#so you can have this angst riddled nonsense instead

[hyperfocusthusly]

Today really did a number on me, so I wrote some self indulgent angst to avoid my problems

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55974070/chapters/142150129

[atticrissfinch]

Born of Confusion and Quiet Collusion | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

pairing: stepfather!joel miller x fem!reader summary: he’s been in your life since you were fourteen, the first reliable father figure you’ve had in your life. but you’re not a child anymore. and you’re not the only one who’s noticed that.  warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] sleazy/deadbeat stepdad!joel, age gap (joel is 51, reader is 20), stepcest (v self-referential), daddy!kink, size!kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, deepthroating, cum-eating, marking, ball-sucking, angst!!! a lot of it!!!, smoking, drinking, infidelity, v brief mentions of past domestic abuse and past impregnation of a minor (16) via statutory r*pe (neither apply to joel or reader), too many religious metaphors, reader has a landing strip because…I said so word count: ~10.6K | ao3 a/n: I had such a good time writing this. it didn’t turn out as PWP as initially intended, but I love it just the same. this is definitely not your mother’s stepcest fic (it’s her husband’s 🤪) but it’s still horny and sick and twisted and I hope you cry or cum or both ❤️ if people like this, there is a possibility of a part 2! title from lana my queen ♥️ thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers <3

Masterlist | Kofi

Blinding sun has begun to streak across the sidewalks in your childhood neighborhood. Patches of grass and wildflowers sprout from the cracks in the pavement. Vibrant chalk drawings smear from trekking feet. Sprinklers stutter and hiss for giggling children — a picturesque snapshot of youthful frivolity, submerged in the ephemeral gloss of summer vacation.

In a way, it feels like you’ve never left. For the past two years, you’ve only come home for the summer from college. Which is unfortunate considering how beautiful New England is in the summer. Instead your thighs are sticking to plastic benches at fast-casual restaurants in Texas, where it feels like the devil himself has his head between your legs anywhere you sit.

Of course, it’s always nice to see your mother. Never without a pitcher of sweet ice tea in the fridge, never without a pasted-on Southern debutante smile, and never a single hair that’s not bleached to hell on her head. Frazzled and air-headed as they come, flighty as a hummingbird, but easily reined and tethered to the earth with one hand by…Joel.

Oh, what could you say about Joel?

He loves your mother, you’ll say that much. You’ve never seen a man as drawn to his wife as you have him. The touches are constant, the compliments doled out like those strawberry bonbons on your grandmother’s coffee table. It’s been seven years and he still acts like your living room is the lobby heading to the honeymoon suite they call a bedroom.

As a result, you wouldn’t be caught dead without headphones at any given time in your home. You’ve heard far too much over these seven years to not know to be prepared.

But what Joel makes up for in physical affection, he severely lacks in any other form of decorum. His recliner is perfectly molded to his body, his side table littered with cigarette butts and empty Pabst cans. The blare of NASCAR is ever-present, and you swear you can see the outline of an ad-riddled Camaro burned into the television screen.

On any given Saturday you hear “Beer, baby,” about a dozen times.

Beer, baby.

Beer, baby.

‘Nother beer, baby.

They almost don’t sound like real words after the first several. Just a nonsensical pattern of plosives spewing into the air that your mother is conditioned to respond to like a dog.

Beer, baby.

and then,

Snick. Crack. Fizz.

And she never complains, as far as you’ve heard.

You’d tried one time to yank her out of the trance.

“Mom, you don’t have to be his little barmaid, you know. He can get his own beer,” you’d said.

She just smiled that plastic smile, slid her hands down his chest from behind his chair, kissed his sweaty temple, and said, “‘Least I can do for my white knight. Ain’t never no skin off my nose.”

“White knight with the biggest sword in the land,” Joel had tacked on for his own benefit, grabbing his crotch lewdly with a filthy grin before your mother swatted him playfully and gathered his empty beer cans.

The thing about your mother’s current questionable standards is that your biological father was a shitbag, to put it lightly. He’d gotten your mom pregnant when she was just short of seventeen, and he was thirty-five. And that’s just the beginning. He’s locked up now, but he’d had about fourteen years to do damage to her in this very home that he bought for your little family to maintain appearances of family values.

To her, Joel is her white knight. She was a single mother of a teenage girl with an ex-husband in the slammer and a dead-end receptionist job at a local travel agency.

Joel showered her with love and praise without the shadow of the back of his hand just behind. And maybe he was still fifteen years her senior. Maybe he didn’t have money. Maybe he was a deadbeat, beer-bellied local with a million excuses as to why jobs never work out for him (a “Type A” personality, he likes to blame it on. Which you’re unsure he even knows what that means given that the only Type A you’ve observed in him that he could credibly claim is his blood type).

But he loved your mother when she needed it the most. And he loved her enough that he accepted the package deal the two of you came as. So there’s only so much you could hold against him.

And not that this would ever matter, in any universe, but in spite of his dirty undershirts, his ratty sweatpants, his prominent beer gut…Joel is not an unattractive man. He cleans up very well on the rare occasion your mother has required him to, and you see a sparkle of what your mother sees in him on a daily basis.

A sparkle that, for reasons unbeknownst to you, had your hand sliding into your panties once or twice or more growing up when you were still discovering your own sexuality in your twin bed with your headphones in.

You haven’t done that for years now. You barely even remember it happened. But you don’t think of Joel that way. Joel is just…Joel. He’s your stepfather. Love of your mother’s life. The stability she needed. For seven years, that’s how it’s stayed.

When you return to your house in the evening of a hot Summer night, ear freshly talked off by your old friend from high school and a stomach satiated with your favorite local spot, your mother is working on dinner for her and Joel at the stove, still dressed in her work attire.

“Looks good, sexy mama,” Joel says, slapping her ass and gripping a handful of it as he kisses her neck.

She giggles and bats him away. “Oh, shoo. Go sit and it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He fits in one final grope before plodding over to his recliner and powering on the television, eyeing you as you slip your sandals off by the front door.

“How’s Nancy?” He asks in his deep drawl, pulling the arm of the recliner until the footrest pops up for him to prop his socked feet.

“Francie,” you correct, tossing your keys into the dish on the antique wooden console table by the door. One your mother and you had spotted at an estate sale when you were seven, and one you’ve made a mental note to make sure none of your sticky-finger relatives get their hands on before you have a solid place of your own to furnish and you can take a piece of your childhood home with you.

“Francie. That’s right. How’s Francie?”

“She’s good. She thinks Josh is gonna propose soon.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” your mom pipes in, plopping a hand over her heart as she stirs. “I always liked that Josh. Always holds the door open for me when I stop by Sal’s.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” you say dismissively. What you don’t say is how he’s already cheated on Francie twice in as many years, but she keeps going back. But that’s none of your business in the end. Francie’s always been one to do what she’s going to do.

“Well, what about that boy you been seein’ every goddamn night?” Joel asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Hasn’t been every goddamn night,” you sass back, propping your hand on your hip in front of him. “We’ve been on four dates.”

“Been real long dates,” Joel says, a clear inclination in his voice.

“They have not been real long dates, Joel. They’ve been normal dates.”

“Oh, leave her be, J,” your mom scolds lightly. “She’s just havin’ fun, aren’t you, blossom?”

“I guess,” you mutter, studying the old magazines on the coffee table. “Hoping it becomes something a little more serious than ‘just fun’ soon.”

“Caught your eye, didn’t he? He’d be a dumbass to throw that away,” Joel says with surety. “Knew that the second I looked at your mama. You girls are a prize. Beautiful as all get-out.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, shifting your weight a little uncomfortably at the compliment.

Joel’s mouth falls into a smirk as he taps his side table. “You wanna make like your mama and grab me a beer, sweet girl?”

You scoff, giving him a look of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Joel gives an upside-down smile and shrugs before hollering at your mother, “Beer, baby.”

You let out an annoyed sigh and head off toward the kitchen. “I’ll fucking get it, mom. Lazy ass,” you mutter the last two words under your breath.

“Thank you, doll,” your mom says, a wide smile on her face as you pull open the fridge and retrieve his drink. You slam it down on his tiny table with thinly-veiled irritation, flourishing your hands towards it in a facetious “ta-da” gesture.

Joel looks at the can, then up at you. “Ain’t gonna open it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you bite out incredulously, turning on your heel toward your bedroom. “Open it yourself,” you yell over your shoulder as you head down the hall.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” you hear him bellow to you with a laugh in his voice as you shut your door.

—

Your mom is acting different lately. Pushing Joel away more when he becomes affectionate. More short-tempered at random moments with him. You’ve already witnessed her going off on him once since you’ve been home about him not doing the simplest things. Tidying up the table, forgetting to run errands for her while she’s at work, emptying his own ashtray. Her patience is much thinner the last several weeks since you’ve been home, and you’re not sure for how long prior.

But you see her smiling at her phone one evening when Joel is out at a bar with his friends. It’s a certain kind of smile. Less plastered on, more secretive in its delight. Forty minutes later she tells you she’s playing some late-night pinochle at a friend’s and to not wait up for her. She looks awful dolled up for a card game night with “friends”, but you say nothing.

She’s playing some “late-night pinochle” with someone, alright, you think.

Joel stumbles in at 2 AM, clattering loudly around in the kitchen. You pad out of your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, squinting into the bright kitchen lights.

“The fuck are you doing, Joel?”

His head whips around, hand frozen on the handle of an open kitchen drawer. “Shit, sweetheart. Sorry, didn’t know I’d wake ya.”

“You’re being noisy as fuck. What are you rooting around in here for?”

“Ran outta smokes. I know I got a spare pack stashed in here.”

You sigh tiredly, resting your chin on your hand on the counter. “Junk drawer on the right.”

Joel follows your instructions and emerges victorious, waggling the pack in the air. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, pushing yourself off the counter to head back to your slumber.

“Wanna have a smoke with me out back?”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. “I don’t really smoke.”

Joel fixes you with a telling look, eyebrows raised. “Mama’s not home. You wanna have a smoke with me?”

You stand quiet for a pause, but then roll your eyes and tilt your head to the back door in a silent acquiescence. Joel smiles lightly and follows your gesture, slipping a cigarette into your hand as he passes.

The night air is still balmy, but there is a light breeze. You hunker down on the porch steps and Joel flicks his lighter for the both of you.

You’re not a habitual smoker. It’s purely social and for the occasional nerves. Your mom hates smoking, even hates that Joel does it. But she really doesn’t want you to get trapped in it. And as far as she knows, you’ve never had nicotine in your life. She definitely doesn’t know that you’d surreptitiously coerced Joel into offering you your first cigarette at sixteen. On these exact same steps.

You smoke in relative silence for several minutes, the cicadas chirping around you and the wood creaking underneath.

Then, into the dark, “She’s steppin’ out on me.”

You look over at him, legs spread, half-smoked cigarette dangling between them, and looking a little more haggard than you remember seeing him before.

Something about the softness in his face, the puffiness under his eyes, has you looking at him in a more sympathetic light that has nothing to do with the dying glow of the bulb above the doorway.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” you mutter gently. But he’s right and you know it. You don’t know the details, but she’s not being the most subtle about it.

“Don’t want to,” Joel replies, taking another pull from his smoke. “But the signs’ve been there for a while.”

You nod silently in understanding, feeling the burn of the smoke in your throat.

Joel sighs, tendrils of smoke billowing from his mouth. “Happens, I guess. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah. It’ll blow over,” you agree. Joel doesn’t respond again, just stares out at the overgrown, weed-infested back lawn. You knock your knee against his until you have his attention. You reassure him, “It’ll blow over.”

Joel stares at you for a prolonged minute, then bumps your knee back. A heavy palm falls low onto your bare thigh, stroking gently with a thick thumb. Goosebumps flare up under it immediately, a strange feeling in your stomach ramping up at the graze of him. You blink and take another drag.

Joel’s hand slides off your leg, leaving a bizarre chill in its wake. He pulls himself up and taps out the smoldering butt onto the railing.

“It’ll blow over,” he confirms, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.

Tightness constricts in your chest as you desperately suck down to the filter on your cigarette, jettisoning the smoke into the air pensively.

A lot has changed since you were sixteen.

—

The night had not gone as planned. Six dates and you really thought this would be the one. You knew it would be long distance, but you thought he liked you.

You hadn’t even gone on Tinder with the intent of finding a relationship, but then you went on a few dates and you thought, maybe you could do it. He’s cute, sweet, makes you come and then fucks you well. You had thought this would be the night. The “Will you be my girlfriend” night, not the “This isn’t going to work” night. So you’re fighting back tears as he awkwardly drives you home.

Joel is in his chair, beer in hand, when you walk through the door. You’re really not in the mood, so you beeline it for the hallway.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?” Joel calls after you as you sequester yourself in your room, chuck your heels at your closet, and hurl yourself onto your bed.

Not two minutes go by before a light knock sounds at your door. “You okay, sweet girl?”

“Fuck off,” you yell back at him through the closed door. But the door opens, and Joel is there, leaning against the doorway.

“Date go to shit?”

“How tactful,” you grumble, wringing the pillow in your lap with your hands and dropping your head back against your headboard.

Joel chuckles, but he looks earnest in his interest. “Come on, darlin’. What happened?”

You shrug dismissively, throat thick with your restrained emotions.

Joel knocks on the doorway in an awkward fidget, before ultimately crossing the barrier into your room and sitting on the bed at your feet, looking at you expectantly.

You bite your lower lip, doing your damndest to stave off the tears. “He broke things off.”

“Dumbass,” Joel mutters.

“I’m the dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. I would know, wouldn’t I?” Joel teases, jostling your foot lightly.

A hint of a smile forms on your face. “Yeah, you would. Dumbass extraordinaire.”

Joel matches your smile with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. He tugs at your ankle. “Come ‘ere.”

You groan, but toss the pillow aside and scoot down the bed next to him, folding your legs to the side in your wrinkled dress. Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him. You sigh and lower your head onto his shoulder.

“It’s fucking stupid, but I liked him,” you say quietly.

“He don’t deserve you,” he says, hugging around your waist.

“Apparently no boy does, at this point,” you sniffle. The scent of Joel fills your nostrils — beer, cigarettes, a thin sheen of sweat. It should be off-putting, but it smells like growing up. Like maturity.

“You’re right. No boy does.”

The arm around you shifts, and once again, a hand. Warm on your thigh. Midway up this time, just below the hem of your dress. You stare down at it, conflicted.

“What do you mean?” You ask, fearing you already know the answer.

“I think you need a man,” Joel rumbles, squeezing at your thigh.

You swallow thickly, unable to look away from the masculine hand clamped onto your leg, a little less than innocently.

“Joel? Where’s my mom?”

When Joel doesn’t reply, you pry your eyes from his hand to study his face. You see his expression and the answer passes between you wordlessly.

She’s not here. You both know where she is. And you both know she won’t be back for a good while.

Joel’s gaze fixes on yours as his hand slips up a single inch, pinky dipping just under your skirt.

“Joel…” you whisper, but you don’t think he quite hears it. His eyes drop down to your mouth and stay there, watch as your tongue flicks over your suddenly very dry lips. “What are you doing?”

A casual smile twitches onto his lips as another inch is lost between him and a ticking time bomb. He just repeats, “You deserve a man.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand closes the distance, dress dragging up your thigh until his pinky brushes the soft fabric of your panties. Your eyes drift closed at the feather-light touch, a war waging in your head.

Joel was not the one meant to discover the type of underwear that’s under this dress tonight. He’s the very last person you expected. As he should be. He’s your stepfather. You’ve overheard him fucking your mother countless times.

Overheard how good he is. How big he is. How thorough he is.

Your leg quivers under his palm, your jaw clenching with the discordance in your mind.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” you say shakily, fingers gripping the sheets under you. “I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Joel’s gaze bounces between your eyes and your lips. Then he gives you a sultry look and speaks the forbidden words.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your fingers dance anxiously as Joel’s pinky grazes up the crotch of your panties again, where you’re terrified he’s going to find you responding favorably to this scenario.

“You want me to keep it a secret from my mother that her husband fucked her only daughter?” You burst out in a single breath. You feel lightheaded and tingly. You can’t parse your thoughts and they’re starting to get crowded.

“Already usin’ the past tense, huh?” Joel says huskily, and you feel his hand burrowing in between your thighs until two fingers press at the seam of your pussy over your underwear. “Seems like your mind’s already made up, sweet girl.”

You whimper quietly, the clouds in your brain growing denser by the second. Then, without ever actively deciding on a course of action, your legs are resituating themselves into a position much less concerned with modesty. Your thighs are spreading with zero input from your critical thinking skills, and a stifled groan slips out of Joel.

“Feels like it, too,” Joel moans, fingers rubbing over what must be a prominent wet spot on your panties.

You release your first moan, and it seems to echo around your room and back into your ears, spearing through the overcast in your head. You finally vocalize what you really should keep inside at this point, but it needs to be said.

“Joel, I-I’m your stepdaughter. Y-you’re my stepfather. We can’t.”

Joel’s nose ghosts up your jaw, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “Grown woman, aren’t ya? Ain’t my blood, neither.”

“My mom…”

“Your mama ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell her.”

“I can’t lie to her,” you insist, but your mouth drops open as one of his fingers strokes at the crease of your thigh and your pussy, shaved smooth mere hours ago for your date. His skin on your skin, in a place where it should never fucking be.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Joel breathes into your neck, and his lips land just after, shoving your concerns to the side. You jump at the stroke of his tongue over your throat, the scrape of his teeth, and all at once you’re slave to it.

You fall onto your back and he follows you down, straddling your hips and cupping your jaw, pushing it upward as he sucks at your neck. If you don’t stop him, he’s going to leave a mark. As if he hasn’t already. The deed is as good as done.

“Joel, be carefu—”

“Don’t call me Joel,” he growls, nipping below your ear.

“What do I call you?”

Joel’s mouth halts on you, exhaling over his saliva on your skin. “Daddy. Call me daddy,” he instructs, latching onto you again.

“Fuck,” you sigh, craning your neck up for his enjoyment. “That’s so fucked.”

Joel’s laugh borders on unhinged as he presses his lips to your ear and whispers, “We’re already fucked. Would be a waste to half-ass it.”

He hooks a finger into the gusset of your underwear and tugs it to the side, and you can sense him watching your expressions as your eyes clench shut in disbelief that this is actually happening, while not even dreaming of telling him to stop.

Air rushes out your chest as a thick finger glides through the folds of your cunt, confirming your arousal with damning evidence.

“Jesus, you’re juicy as a fuckin’ peach, darlin’,” Joel groans, sounding almost pained at the discovery.

“Not the first time. I used to think about you,” you admit, a runaway train, brakes shot. “When I was younger.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Joel moans, forehead pressing against your temple. “Give people the wrong idea.”

“Never telling anyone else. Just you. Besides, I’m all woman now…daddy,” you coo, testing the waters.

“Fuck,” he swears loudly again, another finger joining the first to massage at your clit. “Nasty, naughty girl. You take after your mama.”

You whine and wriggle under him at the comparison, but by some inexplicable, Freudian twist of fate, a distant, previously obscured light in your chest begins to beam. “Keep touching me, daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, you will,” Joel says in response. Not like an order or an expectation. But like it’s a given. Like you’d ever behave any other way beneath him. As if he’d known all along, all seven years, that you would end up right here. Disheveled and heartbroken on your twin-sized, pastel pink duvet, with paternal fingers that have biblically, intimately known the inside of your creator, the site of your creation, now acquainting themselves with the life she created.

Do you feel like her? Do you have her lips like you have her mouth? Has this man successfully sown and reaped the benefits of a distressingly similar — kindred — octet of lips? Matching horizontal and vertical smiles all thirsting, parched, yet drooling for him under a single roof? If he closes his eyes, could he tell the difference?

Joel’s breath is at your ear, sending chills over your flesh from head to toe, muddying your mind.

“Take off your dress.”

A full-body shudder wracks through you at the order, a traitorous flood of wetness flowing from your opening as Joel continues to explore you with his touch. You begin shrugging out of your dress straps until steadying fingers cling to your thigh.

Joel pulls your focus with damp fingers perched on the underside of your chin, your own slick marring your skin at the hand of your father figure. Your lip trembles as he commands your attention.

“Stand up. And take it off. For me,” he instructs measuredly, bringing his thumb down to stroke the point of your chin softly.

A burning starts in your throat, like the smolder of one of his cigarettes slipped into your mouth. “Y-you want me to strip for you?”

Joel’s lips slant upwards and he says, “I wanna see everything you have to offer your daddy.”

You nod, the blaze in your throat sizzling to your chest as you long to reveal all you have to him.

You extract from the cage of his limbs to upright yourself, smoothing the line of your dress down to its full length, hitting you mid-thigh. Your hand twists back to capture your zipper, and with torturous patience, you work it downward. Your straps droop down your shoulders with the slack, and you’re quick to wrap an arm around your breasts to prevent too premature an exposure. You get the feeling that a man like Joel appreciates the delay of gratification, if his ask of you putting on a show for him is any indication.

The zipper ends precariously at the top of your ass, the sides of your dress falling open to show the expanse of your back to him along with the band of your bra.

“Fuck,” you hear him say under his breath, the squeak of your mattress springs sounding as he moves behind you into an unknown position on the bed.

You languidly slip your arms from the straps entirely, pressing the dress to your tits for a moment longer before letting the top of the garment fall at the waist, holding it to your stomach instead.

“Just like that, sweetheart. That’s right,” Joel grinds out, the springs squealing again, but this time accompanied by the rasp of a different zipper.

Curiosity, eagerness get the better of you, and you start to turn. But you’re instantly met with a hard, “Uh-uh. Keep lookin’ forward. You’ll get an eyeful soon enough.”

You fix your gaze forward again, struggling to keep up this glacial charade when you have good reason to believe what you long to see is now just behind you. So you bring your hands to the side of your dress and shift it down, bending at the waist to put your ass on display in your lacy thong you’d worn for your date, until the dress at last crumples to the floor.

A low whistle sings behind you as you stay bent for a decent few seconds before standing at full height again. Your fingers fiddle with the clasps of your bra at your back, coming apart with practiced ease. The article hits the floor as well, your tits free to the air and your nipples hardening at the exposure.

“God, you’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Finish the picture for daddy.”

You whimper, your fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong on either side. With a final flair of showmanship, you shimmy the elastic strap of your panties up and down with a slight sway in your hips, before bending at the waist again as the last stitch of clothing on your body sounds a silent death knell as it hits the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

The air feels thick and weighty as the quiet stretches. You can hear the hum of voices from the television Joel didn’t shut off before he sought to damn the both of you. You could wrestle with the reality that the soundtrack to your irredeemable sin is a King of the Hill rerun, but Joel is still on your bed, and you’re still hands-to-ankles, laying waste to each and every ounce of sense you’ve accrued in your twenty years.

A resounding groan shatters your trance as Joel thrusts you back into the situation at hand. “Fuckin’ Christ,” you hear, and then the loud thump of Joel’s knees crashing to the ground, rough hands startling you as they take hold of your hips. Your palms slam to the carpet to maintain your balance as wet lips suck open-mouthed kisses onto your asscheek.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh loudly, your feet arching onto your tip-toes as the kisses close in on your aching core. Two thumbs part the split of your pussy from behind, and Joel doesn’t waste another second diving in. A large, flattened tongue licks a line up the length of your pussy, clit to entrance, leaving your legs shaking.

Another deep, gratuitous moan rings out, and Joel’s mouth is stroking over you with rigorous passion. Joel comes up for air, but only to take an aggressive bite into the globe of your ass, one sure to leave behind unmistakable, irrefutable physical evidence of exactly who had been there.

It’s foreboding.

But why does it feel like sanctuary?

A tug at your hips, and you’re at last spinning back around to face him.

And his eyes are ravenous. Ruinous.

His mouth descends onto your mound, slobbering up the small strip of hair you left as a guiding path to whoever sought to grant you pleasure.

An almost-boyfriend.

Or a stepfather.

But he goes against the grain, kissing further and further north of your throbbing cunt, over your stomach, up your sternum. Your spit-slick tits find refuge in the confines of his hands, groping, pushing, pulling at them as your nipples drag against his palms.

You manage to steal a glimpse between you, fiending for a sneak peek of that sword he constantly boasts about. He hasn’t revealed much, other than a sizeable bulge and a red, shining head poking out from the band of his boxers. It’s enough to have you imagining what it will feel like inside you, crying out for it to become reality.

His lips claim your neck with purpose as he steers you toward your bed, the backs of your legs giving way and cascading the both of you into a sea of bedding. Your head nestles among your pillows as Joel works his way south again.

Joel looks up at you as he approaches the seam of your pussy. Heated exhales tease at your clit as he says, “You always screamin’ about why your mama keeps me around? Lemme show you why.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to take in the sight of your stepfather’s mouth sinking down onto your pussy and dancing his tongue over the bundle of nerves that has been throbbing for him. The first sucking pull of his mouth on you has your head tipping back in an entirely unhindered moan, and you have to flop it back down, your chin colliding with your chest in your haste to view the bob of his head between your legs.

Joel’s work is impressive to say the least. His tongue drags up and down the length of you, stopping to circle your clit with a pointed tip and suck you back into the wet warmth of him. Your entrance leaks in excessive excitement as he riles you up with gusto, hands framing you at the inside of your thighs and spreading you wide for his consumption.

He breaks away, not allowing himself to go far, to croon over your soaked core, “Such a sweet pussy on such a sweet girl.”

You exhale heavily, browns furrowing in overwhelming pleasure as he directs his attention back to your clit. A finger tests the bounds of your opening, stroking the perimeter of the point of no return.

He knows the outside of you now. He’s familiarized himself with every inch of the surface of your skin, either with his eyes, or with the aid of his mouth. Inside is foreign territory. Inside is unforgivable.

He slides in so easily, it’s like you rolled out a welcome mat and propped open the door. He’s filled you to the webbing of his fingers in a manner of a half-second, and you feel dizzy with it.

Then he’s fucking you with it, and it’s like you’re floating. The grip of your cunt around his finger has him moaning around your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He crooks his finger, stroking at the softest part of you, and you feel yourself unraveling at an alarming pace.

“Daddy…daddy…” you call out desperately, hands thrusting into the sheets to scramble for something to keep you earth-bound.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel says, hovering only for a brief moment above your clit to ensure you maintain your high. “Come on, come for your daddy,” he finishes, diving right back onto your clit and thrusting a second finger into you along with the first, honing in on your blessed g-spot like he had it marked on a map of you from the second he met you.

All said and done, it takes him minutes to bring you to the brink of destruction, where you’re squeezing around his practiced fingers and arching for the sky, screaming exactly what he’d instructed you to call him.

His mouth remains warm and diligent against you as you work through the throes, pulling the full extent of your pleasure to its frayed ends, until you’re pushing him away with trembling hands to get some reprieve.

Joel’s head falls against your thigh as he levels his breathing, soaked fingers streaking your hip. The bed frame wobbles as he starts to grind against the mattress.

“Goddamn. I usually make your mama come at least three times before I even stick my dick inside her. But feelin' how tight your little cunt is clenching on my fingers I’d be a damn fool not to take a test drive right fuckin’ now. One’ll have to be enough.”

You whimper, your legs falling open to accommodate his broadness as he moves up your body. Your fist tugs at his shirt as you say, “Wanna see you too.”

Joel glances down at himself and gives a little wince. “Not nearly as pretty as you are, sweet girl.”

“I don’t care.”

Joel sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright, but you ain’t gettin’ the whole rigmarole,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the back collar of his shirt and pull it over his head, damning it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. His cock is quickly freed of its confines as the godforsaken pile builds, and you get your first real look at him.

And for all the little white lies Joel tells, you have to give him credit. The boasting was not borne of a necessity for overcompensation.

Joel is big.

You should have guessed. In every passing gloat from Joel, your mother has never argued the opposite. She only ever grows embarrassed, smacks him lightly for being crass.

Apparently his doting compliments and pussy-eating prowess are not the only reasons she’s kept him around.

“‘M I what you expected, sweet girl?” Joel asks, his eyes hooded as a hand strokes down the length of himself with a casual, justified pride that only exists in men who are impressively sized and they know it.

The dumbfounded expression on your face refuses to dissipate as you shake your head “no”, followed by a flurry of rapid blinking as you nod your head “yes”. Then a confounded response sputters out, “I-I didn’t know what to expect. You always said…but I didn’t….”

“‘S okay, darlin’. Normal for a girl to go cockdumb when she sees a dick like this for the first time.”

You just nod, a woman possessed by her deepest, darkest desires, regardless of how sick and depraved they may be to the sound mind.

And, god help you, you are not currently of sound mind. Maybe you couldn’t prove that in a court of law, but in your own psyche, you certainly are clearly lacking in the logic sector at the moment.

Joel really has nothing to be concerned with in the looks department. Your eyes are transfixed on one thing only, up until your field of view is robbed of it, replaced by the glassy-eyed lust on Joel’s face as he drapes over you.

“Fuck,” Joel groans, his expression nearly pained as he takes in the enraptured silence of you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about how your mama must’ve felt before she pushed you out. This is the closest I’ll ever get to feelin’ that for myself.”

A whine escapes you as you wrap your arms under the backs of your knees, deliberately spreading yourself as wide as you can for him with blatant intentions. Let him feel it for himself. You’re so hungry for him, you feel fit to burst over it. You’ll be the newer model of her. You’ll be a tight, young hole for him. You’ll give him what she hasn’t been giving him, what you haven’t overheard in weeks from their bedroom.

“Fuck yeah, sweet girl,” Joel moans, positioning his cock at your waiting entrance. “Show me how your mama felt twenty years ago.”

You’re certain your own fall from grace should not feel so heavenly. But the first shove of Joel’s cock inside you toes a line dangerously close to a reckoning. The stretch of your walls around him, the death grip you have on your assured destruction, the fullness he’s wrought upon you nothing short of gluttonous satisfaction.

“Daddy, that’s so good,” you sigh into his ear, and it earns you a rumbling grunt as he bottoms out.

“Jesus, baby,” he moans, burying his face into your neck. “She teach you how to keep it this tight for me?”

She.

He sinks inside you, makes room inside his wife’s daughter for himself, and how thoughtlessly her identity is reduced to…she.

Your breath hitches as Joel pulls out to the head and he slams the full length of him into you, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your wrists around his neck.

You’ve heard Joel’s sex noises countless times before across the hall, muffled by closed doors. He’s an entirely different animal when you’re mainlining his sounds, his words directly into your ear. The scratch of thirty years of cigarettes in his moans, the chant of the devil in his terms of endearment, the authoritative intonation of a guardian.

He beats inside you like a drum, a deafening reverberation, punching air out of your lungs with every punitive thrust. His balls slap against the split of your ass like the muted clap of hi-hat cymbals, keeping tempo for you as your mind drifts away.

Flashes of reality wade through your hedonistic bliss, like they’re desperate to haul you to shore, save you from this entirely avoidable fate, resuscitate your suffocated sanity. Your brain beseeches you to notice your glaringly exposed circumstances. Your bedroom door as ajar as your mouth moaning for him, your window curtains spread wide as your legs, your ceiling light as illuminated as your soul emitting the final streaks of vibrancy before the sun sets at dusk.

You’re recklessly laid bare for Joel and the world around you. A single rogue pair of eyes could end that world as you know it. Your mother could walk through the front door, down the hall at any moment. Even still, your heels dig into his flesh to hold him inside you, your skin yearns for the drag of his hair-spattered potbelly against your soft stomach.

You long to be full of more than just his cock.

Through hiccuping breaths you say, “Come inside me.”

Joel lets out a conflicted keen as the pendulum of his hips swing. “I can’t, baby. We can’t.”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you whine like a child in protest. “I’m on birth control. I promise.”

Joel’s breath grows labored as his orgasm looms over him, a strain in his voice as he wrestles with your pleading request.

“Fuck,” he yells out, his hips stilling inside you as you moan on his cock, high on the prospect of his spend painting your insides with sin.

But you don’t feel him throbbing, pulsing within your walls. He’s not winded and gasping from a climax wrung from your clutch.

“Daddy…?”

“I can’t, baby.”

“Please. I need it inside me.”

Joel groans, but his cock drags free of your pussy, leaving you empty and fundamentally altered. Joel’s hand brushes across your forehead, a boundless devotion in his eyes. “How about I shoot my load inside your mouth, huh? So you can have part of me in your belly. You wanna suck your sloppy cunt off daddy’s cock?”

A broken moan slips out of you as you stare down the layers of what seems a lot like love in his gaze. Maybe more than one kind of love. Something more akin to a convoluted amalgamation of parental, platonic, sexual, worshipful love and affection.

A warm hand cups your cheek and you nod in compliance to his suggestion. Joel’s lips press a kiss against your forehead, leaving a burn in its wake. He takes your hand and leads you off the bed with him. He doesn’t have to ask, you just drop to your knees in a showing of submission.

“You felt how big daddy is. Think you can fit him?”

“I can,” you state assuredly. You take initiative, gripping the base of him and gliding up and down your stepfather’s cock with your own slick.

“You sure? She’s able to take all of it, but it’s a struggle. So be real positive.”

“I can do it,” you say confidently, poising his tip at your mouth.

“Go ahead and show me, then.”

You take him into your mouth and you half expect him to dissolve on your tongue. A Eucharist to tide you over until he spills his wine, heady and white across your supplicant taste buds.

But he’s solid, hefty as he slides deeper, a presence unignorable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. All the way back,” he coaxes, and a whimper seeps out from you around his girth. His hand strokes over your hair in blessing as he knocks at the back of your throat, your face screwing up as your reflexes activate. You stave off the worst of them, eyes watery as they gaze up at him. “Still got more to go.”

You nod as gently as you can, feeling the strain in your jaw.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your face. Loosen you up a bit, okay?”

A greedy noise of approval from you and Joel’s fingers are entwining in your hair, gripping hard enough to pleasantly sting. Your mouth is wet and drooling when Joel pulls your head off of him, until just the tip weighs down your tongue.

“She digs her fingernails into her palm to make it easier. Don’t know if that helps.”

You whimper and glance down at your hand. You’ve already got half-moon crescents piercing the heel of it. Timidly, you open it up to reveal it to him.

A throaty growl fills your ears as he tightens his hold on your hair. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Like mother, like daughter.

There’s a loud grunt and Joel is fucking into your mouth with little mercy. Your dry lips crack to accommodate the size of him, your cheeks concaving to maximize his sensation, and the back of your throat taking a beating as his head punches the tender flesh with impeccable rhythm.

As your one hand threatens to prick blood under the pressure of your nails, the other seeks to draw it from Joel’s hip. You’re not trying to stop him, or even harm him, but you need him to feel what he’s doing to you. How certifiably insane he has you, a puppet with holes for him to fill and control. You’re a living, breathing creature, but he fucks your mouth like you have no need to breathe at all.

You’d inhale through your nose, but it’s clogged with snot and running in rivulets down to your lips, servicing him with further lubrication for your debasement. The salty wet cascading down your cheeks blurs your vision as you force yourself to maintain precious eye contact with him.

There’s a divine burst of air in your lungs as your head is wrenched from Joel’s cock, and you cough and sputter, willing yourself to suck in the sex-tainted oxygen around you.

Joel’s hand cups your jaw, smearing the mixture of snot, saliva, and tears on your skin. “You’re gonna take me deeper this time. All the fuckin’ way back. Wanna feel your goddamn nose smashed against my belly button.”

You sniffle your congested nostrils, but nod. You’re not sure why you say it, but you whisper, your voice distorted by stuffiness, “Fix me.”

A pitying noise falls from his throat as he slides his thumb into your mouth for you to suck in pacification. “Ain’t nothin’ need fixin’. You just needed a better daddy. ‘N that’s what I’m here for.”

A muted sob puffs around his finger, and you think you might see glistening in Joel’s eyes for a passing second. But he clears his throat and it’s gone, his hand around the base of his cock again and his thumb prying open your mouth.

When the head of him pushes past the block of your throat, Joel’s grunt could probably be heard by the neighbors. Nevermind that where you now stand is in perfect frame of your first floor window, a glowing halo at the side of your house. The alarm on your bedside table blinks 12:35 AM, so the Christensens are likely fast asleep. But although you may have a fence, Douglas and Cheryl have a second floor, where their bedroom window could peer right into yours.

And yet you stay on your knees, unhinging your jaw for the eight, maybe nine, inches of cock your stepfather is feeding down your throat while your mother is absent, getting reamed by her boss or coworker or friend's friend ten miles away. You’re sure the view is remarkable. A perfect, vignetted cameo portrait of familial implosion.

Your mother most certainly did not raise a quitter, that much is evident when the last inch of Joel’s length is seated in your mouth and your nose contorts at the prominent curve of his stomach, just like he wished. Joel’s arms are secured around your head, holding you to his gut in a manner that might be endearing and benign if you weren’t simultaneously choking around his entire cock.

Instead he’s cutting off your air supply and using his unyielding embrace to rutt into your throat in short bursts as you fight not to eject him.

The mess when you resurface is notable. If you were still trapped in that dress, the front of it would be sodden, soaked through with spit. You’re not sure there’s a spot on your face that isn’t coated in some form of your own fluids — the slobber from your mouth smearing over Joel’s hairy abdomen and transferring to your forehead and temples, and even more rivers of saliva dripping onto the carpet.

You feel debauched and torn apart, and you still croak, “Again.”

Nails in your palms do nothing for you now. You've already crucified yourself.

Once he’s buried deep again, he secures the back of your head with a single arm, and then you feel the breadth of his other hand around your throat.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Joel groans out, nearly as wrecked as you’ve been all evening. “Can feel my cock in there.”

Joel’s hips move in staccato jabs, just to feel the glide of his fat head demolishing your throat through the skin of your neck pressed against his hand. If you hadn’t tapped rapidly at his hip, gasping for air, you fear he may have been content to die there.

You collapse onto your hands and knees, rasping and pulling air into your deprived lungs, cheek colliding with the dampened carpet as you catch your breath.

“What a fuckin’ trooper. You are a one-of-a-kind wonder, sweet girl,” Joel pants out, hands on his knees and his cock angry and purpling as it bobs and jerks in denial of its orgasm.

Through your slouching to find your breath, you smile.

“Let’s give you a little break, huh? Come and give daddy’s balls a little kiss.”

He clasps a hand on your bicep, helping you back up onto your knees as you regain composure. You’re a bit wobbly, but you ground yourself with hands on his thighs, resting your forehead just to the side of the root of him. Your tongue lolls out and swipes up his sack in a languid stroke.

Joel hums his approval above you, his hand reclaiming its place on the back of your head lightly. With his guidance you dip down, slipping one of his balls into your mouth as he moans out praises.

His balls are large and lush with hair, on par with the rest of him. They hang low, dangling inches down into the space between his thighs. You cradle them in your hand as you caress them with your tongue, sinuses slowly draining as his concentrated musk penetrates your nostrils, filling your olfactory senses with him. You pop one of his balls out of your mouth to pamper the other in equal measure.

Joel begins to pull at his cock with long, tempered strokes. “Fuck, that’s right sweet girl. Treat ‘em real gentle. Might have a little brother or sister in there.”

You whine as you widen your mouth, succeeding in fitting the pair of them inside thanks to your sufficiently stretched jaw, properly warmed up from his dick.

“Shit,” Joel says, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice as he gasps, branding at the waist slightly at the overwhelm of your hot mouth encasing him. “‘F that greedy pussy ever clamps around me again like this filthy mouth is…might even be a son or daughter in there too.”

You moan a little too passionately at that, your mouth packed full of possibilities, and Joel’s hips jolt forward at the sensation, a pleasurable noise of his own spilling out.

“Jesus, can’t moan when I say shit like that. You’re gonna make me…” Joel groans again flexing around his cock. “Gonna have to hit it from the back next time. ‘Lot easier to not just blow my load up that cunt when I don’t got you lookin’ up at me with them puppy dog eyes, beggin’ your daddy to come inside you.”

Next time.

How do you feel about a next time?

You don’t even know what’s going to greet you come daylight.

Joel’s fingers yank on your hair as your mouth works dutifully on his balls, finally saying, “Fuck, daddy needs to come, sweet girl.”

He slips from your mouth, but it opens again for him instantly as he starts to jack himself in earnest. He lays the trickling head on your tongue as he grunts and gasps, and you raise a hand to tease at his balls, squeezing them tenderly as you see his eyes roll in response.

“Fuck, fuck, open up for me, little mama,” he groans, signaling the first thick burst of spend shooting to the back of your raw throat. Joel growls his way through his climax, rope after never-ending rope of come pooling on your tongue until it overflows the corners of your lips and down your chin and neck.

Joel swears as his pulses slow to a stop, taking the tip of his cock and dragging it over the puddle of him on your tongue, spilling more from your mouth and down your tits. “Good girl,” he pants, finally withdrawing his dick. “Swallow for daddy.”

You obey eagerly, pushing all he gave you to the back of your throat to join where the rest of him had already been. You present your clean tongue, preening slightly, and Joel returns a sleepy, immensely proud grin.

There’s a scraping at the front door, and you both dart your heads to the open doorway.

“Shit!” Joel bites out panicked under his breath, shattering what you both have built as he bolts out the door, pulling yours shut as well as his own in his marathon back to the bedroom he shares with your mother.

You hear the front door open and you’re snapped out of your daydream of a night, lunging for your light switch to kill any suspicions of you being conscious. You flatten your hands against the back of your door, pressing an ear to the wood as you stifle your breathing.

You hear the noise on the television cut to silence, then footsteps. The door across the hall squeaks open and…nothing, save for the faint sound of fabricated snoring. You hear your mother sigh, the two thumps of her heels kicking off, and then, “Might as well be right where I left you.”

A stretch of silence, then you hear the low hum of her voice in a string of words that sounds like, “‘F I could, I’d probably just leave you altogether.”

You hear her feet padding down the hall, then the snick of the fridge in the kitchen.

As quiet as you possibly can, you twist the handle of your door and peek through a small gap. Joel lays naked on his stomach on top of their sheets, back rising and falling with his breath, facing you as his head dents his pillow on the bedside closest to the door.

The protector’s side.

And as silent as you tried to be, you see Joel’s eyes squint open directly at you as your door opens. You stare each other down, and you feel your heart begin to pound.

When your lip starts trembling, you close the door.

It’s not until you’re nestled under your covers that you realized what he had called you when he’d come across your tongue.

—

The morning comes uneventful, despite your entire world shifting on its axis. A normal Saturday. You exit your room just as your mother is tidying the kitchen table of breakfast and Joel is starting up the shower in their bedroom.

“Mornin’, blossom. You want some eggs?”

She seems as chipper as ever, scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Uh, no. Thanks,” you dismiss, heading straight for the couch and curling up as you grab the remote.

She joins you shortly after, folding her legs up under her in a frightening mirror of your own.

“I’m sorry about that boy, sweet pea.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking away from the TV to observe her.

“J told me about what happened with the boy. He’s definitely a dummy.”

“Oh,” you say once you realize what she’s talking about. Truth be told, you haven’t spared that boy a second thought since Joel wrapped his arm around you last night. “It’s whatever. Boys come and go, right?”

“Some of ‘em stay,” she says, glancing down the hall to the sounds of the shower.

You follow her gaze, undoubtedly battling the dissonance in her head of what she’d done last night, and who was waiting for her back at home.

Only she doesn’t know that he wasn’t up pacing over her. He wasn’t waiting for her at all. And it might just be in your own head, but you hope he was maybe the slightest bit…disappointed at the sound of the front door.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

You see the confliction swimming in her eyes, and you place a hand over hers.

“But some of them aren’t going to stay forever if you’re giving them a good reason to leave, mom.”

Her eyes meet yours, tears brimming and threatening to break. “How do you…?”

“You could see it from space, mom. And he can too.”

She brings a knuckle to her waterline, dabbing at the tears before they can fall and muddy her mascara. She sniffles and shrugs with a raised hand, letting it fall back down in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, sweet pea,” she says, letting out a small, pitiful sob. You clasp your hand over hers and squeeze, feeling your own eyes begin to prick at seeing your mother choked up. “You ever…like you get so comfortable, things are goin’ so good, that you start to get anxious? And before you know it…you’re…you’re sabotagin’ yourself. Throwin’ stones, tearin’ down everythin’ that ever brought you a lick’a happiness. Like…like you need to destroy it before it destroys you?”

A lump forms in your throat as she speaks, and you clench your hand a little harder than you intend to. It hits you pretty hard, the reality of it all. Joel is in the shower, washing your dried spit and slick from his cock. Maybe even with your mother’s soap. Wiping away what didn’t already rub off on their shared sheets.

“Yeah, mom,” you say, your throat scratchy from more than just the emotional influx. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The memories come back in succession. Joel’s hand on your bare thigh. Your dress dropping to the floor. Coming on his mouth, his fingers. His cock pushing inside for the first time. His hand feeling his length down your throat. His spend dribbling from your lips.

You deserve a man.

Good girl.

Swallow for daddy.

Why did you do it? That safety, that security Joel has been for you since you were a teenager. The reliable presence, always sitting in that chair three feet to your right. Sipping his beer, spilling on the remote, losing potato chips in the couch cushions.

It’s all twisted up now with memories of his naked body, his satanic tongue and devilish grin, the stretch of his cock that you’ve now felt inside you — still feel inside you, if you’re honest. The soreness persists in the entrance of your pussy, the wall of your cervix, the column of your throat. Evidence of your betrayal to the one who gave you life.

She granted you breath, and you used it to moan “daddy” beneath her husband. Allowed him to take that breath from you as you gagged on the very flesh that makes your mother gasp his name in the sanctity of their marriage bed.

Maybe your mother desecrated it first, but he and you…he and you incinerated it. Rolled around and fucked in the ashes.

She may have gathered her train, lifted her dress for someone else. But the veil hasn’t been removed yet. And you’re nowhere near ready to admit to her that she no longer has somewhere to sleep. She can remain blind for now.

A tear finally drips free down your cheek.

“Yeah, mama. You…you have no idea. How well I know.”

A watery smile crosses her face and she leans toward you, cupping your face in her hands. “We’re gonna be okay, blossom. We get through shit, don’t we? Can’t take us down.”

You nod in her hands, the lump in your throat closer to a golf ball now. “Yeah, mama.”

She strokes the plush of your cheek, wiping at your lone tear track. Then something captures her interest, and she draws back, tilting her head.

“You let him do that to you before he dumped you?”

You furrow your brows, unable to follow her line of sight where it lands at your neck. “Let him do what?”

“Got a hickey the size of Texas there, sweet pea,” your mother giggles, brushing her thumb over your throat.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes masking panic. You’d flown too close to the sun. Reckless, stupid, irresponsible. Let him defile your skin with nicotine-yellowed teeth and a thick, adulatory tongue.

It’s written on your face, on your neck, plain as day. How does she not know? How does she not see?

Because her only daughter, a child sprung from her womb when she was just a mere child herself, would never do that to her. An act so treasonous is unthinkable. Laughable. Not worth a fleeting thought.

To her.

To you…that very thought has been brewing since you were fourteen, alone in your room, the pads of your fingers pruned and your mutinous mind alive.

What if it wasn’t her? What if it was me? What would he say to me?

You deserve a man. Good girl. Swallow for daddy.

Your mother just smiles, oblivious to the context of her observation and the wretchedness within you.

“It’s okay! Nothin’ a little makeup can’t cover, huh?”

Your palms sweat as you nod.

“Come on,” she says, gripping your hand in hers as she stands, guiding you along with her. “I’ll help you. It’ll be like old times when I used to give you makeovers.”

You are hyper-aware of the slickness of your hand in hers.

She has to know, she has to know, she has to know.

But she doesn’t.

Words jam in your ravaged throat, no longer loosened by your stepfather’s brutal misconduct, as you silently follow after her into her room. She ushers you on the bed as she gathers her makeup from her vanity.

She sits beside you, smiling as she begins to tap concealer onto the bruise. “Cover it up, and it’s as good as gone. Never gotta see the boy who gave it to you again.”

You nod again lightly, your eyes falling closed as she pats at your skin. The shower turns off in the bathroom, and the sickness in your stomach roils again.

He’s washed you off now, smelling of her eucalyptus shower steamers. He bears no marks. He shares no burden. Honor by marriage is not honor by blood.

Hence why your mother’s affair can blow over. It can be fixed. Swept under the rug, forgiven in confessionals and late-night whispers during love-making.

But betrayal like this? Of daughter to mother at the hands of a father and husband? That’s Armageddon. And you didn’t pay much attention in church growing up, but you listened enough to know…the apostates are destined to lose.

Rummaging noises bleed from the bathroom, and your mother glances toward the door.

“Joel Miller, you stay in that bathroom for a minute. We’re havin’ a mother-daughter bondin’ moment in here,” she calls out to him with a broad grin, loud enough for him to hear it through the closed door.

Bonding. Oh, yes, you’re very bonded now.

“Should just attach you two at the hip while we’re at it,” he calls back. “You share damn near everythin’ with each other.”

You can't decide if he said that on purpose. If he’s twisted enough to joke about your circumstances to your mother’s naïve listening ear, or if he really is just a dense-headed dumbass, ignorant of the magnitude of his words and actions.

Regardless of how he meant it, the blush pink gossamer blur smoothing over the events from last night is beginning to slip away, the images sharpening each passing moment that you spend with your mother. What your mind was attempting to bang down your door over, grabbing hold of your thoughts to try and thrust you into reality, is finally coming into focus.

You can’t come back from this.

And what was it all for?

The sun shines through the open drapes of the window onto your mother’s back as she smiles and shakes her head at Joel’s comment, the shade cast over you shifting gently with her movement. She rolls her eyes in good-natured jest as she unknowingly conceals the mark of the devil on your neck.

Both her devil and your own.

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[writingforatwistedworld]

Firstly, congratulations on your new AU. You've put so much effort into developing such a fleshed out AU for the Otome universe. You deserve a big thank you from the readers!

On to the request! I like a good angst fic. Everyone has plans for how they will derail the plot and steal the player's love for themselves. Imagine the player just doesn't care and plays the game as intended, ending up with the scenario "prince/princess". How will our yanderes react? Choose whoever you feel inspired to write about. Thank you!

Otome au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, poison, blood, obsession, family death, family problems

Riddle Rosehears/Azul Ashengrotto/Vil Schoenheit-Trying to steal Players attention, failing and their rival (a main character) winning

Ugh, I can already see the “red paint” all over the place

Ok, Riddle, like the picture bok tyrant that he is, does not take kindly to those news

I mean, imagine, there you are, preparing for a single person for years…

and they are just like “nah, let me take this one over there instead.”

Calm down Riddle, that blood pressure isn’t healthy for you

But here you were, following the plots course you instead ended up with Che’nya, batteling against him with the power of love and friendship or however that nonsense is called against him

YOU COULD HAVE HAD THE THRONE!!! HE WAS JUST PREPARING FOR YOU!!!

Admittedly, people were suffering, everyone was afraid of loosing their head BUT IT WAS ALL FOR YOU!!!

Expect the boss battle to be a lot stronger

Suddenly you aren’t fighting against him with the stats on normal mode but the hardest one instead

He had dealed with all the dirt that could ruin your glorious reign, made sure that you would never experience what he did

But it seems like you are rather unthankfull

Also, did it have to be with him??! From all people you could have picked it was the leader of the rebellion

But oh well, yoou will be defeated soon and after the “Game over” screen he would just delete the entirety of your process

Seems like he will just need to execute his dear childhood aquiantance before you can choose him

Once more, HE WAS JUST PREPARING FOR YOU!!!

Azul knew from the very beginning that getting you into the ocean was already hard enough given that you needed to complete multiple hidden side quests to finally get the potion which would allow you to breath under water

And woud you look at that? You did it!

When you entered the ocean he thought that everything would be great, that you would finally be with him

But noooo, that spoiled little prince thought that he just needed to steal you away from him

The eels were aalso so close to you but then the redhead needed to make an apperance

I’m telling you, he threw something against the wall

He really didn’t want to play too dirty, just a bit to push you into the right direction, Azuls direction

This also led sadly to him following the plot, becoming the villain that he was meant to be

But then the day came, you had broken the curse he had placed on his rival and were now batteling against him

He even got the trident from the king and yet it was still not enough, still too weak to win against you

And wow, you really rammed that ship into his heart didn’t you

The octopus had never felt so betrayed

I mean, yeah, you didn’t know that he was waiting for you in his cave ffor so long but at the same time, you just ended his life

And then he woke up again, in his cave with Jade and Floyd still alive

This had to be his second chance, right?

It seemed like being patient and letting his ival do whatever he wanted wouldn’t do the trick. Maybe he could just let the twins handle him just how they wanted to do in the first place…

Excuse me??!

Are you seriously taking a fell prince over the king?

Vil had done everything he could do to show his overpowering presence all over the land

He even “got rid” of his own mother!

Day after day he would stay in his laborathory, learning just so he could change his fate and take you away from his half brother

And one day you really came! Oh what a wonderful day it was!!!

That smile he wore on his face was goe just a week later after he saw you and his relative sitting together, laughing about something he said

So this was how it was supposed to be…

Instead of the hard-working person who would sacrifice everything for you you choose the naive, emptyheaded, useless, despicable… *ahem* Neige over him

But he wouldn’t go down without a fight

After he saw you two together his brother suddenly got poisoned a lot of times

But every single time you would find the antidote, healing that annoyance with the magic of love and blah blah blah

One time Vil even had to hide the fact that he accedentally… uh… made someone loose too much red paint because he threw his crown in frustration, hitting a servant in the throat with the sharp spikes which were originally there to make him look majestic

And how much he wanted to throw that thing at his brother when he was forced to dance in hot iron shoes until his field of vision became darker, and darker, and darker, and dar….

When he woke up again there was no sign that he was just overthrown

But you hadn’t arrived yet… seems like he would dine with his brother one last time… how about an apple pie?

[simplifiedemotions]

Thanks for the tag @sodamnradd :*

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

53, but a lot of them are ficlets (because I’m an idiot who should’ve put my ficlets in a series collection instead of posting them individually), so I’d say the number is in the 20s.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

313,951.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

HP, jjk, grishaverse.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

8 simple rules for loving a vampire

Check (Mate)

Paper/Burning

Thrall

Untidy Souls

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Sunrise, for sure.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics tbh lmao. I actually love angst but I'm too soft-hearted when it comes to dhr. Likely with other pairings I would be far more cruel. Though I do love some good hurt/comfort.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have! Though I mainly stick to m-rated sex. Mostly because I think sex is (at least in fiction) an extension of the pairing I'm writing, and I haven't often found a reason to write something filthy just for the sake of it. I've read a lot a sexual content but the stuff that interests me while reading just isn't applicable or in-character for the pairing I'm writing usually. So if I did write for a pairing one day where I think explicit sex is warranted, I probably would then.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I was inspired to write a story after reading beautiful word, where are you by sally rooney, but it wasn't really a crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Dramione, and Genya/David from the grishaverse (which, hilariously, I've never written for this ship. But it's largely because they're so delicate, and I worry my hands are too rough to ever balance them in a way that's deserved.)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Maybe my fic Thrall... It's so big in my head and I struggle even with just single chapters because I overthink how to get to the end and in a satisfying way.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm decent at dialogue. I can also get into the teeth of a character pretty well (though bets are off on how well that may translate on the actual page, lmao.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have a tendency to jump from one thought to another (and another and another and so on), and so a lot of my first drafts are riddled with incomplete sentences and nonsensical declarations. I'm working on it, though. I also need to get better at more expansive internal narration. I love writing dialogue, but I struggle to describe things and my characters’ internal thoughts often feel incomplete. I think because I'm such a character-focused reader it makes it hard for me to see the bigger picture. Scenes are so vivid in my mind and I have a hard time translating that onto the page. I have so many flaws but these are the current ones I'm working on :D

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If it's done with care, then ofc!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dramione.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

To this day, my favourite fic I've ever written is still probably Roots & Recesses. I'm sure it's riddled with flaws, as it was only my second fic ever, but I hold such a special place for it in my heart.

tagging @heyjude19-writing @gemgirl28 @senlinyu @skiitter if you wanna!

[navysealt4t]

HELLO BLUE!! ^_^ i am back in your inbox to peddle my wares (fic concepts that are plaguing me actively)

BASICALLY for further context: this fic is like. how i have it in my head is the first chapter is a wishful-thinking type of thing. where clown is intentionally out of character (and specifically more in-line with zam's perception of him, being strong willed and close with the thing plaguing him. accepting it and emerging unharmed from the process of becoming one with [in his case] the void.) and celebrated. it's a fantasy. which is part of why that's specifically referred to as abacināre; to be blinded (typically by a red-hot iron rod or basin). because it isn't the truth.

"wind up the music box, look at the book again. whose story is it really?" is a call to the correct story, the one that zam was hiding behind this dream of being someone else.

currently i haven't fully finished zam's part. but. i gave him moths as a manifestation of trauma & paranoia & fear ^_^ because i just. something in my brain makes that click. (i've used that in previous fics. i can't remember where it came from but i like it, i use it). zam's spend his life trying to kill his fear, or hide away from it, only for it to come fluttering in through the cracks. so harmless, yet absolutely soul-destroying for him. he's tearing himself apart by proxy, since he's killing a part of himself with those moths.

something something trauma acceptance... i dunno it's a flowery metaphor for admiring people who've learnt to cope with trauma (or at least, what you've perceived as such. this is untrue in the case of what zam's seeing. clown was never bothered or hurt by the void, it was just a part of life to him. making this goal completely unachievable and unreasonable on zam's part) and not knowing how to, since their example doesn't apply to what you experienced. so instead you try and follow the example and it just brings you back to square one time and time again.

also, hence, spērāre, which can mean any of the following: "to hope, expect", "to await, anticipate", "to fear, be apprehensive", "to assume, suppose".

ALSO LASTLY, the fic's title being Asomatous, meaning without a material body; incorporeal. is just the icing on the cake that is this horrible angst riddled fic. because like. zam's assumptions aren't based in anything real, they have no grounding to them. and honestly? in this... zam may as well be a ghost. and the moths as well. they aren't real, they're a manifestation ^_^ (i can't go ten minute without giving my blorbos issues. and i just like making them Like Me yk yk)

(if i give this fic a nice/happy ending then we'll get a little healing. otherwise uh. self destructive tendencies the curse yet also my beloved as a plot device.)

ogugffbhjnkfmk i have. so many thoughts...... this is supposed to just be a random fic concept that i write and never think about again. im thinking about this one a LOT. i hope you've enjoyed my nonsense ramblings because i didnt realize i could talk this much until i just. started. talking.

oh. also. song ^_^

ooiugh pitting all of this In my Mouth <3333 i LOVEEE this idea clown being intentionally out of character and idk why but i LOVEE ‘whose story is it really?’

AND MOTHS!!!! AS THE MANIFSTATION OF FEAR AND TRAUMA AIUHH <3333 i love bugs as like metaphors and in writing it’s sooo 💥💥

FUCKING . HOLD U IN MY HAND I LOVEEE HOW UR BRAIN WORKS <333333 oughh the title i love it i LOVE this 🫶🫶🫶🫶

i loveeee the nonsense rambling <3 just getting lil bits of ur brain i love words fuck yeah !!!!!

[coolcattime]

Heyo it's me again.

So today i was playing death stranding and was thinking about the respawn system in that game and immediately started brainrotting like my brain became a disaster imagining the beach style afterlife but for mcyt and then of course being dirty mianite trash it immediately became mianite head canon about the after life which made me think of you. So here is my sonja x capsize angsty headcanon for you. (This is a small thank you for letting me spam your asks with my nonsense)

How it works is when you die you dont stay dead instead your soul appears in the afterlife but you retain your consciousness you can see the spirits of the dead and they are wandering off into the distance. Some are stuck behind as as sorta images of themselves not really there but it's really them in the truest essence. When the champions die they are sent there but are quickly snatched back by their respective gods.

When sonja first sided with the darkness it weakened her connection with mianite and made it harder for him to pulls her back from the after life. So she was the only hero to know about this "beach" everytime she'd die she would spend time on this beach mostly alone. Rarely seeing anyone but when she did they quickly walked into the wsters and disappeared. That is until going to the land of ruxomar and experiencing her first death. This time when she appears on the beach she sees a lone figure standing by the sea quietly. She feels a pain in her heart but is pulled away before she could see who it was. Not too long after she dies again and this time she gets closer to the figure. She definitely knows who it is but it hurts to admit it. The next time she goes to the after life she finally peeks and she knew it from the beginning. It was capsize. She cried for the entire day after getting back. It didnt take her long to figure out this was exactly capsize but was also her in someways. Somedays she'd end up there and just sit with capsize. Maybe she was getting reckless just to spend a few desprate minutes beside her again. That's when sonja discovered thaumcraft and it's promise of power. The eldrich whispers speaking of ways to upturn the rules of the world. A power beyond the gods. Maybe if ianite failed to bring back capsize these things could. And with that thought sonja threw herself headfirst into madness. Each death by mind spiders or eldrich horrors only spurred her forward as she was reminded of her goal. What was her goal again? What did that strange woman mean to her? Sonja's madness riddled mind wandered some days

Holy shit I love this so much!!!

Firstly, you can spam my asks as much as you want, but thank you so much for this because this is such good angst.

This idea of the afterlife is so cool, especially with the added context of the gods literally pulling their champions back.

And I just love everything about the scenario you've written. I really love the idea of it starting to take longer for Sonja to be revived, the others not quite understanding why, Sonja not understanding why, Mianite understanding why but not wanting to acknowledge it. I think she'd almost find it relaxing in the season one world, a small break from the chaos of just everything.

Then in Ruxomar, after already losing so much, she finds herself on the beach again and gods, just seeing Capsize, even if she's not fully herself she something she so deseparetely needed. The others don't notice her tears, they don't notice her more relaxed attitude towards her own safety, at least not at first. Not until she's already started research thaumcraft.

Everthing you've written about the thaumcraft stuff is excellent, it reads like a Darkest Dungeon boss backstory, with Sonja losing her mind to bring Capsize back, but forgetting even that as she dvells further into the eldrich maddness. The others have realised something terrible is happening to Sonja, though whether they can do anything about that now is a different question altogether. On a beach far away, what remains of a woman watching something eat away at someone she loves, but there's nothing she can do to stop it.

[inkedtae]

fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series... 

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop​ (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠  @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs. 

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without. 

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder. 

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe. 

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side. 

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it. 

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you. 

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?” 

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!” 

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions. 

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you. 

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food. 

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros. 

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony. 

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t. 

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer. 

“I think I do,” she smiles. 

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him. 

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long. 

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings. 

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you. 

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you. 

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you. 

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history. 

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting. 

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you. 

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment. 

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?” 

Kyon smiles and nods. 

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl. 

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well. 

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug. 

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity. 

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument. 

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?” 

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.” 

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation. 

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.” 

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her. 

“Have I made myself clear?” 

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you. 

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them. 

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance. 

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre. 

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same. 

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks. 

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there? 

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes. 

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply. 

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.” 

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek. 

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset. 

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. 

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now. 

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray. 

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees. 

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter. 

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain. 

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in. 

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow. 

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head. 

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.” 

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him. 

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh. 

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird. 

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end. 

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his- 

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable. 

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you. 

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap. 

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.” 

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together. 

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week. 

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered. 

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters. 

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud. 

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.” 

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans. 

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.” 

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.” 

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now. 

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says. 

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my…  The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it. 

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.” 

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind. 

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks. 

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs. 

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud. 

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no. 

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.” 

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable. 

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him. 

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks. 

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him. 

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.” 

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him. 

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?” 

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought. 

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes. 

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in. 

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place. 

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.” 

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you. 

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.” 

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck. 

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself. 

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.” 

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow. 

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks. 

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit. 

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl. 

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him. 

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans. 

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good. 

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him. 

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground. 

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs. 

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans. 

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build. 

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again. 

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock. 

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion. 

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break. 

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him. 

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs. 

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to. 

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube. 

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for. 

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings. 

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly. 

“Mhm,” you mewl. 

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine. 

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it. 

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you. 

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure. 

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head. 

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again. 

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?” 

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name. 

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating. 

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it. 

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses? 

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered. 

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess. 

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done. 

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him. 

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on. 

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive. 

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him. 

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you. 

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask. 

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!” 

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock. 

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it. 

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only. 

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts. 

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal. 

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach. 

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him. 

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well. 

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case. 

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin. 

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count. 

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.” 

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like. 

He pauses, body freezing beneath you. 

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout. 

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours. 

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze. 

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain. 

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his. 

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second. 

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too. 

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him. 

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well. 

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods. 

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head. 

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles. 

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.” 

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.” 

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body. 

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to. 

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply. 

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask? 

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain. 

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden. 

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer. 

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next. 

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering. 

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear. 

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like. 

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now. 

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile. 

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook. 

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.” 

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. 

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice. 

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply. 

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him. 

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him. 

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.” 

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles. 

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way. 

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.” 

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry. 

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply. 

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling. 

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[justasimplesinner]

Hi, can I please get Twojar and Zero year riddlers having a fight and having to apologize? I feel it would be kinda funny

“i feel it would be kinda funny” bro if there is any prompt i can turn into angst, i will do it

The War Of Jokes And Riddles!Riddler apologizing hcs:

this Edward is not above apologizing, but he'll do it only to the people he truly cares about, and there... aren't many. he knows he fucked up the second he saw your tears, and he knows that it's his job to apologize and fix this. he harbors so much respect for you, so much love and care, that he will not allow himself to lose any worth in your eyes, especially by being a stupid idiot that can't bring himself to apologize

he will leave you alone for a day or two, just so you can calm down and rest from him. he feels a little... restless without you around, after all, you two spend every single day with each other, almost constantly together, but he knows you need this. you both needs this. he's actually the type of man to go over what went down and try to take notes, see what he did wrong and what is he even apologizing about. he will never make the same mistake twice

after he figures everything out, he's not just going to apologize. he will come to you, a perfect boquet in hand, good champagne and a small, incredibly thoughtful gift. he's not trying to buy you back or bribe you, he just thinks that simply apologizing isn't enough. you deserve better, and he wants to show you that. he wants to make up for what he did wrong, not just say some half-assed "sorry". oh, and for the record, his apology is very long and detailed. he wants you to know that he knows how he fucked up and that he's never going to do it again, especially if it will make you cry

Zero Year!Riddler apologizing hcs:

now this fucking bastard child... he genuinely doesn't see his fault. he genuinely fucking thinks you're still in the wrong, no matter how good your arguments are. he's so used to always being right he forgets how it is to be wrong. he always hated being wrong so he's going to tell himself that he isn't and act like shit is fine, and it's really infuriating

it'll only start to get through his thick skull that yes, indeed, he fucked up, when he notices you treating him differently. suddenly he didn't get any hugs or kisses. hell, he didn't even get a rise out of you, just silence and the cold god damn shoulder. when he refused to apologize yet again, claiming that he has nothing to be sorry for, you even stopped visiting him all together. it made him realise how... dependent on you and your love he's become. it made him realize how badly he must've fucked up for you to treat him this way. you two had your arguments before, but never like this. he usually just won you back over with his lazy charm. you could've had steam bursting from your ears and he would've made you chuckle anyway, knowing that you couldn't stay mad at him for long

finally, he'll come to you. probably in the middle of the night as he was laying in bed and thinking how much better it would be if he was laying in your lap instead. it might just annoy you further, being woken up like that. he'll start explaining himself, twisting shit slightly and you have to stay loyal to your no-nonsense attitude because that fucker would've talked himself even out of apologizing. you have to make him realize he hurt you. and that his stupid jokes weren't going to get him anywhere this time. that his famous line "you can't stay mad at me, doll" won't work. he will, eventually, crumble under your gaze, and actually apologize. it looks and sounds like he was just being smug again, but please, just believe in his sincerity. he wouldn't apologize to just anyone, only to you

[minty-chocco]

𝑼𝒏𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 | 𝑫𝒆𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒅𝒆

Pairing: Deuce Spade x GN!Reader

Summary: Deuce finally gathered the courage to confess only to be left heartbroken by the harsh rejection he received.

Warning(s): Angst I guess.

Word Count: 500+

Note: This is a non requested work. I’m starting to love Deuce and decided to make a fic about him so I thought what better way to express my love for him than to make a fic about the reader harshly rejecting him and breaking his heart into a million pieces? ♡( ◡‿◡ ) This was inspired by this request I did back then. I apologize if this is too OOC. 

"I like you! Please go out with me!" Deuce declared loudly; nervousness was evident in his voice. "I promise to take good care of you!"

He gripped the hem of his shirt and anticipated your response. Each ticking second felt like minutes and he could feel his heart pounding rapidly through the silence. He mentally cursed himself for unintentionally shouting, his cheeks were kissed pink like cherry blossom petals, beautiful against his skin.

"Deuce." The first year flinched at the sound of your voice. It was harsh and spiteful, the one who used to call his name with such sweet and tender tone turned venomous. "Is this a joke? It better be."

He straightened himself up and when he saw your disdainful expression, his heart sank. Millions of questions started going through his mind.

Why are you suddenly acting that way? Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally offend you?

"Eh..?" Deuce was still in shock, not quite comprehending your harsh words. The person he had come to love turned into a completely different person. "I-I would never joke about something like this.."

The poor first year felt himself sinking slowly, each of his words becoming quieter. He felt ashamed and the situation he was in right now was suffocating. He couldn’t bear the way you're looking at him--your eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, and hard.

"That's too bad then." You scoffed. "I can't return your feelings. What makes you think I would do so?"

This made Deuce shut up. The confidence and courage he gathered to confess all turned into rust. He felt your words prickle his heart and whole body like a needle.

It's truly fascinating how words can truly shatter one's soul.

"I'm.. sorry." Was all Deuce could mutter and hung his head low. He barely even found the voice to speak. He felt himself quiver and couldn't quite comprehend the rejection that was cruelly inflicted upon him.  

"Let's just forget all about this. I already have a lot in my hands right now. I don't want you to add to this nonsense." You added before turning to walk away leaving this boy alone with a broken heart.

The first year could only look at the ground, he felt humiliated and didn't even want to see you leave. He knows that he wouldn't be able to look at your retreating figure let alone look at you in the eyes anymore.

Heavy. The air seemed to be agonizingly long as the minutes passed by. Deuce didn't know exactly what to feel. He felt a flood of emotions passed through him.

Streaming tears cleansed his cheeks, he didn't even notice he was crying until he realized his blurred vision. But he didn’t wipe his tears away, he felt too numb and overwhelmed with emotions at the same time to move.

Instead, he just stood there, dominated by profound sadness, feeling defeated. Your words cut him like a thousand papercuts, every time Deuce remembered what you said felt like another cut. It was unbearable.

But Deuce was a fool. Even when he got rejected he still held on to this thin string of hope that maybe.. just maybe you'll come back and change your mind. You'll come back for him, right? Love does make us do stupid things.

So he waited with a heavy heart. Even when the sun started to go down and it was already past curfew, Dorm Leader Riddle will surely have his head when he comes back late later on but he still stayed. Even when the chilly night breeze felt freezing cold due to his uniform’s thin layers, he still waited.

But you never did come back.

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! 🌙

[having-a-freddie-time]

save me

summary: Y/N is trying her hardest to get out of an abusive relationship without telling anyone. However, she can’t always hide the bruises, especially from her best friend since childhood, Ben Hardy. Once he finds out, he tries his best to help her out without her getting hurt.

warning: angst, mentions of physical/verbal abuse, blood, cussing, hospitals.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS LATE UPDATE. LIFE HAS BEEN HECTIC BUT I PROMISE I WILL UPDATE MORE THIS WEEK. also, hold on to your butts, this is one angsty chapter.

word count:

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The three of you had fallen asleep throughout the course of the night. You slept on your belly, sunk into the sofa. Gwil was sprawled out on the pallet of blankets. Ben was tangled up with Frankie on the love seat. The theme song of Grey's Antomy rang throughout the flat, the last thing y'all were watching.

You all had fell asleep, peacefully and quickly. Light snores spilled from your mouth, whereas Ben and Gwil sounded like a damn train station. You stirred in your groggy state, slowly awaking from your slumber due to the snoring. Eventually, you had opened your eyes, squinting as the sunlight poured through Ben's patio window. You sat up, hissing quietly at the stinging pain in your back. Oh how lovely.

You slowly stood up, careful to not make any noise and tiptoed to the kitchen. You tried to make some tea before the boys woke up but failed horribly. Both Ben and Gwil dragged their lifeless bodies into the kitchen, falling into the chairs at the dining table. They rest their sleepy heads on the table, patiently waiting for the boost they needed from the tea.

The kettle sang loudly, indicating that the water was done. You grabbed three tea cups, popping a tea bag in each. You filled the cups, poured a little honey in them and poured a little milk in yours. You carefully carried the tea to the table, setting it in front of their faces. They instantly sat up and took a huge gulp of the beverage.

Instantly regretting their decision, they both hissed as the hot beverage touched their tongues and the back of their throats.

"Careful, it's hot." You jokingly warned, blowing into your cup to cool it down. They rolled their eyes and followed suit in cooling the drinks down.

After morning tea and breakfast, the three of you laid on Ben's sofa, scrolling through Netflix to find something to watch. Gwil was sliding his thumb through Instagram, Ben's fingers tapped across the screen as he texted and you just sat there, fiddling your thumbs. You were afraid to check your phone, you had turned it off all night, not wanting to deal with Trevor.

"We should go do something today, instead of watching TV all day." You murmured as you eyed the two men. They looked up from their devices, looking at one another for approval.

"Why don't we go shopping?"

"I don't have money because I've literally avoided work for two weeks now."

"Nonsense, I'll pay."

"Nope, let's think of something else."

"We're going shopping, that's final. Gwil and I will help pay."

Gwil nodded in agreement, pulling himself from the couch. He reached a hand out for you, helping you up. Ben stood up to, stretching his arms out.

"I've got to shower before we go though."

"And me too. How about we all meet back here at say...four?"

You all nodded in agreement and grabbed all of your stuff. You grabbed your clothes from the previous day, shoving them in your purse. You cringed at the blood stained jumper.

"Just throw it in the bin, love." Ben whispered in your ear as he watched you.

You did so and finished grabbing all your items. You turned towards Gwil, a small smile on your lips. You had totally forgotten that Ben was your ride from yesterday.

"Will you give me a ride home?"

"Of course, Y/N." Gwil smiled and grabbed his keys.

"You can shower here, Y/N" Ben yelled from the kitchen.

"I've got to grab some different clothes, it'll be fine!"

"Fine!"

•••••••

You and Gwill walked to his car, both of you sliding in. Gwil knew where you lived so the car ride was pretty quick. Before you left, you checked snap map on Snapchat to see if Trevor was home. Luckily he wasn't, so it'd be easier for you to get ready. However, you were completely unaware of the "Ghost Mode" option on Snapchat.

Gwil pulled into the driveway, to your advantage, Trevor's car wasn't there. You absentmindedly blew out a sigh of relief at the site.

"Thanks again, Gwil."

"No problem, see you later!"

You waved goodbye and jumped out of his car. You walked up to your door, putting your key in and realizing it was unlocked. Strange. You shrugged it off because you could be forgetful at times or Trevor was too wasted to realize that he didnt lock the door.

You slipped inside and dropped your purse on the couch. The hous was silent, thankfully. You jogged upstairs and grabbed some clothes to wear later. As you were about to turn the shower on, you heard a familiar voice.

"You stupid bitch!"

You gulped at the sound and grabbed your phone. You didn't even realize that Ben had blown your phone up. So many text messages and missed calls filled up your notifications. You clicked on a notification and went wide eyed.

There was an article with a picture of you, Gwil, and Ben plastered on the front.

'Bohemian Rhapsody's Ben Hardy and Gwilym Lee leaving a cafe with an unknown woman?'

The picture was horrendous. Ben had his arm wrapped around your waist, protectively. Gwil was staring at you with what could have easily been mistaken for lust, but was the complete opposite.

To the public, it looked like the three of you were about to go fuck each other's brains out. When in reality, they were being protective of you and were quite worried for you.

"You dumb fucking whore. Didn't think I'd find out about your little fuck buddies?"

"It's not what it looks like!"

"Save it. I knew all along that you were a little slut!"

Trevor took a step closer to you, his hand latching onto your throat. You gagged and clawed at his hand, though he was complete unphased by your clawing.

"Stupid fucking bitch, that's what you are."

Trevor's nails dug into your skin before dropped you harshly against the ground. Not even a second later, you felt his foot collide with your stomach, then your chest, then your back and lastly, your face. You were a yelping and bawling mess.

Trevor didn't let up on his kicking spree. He kicked all over, slapped you into next week, and yelled so many profanities at you. Your vision was starting to go blurry, your hearing going in and out and your consciousness blacking out. The last thing you heard was Trevor's body falling against the floor. You looked up, seeing a familiar brunette yelling into his phone.

Not even 10 minutes later, your body was being lifted onto a gurney. You felt the prick of a needle in your arm, that was the least painful thing at this moment. You heard the clinking of handcuffs as you could see Trevor being pushed into the back of a police car. Your vision went in and out before it completely went out.

••••••••••••

Last thing you know, you were being rushed to the trauma hospital nearby. You could faintly hear the sirens ring loudly as the ambulance sped to the hospital. You felt it suddenly stopped and heard the doors slam open. Your body jerked as the gurney flew through the emergency doors.

A group of doctors and nurses piled into the trauma room as they began hooking you up to machines and providing you with oxygen. You felt yourself go in and out of consciousness and your vision going out completely.

Suddenly, you blacked out, the last thing you see is a nurse climbing on top of you, starting CPR. You could feel your body convulse to the charges of the defibrillator. You still didn't wake, you still could only see complete darkness.

Next thing you know, your eyelids are pried open as a bright light flashes your eyes. They were checking for any blown pupils, luckily tour eyes were fine. Though you were still unconscious.

You felt another huge shock riddle throughout your body, causing your eyes to jolt open and your lungs finally fill with air. Doctors sighed with relief and soon enough you were being rushed to surgery.

After what felt like an eternity, general surgeons removed your spleen which caused immense amount of internal bleeding. Neuro fixed your brain bleed. Lastly, cardio had successfully repaired your diaphragm.

You were now stable, blood pressure fine, neuro function fine and oxygen levels safe. You were still out of it due to the anesthesia. Doctors predicted a few hours before you would finally wake up.

Those few hours passed by agonizingly slow for Ben. Ben was your emergency contact. When he had gotten the call, he nearly got pulled over for how dangerously fast he drove to the hospital. He almost got detained for how pushy and rude he was being, trying his hardest to get to you.

He had spent the last 10 hours, waiting in anticipation for you to wake up. Gwil was there too, comforting Ben as much as he could, although he had to be questioned by police multiple times throughout the day and night. He had drove back to your house because you had left something in his car. When he pulled up, he spotted Trevor's car, instantly feeling unsettled. It was when he heard you screaming that caused him to barrel through the front door and sprint upstairs. He nearly beat the shit out of Trevor when he saw what he was doing to you. He punched Trevor square in the face, and thre him down to the ground. Trevor instantly was knocked out and vulnerable. He had been taken to a different hospital to get checked out. Only came back with a concussion and a pretty charge of domestic abuse, aggravated assault and many other things due to all the drugs they found on his person. Needless to say, he was gonna be locked up for a long time.

It was around 10:45 at night when your eyes fluttered open. You groaned in pain and whimpered as you tried to moved. You nearly gagged on the ventilator that you had been attached to.

Smoothly, the nurse removed the ventilator from your mouth, causing you to gag once again. She replaced it with oxygen hooked up to your nose.

"Well look who's finally awake." She announced loudly, causing Ben to stir around and finally wake up.

He almost shot the nurse a death stare before he realized what she was doing. His head snapped towards you, tears instantly pouring from his eyes.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N. You're awake." He cried out, carefully reaching his hand out to yours. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand. He was so afraid to touch you, which kind of melted your heart.

"Ben..." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

"It's recommended to not speak for a little while after being taken off of a ventilator, so just drink a lot of water and rest tour throat."

You simply nodded, furrowing your brows as you finally felt the pounding headache coursing throughout your whole head. You forgotten the fact that you bad three major surgeries in one day. Spleen removed, diaphragm repaired and brain bleeds under control.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I knew I shouldn't have let you go. I hate that this happened to you. You didn't deserve any of this. God, I am so sorry." Ben choked out between sobs. It broke your heart to see him like this. You felt guilty, guilty because you left him in the dark for so long. Guilty because you were too scared to tell him in the first place. Tears began to slide down your face, stinging as they reached the open cuts on your lips.

You were so battered and bruised. From head to to, you had some kind of mark on you. You looked at your body, shaking at the thought of what happened to you. Your arm was in a sleeve, he had dislocated your shoulder and obliterated your wrist. You would need to have surgery next week with an orthopedic surgeon.

You were long ways away from recovery.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

tag list:

@benhardyisdaddy @monochromedeacon @queenbbarnes @haileylansley @shesakillerquueennn @onexlittlespark @zcars777 @loveandbeloved71 @beatlezrcool @likeit-or-leaveit

perm tag list:

@benhardyisdaddy @haileylansley @queenbbarnes @beatlezrcool

[atc74]

The Letter

Square Filled: Psychic!Jensen

Warnings: Angst, flangst, fluff, loss of loved ones,

Summary: Y/N loses everyone close to her. She receives a very cryptic letter from her grandfather after his passing that sends her on a search for the next seven years. What she finds is not what she expected. 

Pairing:  Psychic!Jensen x Reader, eventually

Word Count: 10,277 (I am not even a little bit sorry. I know it’s a beast, but it will be worth it, I promise. Escape with me for just a little while)

Written for: @spnaubingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, thank you for taking the time, for your continued and unwavering support, love and encouragement. 

A/N: When I got this new card, I was very apprehensive about most of the squares, but especially this one. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to play this, but an idea came to me. With a little gentle nudge from @sis-tafics, this is the final finished product. I am so proud of this, and I hope you guys love it as much as I do. 

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor or their families.

Y/N couldn’t believe she had driven eight hours from her home, her sanctuary, for this-this travesty. What these scam artists did was take advantage of people. People that were in mourning, grieving for the loss of a loved one, holding out hope that they’ll be able to say one last I love you, or I’m sorry.

Hundreds of people crowded the small theater and she couldn’t believe she was one of them. She hadn’t left her small town in years. She hadn’t even really left her property in nearly six months. It wasn’t that she was afraid of people or crowds, she just didn’t like them. She didn’t trust humans as a general rule. That is why it was just her and her animals. She liked the peace and quiet of her solitary existence. It was mostly how she was raised and how she liked it.

Y/N was born to a single mother who had died during childbirth. She was raised by her grandparents until her grandmother, Victoria, had died when she was only five years old. It had just been her and her grandpa, Cliff, save a couple of farm hands and Marta. Marta was a nice woman that came and cleaned and cooked for them. She also home schooled Y/N until she turned sixteen and graduated from high school. The following summer, the week before her seventeenth birthday, her grandpa had passed away.

She was truly orphaned. Marta still came to look after her a couple days a week and the workers were there from sunup till sundown, but they weren’t family. Because she had been tutored by Marta, she had never had friends. She doubted if anyone other than three people even knew she existed.

“Y/N, honey, we need to talk,” Marta called as she pulled dinner from the oven one night a couple weeks after he died. Roasted chicken with homemade mashed potatoes, green beans and squash covered the dining table in her grandfather’s, well her, house.

“Thank you for dinner, Marta,” Y/N said politely as she took a seat.

“Sugar, your granddaddy left this for you. He asked me to give it to you after his funeral.” The old woman slid a yellowed envelope across the table. “Now, let’s enjoy this meal.”

After dinner was eaten, the leftovers stored and the kitchen cleaned, Marta took her leave as usual. Y/N remained at the kitchen table with the letter and a cup of tea. She slid the envelope around the table several times, just watching it spin. Finally, she picked up the cup of tea, dumped it in the sink and locked herself away in her bedroom.

Sleep would not come easy for Y/N that night, just like it hadn’t for the previous two weeks. Slumber and Y/N were fickle friends and would not see eye to eye for some time.

Over coffee and toast the next morning, she eyed the letter sitting there on her table. It was mocking her. She shook her head and went about her day, letting the letter sit alone at the table.

Come dinnertime, Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off the ancient envelope. She grabbed a letter opener from her grandpa’s desk in the study and meticulously opened the letter.

My sweet child Y/N,

The day you were born was both the best and worst day of my life. Your mother, my only child, died bringing you into this world. I have never felt so conflicted in all my years. You brought me such joy, just as your mother had.

I am sorry, Y/N/N, for I don’t feel I raised you right. I should have sent you to a real school. You should have met friends your own age. You should have gone to sleepovers and dances and gotten in trouble for breaking curfew. Instead, I let you shut yourself in, staying cooped up in this house with me or Marta, only coming outside to tend to the animals like they were your only friends. Maybe they were, but still, baby, it ain’t right. I should have done better by you.

I think I was afraid to you lose you like I lost your Mama. There was no worse heartbreak in the world than losing her, then my wife so close together. I wish you had known her better, Gramma I mean. Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have grown into. They both would have. I know I am.

Now, sweet child, there are things that have been kept from you; things you must find. I have faith in you that you will find them all and make me proud. Know that I will be watching you from Heaven with your Mama and Gramma.

I love you sweet child,

Grandpa

A stray tear drop fell from her eye, landing on the yellowed parchment. She was sad, she was angry. She was angry at herself for being sad and sad that she was angry. She curled into a ball on the bed and cried herself to sleep that night. Tossing and turning, she heard her grandfather’s voice guiding her with cryptic clues and nonsensical rhymes.

For three weeks she dreamt of him and his letter. Each dream was different. In one, he handed her a crossword puzzle, just like they would do every Sunday when the newspaper came. Another dream featured a weathered map with a single ‘x’ on it, but the map was written in a language she didn’t recognize, nor was the topography anywhere she had ever seen before. She used all sorts of tools in these dreams; shovels, a pickaxe, a jackhammer. Was she supposed to dig? Was it some buried treasure?

Dreams of riddles and scavenger hunts plagued her restless nights. In the rare case she snuck in a nap during the day, Grandpa was there, telling her to get up and go get it. The dreams were all different, but they all ended in the same location: St. Louis, Missouri.

She spent weeks rummaging through every cupboard, every cabinet, drawer, closet and loose floorboard in the house. She checked the chicken coop, the goats’ pens and the horses’ stables. She dug up the entire patio and half the yard. Her muscles were sore, her back aching and her mind was tired.

“Marta!” Y/N called, bursting through the back door one afternoon. She had been out tending to her chickens when she reasoned the answer could very well be in her house at that very moment.

“Yes, sugar?” Marta turned where she was removing a hot pie from the oven.

“Did you read the letter?” Y/N questioned her.

“Oh no, sweet pea! That letter was private! I would never read something that wasn’t addressed to me,” Marta pledged. “What is in that letter is between you and your granddaddy.”

“Marta, will you read the letter, please?” Y/N pleaded with the older woman. “You’re all I have left and I can’t decipher what he is telling me to do. I can’t sleep, I barely eat. I am slowly going insane! Please help me.” Y/N cried into her arms as she hung her head on the dinner table.

Marta took a seat, pulling her chair closer to the girl she had loved and cared for most of her life. “Dear, please don’t cry. Of course I’ll help you. I will always help you. It is what I have always done and will do until my last breath.”

Together, they read the letter out loud. Y/N felt the tears begin anew and the old woman wiped them away. Marta turned to her.

“Child, is this why you have been pillaging this house and digging up that yard? Are you looking for something?” Her eyes were like steel behind her glasses, boring into Y/N as she nodded quietly.

“He said there are things I need to find. Where did he hide them?” Y/N said, exasperated.

“All in due time, sugar. All in due time,” Marta repeated, patting her on the head as she set about tending to dinner.

As she sat in that crowded theater, the throngs of people, the din of their voices, she almost got up and left more than once. She was here for a reason, even if she didn’t believe in it herself, Marta had and it was the sweet old woman’s dying wish that Y/N come and ask the questions Marta hoped Y/N could find the answers to.

“You have to promise me something, sugar,” Marta gripped her hand and pulled her near. “Promise me you’ll go, that you’ll keep looking.”

Marta slid another envelope out from underneath her afghan and passed it to Y/N. “What is this?”

“Open it and you’ll see,” Marta rasped, her breathing becoming labored.

Y/N pulled the envelope from the woman’s delicate hand and opened it. Inside was a single ticket and another letter.

Sugar,

I know you will find every excuse to stay home, but please go. I have heard good things about this man and had an honorable experience with him myself. If you won’t do it for you or your granddaddy, please do it for me. Go, find what you are looking for. I know he can help you.

With all my love,

Marta

Inside the envelope was a ticket: An Intimate Evening with Jensen Ackles, Renowned Clairvoyant and Medium.

“Marta, I c-can’t,” Y/N breathed heavily in the hospital room.

“You can and you will, sugar,” Marta took her last breath, her hand going limp in Y/N’s. Her tears fell once more against the woman’s hand as she held on the last person who loved her.

Wiping away the tear brought on by a memory, Y/N composed herself. She quietly sat in her seat, willing the last twenty-four years of her life not to give away her uneasiness of being in a crowd this size. Her seat was on the aisle of the second row, stage right. As the house lights dimmed, a hush fell over the audience.

An older man stepped out onto the stage, dressed in a nice blue suit, not expensive, but nice enough, with a white shirt and a blue striped tie. He raised a microphone and looked out to the sea of faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to An Intimate Evening with Jensen Ackles. With all the skeptics in the world, spouting how the afterlife doesn’t exist, how psychics are nothing more than scam artists and there is no such thing as mind reading, I caution you this.

“Anything is possible. With an open mind and an open heart we can achieve anything. We can believe in anything. We can accomplish so much and see more than we ever thought possible. I would like to thank you all in advance for coming and now without further delay, I present to you, my son, Jensen Ackles!” The older man stepped back, holding one arm wide as another man stepped out from behind the curtain.

Y/N had done her research on this man. She knew he had a small, but loyal following. She had read testimonies from the young to the old, all of them saying the same thing, ringing the same praises. Mr. Ackles seemed to be legit from what she had read, but tonight would bring the proof or blow holes in the theories she was holding in.

“Thank you. I am so happy to see so many faces here tonight,” Jensen addressed the audience. “As my father said, the world is filled with skeptics, the naysayers that don’t believe. I myself have encountered frauds that lure people in with promises of saying goodbye to a loved one, of leading them to their loved ones lost treasures. What I ask of you before we begin, is don’t believe what you hear, I only ask that you believe what you can see.”

He walked proud and tall across the stage as he spoke, looking out to the crowd. He was neatly dressed in a dark gray slacks, a white dress shirt and a cable knit sweater. His feet were clad in black boots. He stopped at the corner of the stage and gracefully lowered himself to the floor.

“Can you turn up the house lights please?” Jensen raised his eyes towards the back of the theater and soft lighting filled the space. “Thank you.”

“I feel more comfortable out here with you, if that’s alright. Up on that stage, I feel like a spectacle, an attraction,” he chuckled lightly into the microphone. “I guess that’s what some people think, right. Think back to the early days of the circus with their sideshow performers: The bearded lady, the fire breather, the sword swallower, the mind reader. These attractions drew people, didn’t they? But, do you really think they were real? I didn’t. People talked about them for days after.

“But, it was almost like a mockery of what those people were. Yes, it was just an act, but for those people, it was real. That is who they were. The bearded lady was just an unfortunate woman, perhaps with too much testosterone in her system. I didn’t know what a clairvoyant was until I realized I had a gift. Well, when my grandmother realized I had a gift. I just thought I was helping people. I guess I was about three or four years old.”

Jensen strolled casually across the floor in front of the stage, making eye contact with those he could see. He moved with a grace that Y/N hadn’t seen from many men, then again, her experience was limited to those in her small town. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he slowly approached the side she was seated on.

“I remember my dad losing his keys, and I just knew where they were. I rescued all kinds of animals, found all kinds of things, things that had been lost for a long time. I just could see things, ya know? I made friends easily, and enemies even easier. For me, it was easy to tell the good from the bad; it’s all in their aura. I stayed away from those people and tried to keep my friends safe, but it made me an easy target and I got beat up more times than I can count. But it didn’t keep me from protecting people.

“Again, I just thought I was helping people. It wasn’t until I was about six, when I was reading a comic book in my room. Bright lights were swirling around my vision, I just thought I had read too long, but when I saw Mr. Romans, our next door neighbor, lying in the middle of his kitchen, I knew something was wrong. I ran down the stairs, told my dad Mr. Romans was dead in his kitchen. We rushed next door and sure enough, he was there in the middle of kitchen floor, just like I saw him. My father called 911 and the paramedic pronounced him dead at the scene. We later found out it was a heart attack. That scared the hell out of me! I was just a kid and now I was seeing visions of dead people?! I was back in my room a couple weeks later, thinking about Mr. Romans lying dead in his kitchen, thinking I should have been able to save him, when I heard him calling to me. We had a conversation, of sorts. I saw papers, money and I passed this information on to my dad. Turns out Mrs. Romans had been looking for his will and life insurance papers and I was able to tell her where they were, with a little help from her husband.”

Jensen stopped at the edge of the front row, looking up and down the aisles, smiling at people, shaking a few hands when his eyes landed on Y/N, lingering on her face, looking her up and down. “I don’t want to stand up here and tell you about me or what I have done.” He looked directly in her eyes as he spoke, his jade orbs piercing in the soft lighting of the theater. “Tell me, what can I do for you?”

Y/N looked around the crowd. Surely he was not speaking directly to her. She was completely not ready to ask him to help her find what she was looking for. Hands rose all around her. Across the aisle, a small girl of about ten years old, waved a picture and it caught his attention. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief and he turned to the child.

“Hi sweetheart, what can I do for you?” Jensen crouched down to the girl’s level. She handed him a picture.

“This is my dog, his name is Oscar and he is missing,” the little girl cried.

“What’s your name?” Jensen asked softly.

“Katie,” she sniffed.

“Katie, I have a dog named Oscar, too. Tell me about your dog. Where does he like to go? What is his favorite toy?” Jensen quizzed the little girl and she answered all his questions.

“Katie, I am going to need your help here, okay? Can you hold my hand?” Jensen smiled at her and held out his hand. She slipped hers into his palm, dwarfed by his large hand. “Is this your mom?” Katie nodded and Jensen looked over at her mother.

Jensen closed his eyes and held tight to Katie’s hand, Oscar’s picture in his other. Y/N could see his eyes fluttering under his lids. He opened them slowly, and his eyes started darting around the theater, like he was watching something move about quickly. He had laid his microphone on the floor when he took Katie’s hand, but Y/N could hear the whispers as they left his mouth.

“Hidden, brown, 25, trees, a long fence, gates, water,” Jensen looked back to Katie’s mother. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

The woman nodded, tears coming to her eyes. “There is a dog park out on Country Rd 25 called Hidden Pond. It’s a small wooded area with a fence around it with gates to come and go. It has a brown sign and a small pond. Do you think that is where he went?”

“Worth a shot, don’t you think?” Jensen looked back to Katie. “Go get Oscar, Katie.” The little girl hugged Jensen, then grabbed her mom’s hand, pulling her up the aisle. “Keep me posted please!” Jensen called after them, but Katie was already out the door.

Y/N sat in her seat, riveted by the exchange between Jensen and the girl. She figured it was all part of his act, but he was quite charismatic, dashing and connecting with the people that had come to see him. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She had to remind herself why she had come in the first place.

“Miss? You’ve lost something as well,” Jensen’s voice boomed like it was right next to her. She opened her eyes to see a pair of black boots next to her seat. She followed the long line up a pair of dark gray slacks, followed by a cable knit sweater and the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

“Not really lost, just haven’t found,” she whispered. Jensen crouched next to her, just like he had done with Katie.

“Still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” he sang lightly. “I heard a song like that once.”

Y/N laughed. “And he sings.”

“Miss, will you tell me your name please?” Jensen smiled.

“Y/N.”

“Miss Y/N is looking for something, but not something she lost. Does that about sum it up?” Jensen asked, standing to his full height, he must have been over six feet tall.

“Pretty much.”

She observed Jensen once more as he looked one way then another, but never really looking at any one thing. At one point he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, almost like he was in pain.

“Puzzle, maps, shovel, holes,” Jensen muttered only loud enough for her to hear him. “You really are looking for something. A farm, an old man, a letter.”

“My grandfather,” she whispered.

“Is it something your grandfather lost?” he prodded.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

Jensen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, passing it to her as he shook her hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

She looked down at it, seeing his picture and a phone number. It had a small hand written ‘1’ on the back.

The evening continued on like that, Jensen spending a few minutes with several people. His act was spot on, seeming genuinely concerned for the people he came in contact with. With only a few minutes left before the end of the show, for lack of better term, Y/N thought, the door burst open and a dog came running down the aisle.

“Oscar! Come back here!” Katie was yelling and chasing after the animal.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her chest, overjoyed that the little girl had found her lost dog. It was just coincidence, she thought, brushing the feeling aside.

Jensen greeted Katie and Oscar at the end of the aisle. The dog jumped up, laying his large paws on Jensen’s chest and wagging his tail excitedly.

“Thank you so much Mr. Ackles for finding Oscar!” Katie threw her little arms around his waist, hugging him tight. Jensen stood there, hugging both the girl and her dog, the smile on his face a mile wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

After the excitement of Katie’s reunion with Oscar died down, Jensen’s father came back out on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight. I hope that you continue to believe in the work that Jensen does, the help he provides and, for those of you that arrived here tonight skeptics, my hope is that he was able to open your mind, allowing you to see things in a way you may not have before. Thank you and goodnight.”

Jensen was making his way back down the aisle to the stage through the lines of people exiting their seats. Y/N had decided to stay put while the theater cleared out. She saw no value in standing in a slow moving line. Her mind replayed the events of the last two hours, her hands subconsciously fidgeting with the card in her lap.

“Miss Y/N?” an older blonde haired woman stood before you. “My name is Donna Ackles, Jensen’s mother. I understand he handed you a card tonight. He would like to see you in private; he feels he can help you with your search.”

“Right now?” she was surprised.

“Yes, Y/N. Jensen prefers to keep the feeling, the images fresh. It’s only a tick after five, then we’ll have some supper,” Donna motioned for Y/N to follow her through a side door. She led her to a hallway, doors on either side. “Here we go.” Donna knocked on the first door and it opened quickly, Jensen filling the frame.

“Thanks, Ma,” Jensen leaned forward, pecking his mother on the cheek. “Hello, Y/N. Please come in.” He stepped back, allowing her space to enter the small room. Something told her she should feel reluctant to be alone in a room with any man, let alone a stranger, but there was a feeling of peace that washed over her as she stepped inside and took a seat on the small loveseat against the wall.

“Miss Y/N?” Jensen spoke as he closed the door. “Can I get you some water?”

“Just Y/N, please and no thank you,” she responded, her hands now folded in her lap.

“I can sense this was a big step for you, a long journey to get here tonight,” Jensen pulled up a chair and sat a respectful distance from her, but close enough that they could speak softly. “I know you aren’t a believer, and that’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you, but I know I can help you find what you are searching for.”

“Mr. Ackles...:” she started.

“Please, call me Jensen, or better yet, you can call me Jay,” he smiled, putting her at ease.

“Fine. Jay, I came here to appease an old woman who believed you could help me. I don’t even know what I am looking for!” She had reached the point of exasperation years ago, but it felt more like desperation the longer she searched.

“Marta,” he murmured.

“You knew her?” she gasped.

“Yes, I was able to help her some years ago and we kept in touch. She called me just a few weeks ago and told me about you. I am sorry if I haven’t been forthcoming, but I was hoping you would be here tonight. She thought the world of you, you know. I’m sorry for your loss. I am sad to see she passed away,” Jensen cleared his throat.

Y/N had no words. There was so much that Marta and her grandfather had kept from her and she wasn’t sure where to turn anymore. The search had gone on far too long and she was ready to move on.

“Mr. Ack-Jay, I’m not sure I should be here. The last several years of my life have been a waste, an expedition of the unknown, a fruitless hunt. I don’t have the energy anymore,” she cried, then chastised herself for getting emotional.

“Y/N, your life has been filled with loss since the day you entered it. Your mother, your grandmother, then grandfather, and finally Marta. Loss is never easy and, from what Marta entrusted me with, it has hit you harder than most, having no one else that you can trust.

“You can trust me, Y/N. Marta did and I hope you will as well,” Jensen paused, taking her hand in his gently. “Close your eyes, Y/N.” Jensen’s voice was soothing, calming any left over nerves she had. She did as he instructed and closed her eyes.

The room was quiet, their breaths the only sounds that could be heard around her. Jensen didn’t move and she sat still as he held her hand in his. “I want you to clear your mind for me, Y/N. Let go of everything you are holding on to, just for a few minutes, okay?”

“Hmhmmm,” she hummed her agreement and tried to clear her mind. Taking deep breaths, she saw her grandfather, grandmother and Marta standing around her in a circle, their smiles clear as she let them fade away. She didn’t know how much time had passed before Jensen spoke again.

“Seven...doors...an envelope...grandpa...one…,” Jensen’s voice was barely audible and he pulled his hand away from her. “I don’t feel any objects, Y/N. I don’t think your grandfather left something for you to find.”

“What do you mean? There has to be something he left for me? Why would he tell me to go find these things if there is nothing for me to find?” Y/N exclaimed, frustrated once more.

“I can see you have been looking. Your mind is filled with riddles and puzzles, the things I saw before. But I see no object that he left behind for you. What I see are colors, emotions. Cliff is regretful, melancholy, but I can feel Marta as well; her emotions are different. They’re hopeful, joyful, promising,” Jensen paused and opened his eyes, looking at Y/N.

“Mr. Ackles, thank you for your time, but I feel this has been a waste of mine,” Y/N stood and gathered her things hastily. “Have a nice evening.”

“Y/N, wait! Please don’t go,” Jensen reached for her once more, but she sidestepped him.

“I can’t stay here,” she muttered and, with that, she walked out of the room and his life.

Y/N sped back to the hotel, throwing her things in her bag and wanting nothing more than to get on the road and as far away from the Ackles’ as she could. She couldn’t believe she spent so much time, so much energy, for it to turn out to be nothing. No one could help her; she could only help herself.

She missed her animals and her home. Most of all she missed her grandpa and Marta. Her thoughts drifted as she made the long drive home back to Ada, Oklahoma. What did Jensen mean when he said he didn’t think Grandpa left something for her? Everything is either person, place or thing. If it wasn’t a thing, what the hell was it that she was supposed to find? A place? A person?

Could it be her father? She had been told a long time ago that he was also dead. Apparently he was killed in a car accident before Y/N was even born. By the time she was old enough to comprehend what loss meant, she didn’t even care anymore. Surely her grandfather or Marta would have told her if he was still alive. There wasn’t even a name listed for him on her birth certificate.

By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was beyond tired. It was after two in the morning and she trudged up the stairs, falling into bed still fully clothed. She was asleep within moments, but like hundreds of nights before, it was fitful and filled with dreams once more.

But, these dreams were different than before. There were no puzzles, no riddles, no maps. What she did see was what seemed like millions of bright lights, of all different shapes and colors. There were small lights, twinkling in the distance. Some were giant balls, bursting with brightness right before her eyes, threatening to blind her. Blue, green, gold, pink, purple, orange swirling with all the colors of the rainbow and more. Beyond the lights, she could make out faint shapes, ovals, crescents, perfect circles. What she would realize later when she woke, was they weren’t shapes at all, but faces.

It would be the faces she would recall for days to come. They would be there while she went about her daily chores, cleaning pens and collecting eggs. They looked back at her in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She could see them reflected in the screen of her laptop. What bothered her the most is that they were murky, like the bottom of a lake; you could see it, but every time you tried to look closer, taking a small step stirred up the sediment. That and the fact that she couldn’t recognize any of the faces she was seeing; they were all foreign to her.

Shortly before dinner and a few days after the wasted trip to St. Louis, there was a knock at her door. This was unusual in itself. She never had visitors, not since she sold off the farm land, and she was not expecting any deliveries that she knew of. She reached for the shotgun she kept loaded in the front closet when a second knock sounded.

“Who is it?” she demanded, fire in her voice and the shotgun heavy in her hands.

“Y/N? It’s Jensen. Jensen Ackles. Can I please come in?” his deep timbre pulsated through the solid wooden door.

“Why are you here, Jensen?” she asked, some of the fight leaving her voice.

“Please just let me come in and I can explain all of it. Please,” he pleaded with her.

After releasing the deadbolt, she swung the door open and there he was, his eyes wide at the sight of a weapon in her hands. He held his hands up to show her he meant no harm.  “Jensen, why are you here?” She stowed the shotgun back in the closet and turned to face him. That was when she noticed there was something in his hand. A letter. Her letter. “What are you doing with my letter? Where did you get this?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” He held it out to her and she snatched it from him. “You left it. It must have fallen out of your bag when you rushed out of there. I’m sorry it took me so long to return it to you, but I figured you probably needed some time.”

“I didn’t even know I had lost it,” she muttered, holding it tightly to her chest. It was the last thing she had from her grandfather.

“I know you feel your trip was a waste, but there is something different about you today, than when we met just a few days back,” Jensen pondered this as he entered her home. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Wait-” she held her hand up to stop him from getting any closer to her. “How did you even find me?”

“I’m a psychic, remember?” he laughed, but back tracked quickly seeing the look on her face. “No, really. I started with the info Marta had given me, then just followed the signs until I found you. Besides, I promised you that we’d get to the bottom of it.”

“So, essentially, you tracked me?” she asked.

“Essentially,” he echoed. “The letter led me to you. You’re avoiding the question, Y/N. Do you want to talk about what is different?”

“Yes, I am avoiding it, but leave it to you to bring it up again, knowing that I am avoiding it,” she rolled her eyes and walked through the house to the kitchen, leaving Jensen staring after her. “Do you want some tea?”

Jensen accepted the invitation and moved to follow her, though he stopped every few feet, surveying the room. He could sense so much, almost to the point where he felt overwhelmed, drained, like he did at the end of an evening gathering. He made his way to the table where he collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Oh my! Jay, are you okay?” she rushed to his side.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. It’s just...this house. I am feeling everything,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his stubbled face.

“Wha-what does it feel like?” she questioned, curious about his gift.

“It’s like feeling everything all at once, overwhelming, really. The flashes I see, the emotion that goes with it. It’s a lot to absorb,” he breathed out.

“What are you feeling right now? What did you see?” her eyes were wide with wonder.

“I saw the day your grandparents brought you home after you were born,” he closed his eyes. “They were heartbroken over the loss of your mother, but elated over your birth. Concerned with what the years would bring and overjoyed at what you might accomplish.”

“Well, I feel mostly that I disappointed them,” Y/N scoffed. “I never stray far from home, I don’t have any friends. I have no family left. I sold off grandpa’s land to keep the house.”

“None of that means you’re a disappointment. I don’t feel anything of the sort, in fact. Pride, joy, love, happiness, mixed with a tinge of sadness is what I am feeling,” Jensen offered with a reassuring smile

“That doesn’t answer my ongoing situation though, Jay,” she rose, returning to her task. She busied herself with measuring the tea, so caught up in her own thoughts that the spoon slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor when the kettle whistled to life.

“Maybe you’re overthinking it, Y/N,” Jensen proposed.

Y/N eyed him carefully as she returned to the table, setting a mug in front of him, then taking her own, holding it with both hands. “How do you mean, Jay?

“Well, I am no expert when it comes to your grandfather, but sometimes people say one thing when they mean another. I met you four days ago. Since then, I have kept your letter in my possession. And no, I didn’t read it. But I don’t need to. I could feel his intentions,” Jensen explained.

“Can you break this down for me? You’re being just as cryptic as grandpa,” Y/N griped.

“Yeah, sorry. It comes with the job I guess. I had a few interactions with your grandfather these last few days. It was the letter that led me to him. The things he was referring to, aren’t things at all. Not tangible at least. He feels he kept them from you. Kept you from finding them your whole life and now he wants you to go looking for them. Friendship, companionship, love; human connections.  At least that is my read.” Jensen elaborated. “I just want you to have the information, Y/N. What you choose to do with it? Well, that’s up to you.”

Y/N pondered this for for a few moments while they sipped at their tea in silence. Normally, she experienced awkwardness with folks since she had only been around a few people her entire life. She lacked what some might call ‘social skills.’ But it was different with Jensen. She felt different. For the first time in her life, at least her adult life, she felt calm, at peace.

She surmised that what Jensen was saying made sense in some ways. Grandpa’s letter had said she should have been at school making friends. She took another sip of her tea and glanced at Jensen across from her.

“Could it really be that simple?” she muttered. It wasn’t until Jensen looked up, meeting her gaze that she realized she had said the words out loud.

“Sometimes it is,” Jensen shrugged. “I should let you get back to it.”

“Wou-would you like to come back sometime?” she sputtered, suddenly shy.

“I would like that, Y/N. I think your grandpa would, too,” he smiled and turned, heading for the front door.

“Do you like pie?” she called after him.

“I could eat a slice or ten,” he chuckled.

“Well, then I guess I’ll make two,” she added.

“Here’s my personal cell phone number, Y/N. Please, call me if you need anything, okay? Especially to let me know when you’re going to make those pies,” he joked, handing her another card.

“I will,” she took the card and walked him to the door. “Drive safe. And Jay? Thanks for coming, I feel better and I think that is because of you.”

“I am relieved to hear that, Y/N. I’m glad I could help,” he ambled down the front steps to his car.

Y/N watched as he drove down the dirt road, dust billowing behind him. She smiled. She realized she had smiled more that day than she probably had in the last ten years. Maybe, just maybe, Grandpa, Marta and Jensen had been right.

That night, she settled into bed, pulling the quilt up and curling onto her side. She closed her eyes and for the first time in what felt like forever, she slept peacefully.

~*~

Y/N kept herself busy for the next few days. She tended to her animals twice a day like always. She cleaned and started decluttering around the house. She hadn’t touched her grandfather’s belongings since he died and she decided it was finally a good time to tackle his room.

She looked around his room, now boxed up, save a few mementos, and smiled. She caught herself doing that more and more.

Normally, she had the general store in town deliver her groceries and supplies for a few extra dollars, but when she walked through the door, the shopkeeper was surprised to see her.

“Mornin’ Y/N. How’re you doing? Was about to send Tommy over to your place when I didn’t get your order this week,” Ed eyed her carefully.

“Good morning to you, Ed. I’m well, just here for my weekly shopping. Trying to get out a little more, I guess,” she smiled at him as she grabbed a basket and made her way through the aisles. Thirty minutes and four bags later, she had everything she needed for the week, plus the ingredients to make a couple of pies and a good meal.

“Thank you, Ed. Have a nice day,” she called out as he headed back into the store after loading her bags into the back of her truck. He turned and just shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t be a stranger now, Y/N. It was good to see you,” he responded. He stood there watching as she drove away.

Back home, she stored her supplies and groceries, all the while humming a tune. She knew how it had gotten stuck in her head, and she picked up the phone, dialing quickly before she changed her mind. She wouldn’t have had the chance anyway, the person on the other end picking up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” his voice was strong and smooth.

“Hey Jay, I’m not going to ask how you knew it was me,” she commented.

“Well, not many people have this number so...a good guess?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” she agreed sarcastically. “So I picked up some apples today. I was thinking about making a pie later…”

“An apple pie? One of my favorites,” he confided. “Along with cherry, pecan, banana cream, pumpkin…”

“Okay, okay. You like pie, I got the hint,” she giggled. “So if I made this apple pie, would you come by and eat some of it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” Jensen joked. “I have a couple of things to take care of here, but I can be there in four hours. Does that work for you?”

She checked the time and realized it would be just after seven when he arrived. She nodded, then laughed at herself. “Sorry for laughing, I nodded and realized you can’t see me! So, yes, that works. Say, why don’t you pack a bag, too? I have plenty of room and I don’t want you driving back and risk falling into a pie induced coma!”

“Are you sure?’ he asked cautiously, but pleased that she seemed so light hearted, a change from their last conversation.

“Yeah, I’m sure Jay. I’m trying to live a little,” she assured him. “See you later.”

“See you soon, Y/N,” he hung up the phone and went to pack a bag.

Y/N didn’t know what had come over her, but she smiled as she peeled and sliced apples for the pie. Once the pie was assembled, she set it to bake then headed upstairs. She quickly changed the sheets in the spare bedroom and opened the window for some fresh air. Satisfied, she jumped in the shower and sang quietly to herself as she cleaned up.

Dressing in her most comfortable jeans and a tee shirt, she finished up dinner. She felt good for the first time in a long time. She had slept well the last few nights and she firmly believed it was a contributing factor. Y/N knew it wouldn’t fix everything overnight, but she felt she was putting in a solid effort on her new outlook. Jensen played a big part in that, she thought as she placed the macaroni and cheese in the oven.

She knew the path had been originally laid by her grandfather and Marta, but without Jensen, an outsider, she wasn’t sure how far she could walk that path on her own. But, with only a few steps in, she felt confident she was headed the right direction.

She took note of time, knowing dinner had about thirty minutes when there was a knock at the door. She couldn’t help herself as she rushed to the front of the house, a wide grin overtaking her features. She turned the knob, seeing a very casual Jensen leaning against her door frame.

“What took you so long? I can smell that pie all the way out here! It’s how I got here; I just followed my stomach!” he laughed reaching his hand out to take hers.

She surprised both of them by pulling him into her arms, pressing her small frame against his in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you could make it, Jay! And you’re early!”

Jensen couldn’t hide the look of astonishment on his face as he returned the hug. A feeling of happiness washed over him, albeit shadowed by a remote feeling of anxiousness. He slowly released her, pulling back and observing the woman before him. Gone were the dark circles, her eyes bright and shining in the autumn sunlight filtering through the still open door. She looked healthy, happy and eager.

“You look good, Y/N,” Jensen commented, his eyes travelling her frame carefully. “Your colors have improved.”

“How do you mean?” she asked inquisitively.

“Well, everyone has an aura; I can see them, read people,” he explained. “You have more pink, a hint of orange now, mixed with a little soft blue. I feel a more loving, social nature with a peacefulness that I had not seen in yours before. You’re like the sky at sunset right now.”

“I am guessing that is a good thing?” she said, closing the door behind him.

“It’s a very good thing,” he confirmed. “Now where is this pie?”

“Right this way, Jay. Dinner is almost ready,” Y/N led him through the house, back to the kitchen. “I hope you’re not lactose intolerant; I made macaroni and cheese.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I can handle cheese,” Jensen reaffirmed. “Now, what can I help with?”

“Nothing. It isn’t often I have guests...honestly, I’ve never had a guest, so have a seat and let me finish up here,” she confided. “Beer?”

“That sounds great, Y/N. Thank you.”

They chatted for a few minutes, Y/N telling Jensen about her animals and her day, even telling him she went to town. 

“Trying to make friends, I see,” he teased.

“Well, I thought a lot about what you said, about what grandpa wanted for me, so I’m trying for him, and for me,” she said thoughtfully. “It wasn’t as bad I used to make it.”

“That’s awesome, kid,” Jensen commended, taking a sip off his beer.

“Kid? You know you’re only a year older than me, right, old man?” she poked, noting the look of fake shock on Jensen’s face. “I did my research on you, too.”

Just then the timer went off.

“Saved by the bell,” Jensen remarked.

Dinner was comfortable and filled with conversation. Jensen did his best to block his gifts in most situations and, with Y/N, it was no different. He didn’t want her to feel like he was constantly reading her and trying to get into her head. His knowledge of her was quite limited based on what Marta had confided in him and what they had already discussed, so he kept the conversation centered on her. He wanted to know everything about her.

“Okay, okay, enough about me, Jay,” she stopped him as she served up that pie he was so eager to dig into. “Tell me something about you; something I can’t read on the internet.”

“Well, there isn’t much to tell, honestly. A lot about me is already out there. I have a brother and sister, my parents are my managers, I was an athlete in school,” Jensen shrugged, taking a plate from her. “This looks heavenly, Y/N.” He held the plate, taking a whiff and sighing with joy.

“Thank you. The recipe is actually Marta’s; mostly everything I cook is. She taught me everything I know,” she said sadly. “I miss her.”

“I know you do,” Jensen reached his hand across the table, taking hers in his larger one.

“Are you reading me?” she asked, offended.

“No, Y/N. I am not reading you, I promise. I told myself I wouldn’t do that, not since the last visit,” he vowed. “I want you to be able to trust, and I think you are, but I know you can’t if I use my gift around you. With the exception of seeing your aura when I arrived, I have been blocking it. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about her, I can see it in your eyes. I swear it.”

“I’m sorry I got so defensive, this whole letting people in thing is new to me. Please be patient with me, I’m trying,” she smiled.

“Hey, hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jensen squeezed her hand. “I know this is new to you. To be honest, this is a little new for me, too. Most people I meet just want something from me, but not you. You’re doing great, Y/N. I’ll help you navigate your path if you help me with mine.”

“I think that sounds like a fair trade, Jay. Thank you,” she squeezed back. “Now eat your pie!”

Jensen knew he had never tasted pie this good before and he made a fool of himself eating it in front of Y/N with the noises and faces he was probably making. “I’m sorry. This is just so superbly delicious and I just can’t stop myself.”

“I’m flattered, really. I’m glad I did it justice. This was her first prize recipe at the Oklahoma State Fair three years running,” Y/N whispered, pretending it was a secret. “But don’t over do it; I have pecan, too.”

“Are you serious?” his eyes now as big as his stomach. “Please, please can I have a slice?”

“You’re a like a puppy with a treat, Jay!” she laughed and plated a slice of the pecan for him as well. “Good thing I readied a room, you’ll be asleep in no time from all these carbs.”

“Good think I packed sweatpants to sleep in, stretchy waist!” he mumbled around the flaky crust and buttery filling of the pecan pie.

Y/N excused herself to the restroom only to find Jensen at the sink, his sleeves rolled up and washing dishes. “Jensen Ackles! What do you think you are doing?”

“Well, I figured it was a fair price for room, board and pleasant company for the evening,” he shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Fine, but no doing the breakfast dishes,” she relented, sitting down and picking up her beer as she watched Jensen. He had a quiet confidence about him and she was enjoying his company.

“Tell me Jensen, was it your idea to take your gift to the people?” she asked.

Jensen mulled that question over for a bit before answering. “No, not really. My grandmother used to bring people home at first, ones that she thought I could help. Then my folks encouraged me to do private readings. People started paying and it just snowballed from there. This is not something I would have chosen for myself, but I help people.”

“Are you happy?”

“All the travelling, the crowds; it makes me anxious, to be honest, but I like helping people. I have more money now than I could ever spend and I’m only twenty-five. What would I do if I didn’t do this?” his words were spoken from the heart.

“You can still help people, Jay. But, do what makes you happy. That is all I am saying,” she replied.

“Now who’s helping?” he teased, wiping his hands on a towel.

“We’re in this together now, right? Friends helping friends? You’re my first friend, Jay,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” he smiled, taking two more beers from the fridge, passing one off to her. He held up his beer towards her. “To friendship.”

“To friendship,” she agreed and clinked her bottle against his.

After those last two beers, they made their way up the stairs, Y/N showing him to the room she had prepared. “Bathroom is just down the hall. I laid out some towels if you want to shower now or in the morning. Goodnight, Jensen.”

“Thank you for a nice evening,” Jensen said graciously. “Sleep tight, Y/N.”

With their nighttime ados exchanged, she made her way to her own room at the end of the hall, Jensen watching her until she closed the door. She changed into her night clothes and climbed into bed. She laid there for sometime, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the night. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and Jensen’s face in her dreams.

~*~

The smell of coffee and bacon woke her the next morning. Her eyes opened slowly and she stretched out her tired limbs before climbing from her bed. After a quick change of clothes and a visit to the bathroom to take care of business and brush her teeth, she rushed downstairs.

Jensen was still in his sleep clothes, gray sweatpants, a tight black tee shirt and bare feet, when she entered the kitchen. He was standing at her stove, a steaming mug in one hand and flipping bacon with the other.

“Well, Mr. Ackles, this is something I could get used to,” she smiled, pouring herself some coffee.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, this isn’t something I get to do often and I thought it would be nice to give you the morning off,” he slid some bacon from the pan onto the nearby plate. “Besides, I was raised in my granny’s kitchen. I know how to cook, I just don’t get to as much as I would like.”

She went to the back door and slipped on a pair of shoes. “Let me run out and grab some eggs to go with that bacon.”

“You don’t need to run to the store, we can make do with what you already have,” Jensen replied, adding another slice to the pan.

“Oh, no, not the store silly. My back yard. I raise chickens; have since I was a kid,” she laughed and slipped out the door, not missing the look on his face.

She returned just a few minutes later, a basket full of fresh eggs of all colors. Jensen looked in the basket, that same look of awe on his scruffy face.

“These are not from chickens. Chickens lay white eggs, maybe brown, but not blue and green!” Jensen protested.

“Jensen, surely a man with your education knows better than this!” she laughed. “See these blue eggs are laid by Araucanas chickens. These eggs here are from what are affectionately known as Easter Eggers; their eggs can range in color from blue, green, rose or brown to sage, olive or cream. But the key is they are larger eggs than the others from the Araucanas. The deep brown colored eggs? Those are from my French feathered friends, the Marans chickens,” she explained as she picked a few to cook up.

“I was raised just outside of Dallas in the suburbs. I know about horses and bulls and people, maybe even dogs, but I never claimed to know anything about chickens,” Jensen defended himself. “Can I meet them?”

“Yes, only if you eat all your breakfast, Mister,” she laughed, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.

Jensen was fascinated by her animals and asked all about them over breakfast. She told him all about the chicken and the goats. She had never seen someone eat so fast in her life. He was finished and already washed his dishes before she had cleared half her plate.

“Jay, they will still be there when we’re ready. Why don’t you go shower and change and I promise I’ll be ready when you are,” she waved him off and finished her own breakfast. By the time she had washed her dishes and gotten rid of the bacon grease, Jensen was back in the kitchen, dressed in jeans, a black undershirt and a green and blue flannel, looking every part a farm hand.

“I’m ready!” Jensen announced, practically bouncing as she slipped her shoes back on.

“Now who’s the kid?” she teased as they headed out the back door. Jensen could barely contain himself as she let them in the fence and over to the chicken coop.

“How much land do you have here?” he asked as he surveyed the area.

“Had about 500 acres before grandpa died. In the last several years, I have sold off all but ten. I sold enough to keep me here and kept only what I needed for these guys. I had the entire ten fenced in so they can go anywhere they want and they return to the coop each night and for feeding time,” they were now surrounded by over a dozen chickens, of all shapes, sizes and colors.

“These don’t even have tails!” Jensen pointed, giggling.

“Those are the Araucanas; no rumps,” she explained.

“Where are the goats you were telling me about?” Jensen looked around, trying to spot the small, horned and hoofed creatures.

“Probably out grazing, that is what they do,” she surmised. “Oscar, Billy, Gruff, Peanut!”

“Those are their names?” he laughed.

“Yes. Why is that so funny to you?” she side eyed him.

“Because it’s awesome and incredible and I am having so much fun,” Jensen explained himself. “I grew up around horses named Tex and Spitfire, bulls named Stingray and Goliath.”

As if on cue, two of the goats made their way back into the pen, thinking it was feeding time. ���This is Oscar and that little one is Peanut.” She affectionately scratched the top of Oscar’s head and he nudged her leg.

“He likes to be scratched just like my Oscar,” Jensen observed. “I guess most pets are alike. Like humans; we mostly crave the attention, the affection, interaction.”

“That is a very generalized theory, Jay,” she told him. “But you’re not wrong. I guess I am proof of that.”

Jensen walked back over to her, Peanut hot on his trail. “Hey, look at me. Just because of the situation of how we met, doesn’t mean you crave attention or affection; it is after all, a natural instinct. What draws us in, it doesn’t mean we’re needy because of it. So don’t you think for one second that I think that, or anyone else.”

“I’m still trying,” she looked down at her feet.

“And I am still helping,” he promised.

“I have something else you can help with,” she tugged his hand and led him back to a shed in the corner. “It’s feeding time.” She pointed out the buckets and Jensen didn’t hesitate to grab one in each hand. She grabbed two more and they made their way back to the pen.

“Those are for the goats, just pour it into the trough there,” she instructed while passing through the gate to feed the chickens. “Jay! Can you grab one more of the red buckets?”

“Yeah, no problem! Just a sec-” she didn’t see what happened, but she heard a crash, followed by a thud and the goats bleating up a storm. She raced to the gate to find Jensen flat on his back, surrounded by goats and covered in feed. She couldn’t help herself and started laughing.

“This is not funny!” Jensen yelled, struggling to get up and escape the animals.

She managed to get through and close the gate, coming to Jensen’s aide. “You’re wrong, it is funny, City Boy. Come on, I got ya.” She held out her hand to help him up, but missed the look of mischief on his handsome face.

Jensen reached for the hand she offered, but instead of trying to pull himself up, he yanked and pulled her down into the dirt with him. She squealed as she hit the ground, but soon they were both laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

The goats were nipping at the tips of Jensen’s short hair and he tried to fend them off, but it just fueled their fire. Y/N was no help as she couldn’t stop laughing, but Jensen now looked less amused. He rolled himself over, coming face to face with her.

“Jay, what’s wrong?” she managed to get out. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. I’m great. And you’re beautiful, you know that?” the look quickly changed to one she didn’t recognize, but felt. Her cheeks were heating up under his gaze.

“Did you hit your head?” she questioned, sure that was it.

“No, I have never felt better, more free in my life,” Jensen looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me you feel it, too?”

“I don’t know what I am feeling, Jay. It’s too much and not enough and I am conflicted,” she admitted, looking away.

Jensen cupped her cheek in his hand, turning her back to face him. “We’re helping each other right?”

She nodded in agreement.

“Then let’s start figuring this out, together,” he suggested and she nodded once more. “Good, cause I really wanna kiss you.”

“I really want you to,” she leaned a bit closer, counting on Jensen to take the lead.

Jensen did just that and closed the gap, lightly pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was unhurried, soft and warm and tingly. It didn’t last as long as the kisses she had seen in the movies, but her knowledge was limited. Jensen pulled back, a dopey smile on his face, matching the one on hers.

“What are you thinking, Y/N?’ Jensen asked.

“That I finally found what I’ve been looking for,” she beamed and leaned back in for more.

Have something nice to say? What did you think? I know it was long, but was it worth it?

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99blog @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27 @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda 

Jensen’s Jamboree: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @cameronbraswell @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets @wingedcatninja @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt 

AU Tags: @luci-in-trenchcoats @kayteonline 

[qwertythepopstarian08]

JSAB Fanfic: Duality

Okay, so I promised @small--crcle on anon that I’d write a fanfiction for the Reverse Superhero AU that was briefly mentioned on their blog. The idea’s been nagging at me for awhile now, so I finally sat down and finished it.

The Reverse Superhero AU is VERY loosely inspired by Danny Phantom, Miraculous Ladybug, and any other superhero media in which the main character’s alter egos are the enemies of their parents. Because, y’know, ANGST FUEL.

Sadly, this pushed back production of Feeling Blue and Grey Area a bit, but I worked just as hard on this story, so I hope everyone enjoys.

For anyone who doesn’t know, @small--crcle has a swap AU askblog that’s pretty neat, so... go follow them for the original source. Trust me, I can’t do it justice.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy (and forgive me for inactivity ugh).

Description: An AU in which instead of shapes and beats, there are heroes and villains. However, one villain... isn’t that bad.

At thirteen, Blixer already has more scars than one could count. He’s weak, fragile, most of his peers say. They’d probably be right, had it not been for New Game. New Game simultaneously fixes everything and ruins it as well. New Game is part of him, but it’s still another shape altogether.

Blixer’s horns are cracked and brittle, and several cracks and fractures, chips from being thrown around by monsters, riddle his face and arms; he always keeps the scars from battle. New Game can’t be harmed, so it passes the hurt onto Blixer.

Each villain is more dangerous than the last. Blixer wishes he’d never gotten these powers. Everything is after him, wanting nothing more than to shatter him until there’s nothing left but dust. He thinks he’s about to do just that as he struggles through each day.

He walks down the street, towards his step-dad’s house, his only safe haven. It’s raining, icy water pelting him from above, most likely the precursor to some weather-based monster rearing its beastly head. Whatever it was, New Game would deal with it later, anyway. Nothing came after Blixer. They didn’t have to; he was a mess, already.

He stared down at the puddles, just waiting for them to ice over right before his eyes. Of course, all he sees is New Game, the being who ruined his life, who continued to save his life, who stole his life.

New Game grinned back, as usual. Blixer didn’t think it could stop. Frankly, he didn’t care. There was no point in contemplation; in a few hours, when night fell and that thing took over, it would be his face that was pulled into that cursed rictus grin. It would be his form that would be twisted into one of the very monsters that he fought to protect the city from  with his life.

And once again, he and his alter ego would be one and the same.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, Blixer kept walking, his nublike horns drooping, his eye trained straight forward so as to avoid eye contact with his reflection. No one else can see it, after all, so he doesn’t bother speaking to it.

Nonetheless, the being chimed in, reading his thoughts, “So, Blix, what do you think we’ll have to fight tonight?” It chuckled in that horrible, evil laugh. Blixer is sure that he’s the only thing keeping New Game from going completely mad. New Game continues with a snicker, “Maybe it’ll be Cia… Ooh! Or, that mysterious cyan beast will show up. I’ve wanted to shatter him for ages.”

Blixer refused to look down, although he hissed under his breath, “The cyan one never attacks us. He’s tough, so we should try to keep it that way.” He winced as his most damaged horn suddenly throbbed with pain, reaching up to hold his head. “Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.”

New Game only giggled, its smile stretching. “I can’t die, silly! Been there, done that, and now I’m glued to your soul.”

Blixer chose to ignore that last comment, quickening his pace. He was just a few blocks away from Kubix’s house, and if he wanted to get any rest, he needed to get home before sundown. The sky was a dismal grey, although Blixer knew from experience not to underestimate how fast the time could slip. Time seemed to drag on in the minutes before sundown, but from the moment he left school, to the moment the sun hit the horizon, it was quicker than he could process.

He zoned out, distracted by his thoughts, moving on autopilot as he approached the great doors to Kubix’s home. The square was rich, that was for sure, but he insisted on living in a smaller neighborhood to be close to Blixer. It was a sweet gesture, although Kubix could be cold at times. It was just another odd factor, a detail that Blixer often overlooked, attributing it to the other nonsense of his life.

He stepped inside, silent, not wanting to disturb Kubix in whatever he was doing. The square almost always seemed to be busy in the afternoon. Busy with what, Blixer never dared ask. If there was anything else he was sure about when it came to his mysterious relative, it was that he was secretive.

There were no mirrors or reflective surfaces inside. It was always dark, the curtains and blinds shut tightly. Blixer couldn’t say that he liked the darkness, although it made it easier to sleep, at least until the inevitable happened.

He was extra tired today. His feet dragged with each step, and his horns drooped, looking more frail than usual. His eye was glassy and unfocused, although its glow grew brighter with each passing moment, as it grew closer to sundown.

Without so much as a word, Blixer retreated to his room, going straight to sleep. He cared little for homework, only thinking of his crucial rest. After all, in just three hours, the monsters would awaken, ready to hunt down the worst monster of them all: him.

The sun retreated, the moon taking its place. The day was over. The evil, once chased away by the light of day, reared its head, and where there was once order, chaotic beasts came out to play.

New Game opened his eyes, his grin already stretching across his face. His entire body glowed with an almost radioactive light, fueled by a restless energy. It was his favorite time of day; hunting down villainous beasts. He was in no way a hero, but he knew full well that he was the city’s best hope for protection against evil.

Standing, he approached the window, throwing the curtains aside. The window itself was already open, already awaiting his arrival, the moon’s pristine light shining in and beckoning him.

New Game grinned, climbing out to sit on the ledge, to admire the stars for a moment before all chaos broke loose.

The moment passed in an instant, the heart rate in his eye starting to beat madly. He scrambled down the roof, catching himself with his claws as he slid down. Of course, he lost his grip. A roof shingle came down with him as he crashed onto the grass, although he felt nothing.

Blixer was his scapegoat for pain. New Game almost felt bad for him, although the sympathy faded as the being laid, splayed out on the grass, bright pink “blood” already pooling beneath him.

It wasn’t really blood; he couldn’t be hurt.

He just stayed there, collecting himself, staring blankly at the moon above, his smile constant. He thought about pain; Blixer was always complaining about it, so it must have been fun. Anything that annoyed Blixer seemed to be fun. So New Game tried to feel pain.

In five minutes, he was bored. New Game stood, his grin twitching, his good eye narrowing as he looked around. It was oddly peaceful tonight. Not even Droplet’s minions had shown their faces.

He was… lonely.

Horns drooping, New Game found himself standing there, listening to the wind, waiting for something to happen. He couldn’t sleep, so there was no escape from this emptiness… Without another word, he teleported to the top of some skyscraper. He didn’t care exactly where; he just wanted a better view of the sky, beyond the clouds.

He watched the stars for the longest time, sure than an eternity had passed. It was peaceful, even with the sound of passing traffic and the clamouring of the city. This… was the only thing that could placate him...

The sound of a twig snapping alerted the antihero to the presence of another shape… he wasn’t alone.

Whirling around, New Game tensed, his heart monitor quickening in pace as he eyed the being before him, expecting a fight. He immediately began formulating a plan of action, although he knew that, if it was a lower-level enemy, he’d just rush in blindly, anyway; it was more fun that way.

His smile nearly dropped, his heartbeat flatlining for a moment as he processed the sight before him. The shape wasn’t cerulean blue or even red, like most of the corrupted villains. He wasn’t some incoherent beast, either. The shape was just a normal square, set apart only by his expensive-looking clothes and the wicked horns that curved from his head.

A single, fearful word escaped New Game, “King?”

No one knew the true name of the infamous cyan beast. All the other criminals of the night lived in fear of the being, afraid to merely utter his title. Usually, if he was causing any trouble at all, he was causing it for the other villains, although he was by no means a good shape, even in New Game’s eyes. He’d seen this monster shatter innocents before his own eyes, a deed that not even the antihero would even think of, let alone attempt.

The King of Chaos let a small grin quirk at his features. He made no move to fight, although New Game still tensed, his near-constant grin threatening to drop.

“Calm yourself,” King huffed. He raised a hand, shaking his head. “I wish not to harm you, only to talk.”

New Game tensed. “And how am I supposed to believe that?” His voice raised its volume, a growl clear in his tone. “You’re a monster, you-”

“Blixer.” King cut him off, his tone cold, yet nonthreatening. “I promise not to hurt you.”

A slight feeling of relief blossomed in New Game’s heart, undoubtedly appealing to his other half’s fearful nature. However, one word in the other shape’s promise made the pink being’s stomach twist with unease.

“How…” The alter ego staggered back, bristling. “How do you know that name?”

No one was supposed to know of his connection to Blixer. Unlike him, Blixer could be harmed, and rather easily, at that. If the most dangerous villain of all discovered him… Blixer was as good as shards.

New Game kept his voice low as he growled, “You’re not supposed to know that.”

The cyan being’s gaze became distant, before he looked away, his voice lowering. “I know much more than that. More than you can imagine.”

New Game suddenly lashed out, discomforted by the other night-dweller’s phrasing. One of his arms reformed into a large claw, which he held at King’s neck, hissing.

“Y-you’re really insane, you know that, buddy? And that’s coming from me!” He stepped closer, his movements shaky. “I knew you were trouble! I’ll shatter you before you can get CLOSE to Blixer!”

King eyed the glowing claw with a bored expression, although something changed in his tone, his nonchalance seeming to falter. New Game felt a bit of satisfaction well up in his core; was that… fear?

Pushing the claw aside with a hand, King hummed in musing. “Bold of you to assume I would ever harm you… either of you.” His cyan eyes softened, if only slightly. “I was merely looking out for you. Just because we are considered enemies doesn’t mean I desire to bring you harm.”

New Game yelled, “That’s exactly what that means!”

Nonetheless, King smirked. “Well, then I suppose we aren’t enemies.” He approached New Game slowly, his hands held up in plain view so as to ensure that he wouldn’t try anything.

The antihero stumbled back, only stopping when he found himself standing on the edge of the building, gravity almost pulling him over. King caught his transformed arm, ignoring the spikes, dragging him closer to the center of the roof.

He stepped back as New Game was returned to stable ground, his smile still present.

New Game refused to look at him, averting his gaze to stare at the bustling streets below. The streets were alight with yellow light, packed with commuters, travelling shapes who would’ve normally cleared out as soon as a monster appeared. New Game hadn’t seen the city this active in months.

He had a feeling that King had something to do with it...

Taking a chance, he mumbled, “You’re not a villain, are you?”

“Oh, of course I am,” King chuckled, grinning with sharp teeth. “The most dangerous of them all.”

The alter ego closed his good eye, his heart rate eye displaying a slow beat.

“Then why?” He turned fully away from King, hoping that he would vanish. “Why do you help me? Is it a joke to you? Are you just... bored?”

At this point, New Game was just listing his own reasons for being a hero. He wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t nice. He tormented Blixer all day just to keep his body running all night until it broke. He only did the right thing because no one else would, and he liked to fight.

He was just another monster, a demon that had just happened to get stuck to a good person, to be influenced by altruism instead of greed and anger. But at his core, he was just a parasite with nothing better to do.

So what made King different?

Much to his shock, the ruler of chaos spoke up, his voice suddenly taking on a softer tone, sounding eerily familiar to someone that Blixer himself held dear.

“I cannot bear to see a child get hurt, Blixer.” King stepped closer. New Game heard him, although he made no move to escape. He felt himself being pulled into a hug, his anxiety skyrocketing as his instincts told him to shatter the other shape on the spot. However, King’s next words made New Game’s mind fill with something other than restless anger, something more than a bored listlessness.

He retorted, “That’s… that can’t...” He trailed off, defeated. There was nothing to say.

King whispered, the strange, otherworldly echo leaving his tone, his formal language dropping in favor for something kinder, something familiar. “Blix, I’ve told you this before…” New Game’s will to fight melted away, and he was filled with a different kind of fear, a denial that made both Blixer and himself want to scream, to make it go away. The worst monster in the word couldn’t be him, not HIM of all shapes.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he found himself choking on his own breath, unable to process the conclusion his mind was putting together. The shock was greater than anything that New Game had felt, so great that he felt Blixer wake up, although he refused to take control.

Both of them were awake, awake to hear the truth.

King, or rather, Kubix, continued, his voice airy, filled with a parental love instead of that cold, calculating tone from before. Suddenly, he wasn’t a monster, wasn’t the most terrifying thing that dared to appear, who was just biding his time until he inevitably shattered Blixer.

No, it was just Kubix. Emotionally disconnected, awkward, Kubix. Blixer’s only guardian. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he’d shatter to protect his son.

New Game’s heart nearly stopped at the next words, although he’d heard them countless times before, knew them by heart.

“I can’t let a kid get hurt… especially not my own.”

The King of Chaos was New Game’s only guardian. He wasn’t the best person, but he’d shatter to protect his heir.

[noradarhkpalmer]

a remedy for your memories

Title: a remedy for your memories

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer aka Darhkatom

Warnings: A lot of angst

Summary/Notes: Nora accidentally runs into Anna Loring on a mission to 2012 and witnesses the happiness between Anna and Ray. This leads her to one painful conclusion: go back to May 2014 and save Anna, no matter the consequences to the timeline or to her own life.

Basically Nora is a giant masochist and this might hurt a lot.

As always thanks to @princesstomaz and @timetravelingpalmer for encouraging my nonsense!

She spent a long time in their room. She knew it would be the last time she would be probably anywhere after she went back. She stared at the pictures of her and Ray that were pinned to a corkboard above their shared desk, tracing her fingers over the look of love on her face. She loved this man with all of her heart, all of her mind, and all of her soul, and that’s why she knew she had to do this. It was the right thing. He would get back years of happiness. Avoid months of pain and anguish. He would be so much better off.

She touched the turquoise necklace at her throat, remembering how she had briefly freaked out thinking it was an engagement ring. She laughed bitterly, glancing down at the engagement ring that glittered on her finger he had given her only two weeks later. She should be planning her own wedding right now but instead she was planning to go back and let Ray marry another. Someone so much better suited for him.

It all started when they went on a mission, back to 2012, Star City. Someone had displaced Queen Elizabeth I as a child into an orphanage. She had gone there, familiar with group homes, asylums, orphanages, and the like, to be able to get the future queen out of there when she met one of the volunteers. She had been kind, amazing with the kids, always going the extra mile, incredibly sweet to Nora, making her feel right at home and not like a newbie. Her badge had said Loring and she had her suspicions at first, and then the woman said her name was Anna and her gut bottomed out. Ray’s late fiancee. Because of course she would be volunteering with orphans.

Nora made herself scarce in case the worst happened, and it had. She had watched as a slightly younger version of her own fiance stepped into the room, gave Anna a kiss, and asked if she was ready to go. Her throat had constricted at the sight. Not out of jealousy, not out of anger, but because she saw how happy Ray was. His whole life was ahead of him. And a future with Anna. Nora Darhk, to him, was just a nine year old girl if he had even heard of her. Not a woman he was now, in her present, wanting to build a life with.

Nora hadn’t said a word about meeting Ray’s late fiancee, even when he asked because he knew Anna had volunteered at the same place. She had lied through her teeth, thankful she could still lie as well as she always could with that much pain coursing through her veins. The night she got back she couldn’t sleep, she thought about all the pain Ray had gone through, all the pain she had caused him. And it all stemmed from losing Anna. Losing her had been his catalyst to becoming the ATOM, which led him to becoming a Legend, which led him to her. But that path had been riddled with pain not just physical, but emotional; he had dated not one, but two women who had left him for another man (that always baffled her because it was Ray, amazing, wonderful Ray).

And here she was, the fourth woman in Ray’s life, the third fiancee, and maybe even his third choice? She knew that Ray loved her but if he had the choice to be with any of his exes, Anna included, would he still choose her? Unlikely.

Now Nora was leaving, to take the jumpship to May 2014 and prevent Anna’s death. She wasn’t sure how she would do it, she needed to let history run its course just enough so that it would still be Oliver that took down Deathstroke, but basically save Anna and Ray and get the hell out of there. Once history cemented she would more than likely be erased from the timeline but she didn’t care. Without Ray becoming the ATOM, he wouldn’t be a Legend, and there wouldn’t be anyone to take her father back to trade places with her in Zambesi as Mallus’s vessel. She knew she was sacrificing herself for good, so maybe that would make up for what she would do when the timeline changed.

She looked back down at her engagement ring, played with it, and eventually slid it off, placing it on Ray’s nightstand. Once history cemented, he wouldn’t be needing it anyways and neither would she.

Nora was on her way to the jumpship when she heard familiar heavy footsteps behind her. Ray. She tried to ignore it but the steps increased in pace until they finally got close enough for whoever they belong to, to gently grab her arm. Nora stopped, took in a deep breath, and turned around to face Ray.

“Where are you going?” He asked. “I was just coming back to the room to ask if you wanted Chinese for dinner and I found this on my nightstand.” He held up her engagement ring and Nora’s throat tightened.

“Ray…”

“Nora… did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I had, please, tell me and we work through this. I don’t want to lose you.”

But that was exactly what he was about to do, even if in the new timeline he’d never know it. Nora gently pulled her arm away from his grasp and took in a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything, Ray… I…” She looked in his eyes, the kind, chocolate brown, puppy dog eyes that always seemed to brighten her day. The ones that always had love for her in them. The ones that she always pictured on an adorable baby when she thought about their future children. Those eyes that deserved to look at Anna again. And she knew in that moment she couldn’t lie to him. She might be able to pull off a convincing excuse for why she was leaving, but she knew she just couldn’t lie to him anymore.

“Do you really want to know why I’m leaving?”

Ray, close to tears now. “Yes.”

Nora closed her eyes, willing herself to just tell him the truth. “I lied when I said I hadn’t met Anna. I not only met but I saw you with her when I went back… I… saw how good you guys were together. I saw how in love with her that you were and I just couldn’t handle it. You deserve to be that happy, Ray. And it’s not going to be with me. I know that. Anna was perfect for you. And I’m going to make sure that you can have the life you always dreamed with her.” “Nora… no… what? You can’t…”

She shook her head. “Don’t tell me all the reasons why I shouldn’t, Ray, none of them matter. There may be more reasons why I shouldn’t but I know that the one reason why I should matters the most. And it’s your happiness.”

“I’m happy with you! I want to marry you!” Ray stepped towards her but Nora took a step back.

Nora held up her hands, she feared if she let him touch her again she wouldn’t go through with it.

“Please, let me do this. You won’t even remember me but you’ll instead have wonderful memories of being with Anna, marrying her, and all the kids you’ll have. When we got together I should’ve realized that my place in your life was just a result of you making happiness out of some really crappy situations. This way all of that goes away and you can have true happiness.”

“How can be so sure?”

“Don’t know unless we try, right?” She shrugged and smiled sadly at him.

Ray shook his head. “No, if you try, you’ll erase yourself from the timeline. You dad won’t take your place and you’ll die, Nora. There’s not a timeline I can bare to be in where you’re dead. It’s why I took your dad back. I didn’t realize he’d sacrifice himself for you. I thought I’d be walking onto that jumpship with the both of you. But if I’m not there to do that, he doesn’t go back at all. And you die.”

“And if I go back and do this, Anna won’t. I promise this is for the better, Ray. The Legends have tried to warn me that it could be really bad but I can’t seem to figure out why a timeline where you have the happiness you’ve always been meant to have could be catastrophic to the rest of reality.” She finally inched closed to him, wanting to say goodbye one last time. “Let me do this, please.” She reached up and cupped his face, kissing him softly. “I love you, and that’s why I’m doing this.”

“Nora… this is my life you’re messing with, my life, and messing with it in a way I didn’t ask you to. I can’t imagine my life happier than it is when I’m with you. Please don’t do this.”

Nora considered his words for a minute. She let him pull her in close and she cried quietly against him. They cried together. She didn’t want to erase herself, she wanted to stay here and be happy with Ray but she knew that Ray would be happier with someone else.

“But… Anna, wouldn’t you do anything to get her back if you had the chance? This is your chance, Ray!”

“Not at the cost of your life. Anna was my past and made me who I am today. Made me someone who was worthy and ready to love you. You’re not second best to her or anyone else I’ve been with. I didn’t just make do with my circumstances, I chose you and I will choose you over and over again, Nora. I asked you to marry me because I want you to be my future as well as my present. So I don’t want you to change my past.”

Nora lifted her head up and swallowed hard. “I… I just want you to be happy…”

“I am with you.” He presents her engagement ring again. “Now will you please put this back on and abandon this masochistic plan of yours?”

Nora, now crying, looked at him through teary ears. “I’m really your first choice?”

“You’re my first choice, always.” He kissed her forehead. “And soon you’ll be my wife.” He smiled and she held out her left hand. He slid the ring back to its rightful place and kissed her knuckles.

Nora wrapped her arms around him and held him close and then let him lead her back to their room.

[killianmesmalls]

Smoke and Mirrors

On top of really digging (obsessing about?) Hook and Alice, I’m really appreciating the dynamic between Hook and Regina. I’ve always appreciated their antagonistic alliance, but their budding friendship recently has been amazing. So, KnightRook and friendship HookedQueen below. Likely later canon non-compliant, but for now it’s how I’m imagining a scene going down.

Chapter: 1/1

Warnings: ANGST. Sad and somewhat manic Alice. 

Synopsis: It was a weekly match at Roni’s like anything else. Until Alice starts to wake up...

The match was heated, to say the least. His knight was closing in, she had lost both of her bishops, and the middle of the board was beginning to look like her own personal Waterloo.

Tilly couldn’t be happier. True to his word, the detective had been on time each week for their scheduled game. Each time included food, which he of course paid for, and a friendly exchange that kept her from floating too deep into her thoughts. In spite of his serious exterior, she was really getting to like this Detective Rogers.

Does he even have a first name, she thought suddenly, or did he pop out and his parents decided to call him ‘Detective’, and he decided ‘Welp, guess I know what I’m doing now’?

Perhaps if she had been more focused, she would have noticed a misplayed move, but her eyes were studying the wrinkles of concentration stamped into his forehead. He reminded her of someone. She couldn’t quite put her finger on whom. Perhaps someone from long ago in the system, a foster father that wasn’t as spectacularly awful as the rest. Maybe it was just someone from a television show she had caught once and her faded memories made her feel like she knew this sitcom-perfect person from a lost time. Maybe someone from a storybook she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of. All sorts of stories were getting mixed in her head these days.

Roni’s bar was quiet for the afternoon. The usual Thursday lunch crowd had largely cleared out and Rogers had the rest of the day off. Tilly had to admit, he was a little more fun now that he wasn’t obsessing about that Eloise Gardener. The ache of the lie she had been instructed to tell him, that Weaver had insisted was for the best, had mostly died away. Though, the sting of betrayal from the older detective still reared its ugly head in times of silence. Rogers’s presence always helped.

“Orders up,” Roni said, carrying their respective sandwiches and fries to the table.

Rogers looked up to give a grateful smile, the tension in his forehead releasing just slightly. “Thanks.”

“So, who’s winning?”

“He is, but I can get him back where I want him,” answered Tilly, wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s going to be difficult if you keep putting your queen in harm’s way,” Rogers offered sagely.

“Distraction, Detective. Smoke and mirrors. All it is, is smoke and mirrors. I’ll have you back where I want you in no time.”

Rogers just chuckled and moved his knight, capturing her queen’s last line of defense—her rook. “Distraction or not, that’s a check.”

She made a face at the loss, reaching into her bag to feel for her pills. Stupid things. They were the only things that made mealtimes less than perfect—a reminder that she could get upside-down again. A reminder she was a danger without some lab-created chemical coursing through her. Sighing at the thought, she continued to search with her hand, furrowing her eyebrows when it came up empty.

“Tilly?” Rogers asked, both he and Roni watching with mild concern. “Is everything alright?”

Without a word, she dumped the contents of her bag on the free booth space beside her, fumbling through her knick-knacks wildly. “No, no, no, no…”

“Tilly?” Roni repeated, her heart breaking for the girl she now knew she was. “What’s wrong?”

“My pills. I can’t find—Not here. They’re not here. I had them and now…” Tilly shot up from the booth and hunted around them, her heart pounding in her ears.

“It’s going to be fine,” Rogers insisted as he rose with a more careful urgency. “We’ll find them. And, even if we don’t, we can figure out a way to get you a refill as quickly as possible.”

Tilly continued searching, the fog rolling in—or was it out? She couldn’t quite tell. No, she must keep hunting. Hunting like a… what was it? Bandersnatch? No, that was nonsense.

Roni, no, Regina began to get a sense of what was happening. She could see in Tilly’s features a rising recognition mixing with the waves of confusion. She had felt it, too, when Drizella laced her drink with whatever the hell potion she had managed to get her slimy little manicured hands on.

“Rogers, can you check out front and around the block? See if they might have fallen out between the troll and here?” she asked.

“Sure,” he dutifully replied, already moving toward the door.

Only once the tell-tale bell over her door rang and the coast was clear did Regina approach the wild girl, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Immediately, Tilly tried to pull away, but Regina was steadfast, albeit tender, in her approach.

“Do you know who you are?” she asked.

“What? Such a silly question. Everyone around here always has such silly questions,” the girl mumbled frantically.

“Do you know who you are?” Regina tried again. This time, their eyes met, Regina’s brown to the welling blue before her, and her feelings were confirmed.

“Alice. I’m Alice.”

She had expected Regina to call her crazy, to immediately call the hospital and have her committed. Instead, she saw as Regina moved to close a little more space between them.

“And, do you know who I am?”

Her tone was steady, almost maternal, and Alice let a few frightened tears fall before she replied, “Regina. You’re Regina Mills.”

When she saw a sad smile stretch across Regina’s strong but beautiful face, Alice felt a soft calm begin to wash over her. Then, in an instant, a surge of panic a thousand times stronger began to overwhelm her. What was happening? Where was…. Where…

“Papa!” she exclaimed, her hunt now turning her attention back to the booth they shared, her memories of Tilly and Alice mixing together like some sick, absinthe-riddled cocktail. She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or ill. Her papa! He was here. But he—

Alice turned back to Regina, clenching her jaw in a way that reminded the former Evil Queen far too much of Hook when emotions began to get the better of him. “He’s not awake, is he?” It took everything Regina had to shake her head, her heart shattering as she watched the young woman in front of her begin to sag.

Though she was on the other end of this wretched curse, she knew how Alice felt. How absolutely gutting it was to remember someone you loved but they couldn’t remember you. She had struggled for weeks to face Henry and Jacinda, to see their eyes almost look through her sometimes. Here, poor Alice, after years of being separated from her own version of Killian Jones, had to grapple with being torn from him in a different, almost crueler way.

Before she knew it, Regina moved to envelope Alice into a tight embrace. For a moment, Alice struggled, the wild animal in her mind still fading away, but soon she gave in and rested her head on Regina’s shoulder. Heavy tears fell followed by agonizing, gasping sobs.

“Everyone always takes him away from me,” she wept. Regina steadied her with her left arm, her right hand rubbing up and down her spine in a motion she had learned in her years of motherhood soothing away nightmares and illness.

Regina watched the window for signs of anyone, especially Rogers, approaching. The last thing anyone needed was him barging back in to see his forgotten daughter having a breakdown. She also wasn’t sure what the girl would do. Likely run, she thought. Anything after didn’t bear thinking about.

Never before had the bar matron been happier that her establishment remained empty for so long. As she continued to comfort Alice, she was relieved to feel her tears ebbing and sobs turning to hitched breaths.

“I know this is difficult, Alice. I can’t imagine how much for you, but I have some idea. I need you to take some deep breaths, calm down, and we can talk about this.”

She half anticipated her to fight. If she had learned anything about her (sometimes reluctant) friend’s child, it was her firecracker-like personality. No surprises there considering her parents. Parent, her inner voice chided. There was no need to dignify that witch with the title, and Killian had earned it twice over.  

To her credit, Alice pulled herself together quickly, squaring her jaw in that pirate determination once all hints of tears had been brushed away. “Sorry. I’m okay now.”

“No you’re not, and that’s fine. It’s understandable. I know this looks bad now, but maybe this is a good thing. Maybe we can help each other out. Help figure out a way to break the curse together without anyone getting hurt.”

Alice’s brows knitted, then the memories of the curse’s origins were brought back into a faded view. The poisoned hearts. Here, in a world without magic, the original curses didn’t affect them. She thought back to the hospital when Weaver was discharged and Rogers had reached for her arm to stop her. Nothing had happened. No pain, no screams, nothing.

At long last, she nodded, bringing her sights back up to Regina’s warm, maternal gaze. “I’m sorry about Henry. About everyone.”

“It’s alright,” replied Regina.

Alice shook her head, repeating back, “No it’s not, and that’s fine.”

Regina couldn’t help the light chuckle that escaped her lips. Leave it to Hook’s daughter to throw her words back at her. “You’re right. But, maybe with each other’s help, we will be.”

She looked back to the window just in time to see a frustrated Rogers muttering to himself, heading toward the door. The speed of his pace told her exactly what she had hoped for.

“No luck,” he said the instant he stepped back into the pub. “I can call—”

“No need,” Regina said, putting her Roni voice back on and letting go of Alice. “We called the doctor on my cell. They’re putting an order in and Tilly can pick it up within the hour. They said another hour isn’t going to do any harm.”

Rogers eyed her suspiciously, then noted the more serene, almost happy look on the younger woman’s face. “Alright. Well, Tilly, did you want to continue or do you want to call it a day?”

“No,” she rushed to reply, then let out a forced laugh. “I’m fine. I promise. I can get back to beating you.”

This time Rogers did relax, setting his back against the booth and gesturing for her to join him. “I believe I was the one winning.”

“Smoke and mirrors, detective. Don’t worry. I’ll get you back.”

[ksxsoojin-blog]

hiya it’s coco ( she/her, 20, gmt +8 )  and i’m really excited to finally be a part of this family !! throws confetti all over. here i introduce to you guys my baby princess !! her name is moon soojin and she is a college junior majoring in creative writing. more about her is below the cut but here is her full profile, facts, and bio if you want to read them !! i haven’t work on the plot page yet but i will do so maybe after i get a full image of what i want. EDIT : okay i lied. i added like three or four plots. you can check them out here.

since i am an awkward cocoball when it comes to plotting, i’m gonna post a few open text starters after this. you can reply to any of them in any way with any connection you want your muse to have with my baby !! and after that we can turn them into threads. in my head this works but if it is a no no for you, then do send me an im if you want a proper brainstorming for plots !! here and here are some memes that you can choose from and send them through im or comment on this post then we can discuss about it in ims !!

okay enough babbling and time for something less but more about my baby down below.

tw : mention of mental illnesses ( bipolar disorder, ptsd and schizophrenia ), child neglecting, attempted murder (?).

first of all she is the first child and daughter of a fashion designer and a former famous model. she also has a younger sister.

she was a model once upon a time ago but apparently she was too active and too weird to be one bc she would always move around even when people told her not to.

thats when they decided that oh wow her sister is much better much brighter much cuter much normal so lets forget about soojin and make her the model instead.

was neglected by her parents for being not good enough for the family.

first boyfriend broke her heart by being an Asshole who almost won a bet (did he though??? she doesnt know) if they fucked that night but nope she bolted so fast after knowing that she was played instead of loved.

strangled her sister when she was sleeping out of impulse from anger and hatred and was sent to the mental institution the next day.

was released a year and few months after bc apparently she became normal again.

applied to keisung bc the normals make her crazy.

she suffers from bipolar disorder (diagnosed), ptsd and schizophrenia (undiagnosed). im if you wanna know more about them. i might make a page for this later tho. maybe.

she is a writer that writes poems instead of fictional stories ( like lang leav !! )

she LOVES cats ( if ure up for cat parenting plot do hmu )

shes a little tad bit crazy ( or more if ur muse doesnt like crazies ) and super high without the drugs and she talks a lot like her mun lmaO

she loves puns and making her own riddles also facts which pretty much are nonsense but also makes sense at the same time if u really think about it

has a pet cactus named bossy ( wanna know why?? plot. finger guns motion at u with extra tongue clicking )

she doesn’t hate dogs but also doesn’t like dogs either. they bark !! shes scared !!

loves new and cute stationery. addicted, even. bc she always buys them. ALWAYS.

has a weird way of talking but not accent wise but the structure of the sentences and also the words used

shes pretty much still new so do plot with her !!

what else uh

im also a ship whore lover so if u think ur muse and her can work well together in some rs whatosever fluff angst sexy comedy anything, do let me know !!!!

finger guns @ you

thats about it

thanks for reading !! youre da mvp my friend.