..<3: you'd wake up alone, and mascara would already mess up your pretty face again, you'd shamefully walk back to your shared apartment with nam-gyu (though he wasn't home most of the time), but to your surprise, he'd be there, obviously.. he still lives there, fuck. he'd walk over to you, you could tell he was angry, at the peak of your relationship, he'd give that same look whenever you talk to other guys, you'd already press your hands together, "i'm. i'm sorry, i swear, i'm sorry, nam-gyu.." he tilts his head. "if you're gonna beg, fucking kneel." "i'm reallly sorry, nam-gyu..!" you didn't want to, it was so embarassing. "you're being shy now? you were having the time of your life sucking another guys dick, suddenly now you've got some shame?" obviously what other choice do you have? you'd already swallowed all your pride and ego by apologizing, and he'd happily do what su-bong did to you just a few hours ago, everytime su-bong would send a video he's pissed, so it's his turn now! "you can't fuck this bitch better than i do. got that, bro?" and the video contains you moaning out how nam-gyu's the only one who could make you feel that way! their text conversation is now filled with only your videos. 🫶🏻

i chose choi seunghyun pic bcuz um, there arent enough pre-squidgames scenes of thanos. like . they needa show them outside dem games cuz damn. i couldnt put a pic of jaewon bcuz like all of his pics are so wholesome and cute omfg 😭 . also, thanos is on namgyus team so sorry ure on ur own kid . hehe OH if u guys noticed im changing my layout now damn💔💔

#squid game #squid game 2 #player 124 #nam-gyu #squid game x reader #squid game smut #squid game season 2 #thanos #thanos smut #thanos x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #player 230

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technofeudalism · 22 hours ago

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i've got one more wall of text in me for today. i'm sorry, but hopefully this helps more people than it annoys.

i understand the concerns people have about social media being captured to technofascist oligarchs and i share them.

however, and you can call me a boomer for this if you'd like, i am way more worried about the fact that we are watching a scarier replay of the 2016 hyper-normalization of Donald Trump already being carried out in mainstream/establishment news outlets.

Some political operatives on the right, who saw mainstream media coverage of Trump’s first term as overly hostile, say the way the press covered Trump’s first term unwittingly did him a favor. “I do expect that the media coverage will be a little different in tone,” one national Republican strategist told The Hill this week. “Not because the media is all of a sudden planning on being more objective and less biased, but because they probably finally recognize that their over-the-top hysterical coverage has done nothing but help Trump politically.”

there are many reason this freaks me out worse, but i can sum up a couple of them.

the rhetoric this time is a magnitude more insane and suddenly alarmingly expansionist. logic would suggest this would justify an even more critical evaluation from the media that they are seemingly neglecting to provide.

the public, thanks to total dereliction of duty by the Democrats, are far more geared up for fascist shit than ever, but are totally ignorant to how this is going to happen (concentration camps)

speaking of the Democratic party: following a series of humiliating, high profile L's, the party finds themselves leaderless and less popular than they've been in 30 years at the worst time. when asked to name the leader of the Democratic Party, 49% of registered voters couldn’t name a person or said “nobody.”

before i continue, i know that there has been a dramatic decrease in people who get their news from traditional media and instead rely on social media, podcasts and the like. that makes sense. people aren't watching cable news anymore, chiefly because fewer and fewer people under the age of 30 even have cable TV and they definitely aren't paying for a New York Times subscription.

but what people fail to consider is that the "news" people consume via social media is often rehashed or half-baked, word of mouth versions of reporting conducted by the mainstream media or the journalists who work for them. there are still journalists working for these publications who take advantage of the increased exposure podcasts provide and go on them to talk about their writing.

people hear the same stories at the end of the day, but the way the issue is initially framed when the story first "breaks" and how it is approached by other outlets who follow up on it is significant. it's a lot less work to have to clean up and suppress news on your platform when the news is already favorable to your cause.

think along the lines of a massive disinformation campaign emerging from one outlet, social media being thrown into a complete frenzy and the only journalist who knows the truth from another outlet hesitating to speak out because of threats from his publisher to keep outrage revenue high or, perhaps more ominously, to directly serve the interest of the fascists in charge.

the US media has always been servile to whims of corporate interests because... well... they are owned by the corporate interests.

but up until today, i was holding out some sliver of hope that even if the NYT, for example, wasn't taking up antifascist actions, they would hold onto a tiny bit of reliability as a further watered down version of itself. an increasingly rare, delicate weapon against misinformation on social media, as opposed to being another tool wielded by fascists on aforementioned social media to grow legitimacy and manufacture consent.

then i saw this. my feeling is now that if the New York Times can't even write a headline - with THAT photograph underneath it - that says in plain English "Elon Musk Makes Nazi Salute Twice at Trump Inauguration," then there is going to be a frightening decrease in quality journalism being funded by mainstream outlets coming.

if you are not sure what to do and you want to be well informed, i have two suggestions. the first and most important, most difficult one that is a skill hard to master, is to develop decent media literacy and an ability to derive context from history.

the second is to build a network of trustworthy local, national and global sources that you can count on. ideally, they would be completely independent and free from editorial oversight or corporate control.

here are some of my recommendations. all of them are flawed. never rely on one source. do not immediately accept something as the truth from any single source. everyone is capable of accidentally getting a detail wrong, or even deliberately misleading.

Dropsite News - ran by Ryan Grim, Jeremy Scahill

The Intercept - sadly running out of money, alleged CIA ties

Democracy Now! - more center-left, better domestically

Jacobin - wide variety, sometimes shitty takes, Alex Press is great

The Grayzone - this one is controversial (mainly just to liberals) and they make no qualms about being committed to reporting from an anti-imperialist view of the world

Black Agenda Report - perspective from Black leftists. founded by Glen Ford (RIP), a Black Panther and accomplished investigative journalist

Hasan Piker - hate him, love him, neutral, doesn't matter. he's the largest independent political commentator on the left (by far), covering news and misinformation 9 hours a day. you can think he has shit takes, but he's still a reliable source and has been insanely accurate with his opinions

The Majority Report - been around forever, Sam Seder & Emma Vigeland are amazing, once home to the incredible Michael Jamal Brooks (RIP)

Breakthrough News

Labor Notes

Ben Norton @ Global Political Economy

Caitlin Johnstone (AUS)

these are just what i could come up with but there are many more if you do a little bit of digging using these as a baseline. just remember that the source ultimately is irrelevant and will have it's own biases. it is up to you to separate fact and fiction.

#long post #media #resources #united states #us politics #media literacy #misinformation #journalism #us news #trying to be better about ableist terms #but i definitely left a few in #i'm working on it #i can grow

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alsofoundinpeas · 13 hours ago

Text

Beyond the Window

Summary: With her package plan a success, the only thing standing between Y/N and Spencer now was his job. But as soon as he returned home, nothing would hold them back from finally acting on their feelings—this time, with no windows in the way.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Some might consider this dubcon (talk of Spencer watching reader through her window but reader had wanted him to) so please be aware of that! Fingering (f!receiving), oral (both m and f receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), overstimulation/multiple orgasms (both m and f receiving), dry humping (if you squint), creampie (fuck I hate typing that), minor corruption kink, heavy praise, Virgin!Spencer, Sub!Spencer (he is pathetic and LOUD in this FYI), Soft Dom!reader, Perv!Spencer and Perv!Reader (they're back at it again LMFAO). Both fluffy and smutty. They match each other’s freak your honor!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: Anddd done! This was, to date, the filthiest thing I've written so I'm nervous but I also loved writing it LMAO. I hope you guys enjoy part two as much as I enjoyed writing it :') I'll be putting out more sub!Spence in the future, but for now I hope you guys like this!! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Spencer was certain the universe was playing a cruel, twisted prank on him.

It was the only explanation for being called into work early on a Sunday morning when he was supposed to be off. The night before, he’d gone to bed without replying to Y/N, hoping to come up with the perfect witty, flirty response the next day—when his brain wasn't a pile of mush. As he hurried to pack a go-bag and get dressed, Spencer cursed under his breath for waiting. Now, he’d have to send a hasty, jumbled apology and hope that Y/N would still want him to come over when he got back.

While Spencer drove—a task he loathed but had no choice in, given the lack of time for the metro—Penelope briefed him on the case details. The team was being sent to Wyoming to assist with a rapidly escalating unsub, which explained the need to get there quickly. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as Penelope spoke. Even with the case's urgency, his mind kept returning to Y/N.

“Reid?” Penelope sighed, then tried again. “Hello? Earth to Reid?!”

Spencer snapped back to reality, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I got distracted. What was the last part again?”

Penelope's laughter echoed through the phone. “What’s keeping your mind so busy? Besides all your usual genius stuff, that is."

Spencer groaned, knowing that the blonde wouldn’t stop pressing until she got an answer. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly began to explain.

"There’s this girl who lives across from me, and I’ve had a crush on her for a while… We’d run into each other a few times at the library and the coffee shop near my place, but recently, a package of hers ended up at my door. I took it to her yesterday morning, and we ended up hanging out—" He paused, swallowing hard as his mind drifted to what had happened that night, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. "Anyway, she texted me to come over again, but then I got called in for the case. So, yeah, she’s just been on my mind."

Spencer winced as a loud squeal erupted from the phone, quickly followed by the sound of enthusiastic clapping.

“Spencer! That’s adorable! What’s her name?”

“Nope. Not a chance. I know you’ll look her up and start stalking her!” Spencer protested as he pulled into the parking garage. “Look, I just got here, so I’ll see you when we get back. Please keep this between us for now, alright? I don’t need everyone hounding me about it while we have a case to focus on.”

Penelope groaned dramatically but gave in, sighing in playful annoyance. “Ugh, fine, lover boy. You just ruined all my fun,” she grumbled. “Be safe, my sweet angel, and tell Derek to call me when you guys land!”

Spencer finished the call and hung up, swiftly typing out a message to send to Y/N before he had to go in. His thumbs clumsily pressed the buttons as he hurried, letting out an annoyed sigh as he fumbled with his flip-phone. He’d never been a fan of modern technology, but if getting a new phone meant it would be easier to talk to her, he’d consider it.

Good morning! I hope you slept well. Apologies for the late response. I’d love to come over, but unfortunately, I’ve been called in for a case. Would you still like me to come by once I get back?

Spencer gave a nod to himself, hit send, then gathered his things and stepped out of the car.

Y/N paused when she heard her phone ding, toothbrush still in her mouth. She quickly finished brushing, swishing mouthwash as she walked to her room to grab her phone. Returning to the bathroom, she spat out the mouthwash before finally glancing at the waiting text.

A small giggle fell from her lips as she read Spencer’s message, leaning back against the sink as she responded.

Of course, Spencer. Only if you want to :) xoxo

He texted like an old man (which wasn't surprising, considering his wardrobe). She thought it was charming. She placed her phone on the bathroom counter and stepped toward the shower to start the water, a smile still playing on her lips from his message.

A content sigh fell from her lips once she stepped into the hot stream of water, letting the water relax her tight muscles.

As her soapy hands began to wander her body, her mind wandered back to Spencer and just how deliciously pathetic he’d looked stroking himself to the sight of her. Honestly, Y/N had worried she’d scared the poor guy with her message after he’d watched her the night before, so seeing his text was a relief. Now, she just had to wait for him to return from his case—and then he’d finally be all hers.

The week crawled by, each day stretching on painfully, leaving both of them restless and longing for each other's company.

Each night when Y/N came home, she’d glance out of her curtains, hoping to see that Spencer had returned, only to let out a quiet sigh when she found he hadn’t. She couldn’t remember ever being this excited to see someone before. Something about Spencer had her completely hooked—not just his looks, but the man behind them. After spending time with him, she was eager to uncover more about the sweet, brilliant person who lived across from her.

Another four days went by before the text she’d been waiting for finally came through.

Hey pretty girl, we just landed so I’ll be home in about an hour. Are you up for some company?

Y/N arched a brow as she read the message, re-reading it a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. That didn’t sound like Spencer at all… but she was too eager for him to come over to worry about it now. She’d figure out who actually sent it when he arrived.

With a small grin, Y/N typed her reply, then set her phone down to get ready and tidy up her apartment.

“Morgan! Come on! Are you serious?” Spencer griped, swatting at the man in an attempt to grab his phone back. “What did you say to her?”

Penelope had (accidentally) let it slip to Morgan that Spencer was, in her words, "dating but not dating this super cute girl who lives across from him." Naturally, she’d ignored his requests for privacy, tracked down the tenant list for Y/N’s building, and found her online after figuring out she was the one. So, when Morgan glanced over Spencer's shoulder and saw the carefully composed message he’d written, he snatched the phone and sent something entirely different.

“Relax, kid! I’m just helping you out. You’re going to scare her off if you keep talking to her like a geezer,” Morgan chuckled, tossing him back his phone before standing from his seat and stretching. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head in frustration before unlocking his phone to check the message. He cringed at what Morgan had sent, but then his heart skipped a beat as he read Y/N’s reply.

Come over whenever you’re ready, pretty boy. I can’t wait to see you. :)

Spencer’s face flushed as he brushed off the curious looks from the team, eager to get off the jet and head home to drop his stuff off—then straight to Y/N’s. A mix of nervousness and excitement churned inside him, his hands trembling as he started the drive home. It felt surreal to him, knowing not only that she was excited to see him, but that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

A firm knock at the door pulled Y/N’s attention from the couch, a bright smile spreading across her face as she jumped up to answer it. "Coming!" she called, quickly unlocking the door. When she opened it, Spencer stood there, looking a bit nervous and holding a bag of takeout from her favorite diner.

"Oh, Spencer," she murmured, her gaze softening as she noticed the bag. "You’re so sweet! You didn’t have to get dinner—I was planning to order something when you got here." She stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him and taking the bag from his hand so he could slip off his coat.

Spencer waved it off with a sheepish grin as he followed her into the kitchen. "I wanted to," he said. "I noticed you ordered from them a lot and thought it would be a nice surprise." His eyes widened in panic. "Not that I’ve been, like, stalking you or anything! And, um, I'm sorry if I didn’t pick the right thing. I can run back and grab something else—"

“Spencer.”

Y/N sat down the plates she'd gotten out for them and silenced his nervous rambling by gently cupping his cheeks. Spencer froze mid-sentence, his mouth slightly open as he looked down at her. She smiled up at him, softly stroking her thumb along his cheekbone.

“You did perfect, sweetheart,” she reassured him, her gaze flicking to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “It was so thoughtful of you to pick up dinner. I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever you ordered. Thank you.”

Spencer swallowed, his heart pounding at the feel of her hands on his face. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself before he whispered, “Of course.”

Y/N smiled, brushing her hand over his cheek one last time before turning back to plate the food, which looked and smelled delicious. Once she finished, she headed to the fridge, glancing back at Spencer. "Wine, water, or soda?"

"Water, please. Thank you."

Nodding, Y/N poured herself a glass of wine and then filled one with water for him. They walked into the living room, both of them buzzing with anticipation for what was to come later. They sat side by side, enjoying the warmth that came from being pressed together as they began to eat.

"So," Y/N started, laughing softly before continuing. "Who texted me from your phone earlier today? Unless the grandfather ghost inhabiting your body decided to take a rain check."

Spencer groaned in embarrassment, chuckling awkwardly as he glanced at her. "Sorry about that… that was my co-worker, Derek. And best friend too. He accused me of 'talking to you like a geezer' and decided to try and do better himself."

Y/N laughed even harder, putting her fork down to take a sip of her wine before replying. "I knew it wasn’t you!" she said with a triumphant grin, then paused, a new realization dawning on her. "You talk about me to your team?"

Spencer hesitated, finishing his bite slowly before taking a drink and nodding. "Sort of… I told Penelope about you, and then she mentioned it to Derek. I’m sorry—i-is that okay?" His fingers pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit of his.

It was more than okay. A giddy feeling rushed through her at the idea of him talking about her to his co-workers, recalling how he'd mentioned during their first hangout how much he valued them. She nodded, nudging him with her shoulder gently.

“You apologize too much, Spence. It’s totally fine. If anything, I’m flattered,” she admitted with a grin.

It didn’t take long for them to finish eating. Once the plates were cleared and placed in the sink, Y/N turned to Spencer, a small smirk playing on her lips. Spencer swallowed, leaning back against the counter, his eyes locked on her with a mix of curiosity as she began to speak.

"Do you watch every girl you're interested in through their window? Or am I just special?"

Her tone was playful, not angry or accusatory, but Spencer still tensed, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself.

"I swear I didn’t mean to come off as creepy or anything," Spencer stammered. "It’s just… from the moment I met you in the library, you were so captivating. And when I found out you lived across from me, I couldn’t help myself—"

Y/N's gaze softened as she realized just how nervous he actually was, and she took a step forward, shushing him with a finger to his lips.

"Spence, hey. Look at me, sweetheart,” she murmured, her arms loosely wrapping around his neck. She waited until their eyes met, then continued, her fingers gently twisting the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was just teasing. I wanted you to watch. That’s why I left my curtains open.”

Spencer’s eyes widened at her admission, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as he recalled every time she’d left her curtains open. All this time, she had wanted him to watch. The realization sent a strange warmth through him, and he carefully placed his hands on her waist.

“So, was the package at my door part of your plan too?” he breathed, his expression a blend of lust and adoration as he looked down at her.

Y/N's answer came in the form of a nod and a smug grin. Spencer chuckled, his nerves easing the longer he held her in his arms.

"I didn’t think you’d ever make a move, so I decided to take matters into my own hands," she said softly, still grinning as she met his gaze, mirroring the admiration in his eyes.

Spencer wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. “Is it wrong to say I’m glad you did?” he murmured, his hands gently caressing her lower back through her shirt. “You’re just… perfect. I was afraid you wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I’d tried to.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in surprise, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head. “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously, letting her hands slide to rest on his shoulders as she leaned back in his embrace. “Spencer, I adore you. You could’ve asked me out in the library, right then, after just thirty seconds of knowing each other, and I would’ve said yes without a second thought. You really don’t give yourself enough credit.”

She tilted her head up, brushing her nose against his, continuing before he could speak. "Let me show you just how incredible I think you are. Please?"

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his heart racing at her words. It was exactly what he wanted, more than anything. But he hesitated, his mouth working as he fought to find the right words.

"I'm a virgin!" he not-so-eloquently blurted out instead.

Y/N's head jerked back, blinking hard as she processed his words. Had she heard him right?

"Wait... what did you just say?"

Spencer blushed hard, averting his gaze to the ground as he repeated himself.

"I'm a virgin."

It was Y/N’s turn to suck in a sharp breath, the admission arousing her more than she’d care to admit. She rubbed his shoulders gently before using one of her hands to guide his face back to hers, her gaze earnest as she looked at him.

“Honey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything at all—“

Spencer shook his head vigorously at that, a low whine emitting from his throat as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to do everything with you. I want to more than anything, I swear! I-I just… I don’t want it to be bad for you,” he whispered, unnecessary shame lacing his words.

“Spencer… sweetheart, it would never be bad for me as long as I’m with you,” Y/N whispered, her voice warm and steady. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. Honestly, we could just curl up on the couch, watch a movie, or talk. I love talking with you, about anything.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at her words. No one had ever told him they truly enjoyed his company before, nor had anyone ever shown such genuine affection or concern for his emotions. It was a feeling he hadn’t known he was missing.

“I’m more than sure, Y/N. Please?” he mumbled, his grip on her hips tightening slightly. “I-I want to make you feel good.”

She paused, her eyes closing as she carefully considered her next move. After a long breath, Y/N gave a small nod, then pulled away from him completely.

“Follow me, then.”

Spencer hurried after her, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness to keep up. Once they reached her bedroom, Y/N shut the door and turned to face him, leaving him standing in the middle of her dimly lit room. He glanced around, almost in disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was really here—standing in her room and not caught in some dream.

“Bet it feels different being in here rather than just looking in,” Y/N teased, stepping closer to him.

“Very. I’m still waiting for the cameraman to jump out and tell me it’s all a prank.”

A soft laugh escaped her, and she shook her head with a smirk. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not happening. No prank, sweetheart,” she hummed, her eyes catching the way his gaze swept over her, full of unspoken desire.

Y/N smirked as she took another step forward, urging Spencer backward until the backs of his knees hit her mattress. She reached up, pushing down gently on his shoulders until he gingerly sat on the bed, looking up at her with wide eyes as she moved to straddle his lap. Her fingers carded through his hair, tugging gently and eliciting a whimper from him as she cocked her head.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she murmured, scratching her nails gently against his scalp.

A shiver ran down Spencer’s spine, his brows furrowing at her words. He shifted underneath her, resting his shaking hands on her hips. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes darkened at the sight.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to ruin you.”

Y/N’s words lingered in the air, their breaths the only sound breaking the stillness. The tension between them was electric, each waiting for the other to break first. Finally, Spencer did, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.

“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

The slight tremble in his voice and the doe-eyed look he sported were all it took for Y/N’s resolve to crumble completely.

With a low groan, her lips crashed onto his. Their mouths melded together, the small whine bubbling in Spencer’s throat encouraging her to kiss him even harder. His hands reached up to cradle her face, matching her intensity as their lips moved together.

It wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

Spencer didn’t kiss her like the shy, hesitant man from earlier. Instead, his kiss was fiery, almost desperate, as though he wanted to drown in her and never resurface. And she found herself wanting exactly the same.

Y/N’s hands wandered from his hair down his chest, letting her fingertips dip beneath the hem of his shirt as their tongues brushed together. Her nails gently dragged along the soft skin there, and she felt his erection twitch from where it was firmly pressed to her core. Spencer whimpered, breaking their kiss with a soft gasp as he looked up at her pleadingly.

“Please,” he panted, his hands reaching for her hips to pull her down into him. Y/N rolled her hips against his, moaning lowly at the friction. She repeated the action once before stopping her movements, climbing off of him despite his protests with one simple command.

"Take off your clothes, Spence."

He complied immediately, scrambling to stand and strip out of his clothes. His fingers fumbled as he worked at his tie, his focus stuck on her as she undressed before him. A frustrated groan left his lips as he finally yanked the tie off, his hands moving too slowly for his own liking.

Y/N arched a brow, chuckling at his irritated noise as she stepped out of her pants. She reached up to stop his hands, beginning to unbutton his shirt herself. "What's got you so worked up, hm? It's not like it's anything you haven't seen before," she purred, sliding her hands under the fabric and slipping it off of him.

The shirt hit the ground with a muted thump, and her eyes roamed over his newly exposed skin hungrily. Spencer whined at her teasing, letting his hands roam up and down her sides as she worked on getting his pants off.

"I could see you like this an infinite amount of times, and it would still take my breath away every time," he murmured, his hands gently squeezing her hips.

A faint pink spread across her cheeks at his words, and she lifted her face to place a soft kiss on his lips, a silent thank you. No one had ever made her feel as treasured as Spencer did. He gazed at her with a devotion that felt almost reverent, as though she were someone to be worshipped—and he longed to be the one to worship her.

Which was highly ironic, considering she was the one sinking to her knees the second his pants pooled around his ankles.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Spencer's voice raised pitch as she steadied herself with her hands on his thighs, looking down at her with wide eyes, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they threatened to slip down from the angle.

"What does it look like I'm doing, sweetheart?" Y/N murmured, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to his hip. "I want your pretty cock down my throat. You okay with that?"

The sound Spencer made was almost pained, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to figure out what to do with his hands. His mouth parted, a stutter escaping him before he finally gave in, nodding instead. His cock twitched in his boxers, aching to feel her touch.

"Words, baby. Use your words."

Y/N's lips skimmed across his navel, peppering kisses along the smattering of hair there as she waited for his response.

"God—yes! I'm okay with that," Spencer whined, his hips bucking forward instinctively from her touch. "Please... please touch me—"

Y/N couldn't deny such sweet begging. It would be downright cruel if she did.

Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly. She kept her eyes locked on his, carefully assessing his every reaction to ensure there was no trace of doubt before proceeding. When she saw none, she swiftly yanked them down the rest of the way, letting them pool around his ankles with his pants.

Spencer gasped as the chill of her bedroom air met his warm skin, goosebumps spreading across his arms as he fought the urge to shy away from her gaze. He never thought that highly of himself in the physical aspect— all lean muscles, lanky limbs, and pale skin spattered with freckles and a few random scars. But his insecurities faded the moment he heard her breath catch, her eyes filled with admiration as they lingered on him.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," Y/N breathed, bringing a hand up to grip him gently. "So, so beautiful."

Her mouth was on him before he could respond.

A keening sound filled the room as he watched in pure awe as she dragged her tongue up and down the length of him slowly before her lips wrapped around the flushed head of his cock, a spark of pleasure shooting up his spine as his hands flexed by his side. She sucked gently, swirling her tongue around the tip before pulling off of him to speak.

"Don't be afraid to hold onto me, sweetheart. Go ahead."

Spencer's hands immediately came up to cradle the back of her head, finding purchase as she returned to what she was doing. The sight of her on her knees and taking the length of him into her mouth had his knees almost buckling. It was something he'd dreamed about for nights on end, but now that it was actually happening, he didn't know what to do with himself.

"F-fuck—" He whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut to prevent himself from cumming right then and there.

All he'd ever experienced before was his own hand (and occasionally some desperate humping against his mattress), so the feeling of her mouth around him was otherworldly. Just when he thought it was safe to open his eyes again, Y/N smirked around her mouthful and pushed her head down to take him in completely.

"Oh—!" Spencer cried out as he hit the back of her throat, jolting and stumbling backward and falling out of her mouth with a slick 'pop'. His chest heaved as he reached down to grip himself tightly, staving off his orgasm. He didn't want to cum yet. Not this quickly.

"I-I'm sorry, it just felt too... too good—"

Y/N gently stroked his trembling thighs, pressing a kiss beneath his belly button before rising to her feet. She shushed his stammered apologies with a kiss on his forehead, caressing his face as he caught his breath. His face was flushed, both from embarrassment and arousal, and the sight was more endearing than it should have been.

"You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. Absolutely nothing," she whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before turning to crawl onto her bed. “Get up here, baby,” she crooned as she laid back against her pillows, patting the spot beside her.

Spencer almost tripped over his pants in his haste to follow after her, kicking the fabric away before he kneeled onto the mattress, smiling meekly at Y/N as she watched in amusement. "I w-want—" Spencer paused as he watched her lean forward so she could unclasp her bra, completely enraptured. "I want to taste you. Please?"

Desire coursed through her at his words, searing through her veins as she met his gaze. She loved how pretty the word please sounded falling from his kiss-swollen lips. She slipped free from her bra, tossing it to the ground before answering his pleading.

"Go ahead, baby. Take whatever you want—I want you to have it all."

Spencer swallowed hard at that, a small grin playing on his lips as he moved forward to settle between her spread legs. He kneeled between them, taking off his glasses and setting them on her nightstand before lowering himself to hover over her. He bumped his nose against hers, his grin widening as he moved to tentatively kiss along the side of her neck.

Y/N moaned at the feeling, tangling her fingers into his tousled strands. He continued, trailing his kisses down the slope of her shoulder before pausing to suck a small mark into her skin, relishing in the soft noises falling from her lips. Once he was satisfied with his mark, he brought his lips down to mouth along her breast, laving his tongue over the taut bud of her nipple.

"Spence—" she whimpered as he closed his lips around the hardened peak, suckling with a low groan that rumbled against her skin. She tugged at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. "Feels so good, sweetheart."

Spencer hummed, pulling off her breast after a moment and switching to the other to give it the same treatment. Y/N whined, arching into his touch as he began to move down her body. What he may have lacked in physical experience, he more than compensated for with knowledge.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a prude. He'd read plenty of erotic novels, as well as countless books all centered around the female anatomy and how to inflict the most pleasure so that he could at least pretend to feel prepared for his first time. It seemed to be paying off, though, if the noises she made were any indication of how he was doing.

Spencer's hands came up to rest on her hips as he settled on his stomach between her thighs, hissing softly when his erection pressed into the mattress. His eyes met hers, and the clouded look in her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.

"God, you're soaked," he whispered in astonishment as his finger traced the damp spot in the front of her panties, causing a breathy chuckle to slip from her lips.

"How could I not be?"

Spencer blushed, leaning down to kiss her inner thigh before pulling the fabric down her legs. His breath hitched at the sight of her glistening pussy, fully on display for him without the barrier of their windows in his way. Any coherent thought that was swirling around in his head vanished, replaced with an urgent need to taste her. He moved without thinking as he latched his mouth onto her eagerly, groaning against her slick skin as he began to lap at her hungrily.

"Fuck! Spencer—" Y/N cried out, her grip on his hair tightening at the unexpected pleasure. Her head tipped back against her pillows as her hips writhed under his ministrations, rolling against his mouth as he devoured her.

There was little to no technique— just pure, unbridled enthusiasm. But it felt so good that she didn't care. He alternated between sucking at her clit and thrusting his tongue into her, needy moans slipping from his lips the entire time he did.

"Fingers, baby—" she gasped, biting her lower lip harshly to stifle a loud moan. "Use your fingers, too."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from her, licking the taste of her from his lips as he brought two fingers up to her entrance. He focused his gaze on her face as he pushed them inside of her, his mouth hanging open and soft breaths panting against her skin as he began to thrust them.

"Like this?"

His tone wasn't cocky or arrogant. It was curious, like he was genuinely invested in finding out what felt the best for her. She nodded, a choked moan slipping from her lips as he grazed against that rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her hips thrashing.

Spencer watched in fascination for a moment before bringing his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he began to trace her clit with his tongue. His hips rocked instinctively against the bed, grinding against it in a desperate attempt to find some relief for his aching cock as he brought her closer and closer to her climax.

"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, her hands falling from his hair to grip the sheets as she clenched around his fingers. "I-I'm cumming—"

Spencer groaned against her, doubling his efforts so he could watch her fall apart on his fingers. With a soft cry, Y/N came hard, her eyes squeezing shut as she trembled underneath him. He continued his movements, pumping his fingers into her gently until she was whining and wriggling away from his touch.

Spencer watched her in awe, kneading her thighs and hips to help her come down from her high.

"C'mere," she panted after a few minutes, finally opening her eyes to look up at him as he moved to hover above her.

A proud grin made its way to Spencer's face as he obeyed, resting on his forearms as he looked down at her. The hazy look in her eyes made his heart race, knowing that he was the cause of it doing more for his ego than he cared to admit. She returned his grin, leaning up to kiss him softly and tasting herself on his tongue.

"You did so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy for me," she mumbled against his lips.

She broke the kiss to press on his shoulders, rolling them over so she straddled him once more. A lazy smirk adorned her lips as he looked up at her, his pupils so dilated that the soft brown of his eyes was indiscernible. She began to rock her hips against his aching cock, a sigh slipping from her lips as her folds dragged over him.

Spencer moaned lowly at the friction, bringing his hands up to palm at her ass as she continued her movements. His fingers dug into her flesh as she spoke, but he didn't hear a single word she said as he kept his gaze locked on where her pussy was gliding along his length.

"Hey," Y/N cooed, patting his cheek gently to guide his eyes back to hers. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."

Spencer whined, his hips bucking underneath hers in an attempt to bring back the delicious friction that had been taken away when she lifted her hips. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't listening," Spencer mumbled sheepishly, his face flushed as he held her gaze.

Y/N chuckled, tutting in mock disappointment as she gripped his chin. "I know you weren't," she muttered with an arched brow before continuing. "I was asking if you wanted to use a condom or not. I'm clean and—"

"No condom!"

Y/N jumped, startled. The urgency in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her as she eyed him in amusement, enjoying the bashful look that immediately appeared on his face after his exclamation. Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to regain some of his dignity.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to borderline shout that," Spencer said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "I just— I want to feel you, please. Without a condom in the way, preferably."

The grin that spread across her face could only be described as salacious as she nodded, cradling his face before leaning in for a tender kiss.

"No condom it is, then."

Y/N shifted up onto her knees, reaching between them to align him with her entrance before pausing when he spoke up.

"I— um... C-can I be on top of you instead?" he whispered, looking up at her with nervous eyes.

Her gaze softened at the sight, and she nodded immediately. "Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want, remember?" She murmured with a fond smile, rolling off of him to lay back against the pillows.

Spencer thanked her quietly, moving to hover above her once more. His body trembled as he propped up on one arm, reaching down to line himself up with her once more. She cradled his face, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone reassuringly. He took a deep breath to steady himself before pushing forward, sinking into her.

The feeling of her tight walls wrapping around him had him keening while she moaned just as loudly in return, dropping his head into the crook of her neck as he sucked in desperate, shaky breaths. He'd never experienced pleasure so overwhelming before. He was honestly convinced he'd died right there in her arms, pressing sloppy kisses to her skin just to prove to himself that he was, in fact, still alive.

"God— feels so good," he began to babble, moaning softly as he pulled his hips back slightly before thrusting forward again. "So tight... so wet— fuck!"

Y/N dug her nails into his shoulders, whimpering as he thrusted into her again, this time a little harder. "That's it, Spence," she panted, encouraging him to begin really moving. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking deep."

Spencer's hips jerked at that, his head dropping back into the crook of her neck as he began to drive into her in short, jagged thrusts. Moans slipped freely from his lips, mingling with hers as their bodies moved in tandem.

It didn't take long before the familiar tightening in his stomach came back, but he was too lost in the pleasure to stop. The feeling of Y/N around him was addictive. He seeked solace in her walls, rutting into her like a man possessed now as he sang her his praises against her skin. His hips stuttered as he lifted his head up, crashing his lips onto hers in a messy kiss as his hips pounded against hers even harder.

"Gonna— cum, fuck, I'm cumming—"

Spencer cried out against her lips, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could before filling her with rope after rope of his release. A pitiful noise fell from his lips as he broke the kiss, his eyes wide as he gawked down at her. His hips stopped moving, but before he could speak, Y/N was looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down.

“Did I say you could stop fucking me, Spencer?” Y/N’s voice was taunting in his ear, her nails digging into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him in place.

Spencer’s brows pinched together as confusion washed over him, and his arms trembled as he struggled to remain hovering above her. His cock twitched inside of her as she canted her hips up, causing him to hiss softly from the overstimulation. His lower lip wobbled as he stared at her with a half-dazed, half-pleading look.

"W-what?"

“You greedy boy,” Y/N purred as she rolled her hips again. She smirked at the whimper he let out before tilting her head to skim her lips across his. “Don’t you want to feel me cum on your cock? Hm?”

Spencer shuddered at her words, chasing helplessly after her lips. He whined petulantly when she tilted her head, keeping him from succeeding in getting his kiss.

“I do,” Spencer whimpered, nodding fervently. “I wanna feel it so bad,” he groaned, his words beginning to slur from the pleasure coursing through him from head to toe.

“Then keep fucking me, sweetheart.”

A determined look crossed over his face, his brows knitting together as he shifted up onto his knees and pulled her hips up before thrusting forward. The change in angles had her crying out as he brushed against her sweet spot, and he grunted as he began to rock into her slowly, pushing past the sweet sting of overstimulation. He tightened his grip on her hip with one hand while his other moved to where they were connected, rubbing small, sloppy circles against her clit as he began moving with a purpose.

“Mm—“ Y/N groaned out, her eyes threatening to close as she struggled to keep them focused on his face. “Just like that, Spence. Ah—!“

The sound of his hips snapping against hers paired with the slick, crude sound of him fucking his cum back into her had his head lolling back, a guttural moan rumbling in his throat.

His hips were relentless, chasing her pleasure more so than his own now. It was messy and borderline feral—their mixed arousal coated his pelvis and her thighs and one of the corners of the sheets had come up from Y/N yanking at them. But neither of them could find it in themselves to care.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Spencer begged, shifting her legs up onto his shoulders and clinging to her thighs as he drove into her. “Please—wanna feel you cum on my cock… I need it—“

The sound of his pleading hurled her over the edge. Y/N’s nails nearly tore through the sheets as her eyes squeezed shut, cry after cry of his name falling from her open mouth as she came around him. Her body trembled from the force of her orgasm, her walls clenching so tightly around him that it triggered his second climax unexpectedly.

“Oh my God— oh— fuck!” Spencer wailed, devolving into a series of whimpers as he spilled everything he had into her.

After a moment of ragged breathing, he turned to press a kiss to her ankle before easing her limp legs off of his shoulders and to the bed. Y/N stroked his hair with shaky hands as he crumpled over on top of her, their bodies warm and damp with sweat. Their chests were heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, with Y/N whispering into his hair how good he did and how perfect he’d made her feel.

They stayed curled up for a while, but eventually, the stickiness became too much to ignore. They both stumbled into her bathroom—both for a quick shower and for Y/N to pee to avoid a UTI. After changing the sheets, they returned to her bed, and Y/N turned away to switch off the lamp, leaving them wrapped in the peaceful darkness.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Spencer asked, a shy grin on his face as she turned back to him, snuggling into his embrace as he pulled her closer.

Y/N huffed out a soft, sleepy laugh, nodding against him. “If you want me to be, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion as her eyelids fluttered shut.

“Of course I want you to,” Spencer replied, his words followed by a small yawn as sleep started to take hold of him too.

“Looks like it’s official then. I’m your girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend. Now, get some rest, my sweet boy.”

It wasn’t until the following evening, after a full day spent with Y/N on their first official date—a trip to the museum and lunch at his favorite restaurant—that he noticed something tucked into his pocket. A giddy grin spread across Spencer’s face as he unfolded the lacy pink panties, a small note tucked inside that read: For you to take on your next case. ;) xoxo - Y/N.

Spencer glanced down at the fabric in his hands, a soft chuckle escaping him as he silently thanked whatever force had made her the one to fill the vacant apartment across from his.

Continued A/N’s and tag list!! <3: Big big thank you to everyone that enjoyed part one and came back to read part two :’) And thank you to everyone that wanted to be tagged!! If you guys would like for me to start doing an official tag list, please let me know :’) <3 @halfbloodwriter , @opheliahotchner , @mothgrrrl666 , @silver138, @elliet1ou

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #spencer Reid x fem!reader #spencer Reid x self insert #criminal minds smut #perv!spencer #sub!spencer

145 notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 days ago

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Aw welcome back, Wayne!! 😘 I'm so happy to hear that you've been thinking of this series. 🥰 And I'm so excited to see what you thought of Part 2...

I'm so in love with their little bonding sessions. Being stuck inside a cabin and playing games? I want that 😍

Aww it's the little moments with Dean that I would so love -- along with just being snowed in, in a cabin with him. 😏

And lol it's gotta be so awkward for true mates when they're still strangers. I absolutely adored her thought process throughout 😆

Lolll YEP exactly. 😆 Like, realistically how do you broach that conversation with someone? I'm glad you liked that attempt to inject some realism there. 🤣

Love how Dean doesn't realize he's oversharing and that his whole childhood might not have been normal 😂

ahaha Dean got so into his story he didn't realize he was giving himself away there! Bit of a rookie move, but she's his literal soulmate, so he's probably a little distracted. 🤪

And oh God, all those journal entries 😭😭😭 I know they're from the OG journal, but it just rips my heart right out again rereading it 😢 Those portray John's despair and heartbreak way better than the show did...

Girl I had never read the official journal, and it hit me in the feels in just the same way. 😭 I had that exact same thought -- that they served to humanize John and explain why he became the way he was with the boys way better than the show did.

Ooooh, let's think about it, shall we? 😏 Her dad might have totally been snatched by something supernatural. Considering their location and how it happened in her memories, it might have been a Wendigo?? 🤔

Ooh you're red-hot! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Dude! Goosebumps! Wendigos scare the shit outta me 🙈 It's still why The Descent is the scariest movie for me. I die from a heart attack every time 😂 🫣

ooooh my God, I haven't seen The Descent, but if it's anything like the Wendigo episode, than I don't wanna know. 😭 Legit when I was first starting to watch SPN I had to take a break after that episode -- and it was only episode 2!! 😩

No! Alex!!!! YOU KNOW THIS IS WHY I HATE SNOOPING Girl, you're killing me here... 😆😆

LOLL I love that you referenced Smoke Eater -- it's those same vibes from Part 8, isn't it? I have a little less sympathy for the reader in this situation, but she is ultimately sorry for going through his private journal/invading his privacy to the nth degree. 😅

OMGG I LOVED that gif of the little polar bear. 🥹🥹 Took me right out with the cuteness lmao. I laughed so hard at all your commentary with the reader and her lack of bear knowledge. 😝

N'aw, I know it was necessary but poor bear – wrong place, wrong time for the fella 🥺💔

Aww I know, I felt bad for writing that part. Poor Ted. 😭😭

My heart is full 😭❤️❤️❤️ (Also, I doubt he can ever stand to let her go her own way after this lmao)

Ha! You're right about that one. I just love me some protective Alpha Dean. 😏

Huh. Never eaten bear before... Never even thought about it before lol Also seems like something the Shaws would've done 😂

Me either lmao, but I've read about people who actually hunt for a living who survive off bear, caribou, bison, etc. I imagine it's a hard way to live, but omg yeah I could see Ashton making his kids learn how to shoot, but them not wanting to shoot a bear or a deer. 😭

Omg I love that ending! Dean's finally coming around, and she's putting the puzzle pieces about her dad together. I wonder what Dean will do when he hears the full story? Would he go hunt the thing? Is it even still out there??? Questions upon questions... 🤔

Aw I'm glad! Yesss it's about time with him lol. Good thing all your questions there will be answered in Part 3...

So excited for the next part!! I'm loving this story and everything you've put in it, and the dynamic between them is amazing. So well done, friend 😍🩵🩵

Aw thank you so much, my friend!! I tried to balance the slower "getting to know you" parts with some of this actiony/dramatic stuff as they slowly grow closer. 🥰💜💜

Also, don't think I forgot about the last two chapters of Polaris. I'm so looking forward to diving into those chapters soon!! 😘

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart.

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.”

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.”

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin.

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear?

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life.

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you.

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest.

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you.

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore.

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze.

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says.

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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stargazedwinchester · 2 days ago

Note

Hey, for a request, how about an earlier seasons Dean x Reader scenario in which they got a little crush and flirting going on, sparks between them, but Dean's a little worried that John won't approve? 👀

Your texting moodboard and the image of the "I love you. Don't reply, this is my dad's number" kinda inspired this idea!

Forbidden ♡ Dean

Summary: John doesn't approve of you dating his son, Dean. Word Count: 1,037 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Thank you for requesting ily!! I love this bc I love JDM <3 what a dilf A little bit of Negan came out here (sorry not sorry)

When your parents passed in such a cruel, sadistic way, Dean was the one that saved you. He was the one that introduced you to hunting, to really get a feel for the life that could’ve been if you knew you could save your parents.

That gnaws at you every damn day.

At this point, you had known Dean for roughly a year, joining him on late night drives to dive bars, drinking til you can’t see. You’d stay with him in motels close to your hometown, just for the sake of company. You don’t have a lot here anymore. No close family, old school friends turned acquaintances, so you can really just rely on Dean and his younger brother, Sam.

Oh, and John.

John is a tough nut to crack. Majority of the time, you can’t tell when he’s being genuine or an absolute dick. You know Sam and Dean had a tough childhood with him not being present enough in their lives, so that fact has already somewhat helped you decide from the get-go. You had tried multiple times in the past to get on his good side: trying to get to know him, stay friendly with his sons, and most importantly, stay out of his way.

“You wanna come with?” Dean invites, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. His dad sits in the front seat of the impala, waiting for Dean to finish up. “You think he’ll let me?” You peer at John, his eyebrows scrunched, glaring at Dean. Dean looks over his shoulder, John ushering him to hurry up. “Hell what he thinks. Come with me.”

You press your lips together firmly, believing that if you join them, it’ll end badly. “Dean.” He calls, his voice stern and impatient. “We need to go.” John rolls the window up, and Dean rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t like me, does he?” You focus your eyes on Dean, who shakes his head lightly. “He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll figure something out.” He flashes you a quaint smile that makes your tummy do somersaults. You place a peck on his cheek, and he blushes almost immediately. “I’ll miss you.” He says, and you smile. Dean walks down toward the car, then drives off.

It’s been a couple of weeks, and you haven’t heard much from Dean except the odd text from random numbers. One read: ‘I Love You. Don’t reply. This is my dad’s number.’ Times like these make you ill with worry. Worry that Dean’s not safe and there’s nothing you can do. You trust that he can take care of himself and you care for him deeper than you’d like to admit.

A few hours go by and you find yourself nose-deep in your book, ruminating in the same motel room as before. Dean had mentioned about being gone for a day or two, so he paid for your room on your behalf. There’s some light commotion outside. Since the voile is practically see-through, all you can see is the motel sign gleaming through the window. The rowing gets louder, as you see two male figures almost butting heads close to your room. Putting your book down, you head over to the window and see John and Dean in each other’s faces. Again.

“She’s not an issue, dad! You haven’t even given her a chance!” Dean spits. “I don’t need to give her a chance when I’ve seen enough. You need to give her up.” John retorts, and Dean pinches his brow line. “I’m not giving her up just because you say so, dad! I really like her, so get off my ass, man.” Dean attempts to turn around, but John pulls him back. “I’m not done.” He says sternly. John forces himself to be eye to eye with Dean, his cavillous demeanour ignites a fire inside you. He carries on.

“Listen, man, you don’t get to have an apple-pie life. End of the day she’ll be the first one to run when the bullet flies - and you know what? You’ll end up being the one to pick up the pieces, or the one that gets killed. So don’t you dare come back to me when you realise how much you regret being with her and you wanna come back to hunting. It ain’t gonna happen. Once you give up your life here; there’s no going back.” He threatens. John’s eyes are dark. Menacing. You feel as if you’re rewatching Dean’s teenage years reappear right in front of you. He has always mentioned that his father is a very strict person when it comes to ‘protecting’ his boys. That’s what he calls it. You open the door and meet them halfway. John turns his head and notices the scowl on your face, his aura stagnant. “John.” You state, not even bothering to make eye contact with Dean, but you can feel him staring at you. “I don’t care what you think about me, but what you’re saying to your son is far from the truth.” You say.

“You don’t know me. You clearly don’t know your own son and you have no idea about us being together. I don’t care whether you approve of me or not, but what I’m trying to say is that I love Dean. He may be your child but he’s sure as shit nothin’ like you.” You assert yourself, and John’s demeanour changes. His eyes soften, gazing upon your whole body. He looks at Dean, then huffs. Dean almost refuses to look his father in his eyes, as if he’s scared of what he could say next.

A smirk creeps up on Johns face as he’s still looking at you. His posture relaxes as he lets out a small laugh.”You’re the first person to ever stand up to me about my boys. You’ve got balls, Y/N. I like that.” John says, which takes you by surprise. This whole time you assumed John didn’t like you, turns out it’s quite the opposite. “You’re headstrong and you’ll look after my kid. You may not seek my approval but I’m giving it to you.” Jon looks over at Dean, who’s just as shocked as you are. “Thank you, sir.” You nod, and John walks back to the car. Dean sighs.

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. I was starting to get a little worried.” He looks at you with a shine in his eyes, one that screams ‘my-father-finally-agrees-with-something-i’ve-done’.

“Thank God.” You breathe. Dean takes your hand and walks you toward the car. He opens the back passenger door, planting a kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester angst #john winchester

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elleandstufff · 3 days ago

Text

Let's Play a Game -`✮´- Part 2

Young and in the club scene due to the family business, you meet an up-and-coming rapper who calls himself Thanos. As the two of you become deeply embedded in the dark world of fame, money, and drugs, you begin to wonder if you can make it out alive. Pre-games, during the games, and post-games Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader

Chapter Warnings: Club setting, moderate drinking, reader’s dad kinda sucks, reader’s mom is dead, discussion of childhood trauma (including parent with addiction, overdose, death of a parent, physical/verbal abuse), hurt/comfort, pet names galore, dialogue spoken in English is written in bold italics, 3.2k words

Part 1

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊

The next evening you arrive at the club before opening, anxious, hungry, and on four hours of sleep. Unfortunately, you know this scenario all too well. Most days are like this for you, but that just comes with the lifestyle.

You are, however, a bit more anxious than normal. The reason why you got less sleep than normal is because a certain underground rapper plagued your thoughts. He was like no one you had ever met before. The many men you met over the last couple years mainly wanted to take advantage of you, so you swore to stop giving anyone a chance. Your father and brothers had even told you that you would never meet a decent man at the club. Now you were questioning everything you had ever believed all over a guy who got his stage name from a purple alien.

Su-bong had been so sweet, yet persistent, last night that you were sure he would come back and prove that he was interested in more than some baseless sex or money. After leaving the club last night, you began to worry. What if you played too hard to get? What if he never came back and you never saw him again? The thought made your mind race and your stomach turn.

Your first task of the night was to approach the front bouncers and make sure that Su-bong could get into the club if he showed up. Your heart drops when you get to their station and see that none of the bouncers were here the night before–meaning that none of them would recognize Su-bong. You approach anyway, determined to not let this be the reason that your plan fails.

“Hi, I have someone that I need to make sure gains entry tonight. Someone who isn’t on my usual list.” You smile sweetly to cover up your nervousness.

“Sure, Miss Social. What is her name?” The bouncer asks, expecting it to be another one of your girl friends.

“Um, his name is Choi Su-bong, but he might go by Thanos.”

The bouncer looks at you through a quirked eyebrow as he writes the information down on his clipboard. “Right… and do you have a picture of him?”

“Well, no.” You frown. “But he’s tall, dark hair, brown eyes-”

“Sorry, but that describes most of the guys who come through here. I really need a picture to be able to spot him in the line.”

You sigh, then pull out your phone for your last ditch effort. You type Thanos into instagram and scroll through a couple profiles until you find the one that is indisputably his. Tapping on a picture that clearly shows his face, you hold it up to the bouncer eye level. He quirks his eyebrows at you yet again and uses his own phone to snap a picture. “Your dad know about this?”

“No, and if you don’t tell him I can give you an extra day's pay on your next paycheck.”

The bouncer pretends to lock his lips and throw away the key and you excuse yourself. With step one done, now you need to ask a favor from your father without tipping him off. You find him upstairs in his office typing away on his computer.

“Hi, Appa,” you say, entering the room cautiously.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he responds absentmindedly without looking up from his computer.

You sit on the edge of his desk. “You know that new rapper guy the other night was pretty good…” You continue when the only acknowledgement your father gives is a mhm. “I was thinking maybe we could add him to our line up permanently, or at least for a while.”

“I don’t know, Princess. Our schedule is already pretty booked. Plus I don’t want to take more out of our budget to pay a rapper that no one even knows.”

For once you’re glad your father isn’t paying attention to you so that he misses the massive eye roll you give. You know very well that the budget is more than okay. “Appa, it would just be a very small amount of money, and he would still only have that fifteen minute slot. It’s not much, but then when he makes it big we could say that he got his start here.”

Your father considers for a minute. “Okay, whatever you think is best.”

“Thank you, Appa!” You hop off the desk and lean down to give your father a hug, He reciprocates the hug and gives you a kiss on the forehead all without tearing his eyes away from his stupid fucking computer.

Back downstairs, you help around until open to calm your nerves. Once people start trickling in you keep your eyes peeled, hoping to catch a glance of a tall and handsome rapper. After an hour you feel a pit form in your stomach. He probably wasn’t coming back. Why would he?

You wipe a stray tear from your eye and head to the bar to find something to do. There’s no point in crying over a guy you met one time. “Do you need any help?” you ask the head bartender.

“V.I.P. table three just put in a big order. Think you can take it to them?”

She loads a tray up with several drinks and you carefully maneuver your way through the crowd to the V.I.P. table. As you pass out their drinks, several of the men’s hands linger against yours for longer than comfortable. You pull away and ignore their seductive smiles that they’ve been giving you for years now, even before you were of legal age.

You shudder as you walk away, when all of a sudden you feel a pair of hands grab you by the waist and pull you into them. You’re about to throw a punch before you hear your favorite deep voice in your ear. “You miss me, baby?”

You turn around in his grasp and place your arms around his neck when he doesn’t break his grasp on your waist. “You came back.”

“Of course I did. I was promised the phone number of the prettiest girl in all of Seoul.” You blush and he continues. “I was a bit worried I wasn’t going to be able to get in with how long the line was and how exclusive this place is, but right after I got in line the bouncer found me and told me I was on Miss Social’s special entry list. He even had a picture of me and everything. You stalking my Instagram now, baby?”

“It was either that or you weren’t getting in.” You playfully roll your eyes. “Let’s get some drinks and go sit down somewhere. I need to talk to you.”

He follows after you with his hand on the small of your back. “Is that a good talk to you or a bad talk to you?”

You giggle at the slight worry on his face. “Good.”

You find another secluded couch in the back of the club. Here the lights are dim, casting shadows across your features. Between the seclusion and the darkness, you feel like you are the only two here despite the music blasting throughout the building. He helps you sit first before joining you. He slides his body right up against yours, and this time you just let yourself relax. Su-bong rests his arm across the back of the couch behind you, his eyes looking straight into your soul.

“So… how would you feel about performing here every night?”

“That would be a dream come true.”

“Well, then I guess your dream came true.” You smile at him and his eyes grow wide when he realizes that you’re being serious.

“What? How?”

You shrug. “I pulled some strings.”

He brushes a piece of hair away from your face. “I knew you’d be my good girl.”

He places a hand against your cheek and you welcome the comfort. You lean into his hand and the two of you look at each other through heavy-lidded eyes. You feel at peace, for once, until you see a familiar face heading toward you.

“Holy shit, it’s my dad!” In your fear and haste to put space between you two, you accidentally shove Su-bong away harsher than you meant to. You see a flash of hurt on his face, but he acts nonchalantly anyway.

Your father finally lays eyes on you as he approaches. “There you are, Angel! Been looking all over for you.” Confusion spreads across his features when he sees Su-bong. “Who’s this?”

You clear your throat, worried about getting caught. “Appa, this is Su-bong. He’s the new rapper I was telling you about…”

“Hmm, nice to meet you.” Your father throws his hand up for him to shake. Su-bong doesn’t miss a beat as he shakes your father’s hand, but you see his other hand nervously fiddling with his vape under the table.

Your father looks toward you. “I’m thinking about going home early tonight. It’s a pretty quiet night in terms of crowd and I think the rest of the staff have it handled. Let me drive you home.”

“No, Appa, I will just come home later-”

“Angel, I drove you here, I'm going to drive you home.” You begrudgingly start to stand. “Let me drive your friend home too.”

“Oh, no, sir…” Su-bong tries to decline the offer. “It’s fine, really.”

“Well you took the subway, right?” Your father says to Su-bong, a hint of judgement in his tone that you don’t like.

“Yeah, but-”

“Then let me save you the trip.”

Your father urges you out of the booth with a hand on your arm. You shoot Su-bong an apologetic look, but you’re forced to walk through the club. Once you reach the crisp air of the outside world, you’re surprised to see Su-bong still with you. You uncomfortably wait for the driver to pull around. When the black car approaches, your dad holds the back door open for you and Su-bong to slide into. Your father sits in the front seat, his aura making the atmosphere tense. Su-bong gives his address and the car goes into motion.

You stay silent throughout the car ride, mostly staring out the window at the night lights of Seoul. The car stops sometime later outside of an apartment building. Su-bong thanks your father for the ride, and you turn to him before he exits the vehicle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He turns to you and gives you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. You watch him head up the stairs to the apartment then throw your head in your hands. He didn’t get your number again and your dad acted like an asshole and probably scared him off. Now he definitely wasn’t coming back.

You wait to say anything until you get home to spare the driver from having to be involved. You can tell your father is doing the same. Once at home, you storm inside the large house and try to make a beeline for your room, but your father stops you.

“You don’t need to be talking to this boy.”

“You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you?”

“So he is your boyfriend?”

“No!” You shout, anger pent up inside you. “But he’s the only friend I’ve made that I’m actually sure isn’t just using me to gain something! And you had to be rude to him because he wasn’t born into a rich family like I was.”

Your father sighs. “Friend or not you just don’t need to be talking to boys, Princess.”

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊

The next evening Su-bong shows up again by some miracle. Since he’s performing, he gets there early and you make a beeline for him. You reach to give him a hug, to apologize, but he backs away. You recoil, your face downtrodden.

“Just don’t want to get you in trouble with your dad again.”

“He doesn’t come down that often,” you say.

“He did last night.”

“That was different-” you plead, but he cuts you off.

“Just don’t want your dad to think poorly about you the way my dad always thought about me.”

You look down. You didn’t know that about his dad. You feel fat tears welling up in your eyes at the enormous complexity of the situation–you’re angry at your father, you feel guilty about making Su-bong feel like he’s the problem, and you don’t want to lose Su-bong before you even have him. “Can we talk more? I know a place.”

He follows your lead until you enter an unlabeled room. When you first walk in there’s box-filled shelves, but at the back lies a giant bean bag and some blankets.

“What is this?” Su-bong asks.

“Storage closet I guess. I don’t think anyone has used it in a long time. When I was sixteen I found it and put the bean bag in. Don’t get me wrong I love the atmosphere here, but coming here every single night of your life can get a bit tiresome at times.”

“Your dad is freakishly overprotective of you, but he let you start coming here when you were sixteen?”

You laugh bitterly. “My nanny retired when I was sixteen. I don’t think he wanted to hire another one.”

“You had a nanny at sixteen?”

“I’m surprised I don’t still have a nanny,” you say. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad very much. I’m thankful for the life I’ve been given, but I wish he would give me a little space. He’s just trying to keep a tighter rein on me than he kept on my mom.”

“Did she leave?” He asks cautiously.

“She left this planet,” you say, then backtrack when you see his bewildered expression. “It’s okay, it was almost ten years ago.”

Su-bong’s encouraging eyes urge you to go on and you spill your guts. You tell him everything. You tell him about how you were an accident, your brothers much older than you. You tell him that your father was too committed to his job and your brothers too busy with school or work or girlfriends to ever be around. It was just you and Mom for the first part of your life. But being so close meant that she didn’t hide the most secret part of her life–the part that no one else bothered to notice. Day after day you watched your mother pop more and more pills. Our secret she would whisper. You didn’t quite understand what the pills did, but you knew they hurt her. So you would grab them by the handful and flush them down the toilet or bury them in a flower pot. But they always came back. One night you cuddled up to watch a movie and watched her eat them like candy. Our secret she whispered right before you fell asleep curled against her body. When you awoke in the early hours of the morning, her body was cold, her eyes glossy. You hit at her chest and screamed at her but you knew it was no use. Before you called your father you frantically ran throughout the giant house collecting all of her stashes and throwing them out. When the police questioned your father they asked if she had an addiction. No, I never saw anything he said back to them. What about you, Angel? You looked the police officer and your father in the eyes and said you never saw a thing.

You look over at Su-bong with a sad smile. “You have no idea how good that feels to get off my chest to someone I can trust.”

He rubs circles on your back and leans the two of you back on the beanbag, entangling your legs together. Then, he tells you everything. He tells you about how his family was good once upon a time, until his father started guzzling whiskey by the bottle. Then he started being mean to both Su-bong and his mother. Nothing about them was good enough. Then the physical abuse started, and it didn’t end until they ran away one night after he passed out.

You lie there in the bean-bag that is definitely too small for the two of you for quite a while. Just fingers tracing shapes on thighs, backs, arms. Eventually you know that it’s time to go so he can perform. But you turn to him seriously first, “I don’t want this to end. I like talking to you. Can’t we just hide from my dad?”

He pulls you to your feet. “Course, good girl.”

He performs. It’s brief but you’re right there the whole time in the front row soaking it all in. After his performance you dance together, then order way too many drinks and head up to your secret spot. By the end of the night you’re both pretty drunk and you finally remember that he still doesn’t have your number.

“My phone has been dead for hours, Sweetheart.”

“Why does something happen at the end of every night that prevents you from getting my number?” You whine.

“I’ll just remember it!”

You groan. It’s nearly four in the morning, he’s drunk, and there’s no way he’ll remember your number until he can get home and charge his phone. But you tell him anyway.

The following day you awake still tired, as usual. You’re dragging yourself and your blanket to the living room to relax on the couch for a bit when you see a message on your phone. What time does my princess wake up? Need to know when to send good morning… I mean good afternoon texts.

You’re absolutely beaming. You can’t believe he managed to remember your number. The next hour is spent texting him nonstop and not even trying to hide the smile on your face. You feel like a high-schooler again, even though high school wasn’t that long ago.

“Who the hell are you talking to and smiling that big?”

You smack a hand over your heart. “Jesus, Tae, you scared me!”

Your brother walks into the living room holding a bowl of cereal in his hands. He’s still quite a bit older than you, but he is the sibling closest in age to you, so you have always been closest to him. He doesn’t live at home anymore, so you weren’t expecting him.

“So? Who you talking to?”

You roll your eyes. “My friends.”

“Those fake ass friends? Yeah, you totally smile like that when talking to them,” he says sarcastically. He snatches the phone from your hands and reads your screen with big eyes. You try to yank the phone back but it’s too late. “Su-bong with a heart emoji?!”

“Give it back! He’s just my friend.” You snatch the phone from him and bury it in your blanket to protect it from getting stolen again.

“Holy shit, isn’t that the rapper you just hired on at The Social? You realize Dad is gonna kill him, right?”

“I’m nineteen, almost twenty. I’m allowed to talk to a guy if I want to. Besides, Dad’s not gonna kill him,” you say sternly. “Because you are not going to tell him.”

“So that Dad can kill me when he finds out that I knew and didn’t tell him? Yeah, no way.”

“When you were my age I covered for you for far worse things. Just let me have this one thing, for once in my life.”

He looks at you weird and you realize that you’re genuinely pleading with him. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t get all weird and emotional on me.”

He walks off and you clutch your phone to your chest. Just let me have this one thing, you ask the universe.

ᡣ𐭩 Taglist ᡣ𐭩

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#thanos #thanos x reader #thanos squid game #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #player 230 #player 230 x reader

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rejectedbytheempty · 2 days ago

Text

from the dirt we rise, ch. 4

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.1k

cw: misogynistic language, brief violence

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

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nathan blinked at you, almost as if he was waiting for your words to catch up with his brain.

“what did you say?” he asked in a dangerously calm voice. your bravery wavered the moment the words left your lips, resolve melting under his dead stare.

“ye heard her, she’s done with yer sorry ass,” johnny said, startling you from your staring contest with nathan. his friendly demeanor had shifted into something more menacing, the blue of his eyes seeming to ice over as he glared at nathan.

“i know what she said,” nathan practically hissed out, staring down johnny before whipping his attention back to you, “i want to hear you say it, because i don’t believe you.”

you started stuttering, finding yourself floundering under his withering glare. to be fair to nathan, this wasn’t the first time that you had tried to break up with him, and each time you had come running back, like he had some kind of evil curse on you. though, that wasn’t fair either, it wasn’t as if he was all bad, he helped you out of multiple depressive states and he never made you stay with him, necessarily.

“she’s not saying it again, once is enough” john said, stepping in front of you, half-blocking your view of nathan. you peaked around john’s frankly massive stature to look at your boyfriend, whose face had gone red in the face with rage.

“oh yeah? well, i’m not leaving this house until she says it.”

simon, who had been a silent observer, took this chance to step closer to you, “you try that and you’re getting tossed out on your ass.”

nathan looked between the three men, as if just now realizing the predicament he was in, then looked back at you, almost pleading.

“please, babe, don’t do this. i don’t know what kind of bullshit these men have been putting in your mind but i promise that i’m the best thing for you. i mean, look at all i’ve done for you, i’ve put up with you-“ nathan began saying, and you didn’t know if it was the fact that you had three huge men willing to beat him up for you or the fact that something inside you snapped but you cut him off.

“put up with me? put up with me? are you serious? do you know how many times i had to justify our relationship to my friends? my family? how you never have anything positive to say? how many times i’ve had to apologize when you were in the wrong? i’m sick of you and your excuses, so you want to hear it again? i’m breaking up with you, for good.” you huffed slightly at the end of your rant, feeling the weight of your relationship slipping off your shoulders.

nathan’s face seized up, twisting into something ugly and spitting, “fine. i knew you were a whore anyways, you know these men only want to help you because they want to fuck you, right? and that’s what you deserve, to be a worn out hole for men.”

that was all it took before your fist connected with his face. he went sprawling out onto the carpet, head connecting dully with the floor. the room went silent except for the sound of nathan’s quiet groans from the ground.

you never expected that punching someone in the face would make your hand hurt that bad, but there you were, sitting on the couch with a bag of peas on your knuckles.

after nathan had recovered as much as he could, john had grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted him in the air like a mewling kitten, gotten close to his face and told him he had five minutes to pack up and get the hell out of his house.

you weren’t really sure where he went but he couldn’t have scrambled out of that house faster than if his ass was on fire. while john was handling your boyfriend, or, ex rather, johnny congratulated you on your punch, saying that he never wanted to get on your bad side. simon just grunted in agreement, patting you on the back before retrieving the frozen bag of peas that you were currently holding to your aching hand.

you realized that in the couple of hours that you had been here you had hurt both of your hands, and you laughed when wondering which body part would be next.

this startled john who had been sitting in the room with you, reading his book. “what’s wrong?” he asked, putting down his book and moving to get up.

you shook your head, “no, no, i’m okay, sorry. i was just.. never mind, i’m fine.”

he calmed down visibly at your words and settled back into his chair. after the whole debacle with nathan, soap and ghost decided to head home early, figuring you would need some space to process things, and they could just eat dinner at home, simon adding that johnny might be too much to handle after a breakup. this led to the two of them bickering as simon herded johnny out the door.

although you did miss their presence, you admitted to yourself that he was probably right. you kept running over your breakup with nathan, finding yourself tending back into your doormat tendencies before you shook yourself out of it and the cycle began again.

you were knocked out of your thoughts by john asking, “you hungry?” you hadn’t even noticed that he had gotten up from his chair, the book long abandoned on the sofa. you chewed the inside of your cheek as you shook your head.

he looked slightly worried, standing there for a moment before he spoke again, “okay, well, there’ll be a bowl of it in the fridge for you in case you want any.”

you nodded, “thank you, i’m sorry.”

that just made him look even more worried, “hey, don’t apologize, if you’re not hungry, you’re not hungry, nothing you can do about it.”

you swallowed back another apology and just nodded. he gave you one last look over, seemingly analyzing the state of you, then deciding that you were alright for the time being and turning on his heel back towards the kitchen.

you sat there on that couch until the peas had all but thawed out. your hand was still throbbing but the pain had faded to a dull ache, so for the first time in a couple of hours you moved from your spot and rose to your feet. you headed to the kitchen, peering around the corner first to see if john was still in there cleaning up, which thankfully, he was not.

you tiptoed over to the freezer and put the bag of peas back before shutting the freezer door gingerly, wincing at the loud noise it made.

“you don’t have to sneak around, you know?” you yelped and jumped slightly in the air before turning around to see john leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. his face had an annoyingly amused expression, seemingly taking joy in the fact that he had startled you.

“christ, you scared me,” you said, clutching your chest and leaning against the counter.

“sorry” he lied, “thought you knew i was there.”

you just glared at him, which ended up having the opposite effect you intended as he laughed and shook his head.

“i did mean what i said though, no sense in sneaking around, i already know you’re here,” he said, making you flush slightly as you realized how stupid you looked.

“yes, i know you know i’m here,” you sputtered out, finding that that’s the best comeback you could come up with at the moment.

he shrugged, leaning off the wall and uncrossing his arms as he walked closer to you until he was right in front of you. you swallowed thickly as you looked up at him, having to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes.

“you’re blocking the fridge,” he said, and you felt your face heat yet again, of course that’s why he was standing in front of you like that, not any reason your mind was coming up with. you quickly moved out of the way, muttering a hasty apology. he opened the door and took out a bowl with a lid on it and motioned it out for you to take it, “you hungry yet?”

as you took the bowl from him your stomach audibly growled and you smiled sheepishly, “guess so.”

after insisting that you go sit down at the kitchen table, he heated up your soup on the stove, then placed the steaming bowl in front of you. you muttered out a soft ‘thank you’ and he smiled softly in return.

you picked up your spoon and then looked at him, “so.. are you gonna watch me eat?”

“i’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he said, looking down at you.

it was too bad that there was already a spoonful of the soup in your mouth because you choked indelicately at his words. taking a moment to catch your breath you shook your head, “i’d prefer if you didn’t watch me.”

he shrugged, “as you wish” and he left you to your dinner.

as soon as he left the room you put your head in your hands, “fuck, what is wrong with me? he just made you some dinner and you’re already blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl!” you whispered harshly to yourself. you scrubbed your hands down your face before shaking your thoughts away, resolving yourself to finish your dinner without any more stupid thoughts.

after you had finished, you washed out your bowl and put it on the drying rack because he didn’t have a dishwasher, something you found slightly egregious, but it did go with his whole homestead vibe.

you walked back into the living room and he was reading on the sofa again. your head cocked slightly in surprise when you realized he was wearing wire-rimmed reading glasses on the tip of his nose.

you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it before but there they were, making him look like some kind of distinguished librarian.

he looked up at your small giggle, peering over the top of his glasses at you. “what’s so funny?”

you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling again as you answered, “i just.. wouldn’t think that you would wear glasses?”

he raised an eyebrow, taking them off and folding them with his chin, “and why is that?”

you bit the inside of your cheek, “i don’t know, you just seem so.. manly and.. i don’t know, i just never pictured you with glasses.”

“manly..” he repeated slowly, “i’m too manly to wear glasses?”

you shook your head, laughing slightly, “sorry, it’s dumb, it just made me laugh.”

he chuckled at you, “well, i’m an old man, and i need to see. usually i wear contacts but at night i take them out and wear my eyeglasses.”

“to be honest, now that i got over that initial shock, i think they suit you” you admitted.

“not really sure how to take that, but thank you” he said, mirth crinkling at the edges of eyes. it was silent for a moment, just the crackle of the fire john had lit in the fireplace filled the air.

“i’m.. i’m going to head to bed, if that’s alright with you,” you fiddled with your hands at chest height.

“you don’t have to ask permission to go to bed,” he laughed.

“i wasn’t asking permission,” you retorted, it was embarrassing how easily john could turn your words around on you, “i was just.. making sure there wasn’t anything else you needed.”

“from you? darling, i don’t need anything from you, alright? don’t you worry about me.”

there you went, blushing again, which made you utter out a quick “good night!” as you turned from him and headed up noisily up the creaking stairs.

after you finished your nighttime routine you heard john head up the stairs as well, his footsteps passing by your door and heading towards his room before you heard the door close softly. peeling your ear off the door, you paced backwards and then flopped on the bed, sighing loudly.

maybe nathan was right to be worried about you, it hadn’t even been a whole day after breaking up with him before you found yourself getting a schoolgirl crush on the farmer whose house you were crashing at.

as you slipped under the covers you tried to summon tears over ending your relationship with nathan but all you could think about as you drifted off to sleep was john standing in front of you, his gaze shifted downwards into yours.

a/n: lol sorry, it’s so embarrassing how long it takes me to get these out 😭 and also!! i am shit at writing dialogue so the awkwardness at the end was both intentional and unintentional..

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