#the twelve fucking know how much worse i could be this is the best i can possibly be in this current situation.

[windupaidoneus]

(takes long drag off fake cigarette) but i always do this. not communicate things bc they feel like My Problem to deal with so letting people know about it is Wrong because its for me & me alone to handle. & its hard to tell what is reasonable to ask ppl to be mindful of bc i dont trust my judgement & at the end of the day would rather blame myself forever. but at the same time... well. if i know something upsets someone i'm not going to do it around them you know. even if it's a symptom of one of the EVIL personality disorders. but it's okay. i'll isolate myself & it'll be fine. & maybe i'll lose friends even. god. that's the scariest part. i don't want to lose friends but cohabitation is presently impossible. ahhh. i don't know what to do. i'm really upset

[tiredandoptimistic]

I am forever haunted by Nate and Tessa's fucked up and terrible sibling dynamic. Maybe it's just because I related to Tessa too hard when I was twelve and heard "this is her older sibling who's the coolest person in the world and reuniting with him is her number one priority" and went "yup, makes sense!" but his betrayal is genuinely one of the defining aspects of TID to me.

Sibling relationships are such an underexplored way to fuck somebody up in fiction, in my opinion. Nate has been the one constant in Tessa's life, and no matter how aware she was of his flaws that could never overrule the fact that he's her person. She trusts him on a fundamental level that she just can't experience with anyone else, and part of it is because of how fleeting all her other relationships have been, but a lot of it is just the fact that he's her brother and she's loved him for as long as she's been alive. More than that, she idolizes him. Her entire life crumbles around her when Aunt Harriet dies and she ends up held hostage by the Dark Sisters, but Nate is still there and perfect in her mind. He's her anchor when everything else goes insane; if she can just find her brother then things will be okay again. She's more able to handle her world being shattered by learning about the supernatural because all that magic shit is secondary to the fact that she needs to save Nate.

And then of course she does save him and he turns around to betray her. And again, it hits harder than any other betrayal possibly could because he's more important to her than anyone else could possibly be. By this point she's built up bonds with Will and Jem and the other people at the Institute, and eventually they all become woven into her being, but not when she's sixteen and has known them for a week.

Looking at it from Nate's perspective, the thing that's always fucks me up is the way he tries to convince himself that he sees Tessa as a monster. He's genuinely just a shitty enough person that he set his sister up to be a child bride for a mass murderer because of the payout, but he can't handle thinking of it that way so he clings to this idea that Tessa isn't really his sister, isn't really human. And while yes, that's biologically true (they're not even technically related to each other), it doesn't change the fact that they're siblings in every way that matters. She'll always be his little Tessie, even if he doesn't want to admit it, doesn't want to let himself be the villain in this situation. He does the same thing with Harriet, arguing that she deserved to die because of all her lies because otherwise he would need to admit that he killed his mother out of pure selfishness.

Nate isn't the most evil guy in the world, but he is greedy and allergic to principles. It's so much worse than if he never loved Tessa, because he does love her till the very end and that love just isn't enough to override the allure of wealth and power. That's always the most painful type of relationship to me; the one where a person has just enough good to make it impossible to unequivicobly hate them.

Maybe Will could just write Nate off as a terrible person, but Tessa will always know every detail of his best and kindest moments. I have to believe that he haunts Tessa for the rest of her immortal existence, this knowledge that the person who made her life worth living for the first sixteen years was the one to sell her out. All the pain in the world isn't enough to erase that bond; she'll always have to live with the memory of him dying in her arms, the knowledge that his goodness and love was just as genuine as his duplicity.

Yeah this ended up being a lot longer than I intended, I just have a lot of feelings about the Gray siblings. Nate wasn't a part of the world where Tessa eventually found a home, she'll never have anyone else who understands the knot of emotions surrounding him. She can get sympathy but never empathy. Yes the rest of the TID crew are aware of him, but they barely met him and she outlived all of them too. Nate's so lost in her past, I bet that most people don't even realize that she used to have a brother, that she grew up as a sister, as half of a set. She carries the Gray name forward through her immortal life, and nobody else knows about the family that used to share it. She's still got Jem and Magnus who have been her friends since she was a teenager, who keep the memory of Will and the others alive; but no one else was there for her childhood.

I'm not quite sure how to end this, I'm just feeling emotions about Tessa Gray on this fine Tuesday and felt like sharing them.

[poppy-metal]

the reader dbf patrick stepdaddy art is DIABOLICAL and i need it RIGHT NOW actually. crying on patricks cock for the first time while art watches like, "im sorry, daddy, 'm sorry, just wanted it so bad, so so badly, you understand, right, you get it?" and the funny thing is, he totally does, because its patrick, yes, he gets it, more than anything he gets it, but this is wrong, isn't it? this is wrong and fucked up and evil, but you're reaching for his belt with wide, wet eyes, begging, "can make it up to you, daddy, can make you feel real good, please, 'm sorry, let me show you how sorry i am" and his resolve just has to crumple.

(obviously there has to be about six million years of YEARNING in between but you know. the horny.)

-kit ♡♡♡

@gamesetart ur sick for enabling me. i slowed things down a little bc i was cooking but the outcome will probably eventually be this. LMAO

under a cut because like patrick, this is sending me straight to hell i fear.

skipping ahead a million years just to fuck stepdad!art who also happens to be patricks ex who hes never gotten over and has been friends with this whole time - maybe its his fault actually, that you fall in love with patrick at the tender age of 14 - because art loves him so much. hes around so much. like father like daughter, right? he might not be your dad by blood but he is in every other way that counts - he has full custody - your mom been out of the picture for awhile now. its almost like having two dad, growing up. you think art and patrick are closer than any two men you've seen before. but they date other women so you don't think much of it - you want art to be happy again. you dont blame him for leaving your mother, you're just happy he took you with him.

anyway - falling for patrick is inevitable - it burns inside you like a wildfire you have no chance of stopping, so you dont try.

and patrick..... maybe he's given up hope on art after all these years. they'd had something brief and tangible in college - but it'd fizzled out - art had pretended it didn't happen. and patrick loved art too much to press the issue. he'd been content to live forever being arts best friend and nursing a flame for him that would never be returned.

and then you'd come along - it'd been hell watching art get married - he never liked that bitch, anyway, for more reasons than sharing arts bed. she treated her kid like dirt. art even worse. it got to a point where the only reason art was staying around was for you - he couldn't leave you. you were just a kid. and art had only been with you for three years but it was enough. enough for him to love you. enough for him to martyr himself for you and stay in an unhappy marriage if it meant he could play the role of daddy for you.

it may have been him who planted the seed. he'd met you a few times by that point, but he remembers a pool party where you'd been sucking on a lollipop as you watched art work the grill - your mother somewhere inside - you were twelve then - old enough to have some brain cells, patrick figured.

"he'd make a good dad, dont you think?" he'd nudged you. "i mean look at him - already rocking the dad stance with a fucking polo to match. he'll be telling us it looks like a storms rollin' in any second now."

and you'd popped the lolly out of your mouth and showed him your teeth with your smile.

a raised brow. "really? does he know that? does your mother?"

"he already is my dad, though."

you'd frowned. stuck the lolly back in your mouth. he could tell he'd given your brain alot to think about that.

it was only a year later that the divore was finalized. and art was granted full custody of you as his daughter - full guardianship. patrick got him the hell out of that town shortly thereafter.

and that was it, really. that was the plan. just to live in peace. he didn't expect to grow so attached to you. to enjoy watching you grow up. to enjoy being there for your important milestones. he saw a bit of himself in you, too, that wild precociousness. that want to run free. saw how it fucking terrified art, who wanted nothing but the best for you after the life you'd had. always the hero.

so yeah, when you'd started your rebellious teen phase he'd helped you hide it. picked you up from parties when you couldn't drive home instead of calling your dad. because he didn't want to see art unhappy. he didn't want to see art look at you and see the patrick in you and hate it. he couldn't.

he didn't know you'd fall in love with him. he didn't.

and when he realized you had, he'd pushed you away. he had.

but the thing is - as much as you had patrick in you - you had art as well. your inherent kindness. your sweet open face. your determination and dedication. he saw it and then he couldn't unsee it. and as long as he'd held onto his love for art he was tired. he was fucking tired of being unloved and unwanted and here you were - a tether to art - his beautiful babygirl - and you were throwing yourself at him. loving him. wanting him. so fucking beautiful and innocent - just like art had been, all those years ago.

couldn't fault him for caving. he'd faught it, but patricks not a good man. and hes a stray dog at the end of the day, dirty and hungry and begging for scraps.

he fucking devoured you. took from you. took your virginity - just like he did your fathers - broke it on his cock and tried not to feel sick that the symbolic way your blood drenched his cock connected you and him and art in a way that was as holy and it was perverted. he fucked you and he fucked you and he fucked you. he had you whenever and wherever he wanted and he didn't allow himself to think about the consequences of it - because he was fucking greedy for it - you took everything he was and you bit into it and you bounced on his dick like he was a fucking god and he found himself falling in love all over again.

he'd find a way to tell art and make it right. he would.

but then there'd been that night when art asked him out for drinks and patrick would tell something was wrong. he'd been distant from art lately, if he was being honest, consumed completely by you. the only reason he was free was because you were at a friends.

when art had confessed he felt you pulling away the guilt had set in... because art looked so sad. so pathetic and lonely and patrick had never wanted this for art. his heart pitched and dropped in his chest and he couldn't tell art about you - not now -

and then art had looked at him and said "you know she reminds me of you -" and patricks lips had parted. the alcohol in his system warmed his blood, but so did the heavy weight of arts eyes on him. it was a look patrick hadn't seen in years. decades even.

It was how you looked at him.

hungry.

that's all patrick thought as art drew closer and closer to him. fuck, when art placed a hand on his thigh. fuck, when his cock twitched. fuck, when art said he missed those days back in college. fuck, when art leaned in and patrick didn't pull away.

fuck.

fuck again, when he came to and they were back at arts apartment - fuck when they passed your room and thank fuck you weren't home, thank fuck - fuck fuck fuck when art got on his knees and stroked patricks cock and patrick thought his first clear thought of the night -

fuck fuck and fuck again because he lost his mind a little when arts lips touched his. went a little dizzy with it.

fuck fuck fuck - because arts sinful pink mouth descended around him and he fucking moaned around it and in some twisted dark corner of patricks seedy mind he thought art must taste you on him - must know its you hes tasting and thats why he throats him deeper like a fucking whore.

i fucked her this morning. he's about to suck his daughter's pussy off my dick and he doesn't even fucking know -

patrick knows hes going to hell.

he knows it because he uses the same fingers he'd had inside your cunt to spread your dads ass open for the same dick he'd plunged into you - he knows hes going to hell because when he slides inside and art moans he thinks he sounds just as pretty as you do - they take me so fucking well - made for me - fucking made for me

and when he pulls out to come down and swallow arts cock down his own throat he moans when he thinks about kissing you later tonight with your fathers spunk on his tongue -

hes going to hell.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Wants, Part Two

Summary: Y/N decides to leave the bunker for good when Dean reiterates that he can never give her what she wants. Struggling to adjust without her, Dean turns to hormone suppressants, unable to stomach the thought of going through a rut with anyone else.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Hormone Suppressants for @j3bingo

Warnings: omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, angst, arguments, heats, ruts, language, Dean’s still a bit of an asshole.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: The response to the first part of this angsty, angsty fic has been overwhelming. Thank you to every single one of you who read and commented and reblogged. It means so much 🥹 Now, without further ado, I hope you love part two!

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Being back in the bunker is suffocating, and you haven’t even been back twelve hours yet. The mild cramps in your stomach are now an annoying and constant discomfort, and being near Dean is only making it worse. Your body is so used to the green-eyed hunter that his scent has you craving him. If you don’t get out of here and find another alpha, you know you’ll cave and go to the man who keeps breaking your heart.

Digging into the depths of your meagre closet, you pull out one of the few dresses you have and get ready to have a night on the town. It’s nerve-wracking; you haven’t done this in a long time, but you need to kick old habits and rid yourself of your addiction to Dean. It’s no longer a healthy relationship—maybe it never had been—but your last time together opened your eyes and proved that he doesn’t see you as anything other than a fuck toy.

Walking through the hallways of the bunker, your heels click loudly on the cold, concrete floors as you head towards the library. You know at least one of the boys will be there, and you pray to Chuck it’s Sam. You’d skip this part entirely, given it’s none of their business, but as an unmated omega going to find someone to satisfy a heat, it’s probably best that someone knows your intentions.

As you turn the corner into the room, the scent of Dean’s agitation slaps you in the face. If you’re not careful and can’t control your emotions, it’ll end in a fight and a tumble in the sheets, and that’s really the last thing you need.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Dean asks as soon as he sets eyes on you.

“Out,” you respond.

“You’re in heat, Omega,” Dean growls.

“I’m aware,” you can feel your body warm as his gaze on you intensifies.

“Do you think it’s wise to go out in your condition?” Dean questions, and you fight your biological instinct to shrink in on yourself and submit to him. 

“I need to find an alpha who’ll help me through this, so yes, I do think it’s wise.”

“You have me, Y/N.” Dean’s tone softens, and the hurt that flashes in his eyes almost makes you run to him.

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” You don’t wait for his response, walking out of the library and up the stairs because you’re so close to saying screw it and making him take you right there in the library.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” you call out and shut the bunker door behind you.

You know you won’t find what you’re looking for in the bar a few towns over, but at least you’ll find someone who can scratch your current itch and make you forget about Dean fucking Winchester.

At least for a few days.

DEAN’S POV

Dean feels his heart shatter as he watches Y/N walk out the door. This isn’t how he wanted things to go with her. He wanted to talk to her and apologise for his behaviour during his last rut. At least if he’d done that, there was a chance they could still have some kind of relationship.

What they had is gone. He knows that. He’s hurt her too much. If he’d dealt with things differently, they’d still have had the potential to at least be civil to one another, but his gut’s telling him that the opportunity for civility has gone.

He can’t blame himself entirely; she hasn’t let herself be alone with him since he’d realised how much of an asshole he’d been to her. Dean had expected her to come to him last night when the scent of her heat became stronger and carried through the bunker, but she’d remained shut in her bedroom. He isn’t even sure she’d eaten since yesterday morning.

“Hey,” Sam says as he sits beside his brother and hands him a beer. “I heard you and Y/N talking. You alright?”

“No, Sammy, I’m not. You know, it never once occurred to me that what Y/N and I had could end?”

“It doesn’t have to,” Sam says softly, noticing tears in Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, it does. I can’t give her what she wants—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam interrupts, and Dean’s heart pangs at the implication he’s being his usual stubborn ass alpha self.

“I can’t, Sam.” Dean didn’t usually show his vulnerabilities to Sam. He’s the pack leader and can’t afford to show weakness. The only person he’s ever shown vulnerability to is Y/N.

“Why?” Sam’s question is simple, but the weight of the answer is something Dean’s not sure he’s ready to admit out loud.

“It’s complicated,” Dean answers and takes a long swig of beer, drinking half the bottle in two swallows.

“Enlighten me, Dean, because from where I’m standing, it’s not complicated at all. You already have an emotional bond with her. You’ve been mating with her for what, six or seven years? Why is it so hard for you to claim her, have that deeper chemical bond, and make you both happy by having a couple of pups? It’d be nice to have some little ones running around here.”

“Because the second I claim her, she has a target on her back. She’ll become the hunted. Every monster on the continent will want to tear her apart to get to me. And that’s something I won’t survive.”

“So you do want to claim her?” Sam confirms, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do!” Dean’s voice booms across the library. “I love her. More than anything. I always have, but I would rather die than put her in danger because of me and who I am,” Dean can’t keep his turmoil to himself anymore. Now it’s out in the open with Sam, he can’t shut the hell up. “I have thought of every way possible to give her what she wants… for years. Give us what we want, but in every scenario, she ends up dead, and I end up alone.”

“Dean, if you keep going the way you have been, she’ll die, and you’ll be alone anyway. And if you let her walk out of here and into the arms of another alpha, you’ll still be alone.”

“I know that, Sam! But I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone and know she was safe and happy with another alpha and a few pups than put a target on her back by claiming her! What part of that don’t you understand?”

“You think Y/N would be happy with another alpha? You think she wanted to go out hunting for someone else to fuck her through her heat? You think she’s not wishing it was you? You think she doesn’t love you? Because she does, Dean! It’s clear to everyone!” Sam’s frustrations reach boiling point, and he no longer has the patience to hold back. “That curse she saved me from loosely translated to stealing what your brother has broken and making it yours. If she hadn’t got between me and that witch, and I’d been hit by that curse, I’d have claimed Y/N for myself because you’re too chicken shit to do it. You know what that means, right? That even the witch knew you were in some kind of relationship. Even just being associated with you in the way she is makes her a target. And she’s an even bigger one without a claim.”

“Then maybe it’s for the best that she’s out there trying to find someone to take care of her,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam’s exasperation.

“No, Dean! It means that, claimed or not, monsters know what Y/N is to you and you to her. It means she’s already a target, and you’ve been protecting her from the monsters for a long time. Claiming her and having pups with her isn’t going to change that.”

“Look, can we just drop this? Y/N is better off without me, okay? And nothing you say will change my mind. She deserves something good, and I’m not good.” 

Pushing his chair back, Dean stands from the table and enters the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet and locks himself in his bedroom to lick his wounds.

It may not be the healthiest way to deal with things, but at least getting blind drunk on whiskey will stop the images of Y/N presenting for another alpha or taking another’s knot from playing like a video in his mind.

FIVE DAYS LATER

Y/N’S POV

“You’re alive, then,” Dean’s voice greets you as soon as you step into the bunker.

“I am,” you respond, warily making your way down the stairs. You’re on high alert, knowing this could turn volatile very quickly.

“You alright?” he asks next, his eyes scanning your body for signs of injury. His gaze lingers on your neck, and when he notices it remains unblemished, he releases a breath, and his shoulders relax slightly.

“I’m fine.” It feels like you cheated on Dean, and it makes you feel so sick you want to cry.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, you could’ve called. Let us know you were fine. It would’ve stopped Sam and me from worrying about you every second of the day. For all we knew, you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“My phone’s GPS was still…” you pause and sigh, knowing you don’t need to explain anything to him. “Look, can we not do this, please?” You plead. It’s been a rough few days, and you just want to shower and sleep.

You stop next to him, waiting for him to let you pass and frown when he rears back with a snarl. 

“Go shower, Omega. The stench of sex and Alpha makes me want to vomit,” Dean growls and walks away, leaving you standing at the entrance to the library, no longer able to keep the tears in.

The decision to leave is one of the hardest you’ve ever had to make. The bunker is your home, too. Still, you know you’re no longer welcome. Dean doesn’t want you, and you’ve hurt each other beyond repair. You could’ve tried to sort this mess out. You could’ve done that rather than look for a heat buddy, but had you not gone out, you’d have fallen straight back into bad habits and Dean’s bed. You had to break ties with him completely, and the only way to do that was to sleep with someone else, even if it broke both your hearts in the process.

Between the anxiety from you and Dean’s argument after the witch hunt and your heat, you’ve barely eaten for the past week. Before you leave for good, you head to the kitchen to grab something quickly, knowing it’s late enough that both Winchesters will be in their bedrooms, and you can eat and leave undetected.

“Sneaking out on us, huh? That’s mature,” Dean scoffs, and you jump, startled by his voice coming from somewhere in the dark kitchen.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting in the pitch black, Dean?” you ask, your hackles raised and ready to flee if needed.

“Answer my question first, then maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“Come on, Dean. We both know it’s not a good idea for me to stay here,” you reason.

“But this is your home,” Dean says, and where before you only heard contempt, you can now detect hurt.

“Not anymore.” You turn to leave, deciding to just forget about food so you can get the hell out of here.

“Please don’t walk away from me, Omega.”

“I told you I’m not your Omega, Dean. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

“Y/N, please, sweetheart,” he begs, and you turn to face him, your anger rising.

“No, Dean. I can’t do this with you anymore. We can’t keep doing this same dance over and over again. I want more. I need—” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow down the emotion that wants to spill from you. “I need to be claimed. I need to have pups. It’s in my biology, Dean, and I can’t change that. And I can’t change the fact that if I don’t settle down soon, I’ll go feral and die.”

“And you’re gonna do that with the asshat from the bar?” Dean spits back at you.

“No! I want to do it with you, but you don’t want me!” The tears spring from your eyes, and once again, you will Chuck, or whatever fucking angel is standing in his stead, to give you the strength you need to finally leave. To break this toxic bond that’s been forged under false pretences for years.

“Y/N, I do want you. I just can’t give you what you need,” Dean pleads.

“You can,” you nod with a tearful smile. “Because even if it wasn’t in the traditional way, you gave me what I needed for years. You just don’t want to.”

“No, Omega, please.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

DEAN’S POV

Y/N has been gone for two months, and there hasn’t been a peep from her. If Sam has heard anything, he’s kept it quiet, and Dean hasn’t asked. She’s turned off the GPS on her phone and removed the tracker from her car, and anyone he’s asked in their network either hasn’t seen or heard from her or has just told him she’s fine.

He misses her laugh and her smile. He misses her comforting scent that would linger around the bunker. He misses her soft, warm body sliding into bed next to him when she’d had a nightmare or wanted to cuddle in those first few hours of her heat before her need for him changed to something more carnal.

Yet, never once did he reach out to her. She’d made it pretty clear they were done, and he’s accepted that. What he did to her was unforgivable. Still, he’s hurting, too and feels betrayed by what she did. He may not have the right, but it’s how he feels, and try as he might, he can’t change it.

As the telltale signs of his next rut make themselves known, Dean knows this will be the hardest challenge he’s faced since Y/N left, but if she could so easily toss him aside and find someone else to mate with, so could he.

Standing at the bar, Dean preens under the attention of several omegas surrounding him. It’s been a long time since he’s had so many women fawn over him, and he guesses that being with Y/N has kept them at bay all these years.

Looking towards the other end of the bar, he does a double-take. The woman has similar features to Y/N: same eye colour, same shaped face, and from what he can see, a similar figure. It’s not her, but Dean is on his feet and making his way over to her before he can think twice about it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean gives the woman his most charming smile and feels his confidence soar as she giggles and looks down briefly before raising her eyes and batting her lashes at him. “The name’s Dean.”

“Carly,” she responds shyly, and Dean smirks.

“Pretty name. It suits you, Omega. Can I buy you a drink?” he drawls, using his alpha tone.

“Sure, Alpha,” she smiles sweetly, batting her eyes at him once more, and Dean knows he’s found a rut partner for the next few days.

“So, what’s your poison?” Dean asks, grabbing the bartender’s attention.

“Appletini,” Carly says, and Dean fights a scoff at the girly concoction. Y/N would’ve ordered a whiskey or an Old Fashioned if the mood struck her, none of this fruity shit that makes you question whether there’s even any alcohol in it.

“Whiskey, neat, and an appletini for the lady,” Dean says to the bartender.

“So, Dean, what’s a handsome alpha like you doing in a place like this?” Carly asks.

Glancing at her kind eyes that remind him so much of Y/N’s, he finds himself spilling everything to her. He’s not sure why he finds it easier to talk to a stranger than his own brother or even Cas, but he does.

“Look,” Dean says after an hour of talking and a few more whiskeys. “I came here intending to find an omega to ride out my rut with, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he confesses. “I’m not even sure I could… physically… uh, you know.” he chuckles.

“I think that’s a wise decision, Dean,” Carly smiles kindly. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to be mating with someone new. You haven’t fully accepted that your mate left you, and it could be dangerous for both of us if we leave here together.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s my mate. I never claimed her, so…” Dean shrugs, feeling a little bad for leading her on.

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. You bonded with her intimately, and I’m guessing you stayed faithful and only had her the entire time, right?”

“I only ever wanted her,” Dean nods and swallows another whiskey.

“So, you were together like a beta couple would be, right? Like dating but not married?” Carly replies with a knowing smile, and Dean has to admit he’s never looked at his relationship with Y/N in that way before.

“I suppose we were,” he responds with a nod to the bartender for another drink.

“Do you know where she is? Can you go to her?” Carly asks.

“No,” Dean sighs. “We have some mutual friends, but they are very quiet about her whereabouts. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I hurt her. A lot. And I wish I’d handled things differently.”

“You’ll get there, Dean,” she smiles. “And if you don’t, try begging your friends to tell you where she is and grovel until she forgives you!” Carly chuckles and squeezes his hand. “It could be an easy fix if you can overcome your fears. It’s clear you love her, and if you can give into those feelings, you’ll work it out.”

Carly hops off the barstool and pulls her purse strap over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope you find your girl and make things right,” she cups his cheek and winks at him before walking away and leaving him alone.

Downing the whiskey in one, Dean throws some bills on the bar and heads to the Impala. If he’s going to see himself through his rut, he’d need a lot of provisions.

It took six days, three bottles of lube, and the help of various knotting toys for Dean to come through the other side of his rut. He can’t remember the last time one had been so brutal or unforgiving. However, now he’s out and can start taking the suppressants he got from the drugstore, so he doesn’t need to go through one again.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asks, seeing Dean at the hob, frying bacon and eggs.

“Still feeling rough, but some food and fresh air should do me good. Please tell me you found a hunt while I was out.”

“Yeah, looks like there’s a ghoul loose in Stillwater, Oklahoma.”

“Alright, then. We’ll get everything together and leave in a couple of hours.”

“Dean, are you sure you’re up for this? You still look a little… off.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just ready to get out of here. Been cooped up too long.”

For the next few months, that’s what they do; move from small town to small town, saving people and hunting things, and Dean? Well, he’s just peachy.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Dean always knew the suppressants would take some getting used to. They’re the drug store variety and weren’t for long-term use. Still, the nausea and headaches are getting worse and are now accompanied by bouts of fever and a loss of appetite.

He knows his age probably isn’t helping, and the fact he’s been rejected by his mate in a roundabout way, so rejection sickness has been on his mind the past few days as his symptoms got worse.

Sam’s said he’s easier to anger than usual too, and Dean’s starting to feel constantly on edge now. He can only hope whatever this is will end soon because this fucking sucks.

Swallowing down another pill, Dean throws the pill bottle into his duffle so that he and Sam can get home, put this vampire hunt behind them, and take some time off.

Although sceptical at first, he’s now grateful he’d agreed to take a break from hunting for a couple of weeks to recoup and relax. They hadn’t stopped hunting in close to twelve weeks, and he feels awful. A little time off might be just what he needs.

“Ready to go, Dean?” Sam asks, frowning when he notices the pill bottle at the top of his brother’s bag. The younger Winchester walks over and picks it up, huffing loudly. “This is what you’ve been taking? Over the counter suppressants?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean replies.

“Dean, these aren’t for long-term use. They’re supposed to only delay a rut for a couple of weeks, not for taking every day. Why didn’t you go to a doctor and get the right thing?”

“Oh, because we have that luxury, Sammy!” Dean snaps. “‘Do you have insurance? No. What’s your address? An underground fortress in the middle of fucking nowhere.’ Seriously, you don’t see anything wrong with that? And they say you’re the smart one!” Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“We would’ve found a way, Dean. We always do. These are probably doing more harm than good. I think it’s why you’re feeling off, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“It can’t get any worse, Sammy! Y/N left me. Nothing will ever be worse than that!” Dean yells as he grabs his bag and stalks out of the motel room, and slams the door.

Dean is agitated. So much so that even he can’t deny it. And the more he tries not to be, the worse he gets. He knows it’s annoying Sam—it’s annoying him, too—but it’s not something he has any control over. Everything is going haywire; his skin itches, sweat drips down his back, and he just wants to pick fights. That’s why he had a go at the idiot at the gas station and the douchebag from the diner. He blames Sam for that one. He wanted to keep driving, but Sammy just had to stretch his freakishly long fucking legs now, didn’t he?

When Sam finally rejoins him in the car, Dean tries to avoid his baby brother’s puppy eyes. He knows he’s fucked up. He knows he should’ve found a way to get the real thing, but the fear of a doctor telling him he’s a lost cause, that because his mate left him would mean that suppressants can’t fix him stopped him. Besides, it can’t take the ache of Y/N’s departure away. It doesn’t change the fact that as an alpha, it was his duty to claim her.

“What am I in for, Sammy?” Dean finally asks, breaking his silence on his suppressant use. He’s not sure he wants to know, but he needs to keep what’s left of his pack safe. If this ends the way he dreads, he needs to put a plan in place.

“You’ll go into a rut that can only be satisfied by uhm… your mate,” Sam says, avoiding her name so it doesn't set the older alpha off again. “And because she’s not here, you’ll go feral,” Sam sighs.

“And when I go feral, I’ll be dangerous to any omega who isn’t Y/N,” Dean finishes what Sam doesn’t say.

“I think it’s already started. I can smell your rut pheromones, but they’re… off.” Sam said.

“Listen to me, Sammy. I’m going to the safe house in Montana. I’ll let nature take its course. You will leave me there and take the Impala so I can’t get out.” Dean begins, but Sam’s quick to intervene.

“Dean, no. I can track down Y/N. When she hears what’s happening, she’ll—”

“Laugh and tell you to tell me to go fuck myself! I made my bed, Sammy. I gotta lie in it.”

“You’re signing your own death warrant!”

“Then so be it!” Dean roars, but Sam won’t back down.

“I can’t let you do that when someone can help you!”

“She won’t come because she doesn’t want me, Sam!” Dean yells. “How many times do I have to say it? She left me because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. For all we know, another alpha has already claimed her.”

“I have to try, Dean! I can’t just let you die!” Sam is trying to stay calm, not wanting to upset his brother more.

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“It’s not, and you know it. I’ll lock you in that cabin and take the car with me to keep you safe, but I will find Y/N.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you,” Dean relents. “But when she tells you she’s done with me, you will leave me there, and whatever happens, happens. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam agrees reluctantly.

Next Chapter>>

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[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️FIFTEEN

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

In the aftermath of his “little outburst”, he's hellbent on making it up to her. It starts with multiple orgasms and ends in a confession that surprises himself.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Vaginal sex. Overstimulation. Somnophilia. Anal sex. Sex toys. Fluff? (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 6.5k

FOURTEEN 🟥 FIFTEEN 🟥 SIXTEEN

He watches her closely, this submissive little thing, as she lies on her side, legs bent at the knees, torso turned, bare chest rising and falling, small hands clutching at the sheets, eager eyes following his every move.

“Turn around, darling,” he says quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. “Let me see.”

She inhales deeply, pressing her lips into a thin line, but then obeys and rolls onto her stomach, stretching her legs carefully to present the thick red welts on the backs of her thighs to him. His work. He clenches his jaw at the sight.

It's been a moment of weakness, to take his frustration out on her. A moment of unadulterated wrath, a strange accumulation of things that were not her fault. He should have punched himself instead of hitting her with his belt, but he's never been the self-harming type. She still didn't deserve the violence.

This fucking girl...

She didn't have to forgive him, she could have accepted her fate and lived with the monster that he is, hating him for the rest of her stay. He would have understood it, it wouldn't have changed anything for him, but her life would have been much worse, for sure. But in all her submissiveness, she still knows what's best for her, how to make this whole situation somewhat easier on herself. And so she's forgiven him, or something like that.

He's said his part, and he's meant it too. He never apologizes, it's not in his nature, it's not how he's become who he is now. But she deserved it, his apology, no matter how meager it has been. It's all he could have done. Admitting a mistake, promising not to repeat it. And he meant that too. He doesn't want to hurt her in a way that's not also somewhat pleasurable for her.

There's a fine line between pain and pleasure, and he's shown it to her many times before, but the belting has been too much. Well, not the act itself, the circumstances around it. It hasn't been the right time. Maybe, one day, she'll understand the thrill behind it, the bliss that can come from being spanked and caned and whipped, and he'll be there to show it to her. Not anytime soon, first he has to rebuild the trust he's lost.

She's made the first move, came to him, made him take her, and she's made the first move again, after his reflection, his apology, she came to him, touched him, kissed him, rebuilt the bridge he's burned down before. His cute little angel, afraid of conflict, eager to please, the girl he doesn't deserve and still keeps for himself, and somehow, the whole ordeal has brought them closer together.

Once she's had her arms around his neck and his tongue in her mouth, he had scooped her up and carefully carried her to the small bedroom of the cabin. It's one of his get-away houses, deep in the woods, safe and sound, and just them, with no distractions whatsoever. A place to stay until the builders and movers are done in his penthouse. Even after everything that's happened, he's still sure she'll like the surprise he's planned for her. But one thing at a time.

Now it's them, in the bedroom, where he's put her to the floor, where she's looked up at him with big dark eyes, pupils blown in lust, despite her obvious discomfort. He's helped her out of her dress, and without prompt or command, she has climbed onto the bed and lay there, ready for him, a naked little thing adorned with those heavy leather straps, the toys he's almost forgotten about still buzzing inside her.

He can see the wetness between her thighs, and he can only imagine how on edge she must be. Edge being the word, as she's certainly edged herself for hours now, never even close to any kind of release, just the constant hum of the vibrators, her muscles in a never-ending cycle of clenching and unclenching, and the belting has probably done its part as well. If anyone deserves a mind-blowing orgasm or two (or more) after all that, then it's this patient girl.

Crawling onto the bed with her, he gently places his hand on her calf, slowly rubbing his fingers upwards, teasing at the back of her knee, before carefully tracing the horizontal red lines across her thighs. Luckily he hasn't broken her skin, only bruised it badly. May still take a few days to properly heal. She winces when he touches the welts, and he quickly soothes his hand over her rear up to her lower back.

“It'll get better soon, don't worry,” he tells her quietly, and she hums into the pillow she's clutching with both arms.

He moves up the bed until he's kneeling right next to her hip, his fingers playing with the black straps. She stiffens under the motion, but he ignores it and starts unfastening the small belts, one by one, until he can carefully remove the harness without having to push it down her legs and over the irritated skin. Putting a hand under her stomach, he pushes her hips up, and as soon as he does, the toy in her cunt slips free, with no longer being held in place.

She lets out an embarrassed whine, her hand moving between her legs to catch it, but he's quicker and grabs it gently, pulls it out the rest of the way. It's drenched in her juices, warm and wet, still humming as he closes his fingers around it. He's tempted to push it back in and tease her some more, and he would have done so if it weren't for the nagging thoughts in his head to give her some rest. He needs to shut those up soon. He can't have that.

Holding onto the dildo, he moves his free hand along the cleft between her ass cheeks, then pokes at the toy in her ass, and the plug still holds, immobile except for the barely there vibration, gripped tightly by her tense muscles. He leaves it right where it is. She can handle it a little longer.

Resting his large hand on the swell of her cute little butt, he heaves himself off the bed and puts the vibrating toy on the nightstand. It starts spinning lazily in circles, its low buzzing sound amplified by the hard surface. With an amused sigh, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns the vibrator off, but amps the one in her ass up to five. She squeals in surprise and rolls onto her side, breathing a little harder.

Watching her closely, he quickly undresses, kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his pants and underwear before shrugging off his jacket and shirt. He's back on the bed in no time, telling her to scoot over and she does, giving him room until he's able to sit against the headboard, legs outstretched, while she's curled up on her side again, looking at him curiously, body shivering under the sensations pulsing through her.

“Come straddle me,” he says as he meets her gaze, and slowly, she moves, obeys, basically crawls over him on her hands and knees, careful not to strain the tight skin of her bruised thighs. His hands are on her waist as she settles on his legs, dripping cunt exposed to his sight, and he licks his lips in anticipation. Her face is flushed, and she hovers on her knees, not really sitting down because she can't, and she probably won't be able to for a day or two either.

He indulges her, tilts his head. She's never been on top before, and he usually prefers positions where he's in control, but if he wants to gain her trust again, he needs to let her have at least the illusion of power. So he lets go of her and grabs his cock in one hand while putting the other arm behind his head. She's following the motion, eyes raking over his arousal, and while he pumps it lazily, he shifts beneath her, lifts his legs just enough to make her slip closer to his groin.

Without issuing any command, he holds his cock in his hand, ready for her to slip onto it. He can already imagine her bouncing on it, and maybe he should let her be on top more often. She's a sight to behold. Her small tits quivering, nipples hard, the flush all over her body, stomach fluttering, goosebumps pebbling her legs. She's braced her hands on his hips, and he nudges her again before she understands. Slowly she moves closer, glistening pussy lips hovering barely an inch away from his cockhead, so all she has to do is sit down on it.

But of course she hesitates, body bent over him, looking down at where they're supposed to be connected. He watches her, amusement and admiration making his heart swell and his stomach tense. He could just buck his hips up and sink into her warmth, but instead he gently grabs her hand and guides it to his cock, makes her close it around his shaft.

She swallows hard, squeezing his length as she balances herself on it, knees shaking, her tongue poking out between her tight lips as she concentrates. His hands are on her waist again, just holding her, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over her warm skin, but when she takes a bit too long after all, he moves his fingers around her rear, teases between her cheeks, and pokes at the plug.

A whimper escapes her, but in her startle, she pushes down on him, and he feels himself slipping into the tight grip of her cunt. A soft groan leaves his throat, and he relaxes against the headboard. Breathing harder, she lets go of his cock and braces her hands on his chest, leaning over him, her eyes moving to find his. He gives her a small smile, watching her blush spread down her neck, and her lips twitch before she slowly, inch by inch, sinks onto him.

He can feel the soft vibrations of the butt plug through her gummy walls, and his deep moan mirrors the soft mewl that escapes her when he bottoms out, all of him inside of her, and she settles on his thighs, her own twitching slightly under the strain. His hands find her waist once more, giving her guidance and a firm hold, and for a moment he lets her adjust to the intrusion, to the sensation of being filled and stretched again while the toy buzzes away in her ass.

“You're doing great, baby,” he whispers softly, relaxing into the bed as he just watches her. “You look so beautiful impaled on my cock, you know that?”

She bites her lip as she looks at him, shifting slightly on top of him, seemingly unsure what to do now.

“Ride my cock, darling. Bounce up and down, in your own pace, do what feels good. Tonight I'm all yours to use, how's that?” he offers with a crooked smirk, and she huffs a nervous little laugh at that. He retrieves his hands and crosses his arms behind his head, letting her take control.

The first thing she does is move her hands up his chest until she's cupping his face. She's breathing harder, the slight change in angle definitely causing her some discomfort, but she endures, leaning in closer, watching him, curiously, very much uncertain, and when he doesn't move, she's almost canceling her plans and retreats, but then he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her the rest of the way, letting their lips collide with a smack.

She gasps into the kiss, but soon remembers her initial intention, her little tongue pressing into his mouth with a hunger he's surprised she could muster. He inhales her little mewls, tastes her, tongue and lips moving against hers, his fingers slipping into her hair before he twists it around his hand and fists it, holding her in place. She's clinging onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, and in her attempts to mirror his motions, indulging in her own needs, she starts gyrating her hips.

His groan is swallowed by her tongue moving around his, her eyelids fluttering, and when he bucks his hips upwards a little, the little cry that slips out of her throat is muffled by his mouth. The kiss is messy, her movements on top of him jerky and uncoordinated, but he rolls with it, lets her discover what works, what makes him moan, what feels good for her. To be fair, he could just sit with her like this, feeling the mild vibrations of the toy against his hardened member, while she sits on it, cockwarms him with the gentle embrace of her cute cunt.

He has to teach her the simple joy of just being connected soon, because for now, she doesn't seem to be able to grasp the concept (to be fair, he gave her the command to ride him, so he shouldn't blame her for trying to follow it) as her hips start moving more and more, first back and forth, rubbing her pelvis against his, but soon, while still kissing him deeply, she starts straining her legs, lifting herself slightly, and he moves his free hand along her back to her hip, helping her in pushing her up and down on his cock.

Soon she's panting into his mouth, the unusual workout quickly getting to her. He moves both his hands to her hips, grips at the swell of her flesh and guides her, slowly at first, up and down, her walls clinging to his shaft before her hips slam back down and swallow his entirety once more, his crown definitely bullying her cervix again. He's groaning with her, their heavy breaths mingling when he presses his forehead to hers to ground her, her eyes hooded but burning with an intensity he's not seen in them before.

She picks up the pace, small hands finding his shoulders as she leans back for better leverage, lips glistening and swollen. Her skin is flushed and sweat-slick, as she bounces on his lap, tiny tits jumping, up and down, faster and harder, always taking him as deep as possible. Her eyebrows furrow under the strain, her thighs tremble, her stomach fluttering, her panting breaths turning into whines, needy little mewls, as desperation makes her move rougher and quicker yet.

She's exhausted, sweating, barely able to keep at this pace for long, but she's also too stubborn to give up, having been on the edge for what might feel like forever. Always stimulated, never brought to release. She's chasing that orgasm, pushing herself forward even when her body weakens more and more, and even though he wanted to let her do her thing as he watches her from his reclined position beneath her, with just his hands on her hips, he eventually folds and leans in, wrapping his arms around her shaking body, and starts pushing up into her.

A wail escapes her, and she clings to him, arms snaking around his neck, face pressed to the side of his head, her sweet noises loud in his ear. He presses his feet into the bed for better leverage and pushes hard and fast, and soon her walls clench around him more, a tight grip that threatens to bring him over the edge first, but he braces himself, tenses up, forces through the sensations crashing through him. This is for her.

He shifts them on the bed so he can lie back and pull her with him, arms still tight around her as she presses into him, hips moving with his thrusts, two bodies joined in a wild race for release. She's moaning and howling, shivering and trembling.

Then, finally, her tight cunt clamps down on him hard as she freezes for a moment, a silent gasp making her lips part, her back arching, her hips stuttering, and he keeps rutting into her through her orgasm, moving her back and forth, prolonging the moment of bliss, fighting through the grip of her tense muscles, and she freezes again, this time with a loud cry that turns into a drawn-out moan that makes his cock twitch inside her.

In his haze, he rolls them around, eager to see her face contort in pleasure, but once her back hits the mattress (and with it the backs of her belted thighs), she wails, squeezing her eyes shut which causes tears to fall from under her lashes. His body keeps going, pounding into her hard and rough, making them bounce on the bed, as he braces on his forearms, hands holding her face, soothing her wet cheeks, his eyes on every single twitch she issues.

“It's okay,” he breathes hoarsely. “Almost there, baby. You're doing great, so good for me. My good little girl...”

It's like a mantra, and it works, she relaxes beneath him, small hands gripping at his waist, but she isn't moving, afraid to put too much pressure on her bruises again.

“Wrap your legs around me, it'll be better,” he whispers, and when she does, he feels her really relaxing. Her arms come back around his neck, her eyes fluttering open, mouth agape, heavy breaths hitting his face. “Good girl,” he praises and leans in to kiss her wet forehead. She coos softly in response. “Such a good girl!”

With her body folded around him, clinging to him like a little monkey, he shifts his position to rest on his knees, his thrusts slowing slightly, before he starts hammering down once more. She cries out, stiffens, comes again, and he keeps going, really straining himself now. The tight grip of her cunt, the constant buzzing of the toy, her little noises and the wet squelching and slapping sounds, it all makes his stomach tense and his balls ready to explode.

But she deserves more, so he pushes through, slipping in and out, slows down, accelerates again, a steady rhythm of teasing and pushing her over, bringing her to new heights, letting her float, giving her what she needs. She's a babbling, mewling mess beneath him, and yet he can't get enough of the sight of her eyes rolling back, her face relaxing into a mask of pure bliss, her whole body spasming against his, thighs trembling, legs crossed so tight around him all he can do is push her down into the bed with the remaining strength of his whole body.

They bounce and test the limits of the bed, sweat-slick and sore, exhausted and content, moaning and groaning, and when he finally allows himself to come deep inside of her, it's that final snap of his hips as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and his cock as deep as it will go, his rough breaths hot on her wet skin, his arms cradling her head, his body tense, legs aching as if he's run a marathon, but it's the best goddamn orgasm he's ever had when he eventually collapses on top of the small girl, cock twitching and throbbing, shooting spurt after spurt of hot cum into her convulsing depths.

She's gone silent beneath him, while his heart is hammering inside his ears. He can't move, doesn't want to anyway, just lies heavy on her, and strangely enough she doesn't seem to mind. He feels her fingers moving along his back, fingertips pressing against hard muscles, before she slips them into his hair, and he moans quietly when she starts massaging his scalp. Turning his head, he presses his lips to her neck, savoring the little flutter of her pulse against them.

For a moment they remain like this, silent, motionless, content, his cock still buried deep within her wet warmth, that toy still humming through her insides. With a loud sigh, he eventually rolls them around again, settles her on top of him, a quiet groan escaping her. She's pressed to him, skin against slick skin, a pliant body, her head resting on his shoulder, soft breaths fanning over his jaw. He holds her with one arm, the other moves down her back, savoring the little shudders as his rough fingertips rub over pebbled skin.

His fingers curl around her rear then, slip between her ass cheeks, and he's content to grip the plug and finally relieve her of the constant buzzing, but then she stirs, leans up on her elbow and looks at him, a tiny jerk to her head making him pause.

“You wanna keep it in?” he whispers quietly, watching her curiously.

Her face is flushed, hair sticking to her damp forehead, eyes glazed, lips swollen, but they still twitch into a shy smile. “Mhm,” she makes, cheeks burning up even more.

He smirks at her, tugs at the plug, but only teases her. “Alright then, as you wish,” he replies and leans in to press his lips to her nose. She lets out the softest little giggle, and for a moment he just stares at her before she folds under the intensity of his gaze and hides her warm face in the crook of his neck.

He pulls her tighter against him, hand heavy on her back, the other still on her rear, an amused laugh leaving his throat. She hums into him, and he closes his eyes, relaxing beneath her.

What a little minx, truly insatiable after all. It seems fair to assume that they're back on track, almost as if nothing happened.

They must have fallen asleep after their intense little workout. When he stirs and opens his eyes lazily, she's still lying on top of him, legs splayed open over his thighs, pliant and at ease, cunt still filled with his cock, and somehow he's hard again. Must be the toy she didn't want to part with. Its constant buzzing, straight against his shaft through her soft walls, wave after wave of vibrations, hums all the way into his tense stomach.

He groans when he lifts his hips slightly, moving her just an inch, his hands gently rubbing along her sides until he grips her waist and pushes her deeper onto him. A confused little grumble escapes her, but she doesn't wake, her steady breaths fanning over his neck. He could just fuck up into her again, pumping his pelvis into her, until he adds another load of cum to the previous one, but he's not made for monotony.

And frankly, he can't and doesn't want to shed his skin and change his way, even though she's trying her best to mold him into something he doesn't want to be. Carefully, his hands on her lower back, he rolls her onto her side and scoots back, pulling out of her as gentle as possible. She lets out a little whine, but is still fast asleep, too exhausted or just unwilling to deal with whatever he has planned next.

He keeps her on her side, her legs scissoring open a little, allowing thick globs of cum to seep from her puffy pussy lips. The sight makes his cock throb even more, and he could have watched it a little longer, but the tension in his stomach urges him to keep going, and so he slips from beneath her fully, and kneels down at the foot of the bed, taking another moment to watch the sleeping girl, with her messy hair, her soft skin, stained and soiled by his doing.

Eventually he grabs her hips and pulls her back, lifts her rear up, mindful to keep her head turned to the side so she can breathe. She's like a doll, and he almost comes just watching her be molded into the position he wants her in. Ignoring the red welts for now, he scoots closer, his hands on her rear, kneading those soft plump cheeks, before his fingers dip between them and close around the base of the plug.

She stirs again, mumbling in her sleep, but he keeps going, gently tugging at the toy until her muscles give way to let the first bump out. Then the next and the next, until all five little ball shaped protrusions slip free and he removes the vibrating thing completely. Her hole gapes for a moment before her muscles pucker up again. He leaves the vibrator on the bed, too lazy to get his phone to turn it off.

She's still asleep when he sits up and rubs his cockhead between her cheeks down to her dripping cunt. Gathering his last spend, dipping into her used hole just for good measure, he uses the thumb of his free hand to poke at her sphincter, rubbing the tense muscles. The plug was a good preparation, but not nearly as girthy as his hard member, so the stretch may still be noticeable. But she's taken him before, with barely any preparation at all, so she'll be fine.

He dips his finger into her pulsing pussy, gathering her slick and his cum, then puts the same finger into her puckered hole, pushing deep, feeling the tense muscles and the shiver crashing through her small body. His cock is already leaking precum when he finally puts the tip against her, one hand on her hip to steady her, his eyes moving up to her resting face.

He keeps watching her as he pushes forward, slowly, carefully, letting her muscles give way gradually until they close around his tip and swallow it, and as they do, she whimpers, eyebrows furrowing. Instead of pushing his hips against her, he pulls her against him, his hold firm, and inch by inch he sinks deeper into her tight ass, the grip already enough to make his cock twitch, a groan slipping from his lips.

Eventually he bottoms out, her tense muscles fighting the intruder, her limbs trembling. Both of his hands are on her waist now, holding her against him, close enough he can feel the warm skin of her bruised thighs against his, but the pain of the touch doesn't seem to register in her sleeping mind. Not yet anyways.

Breathing deeply, he fights the sensations, the urge to just rut into her like a feral dog and breed her, find relief inside her until she's dripping from both holes, and the image of that is strong enough to make him moan, his arms shaking as he grips her tighter.

He has to remind himself why she's here, why he took her away. To use her, whenever he wants, she is his, his little angel, his toy, his good girl, the same girl who asked him to take her virginity, who asked him to order her to submit because she couldn't make any decisions on her own anymore. And she wants this, she may fight it still, but she wants this, prefers his cock over any toy he'll stuff her with, so why not give her what she wants?

The first thrust is rough, tense muscles protesting, skin dragging over his shaft as he pulls back and slams in again. And she whines, a low little hum in the air, even though she remains still, caught in her sleep, dealing with what he did – and does – to her on another, deeper level of her consciousness. Holding her hips, he thrusts again, and again, until he falls into a slow rhythm of pulling and pushing, her tight grip dragging over his cock with every motion, making his head spin.

He's working himself up gradually, always watching her and her reactions, as he pulls out slowly, savoring the drag, the clenching ring of muscles holding onto his tip, squeezing so deliciously, before he slips back in with a snap of his hips, fast, hard and deep until his balls slam into her wet folds. He can barely hear her soft mumbles over his loud groans, he's not holding back, he can't, the need for release growing with every slap of his pelvis against her cushioned rear.

Shifting behind her, pulling her back to the edge of the bed, so he can put one leg on it and the other on the ground to have better leverage, he quickly falls into a different rhythm, a quick stabbing, in and out, rough little snaps of his hips, even rougher pulls on her hips to move her against him, and it's during this rutting, that she wakes up with a surprised little growl.

He puts one arm around her middle and leans over her, the other hand on her nape to push her down into the bed, and she whines and wails, her arms flailing around helplessly before he grabs them and folds them behind her back, then uses them with a tight grip to really pound into her now.

Her noises fuel him, her moans and mewls and cries of protest sinking into his sweat-slick skin, gathering in his stomach, vibrating right into his cock that keeps slamming into her hard and rough, forcing its way through her tense muscles. She arches her back and bucks her hips, to meet his thrusts or to get away he isn't sure, but ultimately succumbs to his rapid rhythm.

Despite his haze, he notices the still buzzing toy lying next to her leg, and he grabs it, holding her folded arms with one large hand now, and without hesitation, bends his arm around her and presses the vibrator to her clit. She cries out again, louder now, head thrashing, shoulders turning fruitlessly in his tight grip, feet kicking, but he keeps his leg tugged against her knees to keep her from folding in on herself, and the other on the ground to steady himself, ignoring the flying of her limbs.

He's so close, and he knows she is too with how he holds the buzzing toy to her throbbing clit. Her wetness seeps out of her clenching cunt, empty and abandoned, right onto his fingers, as he continues his ruthless assault on her ass with deep, hard thrusts that make her muscles clench and ultimately milk his cock for all it's worth.

When she cries out and shudders, he groans and collapses against her rear, barely able to stay upright, as he pushes as deep as possible and stills there, his balls twitching against her folds as he empties himself into her warm depths. She's whimpering quietly, body frozen in front of him, all protest gone from her limbs. He eases the hold of her arms and starts rubbing her lower back as her arms fall to her sides, boneless.

He's panting, still spasming inside her, and he's just marveling about the amount of cum he's able to give her, when he feels her small hand on his larger one still holding the toy to her clit. She's not trying to rip it away, but gently nudges him, eases his grip until he complies and lowers the object, and in his own euphoria he hasn't noticed how its vibrations have numbed his hand.

Inhaling deeply, he pulls it away and places it on her lower back, her rear still pushed out to create a little shelf for it to lie on. His free hand roams her sides for a moment until he feels his cock deflating inside her, finally spent, satisfied, at least for now. Slowly he moves his hips back and slips out of her, leaving her with a wet pop. The sight of his cum dripping from her puckering hole gives him goosebumps, mesmerizes him, makes him stand back and watch it run down her skin until it gathers on her pussy lips, mixing with the load he's left inside her hungry cunt earlier.

All the while she's frozen in place, still on the bed, ass raised, knees shaking but holding her up, chest pressed down, head turned to the side, eyes closed, lips parted, drool and sweat gathering beneath her. As if in a trance, he grabs the toy and circles her gaping hole with it, teases the slim tip into it, pushes his cum back inside. He keeps playing with it for a moment, watches how her muscles tense under the vibrations, while his body comes down from the high and exertion, and she lets him, doesn't fuss.

“I bet my good little girl wants it back where it belongs, hm?” he whispers, noticing her eyelids fluttering before she looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He doesn't wait for her reply, just pushes the toy fully in, the soft squelching sound mixed with her surprised gasp pebbling his skin, her muscles lax for the first half of it before the ball shaped bumps grow bigger and he has to give the last one a little push before the toy settles back into place, gripped tightly by her puckering hole.

He still gives her soft ass cheek a gentle slap, and another, to tighten it even more. She yelps quietly, body shuddering every time his hand makes contact with her skin, but he's barely making any difference, even if he wants to really spank her until he can see his hand imprint, bright red and glowing, but he refrains. Not the right time. Soon, he promises himself.

Rubbing his hands over her rear, tugging at the plug to make sure it's secure, he then leans back up fully and stretches, rolling his shoulders, then walks around the bed and grabs his phone, turning off the vibrations. Its battery is dwindling anyways, and she may need a break as well. He's sure it's enough to just have that thing sitting in her ass again.

She rolls onto her side and faces him, hugging the sheets to her chest. He sits down on the edge of the bed and caresses her messy hair, a soft smile playing around the corners of his lips. His fingers trail around the side of her face until he teases his index finger against her lips. As if on cue, she parts them and sucks his fingertip into her mouth. He adds another finger, and she does the same motion, her little tongue flicking around his digits almost needily, meditatively, as if she needs them to ground herself.

Like a child sucking on its own thumb.

He can see the appeal, and he lets her, watching her closely, fondly, his other hand braced on the bed. Rubbing her tongue with his index and middle finger while she sucks on them, he eventually feels the somewhat sadistic urge to push his fingertips deeper, tease against the back of her throat, and while he holds her gaze, her eyes widen, and he keeps pushing until she squirms, grabs his wrist, but then gags anyway, her throat contracting around his digits.

He pulls them away, only to push back in, slowly, always a little further, in and out. Her nails dig into his wrist, her body shuddering, but she doesn't really fight it, just lets him fuck her face with his fingers, her tongue guiding the movement, her cheeks hollowing when she sucks her spit in. He lets her swallow before making her gag again, and again, and again, until she's a spluttering mess, drool dripping down her chin.

What a pretty sight. Eventually he pulls his hand away, wipes her spit on her cheek before slipping his fingers into her hair, cupping her head to pull her into a sitting position. She winces when she has to strain her thighs, but he swallows the little whine when he captures her wet lips for a deep kiss. She clings to him, moving her tongue with his, eyes fluttering close when she leans into the touch.

Still connected to her mouth, he moves his hands around her body and lifts her up, scoops her into his arms. She's that pliant thing, fucked out of her mind, holes filled, throat included (though he'd have preferred to stuff it with his cock and cum instead of his fingers, but there'll be time for that again soon), dripping, sweating, slick all over, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Somehow it does. He'll make sure of it.

He is the only thing she'll ever have to worry about.

Kissing her slower now, watching her out of hooded eyes, a strange warmth rushes through him, fills his exhausted limbs, makes his cock throb. She is his, all his, no matter what. He's shown her his darker side, and she's still here, cuddled against him, eager to be with him, please him, service him.

Keep him company. He's never seen it like that, then again she is the first one to witness him in all aspects of life. They've shared meals, showered together, slept in the same bed, things he's done with women before, but it has never felt like this, this... domestic, this real, this... unforced.

He took her away, abused her, but whatever he does, to him it doesn't feel like force. He's fought way worse with the ones that came before her, had to mold them, make them understand what he wants from them, but she... his perfect little girl, she already knew, despite her inexperience, despite her fear, she's adjusted, listened to him, followed his orders without much hesitation. Perfectly submissive, no matter what.

He stops on the way to the bathroom, holding her pressed against his chest, his lips hovering close to hers, breaths mingling. “I'm proud of you, you know that?” he whispers with a soft smile, watching her blush and blink quickly in surprise. “Really, really proud,” he repeats, peppering her cheek with gentle kisses that make her squirm and giggle softly.

“Look at you,” he adds, nuzzling her nose with his. “So beautiful, so perfect, taking me so well, doing everything I ask of you. You...” He stops as the thought manifests inside his head, a thought he's not had for a long time, if ever. But it feels true, real. “You make me very happy,” he finally voices the words, inhaling deeply, leaning his forehead against hers.

A sniffle escapes her, and he feels her arms tightening around his neck. She doesn't say anything, just looks at him with big eyes, glistening and still reddened, lips parted and quivering. He gives her a soft smile, not expecting a response, and tilts his head to close his lips around hers, swallowing any kind of noise she wanted to make. It doesn't matter what she thinks about him, or maybe he doesn't want to hear it. She's had a crush on him, but she has a lot more reasons to hate him now, and whatever the case, he doesn't want to know.

It's enough to know that she remains his good little girl, that she knows how that makes him feel, and maybe that's enough incentive to give her the strength to stay this way, that no matter what he does to her, she will endure it, because she wants to, for his sake, or maybe, preferably, to satisfy her own needs as well. Time will tell.

For now, he's focusing back on the moment, savoring the taste and feel of her tongue, her little mewls in his ears as he shifts her on his arms, before he continues on the short way to the bathroom. His intent is always to clean her up, keep her pure, at least from the outside, but he already knows he can't control himself around her. His cock knows it too as it twitches excitedly when he carries her into the shower.

FOURTEEN 🟥 FIFTEEN 🟥 SIXTEEN

End notes: I think this is as fluffy as he can get, don't expect anything more for now.

To be honest, I'm a little torn on this. It's been a very harsh up and down with him and the things he's said and done, but he is the unpredictable type, so it shouldn't be too unexpected? It feels extreme, going from “I don't need a reason to hurt you” to “you make me really happy”, from her being “his toy” to “his good little girl”. But maybe that's his charm, the polar opposites. He is a psychotic man, we already established that, and now we've deepened that sentiment. He can and will do whatever he wants.

You know, I started writing this story with only the smut in mind, but the plot, man the plot, it just happened, and now I struggle a little with its plausibility (then again: do we really need this to be plausible? At the end of the day it's entertainment, spicy smut to fall asleep to, so, yeah, let's just roll with it).

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Sunday!

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

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN

[reiding-writing]

I soo want to know what happens when Spencer is caught talking to unsub reader!! Or he tells them

SPENCER GETS CAUGHT

spencer & gn!unsub!reader || 1.0k || unsub!reader masterlist.

a/n — this was by far the most requested unsub!reader ask (there were six all along the same lines 😭)

main masterlist.

5PM. On the dot. For the eighth Wednesday in a row, Spencer Reid’s phone rings.

The way he drops everything he’s doing is almost mechanical, not even bothering to shut his file before reaching for his phone to answer the call.

He doesn’t get that far.

“Let’s see who the lucky caller is, shall we?” Morgan plucks the phone from Spencer’s hand like an apple from a tree, ignoring the immediate defensiveness from his companion as he checks the caller ID.

“An unsaved number, very smart, genius,”

“Morgan, give me my phone back.” Spencer’s tone lacks any ‘humour’ that Morgan was intending to incite.

“Tell me who it is first,” Morgan shakes his head with a tut.

“Morgan. Give it back.” There’s a strange amount of conviction in Spencer’s tone, urgency in the time constraint of the ringing phone.

If the ringing stops before he answers it, the likelihood of a second call is basically zero. And Spencer does not want to find out if that’s true or not.

It’s about now that Morgan begins to realise how serious this phone call is to Spencer.

And he might be a bit of an ass, but even he knows his limits.

“Okay, okay,” Morgan raises a hand in surrender, pressing the answer button and leaving the call on speaker for the group around the bullpen to hear.

He’s still a bit of an ass.

“Doctor Reid?”

The way Morgan’s face drops when he hears your voice through the phone would almost be amusing if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying, and Spencer practically rips the phone from Morgan’s hand so he can take the call in private, scurrying out of the bullpen with it pressed to his ear.

“I’m here, sorry, the uh, signal’s not the best give me one second,”

He spares Morgan a glance over his shoulder.

He’s glaring at him.

—

“Are you serious, Reid? Them? What Are you thinking?”

Morgan’s anger is almost animated, accentuated by large gestures that border on knocking the mug from Hotch’s desk.

He’d had called a ‘meeting’ in his office after he found out. Morgan couldn’t keep his mouth shut for very long.

“Somebody’s got to keep an eye on them!”

“You’re not ‘keeping an eye’, you’re chatting. With a serial killer.”

“That’s enough, both of you.” Hotch intercedes. “Morgan, sit down. We’re going to discuss this properly.”

Morgan sits down with a huff, and Hotch turns his focus to Spencer.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Twelve weeks, Sir,” He’s a little self-conscious. Less embarrassed and more concerned that Hotch’ll punish him for speaking to you unauthorised, or worse, order him to stop picking up your calls moving forward.

Morgan opens his mouth at Spencer’s admission, likely out of astonishment, but Hotch raises a silencing hand in his direction before he can say anything, eyes still on Spencer.

“And these calls are regulated?”

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer nods, dry-swallowing. “The patients get one call a week, uh— monitored call,”

He adds the last bit on like it’s going to help his case, although he presses his lips together in almost instant regret as Hotch’s gaze narrows at him.

“I want you to record them.”

Spencer blinks in confusion. “Sir?”

“Any further calls.”

“You’re going to let him keep talking to them?!” Morgan’s face scrunches in a mix of anger and frustration, his hand extending in Spencer’s direction in absolute offence.

“Having tabs on them could be useful.”

“It’s ridiculous is what it is!” Morgan raises his voice to expression is disagreement. “They’re a fucking psychopath—”

“So—ciopath…” Spencer starts his correction much more confident than he ends it as Morgan flickers his glare over to him, averting his own eyes with a superficial clearing of his throat.

“You can’t seriously believe this is okay, Hotch,” Morgan exhales heavily in exasperation, collapsing back into his chair again.

“Like it or not, Morgan, this could work in our favour,”

Spencer is visibly relieved at Hotch being on his side, letting out a sigh of his own, although in a much more positive manner.

“They trust Reid to some extent, which allows the Bureau to have an accurate insight to their psychology from their perspective.”

He’s very clearly not happy with it, but Morgan backs down from his prosecution.

“I want the recordings of these phone calls to be sent to me every week, understood?” Hotch looks at Spencer again, and he nods immediately.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if anything changes in their demeanour,” He narrows his gaze again. “You tell me immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Good.” He relaxes back against his chair. “You’re both dismissed.”

Spencer and Morgan leave the office like two kids who’ve just been scolded, all hunched shoulders and guilty expressions.

That’s until Hotch closes the door anyway.

“I cannot believe you’re talking to them,”

Spencer sighs. “Please let’s not argue about this,”

“I’m not arguing with you, I’m just expressing my distaste,” Morgan shakes his head with surrendering hands. “It’s not like I can stop you,”

There’s a small pause as the two re-enter the bullpen.

“They’re really not all that bad you know,”

“I’ll take your word for it,”

[daintylovers]

obsessed with the idea of snow x reader x lucy

like how you meet lucy first, being part of the covey

so obviously lucy and you are pretty close right off the bat

its a running joke around twelve that you guys will get married and somehow have children

its said with cruel intent but lucy sees it as the best possible future she could have

i mean why wouldn't she want to spend the rest of her life with you? she's already spent this much of it doing the same

all you two need to communicate with is one little look

its a furrow of the brows from her and wide eyes from you

lucy isn't a naturally anxious person- carefree and wild is more her lane

but when it comes to you, she can't help but almost mother hen you

always watching out for you during her concerts

and she won't hesitate to get in a fight with a local if it means getting his attention away from you

her worry only increases when she gets reaped

her first thought isn't even about herself

it's about you

if she's gone, you become public domain again

and the pair of you have made plenty of enemies who are just itching to get you alone

but before she can even take her first steps up the stairs a hand shoots out from the audience

someones taking her place- thank god

but, no, not thank god at all

in fact, there probably isn't even a god because if there was, then it wouldn't be you whose hand was raised

as if things couldn't get worse for the songbird

she gets ushered away and the two of you cross paths

she goes out to try to get a grip on you, but the guards yank her away

it's weird because she almost feels betrayed?

how could you do this to yourself? to her? how is she supposed to live if you aren't by her side?

as you make your way up the stage, every piece of you cracks in some way or another

the games have already begun to shape you into a monster

lucy can see it in your eyes, the light faded out

later on, after a day or so of travel, you've decided to try and forget about lucy

it will be easier to die without the reminder of what you've left behind

but also easier to kill, if you have no one who remembers the way you used to be

you've barely talked to the male from your district

in fact, you don't really recognize him

but when he sees you staring, he calls out your name

your stone-cold face doesn't make a change, so he tells you that he knows lucy

fuck

that he's heard all about you and will try to protect you as best as he can

well- so much for forgetting about her

you tell him you don't need his protection and try to shrug him off

it hurts more than you thought it would

the boy wakes you up when you arrive at the capitol

you don't bother to learn his name, it will be easier to kill him if you aren't attached

stepping out of the train car, you see a tall blonde man wearing a ridiculous amount of red pacing around with something in his hands

it's clear he isn't meant to be there, so you don't pay him any mind

but when he turns around and sees the boy from your district, he knows that the smaller figure beside him must be you

his tribute

as soon as he witnessed your little display of love for lucy, the longing looks the two of you shared before being ripped apart, he knew he was in luck

knowing the name of the person you clearly loved most would help him shape you into a nasty little thing for the arena

you would be the key to the plinth price money after all

but jesus you sure are smaller than expected

i guess television does make everything look grander

he calls out your name, but you don't turn to face him

he tries again and gets a little frustrated at the lack of acknowledgment he receives

so he moves to tap you on the shoulder, but as soon as one of his slim fingers meets your shoulder, you swing at him

I'm taking closed fist knuckles out hard as hell swing at him

obviously, it takes him by surprise, and on the impact his head goes flying to the side and he stumbles back, the rose he had been holding dropped from his grip

you move to keep walking forward but he recovers himself and practically yanks you around back to him, holding you away from him like a stray cat

glaring up at him, you still don't say anything, making him feel more uneasy than if you would have started screaming at him

he tries your name again, maybe the television got your name wrong?

but when he says your name for the final time, your eyes water

it's subtle, something only a man like snow would recognize

he said it just like lucy would

except lucy would be holding you tighter

she would feel warmer

this man feels cold, isolated, and dangerous

he introduces himself and you almost laugh at the irony, snow, of course his name is snow

well it's not fully snow, of course he has a first name

but snow suits him better

he tells you that he's your mentor, here to help you win the games

he offers you the rose that he's retrieved from the ground but you don't take it

please is all he says

and maybe it's because he reminds you of the comfort lucy would have given to you, or maybe it's because he just looks positively pathetic, groveling like a little kicked puppy, that you take the damned rose from his awaiting hands

he smiles at you, flashing pearly whites

a sting of insecurity shoots through you, your teeth definitely looked like a lemon compared to his shiny ones

just another reminder of how different you two really are

thank you, you offer him, you're covey and covey know their manners, even in the face of their oppressors

you turn to leave him again, but can still feel his presence close behind

looking around you notice that he's the only mentor here

it makes you feel uncomfortable

now there was a huge target on your back

and that fear is confirmed when you hop into the truck and are met with snickers and glares from your peers

and snow only makes things worse when he jumps in with you all at the last minute

maybe if you don't interact with him, they'll see that you are still one of them

still just a lowly district kid with no other option

you watch as he gets ganged up on and when he looks at you with pleading eyes, a hint of guilt racks you

but he's capitol, you remember, and capitol wouldn't save you either

so you let them at him

but when the truck car starts to tilt, he still moves to protect you, shoving the kids off him and caging you in his arms

his tribute will not die because of shitty driving

everyone tumbles out of the car and into the wild

and when snow pulls you up and away, you see that it really is the wild

you are now caged in some lame forest area?

you aren't really sure what it is because the crowd outside the cage is really throwing you off

and then you see the camera crew and the happy announcer in the middle

but the guy also sees you and snow, locked in each other's embrace

it mortifies you, lucy will see this

you detach yourself as quick as lightning and make your way to the man, who is equally as curious about you as you are about him

and who might you be? wait, hold on, we know you, you're the girl from twelve who sacrificed herself for her lover. tell me, do you regret it?

every part of you screams to spit in his face, how dare he use you like bait for the audience?

but two can play that game

i would never regret saving someone i love. would any of you? lucy gray, i miss you every day, and I'll continue to miss you even when I'm gone and grey.

A/N: tumblr is yelling at my computer and saying this is too long so I've cut it in half. but if you want more let me know because i love this dynamic and i barely explored it here lmfao. had to lay the ground work yk! anyways, lot of love <3

[kae-eee]

all my thoughts about apple white i can remember rn because im so unnormal about her

she’s been best friends with dexter forever after, ashlynn and briar are just her main friend group because they’re the most popular fairytale princesses

shes a little envious of dexter who’s allowed to just wear his glasses without an issue

walks into walls and trips on the stairs regularly, she plays it off well

she had the biggest crush on ashlynn when they were like 13, it never fully went away

a little part of why she was so hurt during true hearts day

shes known the charmings her entire life and always took to the twins more than daring

her mother wasn’t happy about that

her favorite color isn’t red

apples make her throat feel fuzzy, what could that mean?

i also think she’s allergic to honey or dairy idk

hella people were scared to tell her who actually woke her up, she didn’t find out till a while later

and she very much faked now being head over heels for daring after she woke up until someone told her

she also thought he was just getting cold feet now that he was avoiding her

wearing her crown so much gives her migraines

and i think it’d be worse for her than other royals because hers is probably bigger

really really easily annoyed

dislikes blondie due to her lack of respect for boundaries, she’s only told raven and dexter this

coldest take but she’s autistic

snow won’t get her tested

queen of masking

does not stfu (yapple white!!)

talks fast as fuck too (yapple white!!!!)

had the biggest fuckin fit when one reflection broke up

i think her and darling were also quite good friends when they were little, but they had different interests and grew apart

im not exactly a dappling shipper, but apple romanticized the hell out of darling once she came to terms with who woke her

also it took her a really, really long time to come to terms with it

super easily annoyed (i cant remember if i already said this)

and her lowest grade is her diplomacy class because of it

shes still acing it though

i think she likes to make jewelry but doesn’t often because it roughs up her hands

like metal jewelry not bracelets made of beads, those wouldn’t mess up her hands

deadliest puppy dog eyes you’ll ever see

noise sensitive

refuses to think about her gender identity and expression because she has a nagging feeling she may bump into something that she’s not ready to unpack

i’d like to think she could hear during her enchanted sleep but then idk how she wouldn’t know daring didn’t wake her

very judgy, trying to unlearn it post way to wonderland

learned it in the first place from her mother

doesn’t text with emojis at all

horrible at replying to messages

hemophilia

broke a bone or two on the way down the well

and those spots ache when it rains

cat person

and she really fucks with orange cats

i wanna say she texts like a grandma

it’s ominous as hell

“hello briar…i’ve seemed i’ve fallen ill…may you inform me on our assignment for princessology… good day..”

the type to remind the teacher of the homework

enjoys to dissect things, but that’s not very princess like is it?

raven snores and apple debates on smothering her every other night

girly needs her beauty sleep

awhile after she’s found out darling woke her up and her destiny may not be as straight cut as she thought, her identity crisis hit her around eleven or twelve at night on a random ass thursday, and raven has to talk down a sobbing screaming apple and get her to go to bed because neither of them are unpacking all that comphet right at that very moment

another cold take but the biggest control freak ever

type of girl to hijack every group project, and come in with her own presentation the day it’s due

a sour over sweet person

but sweet over savory

her mother would’ve dyed her hair if she wasn’t scared that it would get messed up

because blonde hair is better than fried hair

that’s all i’ve got for now, maybe I’ll add to this eventually.

[the-ace-with-spades]

slow down (you're doing fine) sequel unrevised snippet because I'm procrastinating on finishing slow down itself and having Mav&Brad feels

.

The light from the living room turned on — he was covered by the terrace curtains enough that it was merely a warm shade coming from the cracked door. He heard bare footsteps, and a shadow flickering through the heavy fabric, until a familiar figure showed up.

Mav closed the terrace behind himself, plopping on the sandy wooden panels, until he was sitting down on Bradley’s left. He looked at his hands, at the phone, at Jake still left on read on the screen — Bradley switched it off and put it under his thigh.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. He rubbed his eyes but didn’t look that sleepy either — just a bit tired, in that long-drawn, frustrated way when one wanted to rest but couldn’t no matter how hard they tried.

Bradley shrugged. He probably could sleep, he’d slept after he had done and said far worse things than today. He didn’t want to, it was almost like a punishment, staying awake until he fixed the problem. Until he stopped running away. He couldn't make himself fix anything, staying stagnant as the ball of anxiety and the dread about the inevitable grew.

“Still thinking about Hangman?”

He didn’t answer and maybe it was an answer in itself — Mav gave him an affectionate sigh. 

“You remember that time when my deployment ran longer last minute? When you were about twelve.”

He gave him a glance — it was an out-of-nowhere question. “Yeah I was so upset that Ice took me flying the day after you were supposed to get back. In the Tomcat.”

It hadn’t been long after Ice came back from Bosnia. Bradley had been missing Mav so badly that he would cry himself to sleep whenever Ice wasn’t looking careful enough — he was still a bit messed up after his mom’s death and scared that one day, Ice’d have to tell him Mav wasn’t coming back.

Mav was supposed to be gone twelve weeks but last minute, Ice told him it’d take some more time before Mav’d come back, and it ended up closer to four months rather than three. Bradley had yelled at Ice’s face, then cried in his arms for about an hour, until he fell asleep, begging him to get Mav back to them.

“It didn't run over,” Mav said after a moment. His breathing was loud and Bradley saw him shake his head in the corner of his eye. He turned to face him and Mav’s eyes were already waiting at him, full of regret and fear, his mouth just slightly quirked. “I didn't know what I was doing, Bradley. Both my best friends were gone, I was never supposed to be a dad and here you were, completely dependable on me having my shit together, and then we were doing so well with Ice, and it was just so much—”

He hadn’t known. In his eyes, they always seemed to have a grip on everything, always seemed to have the answers to all of Bradley’s problems. They were the heroes of Bradley’s life.

“I knew I was going to fuck it up somehow, you and him, and I thought, better sooner than later, right.”

It was familiar — waiting on the other shoe to drop, and when he had been waiting and waiting and nothing fell on his head, removing himself from the situation before he got hit. Better to disappoint from the start than wait infinitely until they find you out for who you really were. Can’t be hurt if you never let them hurt yourself. Can’t hurt them if you’re not long enough for that with them.

That was a lie, no matter how hard he’d pretend to believe it — there was always someone hurt.

“So I didn't tell Ice anything and stayed in Virginia instead of taking a layover flight to California with everyone. Gave Merlin a letter to hand Ice when he met him at the airport and realized I was nowhere in sight.”

Bradley had always thought he was a coward, not facing Jake, just leaving in his absence when things became complicated, when they became too tied to each other. Maybe it was a family thing.

“I can't do it, please don't wait for me. Take care of Bradley. That's all it said.”

Mav creased his eyebrows, shook his head, almost like he was doing it at his past self.

Bradley didn’t know what to say.

“Took me almost three weeks to get back in my right mind. I showed up at home at two in the morning absolutely ready to beg him to forgive me and instead he told me to stay quiet so I wouldn't wake you up and then said I'd be doing laundry and the dishes for a month if I didn't go straight to sleep. Slept with me in the same bed the first night back, even."

Mav bit down on his lip, huffed, just a tiny, humorless sound, and looked at his hands — he was twirling his wedding ring around on his finger.

“I don't know how I could even think that I could ever live without you in my life, those three weeks. Both of you.”

That was the difference between the two of them. They might have both been cowards, running away from something great, that could turn bad at any moment — Mav came back.

Mav came back and Ice was already waiting for him, expecting him back. He faced the consequences and fixed everything, faced the option that he could fuck it all up at any moment and accepted the risks to gamble for something better and sweeter.

Mav kept on trying. Bradley’d only kept on running away his whole life.

He had been running so long that it didn’t feel like he could stop. Like he deserved to stop.

"So I could tell you that you deserve him but I know it's really hard to believe it, sometimes, and no amount of saying it will change your mind," Mav continued. "But it’s not about deserving him. He chose you, Bradley. He chose you, who are you to decide he’s wrong?”

Bradley—blinked. It was impossible to hear, to understand — he’d always thought it more as if Jake was sentenced to loving him. People didn’t choose their sentences.

They did choose to commit the crimes.

“It’s hard to believe you deserve it, but he chose you and he’ll keep choosing you,” Mav said and the wobbly note of familiarity made him felt dangerously seen. “So until you can believe it, you try your best to be the man he deserves to have, until you’re ready to believe it. You come back, how many times it doesn’t take—"

He bit down on his tongue, taking in a big, unhelpful gulp of air. His eyes were watering and he couldn’t stop it, the wetness itching in his nose even as he squeezed his eyes shut — Mav bumped their shoulders just as he sniffled stiffly.

"I think we should have talked about it more, show you more that we struggled too. We always tried to keep you out of the loop if we thought we could make it without you being affected and I always thought that it was just something parents were supposed to do," he said. "Maybe if we didn’t then you wouldn't feel like this now."

Bradley could only shake his head rapidly, because that wouldn't be true. His parents did his best with him, he had been doomed to turn up a little fucked up the minute his dad died, at least, if not the day his mom herself got orphaned and met Mav in the foster system. Maybe their family was just meant to turn up all bent out of shape.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Twenty Questions (Part 4)

Summary: For Y/N’s 20th birthday Haymitch gifts her 20 questions, that he has to answer honestly, no matter what. Mentions of sex/forced pregnancy. Moves & Countermoves companion piece.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“How many…do you think?”

“Hmm?” Haymitch hums, eyeing his wife.

“Kids.” Y/N clears her throat, “how many kids do you think Snow will make us have?”

“I’d say one of each. A boy and a girl will keep the people entertained. If the next one is a boy, I think we’ll have to try again for a girl. Assuming we stay in his good graces, we’ll probably be done after that.” Haymitch shrugs a shoulder.

“I don’t know what else we can do.” Y/N rubs her hands together anxiously.

“There’s nothing else, Angel.” Haymitch sighs, “we just have to ride this out.”

Y/N nods, rubbing the swell of her belly. She’s five months along, over half way.

“Did you want,” Haymitch stumbles over the words. “How many do you want?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “I think being an only child might be lonely for him.” Him. Their baby. Because it isn’t about them anymore, it never will be again. “Two would be good.”

“Two would be good,” Haymitch agrees.

————————————————————————

Haymitch drinks more than he ever has.

Y/N’s belly grows. She’s tired all the time. She snaps at Haymitch and then chases after him with tears in her eyes, begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m… I know I’m awful. I’m trying to do better.”

“You’re not awful,” Haymitch grumbles. “I’m trying too.”

“But you are! You are doing better and I’m…I feel like everyday I get worse. That’s the difference and I’m frustrated with myself. I’m frustrated at the situation and I don’t know what to do. You’re the only person here with me all the time, so you get the brunt of everything. And I know it’s not fair to you. I know you hate me for it.” How could you not?

“I need you to know that I do not hate you. I could never hate you. I see how hard this pregnancy and marriage has been for you. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I could change it for you, I would. But I can’t.” Haymitch admits, “I can’t and it kills me.”

“It’s not hard being married to you,” she breaks off. “I’d never given a lot of thought to marriage. I didn’t necessarily want to be married. But doing it with you is easy, being with you is easy and I feel safe when I’m with you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong then, Angel. Tell me what I can do to help you. Anything you need. You just gotta give me some fucking direction here, because I am drowning in this.”

“I don’t know what I need. I feel restless all the time. I can’t sleep. I’m-”

“You’re afraid.” Haymitch gets it.

“Just…just tell me that everything’s gonna be ok.”

“It is gonna be ok. I promise.”

She closes the distance between them, relaxing into the feel of his arms around her. Holding her close, making everything ok.

————————————————————————

Things are better after that.

“Everything’s gonna be ok.”

He tells her every morning and again at night.

They decorate the nursery, they give him a name. Everest. Everest Abernathy.

By the time they mentor the games that year, Y/N is eight months along. They’ve agreed to stay in the Capitol, until the baby is born.

“You’ll have access to the best medicine known to man in our hospitals, Y/N. The same cannot be said for District Twelve.” President Snow makes her an offer that sounds more like a threat. In any event, she can’t refuse.

Their chances for a victor this year are slim to none. The female tribute is fifteen, but Y/N can spot every bone in her body. The boy isn’t much better, and only twelve.

Y/N weeps for them until she vomits. Only when she is alone, jotting notes in her tablet. She remains strong in their presence, focused. Knowing Haymitch won’t offer much help. He stopped trying and she doesn’t blame him.

She might give up too, if it didn’t mean leaving the poor tributes to fend for themselves.

It makes no difference though, both go down in the initial bloodbath. She mourns them alone, while Haymitch drowns his sorrows down at the bar.

And time passes, the same way it always has. Too fast or too slow.

Part 5

[dr4wingfranciss]

"Gale is worse than Snow", "Prim Reaper", "Gale didn't love Prim", "he was just trying to separate Katniss and Peeta bc he's a asshole"

okay, i'm gonna hold your hand while i say this:

Gale Hawthorne, as much as he was annoying, an idiot, and often acted like an asshole, was a literal fucking WAR CHILD.

he grew up only knowing that the Capitol and President Snow were the ones causing pain across Panem, and keeping the Games going even after it was stablished that they were no longer a punishment to the districts but a mere entertaining show. The only thing Gale knew was that he was angry and that his best friend was willing to die just so she could spare her sisters life. He was inspired by Katniss' actions, and tried his best to protect her family while she was out in the Games.

he loved her in a very VERY toxic and possesive way, that will always be something i will NEVER excuse, and he hurted a lot of people with his inability to put his emotions into words, but he was still going to support Katniss and the revels. Gale was ready to put all of himself so the rebellion would succeed, and Panem will finally be free.

he despised Peeta, yes, but it was because of simple and pathetic childish jealousy, not because Peeta ever did something to him. They even would get along if needed, and respected each others opinions and points while discussing important topics. They weren't each others favorite person, but they were mature enough to try and "get along". I mean, do we all remember that Gale went on a mission to RESCUE Peeta?

and, the biggest mistake Gale ever made was to drop those bombs. Or at least, help create them.

i believe it is never implied/said that Gale knew that Prim would be there. He new the paramedics would be, so they could attend people's wounds, but we don't know if he was aware of the fact that Primrose Everdeen, the girl he saw grow up, that he protected like she was his own little sister, the girl he took care of when her big sister went to the Hunger Games just so she could live and then came back, the girl who was sweet and took care of others in a motherly way nobody else in Twelve seemed to be, would be there.

As much as i hate and can't stand Gale, i will never, under ANY circumstances, believe that he would EVER be okay with "dropping" a bomb over Prim. He would "drop" it over Capitol children any day, (which i believe is so fucked up i can't even put my disbelief into words) but Primrose Everdeen would remain untouched.

or at least that's what i think he thought.

if you are thinking this is a Gale defending post, and that i am a Gale Hawthorne apologist, you are absolutely wrong.

never in my life you would catch me excusing and trying to mend a FICTIONAL character's actions, but i will try my best to explain them. I've seen some justified hatred towards Gale as a character because of his actions, but it's more the amount of hatred i've seen from people that think Gale is redouced to a annoying bitch who just wanted to get with Katniss and who didn't care about her.

a) that shows me the amount of media literacy you have (none).

and b) you are just hating on him for the sake of hating, not for VALID reasons.

hating Gale because of his toxic behavior, his problematic ways of dealing with tense situations, and how he acted with other people are VALID reasons, but hating him because he was mean to Peeta, wanted to get with Katniss and killed Prim "in purpous" is perhaps the stupidiest shit i've ever read. Stop watering down COMPLEX and MORALY GREY characters just because of their superficial mistakes/actions.

[shakespearean-snape]

I’m rereading OOTP right now and I find that scene between Severus and Sirius in the kitchen to be highly relevant in the context of Severus as a feminine-coded character (and Sirius as a representation of toxic masculinity). Sirius is very outwardly aggressive in this scene in a conventionally masculine way, while Severus weaponizes his sarcasm and wit in a way that could be thought of as a more “feminine” form of defence. While Harry describes Sirius’s voice as getting progressively louder and angrier, he describes Severus’s voice as “soft” in contrast (as he usually does, which is also interesting in the context of Severus as a feminine man/GNC character). Sirius gets up and tries to intimidate Severus physically, and Severus grips his wand inside his pocket in a way that reminded me of a victim of domestic violence preparing to defend herself against her abuser.

I’m not sure how much of this was intentional considering how rigid JKR’s views on gender have unfortunately turned out to be, but I can’t help but read Severus as a feminine character, especially since he’s meant to act as a stand in for Lily in the same way as Sirius acts as a stand in for James. It’s very easy to read Sev as gender non conforming and/or LGBTQ, although given JKR’s own views it’s doubtful she meant for us to read him that way (but fuck her, she’s a massive transphobe, the characters are ours now, we can do what we like with them).

Note to self, start checking your inbox regularly. These changes to Tumblr are killing me because the notifications when I get messages or asks are hit-or-miss at best.

Anyways, this is such a great observation! I'm only just learning about coding and that that is even the term for it from reading about it from other Snape bloggers like @idealistic-realism00, @raptured-night, and @professormcguire since I only took the required English courses both my undergraduate years and beyond that my major was in sociology.

So, I'm not really any kind of expert but I do have a lot of personal experience from being biracial and queer myself just with learning to read between the lines and find representation for myself where I can and I think that is the case for a lot of people from less represented, marginalized backgrounds. We have a certain instinct for these things so even without any kind of formal study we sort of know the "codes" (for better or worse depending on what the author's intent is and if it's a negative dog-whistle or something more positive to get around censorships of the time) if that makes any kind of sense.

For me, I always saw Sirius and Snape as two sides of a coin. There were some very obvious parallels and contrasts between them and this really goes to that in a lot of ways for me. Both Sirius and Snape are two men who made pivotal choices in their youths that very much define them and have led to a great deal of internalized guilt and impacted their behaviors as adults. Both Sirius and Snape find themselves confined to their childhood homes at different points, Sirius at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher and Snape at Spinner's End with Peter Pettigrew (both Kreacher and Peter are characters that also are known for betraying Harry and costing him someone he loves at different points and making a turn around in regards to Harry because of kindness or mercy he showed to them).

Where Sirius made the choice to make Peter the Secret Keeper with only James, Lily, and Peter knowing and it ultimately led to the death of the Potters and him being sentenced to twelve years in Azkaban, Snape also unwittingly delivered part of the fated prophecy that led to Voldemort targeting the Potters. Most interesting for me is that Snape's friendship with Lily and Sirius's friendship with James could be read as either platonic or a case of unrequited romantic feelings. There is the observation in SWM made by Harry that while Sirius was clearly a looker who attracted the attention of girls, his attention was fully on James and not on those admiring glances. So, when looking at Sirius's relationship with James through a comparative lens to Snape's with Lily they could be platonic friends or both Sirius and Snape could have had romantic feelings for their best friends while, ironically enough, Sirius had to watch James fall for and succeed in winning over Lily just as Snape had to do the same.

In the case of Snape and Sirius there is also a degree of regression and arrested development stemming from trauma (and both men at different points make the clear mistake of seeing Harry as a stand-in for James as a result of said trauma). Where Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban able to hold onto his sanity against the Dementors in part because he knew he was innocent and the truth of what happened was a deeply unhappy thing for him, Snape spent decades in Dumbledore's service at Hogwarts (a place with its own unhappy associations for him having found it was not a refuge from life at Spinner's End with Tobias as he had hoped but another place where he would be bullied relentlessly, overlooked by his Head of House and housemates for being a poor half-blood with no status, subject to institutional failures resulting from yet more adult authority figures in his life not protecting him, groomed by Voldemort's followers and responsible for alienating his closest friend as a result) teaching children when clearly he does not have the temperament and, courtesy of his role as a spy, concealing his own truths and intentionally not allowing people to know the best of him. In a sense, both men had a negative public image that ran counter to the full truth about them and both of them died without being able to see those misconceptions vindicated (Sirius died still presumed by the Ministry and general public to have been the traitor who turned his friends over to Voldemort and murdered innocent people and Snape died knowing he had delivered information to Harry that would lead to his death and unsure of the outcome of the war with everyone thinking him a coward and murderer).

There's just, a LOT of parallels there between the two when you start to unpack them as characters. Even the fact that they both came from domestic dysfunction and unhappy home lives. It makes their mutual antagonism all the more of a tragedy because if not for Sirius's prejudice (which is arguably more understandable given his family and their long tradition of being sorted into Slytherin) against Slytherins and antagonism of young Snape on the train and the years of bullying and bad blood that followed, these two men had the most potential to understand each other. Alas, they do not, but it is their likenesses that makes their differences in how they clash all the more interesting because, as you noted, there are stark differences there. Sirius is all overt masculine energy; hot-headed and physically imposing while Snape is more strained, the ice to his fire.

Most striking to me was always the difference in how little respect Sirius showed to Snape's body while he was unconscious (further demonstrating how little Sirius has changed from the teenage boy who once stood with James and exposed Snape to laughing schoolmates) versus how Snape conjured a stretcher while still under the impression he was the one responsible for betraying the Potters (and the death of Lily). In that way, we get to see how Snape has developed as a person away from his past choices and learned from them. He may still regress, as he does quite plainly when forced to return to the Shrieking Shack and is confronted by Sirius and Remus there, but he isn't quite in the full state of arrested development as Sirius (but given his circumstances in Azkaban that isn't entirely surprising either; there is a tragedy to Sirius's character for all that there is as much of a darkness as there was in Snape during his time as a Death Eater and the fact so many Marauder apologists who double as "Snaters" refuse to acknowledge that outside of romanticizing the angst of it all while vilifying Snape is quite possibly an even greater tragedy, imo) which is why Sirius's death came in part due to his inability to move beyond his past and find it within himself to treat Kreacher with a modicum of understanding or empathy (in addition to his desire to be part of the action again and recapture his lost youth when it was him and James in the Order together) while Snape's death came only after he had to reconcile with the fact his original raison d'être for becoming a spy (to protect Harry for Lily as penance) ran counter to what was needed to defeat Voldemort for good and he still chose to stay the course instead of pursue his own agenda and act on his own self-interests.

In short, Sirius's death was partly due to the fact he couldn't move beyond the past. While Snape's death came as a result of the fact he had grown enough as a character to set aside his past motivations and see things through because he had become someone who conjured stretchers even for hated enemies and risked his life to save all those who he could save (including Sirius and Remus).

Thanks for the ask and I'm so sorry it took so long to respond but it gave me even more to think about. The masculine vs. feminine coding just adds an extra element to Snape and Sirius's dynamic when it was already interesting to me and I've always had a lot of thoughts about how those two were written with so many parallels and points of contrast. Love this ask!

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK POV) • Chapter 2

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, anger issues, Jungkook doesn't know how to act, self hatred, bad decisions, he's still a simp tho, babe, lmk if I forgot something word count: ~2.370

a/n: Are you concerned that I'm avoiding writing the main plot or HR? Because I am :)

a/n 2: Please make sure to read the main story fully before JK’s POV to have the best reading experience!

series masterlist

The night was more horrible than the last. I didn’t sleep a wink, thoughts running wild with you, you, you. Your face, your voice, every fibre of my existence seems calibrated to you. It’s frustrating beyond limits. Truly just a stupid boy with a stupid crush. It’s more embarrassing than when I was twelve and had a crush on Catwoman. 

But I’ll make an end to all this. The resolve to ignore your presence is the master plan. Brilliant. 

So when I walk to the gates of the paddock and see you desperately waving and calling for me, “Jungkook!” I quickly divert my eyes and walk by, ignoring the sweat running down my temple. 

Do I feel bad? Yes. But do I feel worse and  regret my truly bullshit master plan when I see you walk into the meeting minutes later, smiling and chatting with Joongki? Absolutely! 

Jealousy claws at me, burning my insides as I watch you laughing with him. You’re my race engineer, not his…his…I don’t even know what you could be to him. Everything is absurd in my eyes. 

The sight of you next to Joongki makes me want to stab my eyeballs out. Oh, and don’t get me started with how livid I am with myself, for making the wrong decisions left and right when it comes to you. 

The irritation rises when you stand behind me, which wouldn’t be unusual, but since you’re so much smaller than me, it’s dumb to do that. So I turn, whispering, “Stand in front, dwarf.” I need to insult you somehow; perhaps if you don’t like me, my crush will fade. But as you frown angrily at me, your soft features unable to form real hatred, I can’t help but swoon over you even more. 

You step in front of me, your shiny hair catching my eyes immediately, looking so soft and inviting that I can’t resist playing with it. I twirl a lock around my fingers as Toto talks about something I’ve heard him say a thousand times before. It’s fascinating how you seem to take notes of every spoken word. Such a good girl. 

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout back at me, the irritation on your face making my heart melt even more. Like a little cute puppy who’s angry, I can’t take it seriously. So, I continue playing with your hair, needing to touch you somehow when you’re this close.

This time, you just let me, causing pure glee to swirl in my veins. Joongki and the fact that you’re my race engineer but not my girlfriend are long forgotten at this point. I really couldn’t care less at this p….

“And Jungkook,” Toto’s voice startles me into an early grave. Is he going to scold me? Oh god, he’s going to scold me in front of everyone for playing with your hair. “Your performance at the simulation yesterday was impressive. Keep that focus today.”

Oh, it’s not anything important. What a relief. “Will do, boss.”

I debate whether to start playing with your hair again, but instead, I slightly lean forward and tilt my head down to sniff it. It smells so good. Why do you smell this good? Is there not one flaw? 

“Understood,” you say in unison with Joongki, giggling! Giggling?! For real now?! I can’t take this. You can’t be close to Joongki. He’s a charmer. Well, okay, he’s married, but…but that’s not the point! To divert your attention back to the important things in life, obviously me, I tug at your hair again and look straight ahead. The sharp glare you send me is the result I wanted, and I’m fucking proud of it.

When the meeting ends, I exit the room quickly but notice too late that you stayed behind. I look back and forth, debating what to do, and decide to stay back. I need to find a strategy, and quickly. Should I make peace with you? Trying to befriend you? And then confess my undying love for you? You’re going to ignore my confession like you did years ago again and again. I think of more options, but eventually come up with just playing the bad guy for now. 

Playing safe. That’s good. 

When you exit the room seconds later, I muster the douchebag persona I use for women who annoy me to death and say, “Nice work in there, by the way.”

The “thanks” you say is void of emotions, so I need to add to it. “Let’s hope you can keep up during the training.”

I see a flicker of challenge in your beautiful eyes, and I know I’ve got you. “I’ll be just fine.”

As you walk away, I hope I will be, too. My emotions are a tangled mess of longing and frustration. You’re everything I want but can’t have, a perfect dream hovering just out of reach. How am I supposed to deal with this? How can I maintain the necessary distance when every instinct screams to get closer?  

This is going to be harder than I thought.

The next few hours stretch ahead, filled with tasks preparing for the training sessions, but my mind is stuck on you. My feet take me through the paddock, the familiarity of activity surrounding me as mechanics work on cars, engineers discuss data, and drivers confer with their teams. Yet, all of it fades into the background, my thoughts relentlessly circling back to you, searching for you. 

In the garage, I try to lose myself in the rhythm of preparation. There are tyres to inspect, telemetry to review, and endless adjustments to discuss. I throw myself into the work, hoping it will drown out the conflict inside me.  

But every time I pause, even for a moment, there you are, standing in your never wavering grace. I catch glimpses of you across the garage, conferring with Joongki or reviewing data on your tablet. You’re always composed, focused, and I envy your ability to keep everything so professional when I’m over here struggling to breathe. 

“Hey, Jungkook!” George calls, breaking through my thoughts. He’s leaning against the side of the car, a cheeky grin on his face. “So, what do you think of the new engineer? Pretty great, right?”  

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, she seems good.”  

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder, again with more force than needed. “Come on, don’t be coy. I saw the way you looked at her during the meeting. She’s not just good—she’s incredible. We’re lucky to have her.”  

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just...unexpected.”  Unexpected my ass, I got myself into this mess. 

“Unexpectedly good, you mean.” He winks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.  

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, sure. Unexpectedly good.”  

George wanders off, still chuckling, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I focus on the car, reviewing the latest setup changes and discussing them with the team. Yet, every interaction, every adjustment, feels colored by your presence.  

Finally, it’s time for the training laps. I pull on my helmet, the familiar weight settling around my head, and slide into the cockpit. The world narrows to the track, the car, the adrenaline surging through me. This is my escape, the place where everything else fades away.  

The engine roars to life, and I surge forward, the car responding to every input with precision. The track unfolds before me, a blur of asphalt and curves, and I push harder, faster, chasing perfection.  

For a very short time, it works. But then your voice crackles through the headset, reverberating in my skull and every cell with the simplest words: “Radio check.” And I fucking swerve the car. Please let no one notice this.

I clear my throat before confirming with a wobbly voice, realizing I’ll never be able to escape you or what I feel. “Copy, radio good.”

But I’m not. 

Qualifying the next day is a mess. Everything feels off with the car today, and I'm struggling just to keep it together on the track. I’m pushing it hard, trying to eke out every bit of performance, but it feels like the car is fighting me with every turn. The wheels slip, the engine whines, and the steering doesn’t respond the way I need it to. My frustration grows with each passing second, the car losing performance as if it's mocking my efforts.

“Come on, come on!” I mutter, gripping the wheel tightly, my knuckles white. The car feels sluggish, and I’m trying everything to coax some speed out of it, adjusting the throttle, tweaking the brake balance, but nothing works. I’m not hitting the apexes, and every lap seems slower than the last.

“Fucking hell! DO SOMETHING!” I shout, not realising it’s not Hans but you on the receiving end of the radio. The words are out before I can stop them, laced with desperation and anger. The realisation hits me a moment later, but there’s no time to apologise now.

When I finally cross the line and come into P5 instead of my usual P1, a bitter cocktail of disappointment and regret washes over me. I’m not just frustrated with the car or the qualifying session but with myself for yelling at you. I know better than to take it out on the team, especially not you.

And it’s the meeting afterward that’s truly tense. You're usually so confident, but today you're a shadow of yourself. I see it in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way you avoid eye contact. The mistake hangs heavily over you, and my chest tightens with guilt. 

While the others talk strategy and logistics, my thoughts spiral out of control. You should have been able to solve the problem with ease. You’re you. You’re brilliant. I’ve watched you for years, and I’ve never seen you fail like this or at all. Did I cause this? Did my yelling shake your confidence? Block you from solving the problem? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m responsible somehow.

Toto sends me sharp looks throughout the meeting, his silent warning clear. Even though I’m the star driver, mistakes like this can’t continue. It’s Formula 1, it’s drive to survive. Nothing less, nothing more. If we don't perform, it's not just you who’ll lose your job—I might too. The pressure is suffocating, the expectations from the team, my parents, the fans, the media—they all weigh heavily on my mind.

When the meeting finally ends, and everyone else has left the room, I linger. You stay seated, and I know my anger is ill placed but I can’t stop myself anymore. I close the door, my footsteps echoing in the empty room as I walk in front of you. The pressure of the whole season presses down on me like a physical weight.

You refuse to look at me, and something snaps inside me, causing me to loose the remaining control. “How difficult can it be to choose the right tyres from fourteen? Even a chimpanzee without a degree could have done a better job.”

You don’t even flinch at my words, but I instantly regret them. Your eyes finally meet mine, and I see the hurt you’re trying so hard to mask. I’m startled by the echo of my own father’s voice in my head, yelling at me when I was younger, and I hate it. I hate that I see myself in you. Before I can stop my dumb mouth from running, the next words slip out.

“I knew it was nepotism.” 

I need to leave before I hurt you more, before I break down completely. I’m disgusted with myself, and your next words cut through me like I deserve it. I hope the bleeding will drown my longing for you, for I don’t deserve you. 

Race day starts with Trish knocking at my door early in the morning, as she always does. We go through some exercises to prepare my muscles for the race, making small talk to distract ourselves from the tension. 

Then, her voice changes briefly, losing its usual chipper, high-pitched tone. “How’s it going with your new race engineer? She seems to be focusing more on her little dresses and heels than her job.”

Oh, she did not just say that. The hairs on my body stand on end, and I rise to my full height, taking Trish’s hand off my arm, where it never should have been at the first place. 

“She’s brilliant, and her work is exceptional. I don’t think it’s your job to judge someone in her position.”

Trish takes a step back, intimidated by my deep, low voice, but I don’t care. With every passing minute, I find her presence harder to tolerate. If she doesn’t change her attitude soon, she’ll have to replace her. Why didn’t I already do it? 

I think the day might improve after this, but as soon as I step onto the paddock, the reporters swarm, asking about my relationship with you, which I actively avoid discussing. Then, Toto and George pull me aside to lecture me on how to act towards you, as if I don’t know myself. It’s then that I think I’ve hit rock bottom.

But no, it’s when your sad eyes find mine just as I get into the car for the race. I push everything aside, focusing only on the task at hand. You and I work perfectly together during the race, and I think I’ve escaped the walk through hell and am now in heaven. I love driving, but I love it more with your voice accompanying me, guiding me.

In the final turns, I overtake the competition, your voice filled with pure glee flowing through my veins like adrenaline. I wish I could call you “babe” because that’s what you are to me. My precious, intelligent, beautiful girl cheering me on through the radio. 

We did it. Together.

As I slow down in my victory lap, I hope you hear the sincerity in my voice that I carry in my heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Babe.

series masterlist

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! what was your favourite part of this chapter?

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taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Fifteen.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,830

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

Twenty-three years old. In truth, Ella hadn’t really known where she’d be the year before, her denial and then acceptance of the need to recover herself at the forefront of her mind. Where she found herself was in a position few women would turn down.  

“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, ahhhh!” Her gritted statement was delivered on a bliss filled cry, highly enjoying having her insides rearranged as she was shagged ragged from behind by her boyfriend. Slowing, he grasped her shoulders, pulling her until her back pressed against his chest, mouth laying hot kisses at the side of her neck as his hands roamed over her. 

It shined golden through her, every wave of ecstasy elicited by the slow, deep punch of his cock, one hand squeezing her breasts and sliding to hold her throat, the other moving between her legs to begin stroking at her clit. With every roll of his fingertips, he pulled soft wails from her, teeth nipping her neck, sending little bolts skittering through her.   

“So, how’s your birthday going so far, darlin’?” he panted, Ella turning her head with a big smile, kissing him with smouldering sin. 

“Could be a lot worse than getting pounded by a gorgeous, thick cock.”  

He hummed a chuckle against her lips, rutting her a little harder. “Yeah, ain’t you a lucky girl?” After he’d finished bouncing her around the bed, she had that confirmed even further, too.  

“Baby! No! You didn’t!” she screamed, her mouth dropping open, James’s grin widening at seeing how thrilled she was with her gift. He’d bought her favourite album by The Prodigy on vinyl for her, signed by all four members of the band.  

“I did. Knew you’d die as soon as you saw it, innit. Oh, and you might wanna look inside the sleeve.”  

Curious, she opened it up, her mouth falling open again after pulling out two tickets to go and see them live at Kentish Town Forum in London the following month. The tour had sold out before she’d had chance to get any, so how he’d managed it she didn’t know.  

“My BFG!” she cooed, moving to straddle his lap and kiss him. “You’re the best! Thank you so, so much!” 

“You’re welcome, little,” he hummed, kissing her again and tightening his arms around her. “And yeah, I’m coming with you to suffer the noise. Got us a hotel booked down there for the weekend and all that, too.”  

With his money from album sales running quite low, it was truly more than he could afford, but she was worth it. Besides, he could easily go and pick up some work somewhere around recording their new album come nine days from then, Steve already returned to doing doorman work at various clubs and bars around Warwickshire. He’d done it himself in the past at The Gallows, so supposed he could ask Steve’s boss to hook him up with a few hours. It meant losing weekends around shifts, but it paid very well.  

It was The Gallows they were heading to that evening for Ella’s birthday night out, James half expecting her to want to go to a club that played pounding dance music until dawn. Her revealed plans had been very different, though. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t to his relief.  

After the incident when she’d been grabbed at while dancing on a podium, it had made her feel uncomfortable about returning to her beloved dance scene again, Ella beginning to find herself much more at home on the metal scene. Even the music was beginning to grow on her. Plus, it was well known now wherever she went, exactly who she was; War’s girlfriend, and if there was one woman you didn’t grab out of fear of having your arse handed to you, well. It was her.  

Also, she found that the blokes on the rock and metal scene were much more appropriate, too. Despite the common reputation of being uncouth hellions, she definitely noticed a difference in how she was treated.  

Take one night at The Gallows for instance, Ella walking back to her table from the toilets and suddenly finding herself halted by a man she didn’t know, rapidly removing his plaid shirt and tying it around her waist, whispering discreetly that her hotpants had split at the back. The man had introduced himself as Mark, he and his girlfriend Lizzie becoming fast friends with her and her little group.  

They’d be meeting with them that night, as well as her sister and Andrea, too, who they were collecting from the train station that afternoon after visiting James’s parents. Needless to say, the activities planned for afterwards were the ones he was looking forward to more that day. Apart from seeing his dad and sister, but he was dreading introducing Ella to his mother.  

“If she says anything thoughtless, just ignore her. Carole Kingston ain’t known for having a filter. I’d say she don’t mean it, like, but I’m not so sure any longer. Fucking shit stirrer,” he spoke as they alighted the car outside number forty-seven, Prescott Drive a few hours later.  

Halting him at the bottom of the drive, she grabbed his hands, giving his arms a little shake. “Come on, chill out a bit before you go in there.” 

“I’m fine, I’m chilled,” he spoke. 

Ella snorted softly. “That’s a load of bollocks, baby. You’re practically grinding your teeth. Come on, just breathe it out, relax.” Truly, she wanted it to go well for his sake more than hers, not wanting there to be any existing conflict for him to negotiate. It all depended on what mood his mother was in though, she supposed.  

He dropped a kiss to her forehead, grabbing her hand before walking up the drive past his dad’s car, the front door flying open. 

“Nah, Jimbo! What are you doing with such a pretty girl? Did she not bring her white stick and Labrador with her?”  

“Fuck off, dickhead,” he frowned, Sam throwing her head back with a squeaky laugh.  

“Hi, Ella. I’m Sam, or dickhead, pain in the arse or twat, as my brother often calls me. Nice to meet you!”  

Indeed, those were his preferred names. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” she spoke, James walking past her with a shoulder barge. 

“Out the way, skin!” he muttered, stopping to grin and then pull her into a hug. “What kind of mood is the duchess in?” 

“Not too bad, you know. Freaked out over cheese sauce. She’s made lasagne.” Immediately, his stomach tingled, wondering how Ella would cope with that, a food that was definitely placed on the scary category. It had to be said, though, she was getting better. She managed to eat rice a few times a week without issue, which was good since they had to make food money stretch.  

Moving through the house, they arrived in the large kitchen, the space extending around to a dining room as well. What had once been a modest council house had been turned into a much larger home, the extension built on by Ted, Alan’s brother giving a lot of space that hadn’t existed before, and a garden much easier to manage.  

“Alright, kidda! Ella, looking lovely as usual. Happy birthday, petal!” Alan spoke as he walked back in from the garden, handing her a card and giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

“Awww, thanks, Alan,” she spoke, opening it up, thanking him again after reading the message and finding a twenty-pound note kindly included, Carole turning from the sink. 

“Oh! You’re here! Hi!” Bustling over, she pulled James into a hug, turning then to Ella with a smile. “Well! You’re nothing like the last one, but that’s a good thing. Bright yellow hair, tattoos on her face and a flippin’ great big ring in the middle of her nose!” she exclaimed, the corner of her mouth twitching as she laughed.  

James supposed that was a compliment of sorts. Unless you happened to be Chrissie, his ex. His insides unclenched a little, seeing that his mum appeared to be in a good mood. It was what drove him up the wall about her most, the fact that Carole had the capacity to be a perfectly lovely woman, but all too often let her less favourable qualities get the better of her. 

Still, he knew how quickly she could find a fault and begin to pick at it. Like clockwork, it began over lunch, James noticing her eyes flitting to Ella at regular intervals, very observant over the smaller portion of food she ate.  

“Eh lad, I was out with a few of the fellas from work last night, saw Steve on the doors at that new club they’ve opened in what used to be the old Lloyds bank. When’d he go back to it?” Alan asked, placing his cutlery down and picking up his beer.  

“Not long ago,” he confirmed, crunching through a piece of cucumber. “He’s having a word with his boss tonight, seeing if he can get me back in it as well.”  

Carole’s eyes snapped to her son, pausing from chewing. “James, you aren’t seriously considering going back to being a bloody bouncer, are you?” 

“Yeah, I am. I’m good at it and it pays well. Only downside is losing my weekend nights, but it wouldn’t be every weekend. The shifts rotate,” he confirmed, reaching to tickle Ella’s cheek with his finger when she poked her bottom lip out. If there was one thing she loved, it was going out for a good time with her boyfriend.  

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? That’s the only downside? You getting glassed or worse by some pissed up idiot isn’t something you’re factoring in here?” 

“Ease up, love,” Alan spoke lightly, “he’s a big lad, he can handle himself. Then there’s the ole’ kickboxing, you’ve started that too now, right? How’s that going?” 

James thought it was commendable that his dad obviously wanted to move the conversation on from being something to gripe about. “Yeah, I really enjoy it. Only had two classes so far, go on Monday and Wednesday evenings.” 

“Learning kickboxing won’t stop you from being stabbed.” Oh, no. She wasn’t quite done yet. “Remind me how many times you had a knife pulled on you while you were working doors before?”  

“Three, and none ever got me,” he spoke, chewing the inside of his cheek with irritation.  

He watched her shrug, the corner of her mouth twisting. “I hope you’re not going back to it because underneath, you want them to. We’re not back there are we, James?”  

Ella’s eyes widened, gulping down her mouthful of food, reaching beneath the table to rest a hand on his thigh. God, he was right. No tact was to be found there.  

“I’d say I can’t believe you’ve just said that, but I can.” Fixing her with a hard look, he lifted his chin. “No. I’m not.” 

“Carole,” Alan warned, placing his glass down. “Don’t.”  

“Don’t what? Show concern with what ‘profession’ our son is seeking?” 

“I already have one of those,” the son himself stated, “but sadly ‘cos our corner of the metal world ain’t as lucrative as the more mainstream stuff, it don’t pay fortunes. I need quick cash until we get the next album done, get out on the road again and all that. Touring is where the main revenue is, innit.” 

“Then why in god’s name are you flippin’ doing it? Wasting your bloody time, you are!” 

“Because he loves it.” James hadn’t expected Ella to speak up, but there she was, her hand still squeezing his thigh supportively. “Because he wouldn’t be who he is without his music.” 

Carole wasn’t used to having her opinion challenged, no matter how politely. “What’s that then, Ella? A clinically depressed man who seems to be heading down all the wrong paths in his life? Choosing a career that doesn’t pay and sublimating it with a job fraught with dangers?” 

“Clinical depression is what he has. It isn’t who he is. Who he is, is a musician. A very talented one.”  

His heart bloomed, to hear those words. He’d known Ella for six and a half months and yet, she had a better understanding of him than his own mother. It spoke volumes. Carole, however, wasn’t to be defeated like that. Her words were delivered with the brand of cool snide the entire family were sadly becoming all too used to hearing.  

“So, where are you working at the moment, then? What’s your special talent, Ella?” 

James’s eyes fixed on her, his nostrils flaring. His girlfriend had hit her with something she couldn’t argue back against, so she’d changed track.  

“Currently, I’m not working. I start my new job next Monday, though. At the florist just off the high street.” 

“Oh, Bloomin’ Lovely?” Sam interjected, wanting to try and steer the conversation round. “I bought mum a bouquet from there for her birthday a few months back. The lady was so sweet, with all her bracelets and those crazy glasses and bright pink hair!”  

“Yeah, that’s it!” Ella confirmed. “And her hair is orange at the moment. She seems really cool.”  

“So, what have you been living off since you’ve been out, then, since you’ve only recently found yourself work?” Carole then questioned, the corner of her mouth upturning, thinking she had a win coming her way. 

Ella felt uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t be made to feel small. “I had some cash from my former job in the bank.” 

“Oh, I’m glad to hear you’ve been paying your way and not sponging off my son. I thought maybe the reason he could have been going back to high risk, but high pay work was to support you both. I’m glad that isn’t the case.” Her eyes toured her, picking up her wine glass with a little grin. “Not that you eat much, though. You can’t be expensive to keep. Just as well, really, since you probably vomit most of it back up.” 

How James didn’t throw the knife in his hand directly at her head, he didn’t know, placing his cutlery down and glaring. “That was low. In fucking fact, mum, that was spiteful. I ain’t having that, nah.”  

“Good bloody lord, Carole!” his dad remarked, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There was no need for that. Ella, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

She nodded, but inside felt her stomach turning over and over, unable to believe how unpleasant the afternoon had turned. All because Carole was wrong and couldn’t stand it. 

She shrugged, sipping her wine with nonchalance. “Don’t apologise for me. I’m not sorry for pointing out the truth.” 

“Mum, stop it. You’re only embarrassing yourself,” Sam groaned, combing her fingers through her short, bobbed hair. 

With those words, James made a decision, looking across the table to see nothing but smug glee from a woman who truly should have been nothing but ashamed for the way she’d just spoken. If only her ego would let her.  

“And that’s the last time I step foot in this house.” Standing up, he turned to Ella, reaching for her hand. “You can’t help yourself, mum, and deep down I don’t even think you want to. I think you enjoy provoking reactions. Alright so fine, I obviously didn’t grow up to be the son you wanted. I’m a basket case of a black metal musician and that pisses you off, but Ella ain’t done fuck all to you.” 

“James, that’s not...” Carole began, but her eldest had truly had enough. 

“Nah, tired of it, innit. You? You ain’t good for my recovery, you wind me the fuck up every time I have to share breathing space with you. Find someone else to pick at, because it ain’t me any longer and it sure as fuck ain’t my girlfriend either.” Walking around the table, he grasped his dad’s shoulder, telling him he’d see him soon, dropping a kiss to Sam’s head and pledging her the same.  

He was about to leave, turning back suddenly. “You know what? One thing I’ve learned in therapy is that with mental illness, sometimes people with a mentally ill parent are more predisposed to it, like. Maybe you might wanna go get whatever the fuck it is you’re suffering from checked out, save you losing any other members of your family, yeah?” 

“Oh, shut your mouth, James! How flippin’ dare you accuse me of that! You’re the crazy one here, not me!” 

Now she’d really done it, the bile in him rising sharply. “Drop dead, you vile old twat.” 

Leaving the house, the first thing he did was take Ella’s face in his hands and kiss her, wrapping her in a huge hug. “I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry she chose today of all day’s to be such a cunt to you. Gave me the push I’ve needed for a while, though, innit. She ain’t no good for me, so I don’t want nothing to do with her.” 

Her eyes widened, shaking her head. “You were right. I wondered, you know, could she truly be that bad? Bleedin’ hell. She’s worse. It’s so flip switch, too!” 

“Told you.” 

“And she’s so calculated! If you prove her wrong on one thing, she veers off and attacks you over something else!” 

“Told you.” 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry you had a mum like her to deal with, especially while you’ve been recovering!” Her jaw tightened, shaking her head. “I could smack her for calling you crazy! What a nasty woman.” 

He took her hand, kissing it before they walked away from the house, the muffled sounds of his parents yelling at each other fading as they moved down the drive. “Yeah, this is why I ain’t been around her much. Her having that attitude towards me is one thing, but you? Nah. Fuck that.” He smirked a little sadly, his nose crinkling. “I still feel like a cunt for telling her to drop dead though, innit. Didn’t mean that, I was just pissed off with her being like that all the shitting time.”  

“I think you were reserved for how blazing you can be when you’re angry!” she cried, James getting into the car and leaning over to open her door for her. “You didn’t even shout at her. You just like, told her it wasn’t on and then removed yourself. It’s pants, it really is, but if that’s how she chooses to behave then honestly, this has probably been a long time coming.” 

He started the engine, but sat and looked thoughtful for a few moments, reaching to grasp her hand. “I love that about you, babe. You’re so fucking wise, and you’re right. It has. Thanks for standing up for me in there, too. Just wish it hadn’t fucking happened. Proper fucking stressed now.” 

Looking at her watch, she saw that the disastrous lunch had left them with three hours to kill until Andrea’s train arrived, her fingers tickling her way up his arm through the thick, grey sweater he wore. “I can take your mind off the stress, if you like?” 

The suggestion in her voice and the way she looked out from under her lashes at him was undeniable. Half an hour later, and he was relaxing in the armchair, smoking a joint while Ella’s mouth bobbed up and down on his cock. There were much worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, he thought. He could have stayed at his mother’s house, for example.  

The tie had been severed now, though, and while he did feel shit about how it had all ended, there was a very real sense of peace he experienced at cutting her out of his life. If she brought him nothing but frustration then she couldn’t remain. Frustration was the last thing he felt in that moment, though, taking one last puff on the joint before placing it down, not wanting to be too high when he had to drive. Besides, Ella was doing wonderful things for him with her mouth all on her own. 

“Mmmmm, fuck, your cock is so hard,” she moaned, flicking her tongue over the head before taking him back deep again, feeling it twitch. “Makes me really want to get on it, but I’ll have enough of that later, and I don’t want a sore little pussy to take that kind of pounding.”  

Working him faster and faster, her hand massaged the base of him while her mouth gradually added more pressure, his hips twitching and abs locking as with a deep groan, he spilled into her throat. 

Swallowing, she carefully tucked him back into his jeans, licking her lip seductively as she reached for her can of Diet Coke and took a big gulp. “Less stressed now?” 

“Mm.” 

Chuckling at his blissed-out reaction, she moved astride him. “Did I fry your brain?” 

“Mm.”  

She kissed him, all slow heat, his hands grasping tight on her bum. “Cool beans. Can’t be having a stressed-out church burner on my hands.” He laughed, and she received a hard slap to her bum, Ella squeaking as she made herself comfortable on his lap. They had about twenty minutes of the flat to themselves before Steve and Snedders arrived back, the guys laden with bags.  

“Happy birthday, Greenhall!” Steve announced at high volume. “Sorry it ain’t wrapped, but I’m a bloke. I’m proper rubbish at all that!” 

She had her face grabbed and a huge smacker planted on her lips, James beginning to laugh filthily. “Ahh man. If only you knew where her mouth was twenty minutes ago.” 

Steve worked it out in two seconds, shuddering, his face so sour that the flat was filled with riotous laughter at his expense as he strode for the alcohol bottles in the kitchen and cleansed himself with four mouthfuls of Jack Daniels. “Oh man. No. Bleugh. Open your present!” 

Ella peered into the bag, her eyes lighting up. “I love you! You’ve been talking to Hester, haven’t you?” 

“I fucking have!” he announced proudly as she pulled out a wooden carved buddha statue she’d been eyeing in the local new age shop, plus a bottle of Absolut vodka. “Get it open! Let’s do shots!”  

Ella shared a look with James. “Only him. Only ole’ Berserker over there would have designs on drinking my birthday present with me.” 

“Oi! Who polished off my fucking tequila last Sunday and then kept me awake while she bounced all over my best friend’s cock? You and your sex screaming owe me, now get over here!”  

He had a point, Ella scrambling from James’s lap with her vodka as he laughed loudly, moving to Steve who was lining up shot glasses. She had the feeling it was about to be an awesome night, regardless of what had befallen it in the hours before.  

She’d be right to, too.  

[spacequokka]

Kookies | Day 20

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Roommate AU, Fluff Rating: PG Summary: Your roomie needs help in the kitchen. Word Count: 0.7k Warnings: Language.

Gray, cloudy skies loomed over the city, heavy with the promise of snow. Festive lights twinkled on every corner, but the threat of a winter storm brought a sense of unease to the bustling streets. Amidst the revelry and holiday cheer, you'd been focused on finishing up an article for a client. Just as you'd submitted it for review, a knock on the door drew your attention from your computer. "Yeah?"

Your notoriously mischievous roommate, Jungkook, poked his head in. "Hey. Um, how busy are you on a scale of one to 'please help me?'"

You turned in your chair toward him. "What have you done now?"

He pursed his lips like he wanted to defend himself but thought better of it, settling for "It's not what I've done, but what I need to do."

Now he had your attention. "O-kay. What do you 'need' to do?"

With a straight face, he said, "Bake twelve dozens of frosted sugar cookies."

You waited for him to crack a smile, laugh and say "sike", but he didn't. When it was clear he was waiting on your response, you nearly choked. "I beg your damn pardon?"

He pushed the door open. "Okay, so Jimin said I can't cook to save my life. I wasn't gonna let him talk shit so," he took a deep breath, "I bet that I could and he put me in charge of bringing cookies to his Christmas party tomorrow."

You blinked a few times. "The only thing I've ever seen you cook without burning it is ramen."

"That's something I like to eat!" He threw his hands up. He'd clearly heard that retort already. "But that's not the point. I can bake the cookies, but I need help decorating and packaging them good enough to make the trip." He gave you his best puppy eyes. "Please help me. I know I can't mess it up if you're by my side."

"Why do I feel like the Shego to your Dr. Drakken?"

"You know what--I'll take that. Just say you'll help me, please? I'll do anything you want for a day."

"Just a day? That's over a hundred cookies--"

"Okay, a week! A whole seven days of whatever you want."

"Hm." You pretended to think about it. He dropped to his knees and put his hands together, poking his bottom lip out. "Meh, okay. I'm in."

"Oh, thank fuck." He stood up and grabbed your wrist, pulling you out the chair. "I got the premixed stuff because the YouTube short I found called for too much shit." His words ran together worse than in your room as he led the way to the kitchen. Everything you needed was laid out on the kitchen table. "The first batch is cooling here and the second batch is in the oven. You can start bagging the icing and I'll start on batch three."

"Holy shit." You picked up a piping bag. "You're actually on top of this." You grabbed a spoon and scooped vanilla into the bag. "Do I get music to work to, boss?"

He preened at the compliment and nodded with a grin. "Of course!" He dug his phone out of his pocket. A few swipes later, "Jingle Bell Rock" started to play. "Good?"

"Yessir." You nodded as you swung your hips to the song and added red food coloring to the icing. "Any particular request for the decorations?"

"Nope. Go wild or be as basic as you want. I just want them done so I can shove them in his stupid face."

"Aye aye." You saluted him. You both fell into a production line with him baking and you decorating the cookies.

Jungkook watched in amazement as you effortlessly piped intricate designs onto each cookie. "You're really good at this," he commented as he attempted to decorate a snowflake with blue frosting.

"It just takes practice," you replied with a smile. Once all the cookies were cooled and frosted, you packaged them in festive boxes for tomorrow's event. As you finished up, Jungkook thanked you profusely for your help.

"It was actually kind of fun," you admitted with a grin. "Much better than dealing with bananas."

"Yeah? Maybe next time we can bake something more challenging together," Jungkook suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You laughed and shook your head. "We'll see."

But deep down, you knew that spending time together like this was becoming one of your favorite things about living with Jungkook. And as the snow began to fall outside, creating a winter wonderland scene, you couldn't help but feel grateful for having such a chaotic yet fun roommate.

[madi-writes-things]

Francesca Pt. 2

Summary:

It broke Schlatt when he had to let Y/N go, But he would go through hell a thousand times if it meant he got to hold her again.

“If I could hold you for a minute… I’d go through it again.”

Word Count: 791

TW: Mental Illness, angst, ocd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, break up, pining, feelings of worthlessness, basically a self insert without a physical description, Schlatt is Based in Texas… because so am I

A/N: This totally isn’t a vent fix based loosely upon what the inside of my brain looks like on a daily basis. This is the only way to work through it, and I this fic will probably only get more complicated and sad.

Did you know that Ted is actually teal years older than Schlatt? Reader is Schlatts age. Enjoy!!!

-Madi <3

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Schlatt’s POV

The drive home was hell, but nothing prepares me for the first time walking into a newly empty house. It didn’t look any different at a first glance… the pictures on the walls, the dirty clothes left in a hamper, the dishes in the sink.

The reality doesn’t hit until I walk into the bedroom. Her side of the room shows no proof that anyone had been living there for the last three years. I walk over and sit down on my side with a deep sigh. I hadn’t realized that I was holding my breath.

I reach over to open up my nightstand. All that sits in the drawer is a small velvet box. All that sits inside is a nearly $5,000 ring… a ring picked out for the love of my life.

I can’t help the soft patter of tears falling to the floor beneath me.

I can’t do this without her.

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Three Weeks Later

I don’t even know how I found it. I was just rearranging the house in an attempt to distract myself… I was moving the bed when it happened.

As I lifted the mattress, I noticed a small pink envelope… as I moved it completely away, I was taken aback by the sight of dozens of little pink envelopes. They all had names written on them, mostly consisting of mine and Ted’s, but not limited to us.

Now I sit in the floor surrounded by a pile of the opened letters, praying that Ted answers the phone.

“Hey Schlatt, what’s up?” He sounds too happy. This will ruin his day.

“What is this?” He’s silent for a second before asking me what the hell I'm talking about. “Dear Ted, things have been getting worse… but if you’re reading this, you already know that.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “Dear Jay, this isn’t your fault.” I can practically hear the realization hit him. I hear him release a deep sigh. “Dear mom and dad… Dear Charlie… Dear Tucker… Dear Friends and Family…”

I can’t breathe. Ted is silent on the other end of the call.

“She never told you?” He sounds so calm, as if I didn’t just tell him that his best friend has a stash of suicide notes.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“You knew that she wanted to kill herself and didn’t tell me?!” My voice is laced with hurt and anger. How could he keep this from me. “You should have told me… you live almost 20 hours away, it’s not like you could have helped if she had.”

“She’s not going to kill herself Schlatt…” He sounds exhausted, like he doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

I don’t know how to respond. She obviously thinks about it, how can he be so nonchalant about this?

After a few seconds of silence he corrects himself. “She doesn’t want to kill herself, it’s just something that she thinks about sometimes.”

“How long has this been going on?” What I really want to ask is why didn’t she tell me, but I don’t know if I’ll like the answer.

Ted’s silence is deafening. It takes a good three minutes before I hear him take a long breath in. It’s ragged, much like mine.

“it’s been going on since she was like twelve… she used to tell me about it, but something happened a few years back, and she stopped talking to me.”

Twelve? That’s half her life. Why didn’t she tell me? How did I not know? Why did she shut Ted out? He was the only person she trusted.

“What happened? Why did she stop telling you about it?” I have so many questions. I have way to ask her.

Ted gets silent again, like he’s deciding if he should tell me. I stay silent, wondering if I want the answer.

Ted breaks the silence after what feels like an eternity. “After she graduated, we got a small two bedroom house together…” I can hear the hesitation, almost like he’s making sure she won’t hear him. “I was still in school, and she was working as a teachers aide at the local elementary. Not long after her 19th birthday… she… I…” Oh God. What happened? “I came home one day to one those notes on the table, and the car running in the garage. She begged me not to tell her parents… and after that she stopped telling me about her bad thoughts.”

“She’s not okay… I can’t believe I didn’t see this… you need to keep an eye on her, I can’t lose h-” I stop myself, because I already did lose her.

Ted promises that he won’t let that happen, and I hang up the phone.

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