#the boys have really been through the wringer :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justabigassnerd · 1 month

Text

Harsh Words

Pairing - Tim Bradford x teen!reader

Word count - 8,707

Warnings - angst, fluff, running away, Tim is a bit of an ass, mentions of getting hurt, swearing, brief mention of guns, inaccurate police scenes, mentions of verbal abuse/threats, Kojo is once again the best boy

Summary - in a bad mood, Tim snaps at you, prompting you to run away and sending everyone into a panic

A/N - hey y'all it's once again time for a new request! this was sent in by @callsigns-haze so I hope I did your idea justice! I really enjoyed writing this fic (it's me I love angst what did you expect)? but I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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Tim had been through the wringer. He was convinced that no one else he knew had it as bad as he did right now. He’d broken up with Lucy and been kicked out of Metro. Just when Tim had thought life was finally going well for him, the rug got pulled out from underneath him and he felt like he was at rock bottom with no way to pull himself back up.

You, however, were completely ignorant of Tim’s foul mood and were cooking dinner for the both of you at home. You knew Tim had been working longer and later hours since he started working with Metro so you’d been taking it upon yourself to start cooking dinners most nights so that Tim had something to eat whenever he got home or could take any leftovers to work for lunch. You perked up slightly when you heard the door open but hearing the way it slammed afterwards made you flinch slightly, reminding you of the children's home you had spent years of your life in.

“Hey.” You say softly as Tim enters the kitchen, smiling shyly. Your gaze flicks over to Tim before focusing back on the meal you are cooking.

“Hey,” Tim replies gruffly, barely acknowledging you and only briefly petting Kojo who approaches him happily.

“Was work busy today?” You ask innocently, trying to keep the mood light. You didn’t know what it was that was bothering Tim but you had instantly picked up on his off mood that had been hanging over him for the past few days.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim grumbles, poking around in the fridge and various cupboards for stuff to eat.

“I’m making dinner. Do you want any? It’s almost done.” You offer, noticing Tim scavenging as if he wasn’t aware of the food you were cooking.

“No,” Tim says, taking you aback slightly at the sharpness of his tone.

“I’ll box up whatever’s left and you can have it for lunch or something if you want.” You say, beginning to plate up some food for yourself while Kojo whines at Tim's lack of attention, attempting to get in front of him to get the attention he usually gets from him.

“Kojo, get out of the way.” Tim scowls, using his foot to carefully move Kojo out of the way. He didn’t intend to hurt Kojo, but the dog’s persistence was beginning to get on his nerves.

“Is everything okay? Is something bothering you?” You ask innocently, worried about Tim with the way he was acting with everything around him.

“It’s none of your business. Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I can’t get a moment’s peace around here.” Tim snaps, eyes full of anger as he glares over at you, your eyes wide and lips parted slightly in shock. Tim had never spoken to you in such a way before and all it could do was remind you of the way people would talk to you in the children's home you were in. As the words replayed in your head and the smell of the dinner you cooked wafted under your nose, you felt your stomach turn, your appetite suddenly gone.

With your appetite now non-existent. You decided to quickly pack all the food you had cooked away, store it away for later and then clean up after yourself. You petted Kojo on your way out of the kitchen, feeling sorry for him after the way Tim had dismissed him and he followed you as you made your way to your room with Kojo hot on your heels, not wanting to face Tim. Who after you left the kitchen, had made his way to the living room. As you sat in your room, you thought more and more about the way Tim had talked to you, you began to feel more and more unsafe in what you had previously thought was the safest place in the world for you. As the unsettled feeling begins to seep in, you decide you need to just get out of the house as soon as possible so you grab your school bag and a duffle bag, scooping things into them before turning to Kojo who whines and lays his head in between his paws, seemingly sensing your intentions.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” You apologise to Kojo, petting him as you crouch down at his level. You wished you could take Kojo with you but you knew it wouldn’t be fair to Kojo to be dragged along with you. You knew Tim wasn’t upset with Kojo like he was with you. After zipping up the bags, you sling one over each shoulder and make your way to the kitchen to grab some food and put it in your bag before hearing the tv in the living room and making your way there with Kojo following behind you like a shadow.

“Hey, Tim. I’m going to Juliet’s house. We’ve got a project we need to work on and she invited me over.” You say quietly, trying not to distract Tim too much when you realise he was watching a football game. In his foul mood, Tim hadn’t even noticed that you had elected to call him by his name instead of calling him ‘Dad’ like you had grown accustomed to.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Tim mumbles, his eyes remaining fixed on the game and barely giving you a second of attention. At his dismissive tone, you nod and turn to head out of the house, apologising quietly to Kojo once more before exiting the house, and closing the door behind you. After you left, Kojo whined loudly, pawing at the door and pacing in front of it anxiously.

“Kojo shut it!” Tim scolds Kojo from the living room, making Kojo let out a longer defiant whine while lying down in front of the door watching carefully as if you would come back in if he waited long enough.

Meanwhile, you were making your way to the nearest bus stop, putting your headphones on as you blink back tears. You wait patiently for the bus to arrive and you climb on, pay for your ticket and take a seat at the back of the bus, curling into yourself and allowing your built-up tears to fall down your cheeks as the bus begins to pull away from the stop. You watch the world go by as you listen to music and as the bus drives past the bus stop closest to Juliet’s house, you pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket and hide your location from Tim as well as shutting your phone off completely. You knew it would’ve been wiser to have left your phone behind at the house but you liked the security of having it just in case something happened, even if you wanted nothing to do with Tim right now.

You rode the bus until the end of its route, getting off at the last stop and making your way along the familiar paths you used to take when things got too much for you at the children’s home. You follow the route that was burned into your memory, silently wishing you had brought Kojo along with you just for company. When the familiar run-down cabin comes into view, you’re reminded of all the times you had sought refuge there on particularly bad nights. The cabin was on the outskirts of the city, somewhere that you knew people wouldn’t think to look if anyone did think to look for you.

Not that anyone ever looked for you when you left.

As you enter the cabin, you’re hit by the chilly, damp air that had been festering in the cabin that had remained untouched for a while now. You make a beeline for the small mattress that lays on the floor, immediately pulling your blanket out of your bag and prepping a sad-looking bedspread. Once you made up some semblance of a bed, you grabbed a container of food you had packed and ate a little bit of the food, trying to save what you could. Once you had eaten, you pulled your hoodie off, bunching it up and turning it into a makeshift pillow before lying on the mattress, tugging the blanket around you tightly. The cabin was not built to keep the cold out and you had regretted not bringing anything warmer. As you curled up, more tears filled your eyes, spilling out from under your eyelids. You couldn’t believe Tim had flipped on you completely and you didn’t know what you had done to get that treatment from him. You also found yourself missing Kojo already. He always curled up with you on the bed and provided you with the companionship you needed in this moment. You continue to cry quietly until your exhaustion begins to get the better of you, making you slip into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Tim wakes up in a slightly better mood than he was last night. He was still annoyed and upset that he was back on patrol instead of working with Metro, but he figured that he should be grateful that he at least still had his job within the LAPD. As Tim gets ready to take Kojo on his morning walk, he finds his dog still lying by the front door, whimpering softly.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s go for a walk.” Tim says, grabbing Kojo’s lead and clipping it onto his collar but Kojo remains in place, refusing to move.

“Kojo, you love your walks why are you acting like this?” Tim grumbles, tugging lightly on the lead to try and entice Kojo to get up. When Kojo remains in place, whining softly at Tim who lets out a strong sigh.

“Kojo, come on,” Tim says through gritted teeth, gently nudging Kojo with his foot and encouraging him up onto his feet and out of the door. Kojo trailed behind Tim dejectedly, clearly not enjoying the walk as much as he usually did. Taking in Kojo’s dampened mood, Tim decided to cut the walk short, heading back home when he had enough of Kojo’s constant tugging to go back home. When he got home, Kojo laid himself by the front door once more, continuing to whine softly.

“What has gotten into you?” Tim wonders out loud, glancing at his dog with a confused expression as he walks past, making his way to his room to shower and get ready to head to Mid-Wilshire. As he finishes getting ready for work, Tim goes to the kitchen to grab himself some coffee before leaving the house, petting Kojo on the way out before trying one last attempt to get Kojo to go and lie down somewhere more comfortable and when he’s met with resistance he gives up and makes his way out to his truck to head to work.

Upon arriving at Mid-Wilshire, Tim heads into the station, and nearly walks straight into Lucy, stopping in his tracks and awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Good morning.” Tim greets her awkwardly with a curt nod, side-stepping around her and making his way to the locker room to get changed into his uniform. He knew things were awkward with Lucy. He had broken her heart by breaking up with her and also shattered his own in the process. He had loved Lucy so much and it wasn’t an easy choice for him in the slightest. He did it to protect her. Tim knew he was too broken to maintain a relationship with her and he knew that Lucy deserved better and she would find better. After changing into his uniform, Tim heads to the rec room ready for morning roll call. Grey soon steps into the room once everyone has gathered and begins the roll call. After everyone is dismissed, Tim is stopped by Grey before he has the chance to leave.

“Bradford. Doctor London is here and she’ll be joining you on a ride along for a psychological evaluation.” He says, already predicting Tim’s reaction before he has even finished his sentence.

“Are you serious?” Tim asks, looking at Grey like he’d grown a second head.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Grey asks, folding his arms across his chest as he raises an eyebrow, seemingly challenging Tim.

“No, sir,” Tim says, backing down and shaking his head.

“I thought I didn’t. This is required to tell us whether you’re fit for duty. Go and get it over with and we’ll take relevant action wherever we need to. You’re also riding with Thorsen today.” Grey says, gesturing towards the door with his head as Tim lets out a weak sigh, nodding his head and making his way out so he can go and talk to Doctor London much to his annoyance.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Aaron says, noticing Tim and waving him over as Tim rolls his eyes, approaching him and who he could only assume was Doctor London.

“You must be Doctor London,” Tim says, stopping in front of the two and eyeing up the woman who nodded nervously.

“I am, yes,” Blair says, offering her hand out for Tim to shake which he does.

“Officer Thorsen, go and grab the war bags. Doctor London, you can follow me to our shop.” Tim says, already wanting to get the day over and done with.

“You’re already very dismissive of this evaluation,” Blair notes, watching as Tim rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need this but I’m tolerating it for the sake of my career,” Tim says, glancing over at Blair and folding his arms across his chest, a protective gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Blair.

“I got the war bags,” Aaron announces, entering with the two large bags and shotguns, smiling oblivious to the tension between Blair and Tim.

“Good. Put them in the trunk.” Tim says, already beginning to open the door and getting behind the wheel while Aaron puts the bags away before getting into the passenger seat while Blair gets into the back seat.

By the time it had gotten to their lunch break, Tim was fed up with Blair and her attempts at delving into his psyche. They headed back to the station to head out to where the food trucks were so they could grab something to eat. As they get food, Tim notices Angela sitting eating and crosses to sit with her.

“If I hear one more theory about why I act the way I do I’ll actually go mad and need psychiatric help,” Tim says as he plants himself in the seat opposite Angela, noticing the slight laugh that escaped her.

“I’d pay to see that.” Angela jokes, continuing to eat as Tim rolls his eyes.

“Glad you take joy in my misery,” Tim grumbles, aggressively stabbing his fork into his food as Angela’s eyes widen slightly in shock at the aggression.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to poke at you. I know things are pretty rough right now.” Angela apologises, feeling bad about teasing Tim in a vulnerable time for him.

“It’s okay,” Tim says quietly, offering Angela a soft smile to try and reassure her that everything is okay.

“So, how’s y/n doing?” Angela asks, lifting her drink to her lips and taking a sip as Tim’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“What?” He asks, confused by the question at first.

“y/n? How is she doing?” Angela repeats, growing concerned by Tim’s reaction as the gears begin to turn in her head.

“Oh, I think she said she was going to a friend’s last night. Something like that.” Tim shrugs and continues to eat his food as Angela processes what he said and frowns.

“What did you do?” Angela asks, making Tim look at her, shocked.

“What? Why do you think I did something?” He says, anger seeping into his tone in his defensiveness but Angela wasn’t one to back down against Tim.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Angela says, enunciating each word as she leans forward slightly in challenge to Tim. The two share a silent staring contest for a moment before Tim lets out a huff and leans back against his chair.

“She just went to a friend's house. I think she said something about a school project.” Tim reiterates watching as Angela sighs in frustration.

“Tim. Can you confirm she’s there? It’s not like you to use the phrase ‘I think’ when it comes to y/n. Usually, you know where she is every second of every day.” Angela says, confused by Tim’s nonchalant attitude towards your wellbeing.

“Fine. If it makes you feel better. I’ll pull up her location now.” Tim says exasperatedly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the tracking app in his phone. As it opened, his eyebrows furrowed, and he flicked between looking at the map and the data bars in the corner.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asks, concerned by Tim’s reaction.

“Just give me a second.” Tim starts, refreshing the page and beginning to panic a little when your location doesn’t show up.

“Tim. What’s wrong?” Angela asks. Once again, Tim doesn’t give an answer, closing the app and opening his contacts, scrolling through the various phone numbers as he fights to recall which friend you had said you were spending the night at.

“Her phone must’ve died. I’ll call her friend’s mom.” Tim mutters, barely audible to Angela but she hears regardless and watches anxiously as Tim calls the number and lifts the phone to his ear, listening to each ring with bated breath.

“Hey, Tim.” Juliet’s mother, Eve greets as she picks up the phone.

“Hey, Eve. I just wanted to call and check on y/n. I think her phone must be dead or something because-”

“Sorry, hold on a second. y/n? She’s not here Tim.” Eve says, cutting Tim off.

“No, she told me last night that she and Juliet have a school project or something they needed to do.” Tim insists, wondering why Eve was telling him otherwise.

“Hold on, let me just grab Juliet and see if she’s spoken to y/n. But I promise you she’s not at our house, Tim.” Eve says hurriedly and Tim then hears her calling for Juliet to come to her so they can talk.

“Hey, Mom. What do you need?” Tim hears Juliet ask as she enters the room.

“Sweetie, have you heard anything from y/n today?” Eve asks, and all Tim can focus on at the moment is the silence that falls over the phone.

“No, we haven’t talked since we left school yesterday. Why, is everything okay?” Juliet says, worry seeping into her voice as the question her mother asked her begins to settle in her mind and alert her to the fact that something could be wrong.

“Tim…” Eve mutters into the phone, noticing the dead silence on the other end of the line.

“I have to go. Let me know if you hear anything from her.” Tim says quickly and apologetically before hanging up the call and looking at Angela who had watched the entire call with a worried expression.

“What happened?” Angela asks, concerned as Tim shoves his phone in his pocket.

“y/n didn’t go to her friend’s house last night and she hasn’t heard from her since they left school yesterday,” Tim says, already bracing himself for an angry rant from Angela but instead she grabs all her stuff and gets to her feet.

“Come on. We’re talking to Grey and we’re getting search parties going.” Angela says, gesturing for Tim to get up and follow her which he does, hurriedly grabbing his trash so he could throw it out before heading into the station with Angela who marches straight into Grey’s office.

“Sergeant Grey, we need to organise some search parties. y/n has gone missing.” Angela says, giving Grey no time to even ask why the two had barged into his office unannounced.

“What do you mean she’s gone missing?” Grey asks, concern creeping across his face when he registers what it is that has just been said to him.

“She left the house last night claiming she was going to a friend’s house but when I called her friend’s mom she told me that y/n never came over and that she and her friend hadn’t spoken since they left school yesterday,” Tim explains, once again trying the phone tracking app and fighting the urge to chuck his phone across the room when it once again comes up with no location.

“Did anything prompt this or do you think she was taken?” Grey asks, wanting to make sure he has all the facts straight before they start doing anything and Tim feels all eyes on him.

“I was an idiot. I was so upset about everything that happened with Metro and Lucy and I took it out on y/n. It’s my fault she’s gone.” Tim says, explaining what happened as the realisation sets in.

“We’ll find her. Do you know any places she’d go to other than her friend's houses?” Angela asks, approaching Tim and resting a hand on his shoulder to quietly reassure him.

“She never mentioned anywhere. She’d always come home if she felt unsafe or anything. Shit.” Tim starts, suddenly realising the weight of his actions and swearing quietly.

“What is it?” Grey asks.

“I made the one place she felt safe feel so unsafe that she left. I have no idea where she could’ve gone. She could get hurt or worse.” Tim says, the anxiety evident in his voice as he begins to pace nervously.

“Tim. Calm down. Look we’ll get officers looking for her. Here, send me a clear picture of y/n and we’ll send it to everyone patrolling so they know who they’re looking for.” Angela says, standing in front of Tim to stop his pacing. At Angela’s words, Tim nods, fumbling with his phone, his shaking hands fighting to remain steady as he finds a picture of you that would help officers recognise you if they saw you. Tim sends the picture to Angela who then forwards it to the appropriate people.

“Let’s get out on the streets and look for her. We’ll find her.” Grey says with a nod, getting up from his desk and gesturing for Tim and Angela to get out and start looking. But before Tim heads out to grab Aaron, he opens his texts and sends you a message, hoping by some miracle you’ll see it.

‘Hey, kid. Where are you?’

‘I promise I’m not mad or upset. I’m worried about you. You can come home.’

Across LA, you were still hiding away in the cabin that had been home to you on those rough nights. As you sat on the mattress, you felt tears welling in your eyes as you thought about the night before. It reminded you of the one other time you had been fostered and how you had been so badly treated that you hid away in this cabin until you decided that going back to Stan’s children’s home was a better option. You remember the harsh words they had thrown in your direction, how nowhere was safe for you. You had never had a home before until you met Tim. Tim had taken you in and given you a safe place to call home. You had an adorable dog who you loved most in the whole world. But you were scared to go back. You knew you wouldn’t be welcome. You knew Tim probably wanted nothing to do with you after all your pestering. You couldn’t blame him if he wanted rid of you. You should’ve known he would get fed up with you and want you gone.

After a few minutes of sitting on the mattress and feeling sorry for yourself, you then decide to dig through your bag and find your wallet, looking at all the money you have and counting it quickly. You knew you couldn’t use your card to make any payments because the LAPD would clock it almost immediately and be able to track you down before you even had a chance to realise your mistake. After counting your money, you figure you have enough to buy more food if you need to and you have enough to get a bus out of LA. You weren’t quite ready to hop a bus and leave LA but you wanted to make sure you had the money in case you wanted to leave. You wanted to at the very least give yourself a day or two to really think about whether it was worth staying in LA or not. As you feel your stomach rumble slightly, you dig in your bag for some snacks to tide you over. You hadn’t brought a lot of food with you so you needed to make sure it lasted as long as possible. As you eat, you feel a surge of emotion rush over you and you put the food down, burying your face in your knees and sobbing into them.

You had never felt so alone and unwanted in your life.

Unbeknownst to you, Mid-Wilshire was in panic mode with the news that you were missing and everyone was looking for you. They had no idea where you could be so their plan was to cover as much ground as possible and hope they found you quickly.

“Tim, where are we going?” Aaron asks, questioning where Tim is driving to as they begin their search. Tim doesn’t reply, instead just stops outside his house and jumps out, heading into the house before Aaron even has a chance to process what was going on. As Tim unlocks the door and enters the house, he notices that Kojo is still in the place he was when Tim left in the morning.

“Oh, Kojo… I’m sorry, buddy.” Tim apologises, crouching down to pet his beloved dog, realising that Kojo was acting up because he knew something was up with you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are we just making a pit stop so you can pet your dog?” Aaron asks, appearing in the doorway and looking at Tim, confused.

“Are you-? no! There might be some clues as to where she is.” Tim says, straightening up and heading to your room. The movement somehow encourages Kojo to follow him. Aaron also takes the initiative to follow Tim and when they enter your room he elects to stay put, not touching a thing while Tim looks through your desk drawers, leafing through old school work for any sign that could point him towards your location. As Tim looks around, Kojo hops up on your bed, whining as he lies down and studies Tim’s movements carefully.

“She’s taken clothes, her wallet, basically everything someone needs if they’re trying to run away,” Tim says, his voice growing angrier with each word said. None of his anger was directed towards you, but rather at himself for pushing you to run away.

“Okay, so we know she intentionally left. Our next port of call would be to check bus stations right? If she wanted to get far she’d need to get a bus or an Uber or something.” Aaron points out, snapping Tim from his panicked state and grounding him enough to realise that Aaron was making a good point.

“You’re right. Call that in. Get people checking bus station cameras, whatever they can.” Tim says, making Aaron nod and step out of the room to radio about checking buses. As Aaron steps out of the room, Tim pets Kojo once more, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“You knew something was up with y/n, huh? You knew and I brushed you and her aside. I’m so sorry, buddy.” Tim apologises quietly, feeling guilty that he couldn’t open his eyes for more than a second the night before long enough to realise your intentions when you left the house. He wished he could go back in time and not have raised his voice at you. He took his anger out on you and you didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. Sensing Tim’s mood, Kojo shifted and rested his head on Tim’s lap offering a wordless comfort that Tim appreciated, but didn’t feel deserving of.

“Hey, I’ve called it in. We should head to the nearest bus station and check their CCTV and talk to any bus drivers if we can.” Aaron says, appearing in the doorway again.

“Yeah, just give me a second. You can go and wait out by the shop.” Tim says with a nod, waiting for Aaron to leave the room before he gently shifts Kojo off his lap.

“I’ll be back. Hopefully with y/n.” Tim whispers softly to the dog, petting him one last time before leaving the room and heading out to where Aaron is waiting outside.

“Come on, let’s go,” Aaron says, already beginning to get into the vehicle before Tim has even had a chance to lock the front door.

“I’m coming.” Tim says, locking the door quickly and hurrying to the shop and getting behind the drivers seat, starting the engine and beginning the drive to the bus station he knew was closest to his house.

When they arrive at the bus station, they were both quickly aware of the stares they were getting as they enter the station and making their way to the ticket booth to speak to the employee.

“Hello, officers. Can I help you?” The employee asks, glancing between the two of them and Tim could see the slight fear in their face as they spoke.

“I’m Officer Bradford, this is Officer Thorsen. We just have a few questions about something, is there someone we could speak to, and who could allow us to look through some security footage?” Tim asks, watching as the employee grows more nervous.

“Yes, I’ll grab my manager. Give me a minute.” They say quickly, scurrying off to go and find someone who could help them. As they wait, Tim looks at the various boards they have displayed in the station, showing the various buses and where they go to. As his eyes scan the board, he feels more fear swirling in his stomach making him feel nauseous as he reads city names he knew were far away. He had no clue if you had hopped a bus going to a different city or a different state and that thought alone terrified him.

“Officers? I’m James, the manager. We can head back to my office.” Tim and Aaron turn around to come face to face with the manager and they nod in tandem, following James back to his office.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Aaron says gratefully as they enter the small office, all three men sitting on the available chairs in the office.

“No need to thank me. What brings you here today?” James says, dismissively waving his hand before focusing on the two as Tim digs into his pocket, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it so he can show James the picture of you.

“Have you seen this girl? If she had come here it would’ve been last night. Probably sometime around eight or nine pm?” Tim asks, showing the photo to James who studies the picture closely, eyes squinting slightly as he takes note of every detail.

“It’s hard to say for sure. I mean we get so many people coming in and out of here I’m sure you can understand that it’s hard to confirm that. I was mostly working back here last night but we can check the security cameras? They’re not the best quality but it’s worth checking.” James says, frowning slightly and letting out a slightly irritated huff at himself when he doesn’t recognise you in the photo.

“It’s worth a look,” Aaron says, nodding as James motions for the two to come around his desk so they can look at his screen and what the security cameras had captured the night before.

“This is the camera angled at the ticket booth, assuming she bought a ticket here rather than online.” James muses, eyes scanning the various people appearing on the screen.

“I can’t see her. Shit.” Tim sighs, bowing his head in shame when skimming through the footage shows him nothing of use.

“Okay, we clearly need to look elsewhere. James, if it’s okay with you I’m going to put you in contact with someone who will want you to send over the footage so they can do a more thorough check. But thank you for being so cooperative.” Aaron says, digging in his pocket for his card, scribbling a contact down and handing the card to James before he and Tim head out of the office. Tim rushes by Aaron, getting into their shop as quickly as possible and the second he is in his seat he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts you again.

‘y/n, please come home.’

‘Or tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you. It doesn’t matter where.’

‘If you don’t want to see me, that’s fine too. I can send someone else to get you instead.’

‘I’m just really worried about you. Please let me know you’re okay.’

Tim types and sends multiple messages, his mind reeling with worst-case scenarios about what could happen to you. While he knew you left the house intentionally to run away, he also knew that you could get hurt or worse and he’d have no idea where you were.

“Maybe we should head back to the station. See if anyone has found anything.” Aaron offers as he gets in the passenger seat and Tim’s head snaps to look at him, a furious look on his face.

“You’re telling me you want me to give up looking for my kid?” Tim asks, the anger evident in his voice as he glares at Aaron who almost shrinks back in his seat under the intensity of the glare.

“I’m not saying that. But someone might have some information so it’s worth checking at the station.” Aaron says, holding his hands up defensively and trying to calm the tension.

“Plus, you probably need a break. You’re stressing out and it won’t help you or y/n if you’re running yourself ragged right out of the gate.” He continues, watching as Tim lets out an irritated huff sitting back in the seat and moving to grab the wheel.

“Fine, but if anything comes in while we’re on our way back we’re going there,” Tim says, starting the engine and beginning the drive to the station. On their way back, no calls came in so they arrived at the station disappointed. Tim makes his way to the break room, grabbing some snacks and pouring himself a coffee, while his back is turned, he hears the door open and glances over his shoulder to see Lucy entering.

“I heard about y/n. I’m so sorry.” Lucy starts quietly, while Tim shakes his head, knowing he is unworthy of any sympathy from her. When Tim remains silent, Lucy takes a small step closer, making Tim turn to face her properly.

“I still may be mad at you for what’s happened but y/n isn’t a part of that and I feel awful that she’s missing. I’m going to do what I can to find her. I’d never wish for someone’s kid to go missing, no matter how much they upset me.” Lucy says softly as Tim looks away, trying to regain control of his emotions. It was hard enough for him to manage his feelings regarding everything that happened prior to you going missing. Now he not only had the extensive fear of never seeing you again but also the emotions of Lucy showing him any compassion after what he did sent him into a spiral and he didn’t know how to handle any of them.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Tim whispers, furiously blinking in hopes of keeping his tears at bay. In seeing Tim’s broken state Lucy glances over her shoulder, and when she sees no one nearby she steps closer, winding her arms around Tim and hugging him tightly. The embrace takes Tim aback at first, stiffening up at the sudden comfort before he hesitantly wraps his arms around her, ducking his head to rest it on her shoulder.

“Let it be known I’m still upset with you,” Lucy whispers, reiterating herself as she feels Tim nod against her shoulder.

“I know,” Tim replies quietly, knowing he didn’t deserve any kindness from Lucy at this moment but relishes the embrace while it is being held. After a few seconds, Lucy releases Tim from the embrace and looks up at him for a moment. The two held a stare for a brief moment before Lucy cleared her throat and looked away from him.

“I’m going to head out and see if I can find anything. I’ll let you know if I do. Take care of yourself.” Lucy says softly with a nod before backing away and exiting the break room, leaving Tim alone with tears in his eyes.

When Tim’s shift came to an end after a few more hours of searching, he didn’t want to leave and everyone knew it. He tried desperately to get Grey to let him work overtime but Grey shook his head.

“Bradford, you need to go home and rest. You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re dead on your feet. The night shift will keep an eye out for her and listen out for any reports. The moment we find anything out you will be informed.” Grey says sternly, folding his arms across his chest and watching Tim carefully as he sighs.

“Fine.” Tim concedes, barely listening to Grey’s goodbye as he makes his way out to the locker room to get changed and head home. As Tim leaves the locker room, he is painfully aware of the pitiful gazes the other officers are giving him. He knew most of them had probably recognised who you were from the picture.

But Tim didn’t want their pity. He wanted to find you.

When he got home, Tim was positively miserable. He opened the door and couldn’t help but frown when he saw Kojo lying in the hallway, feeling even more guilty when Kojo approached him, sniffing at him before whining softly.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, reaching down to pet Kojo gently. After discarding his bag on the floor, Tim makes his way to the living room, collapsing on the sofa and burying his head in his hands as he sighs loudly. Tim felt awful about this whole situation. It was his fault you were gone. When he lifts his head, he decides to check his phone and see if you’ve replied. Instead, he just sees his messages and no proof you had read the messages.

That night, Tim could barely sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, aware of Kojo’s irritated huffs as Tim rolled over for the hundredth time. All he could see when he closed his eyes were images of you getting hurt. Every time he thought he was getting close to sleep he thought of a new scenario and he was wide awake in seconds a continuous loop that played out over the entire night.

When the next day of searching yielded no results, Tim was fully panicking going into the second full day of searching. He knew if more days passed without finding you, there’d be an even lesser chance of finding you. Everyone was walking on eggshells around Tim, he was more irritable, and he’d snap at anyone who asked him a question that neared too close to the topic of you. There was still no evidence that you were in LA yet there was no evidence you had left either. It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth entirely. When Tim left the house on the morning of the second full day of searching, he was hoping today would be the day someone would find you.

In your secluded cabin, you were running low on food so you had to make a choice. You needed to decide whether you would go into the city to buy food, or not risk it and just get out of the city entirely. When your stomach growled louder, you figured it would be best to go and grab some food from the nearest store you could find and then you could head back to the cabin and pack up to be ready to head to the nearest bus station to get out of LA.

After all, you were certain no one was looking for you.

You head out of the cabin, tugging on a hoodie as you leave and make your way down to the nearest corner store. You browse up and down the aisles, looking for various snacks that could last you a long journey and that weren’t too expensive so you could afford a ticket to whichever place looks most appealing to you when you get to the bus station. You end up grabbing a few of your favourite things that you knew would last you a long journey before you could buy more food. Once you’ve picked what you want, you approach the counter, smiling at the employee who scans your items and then gives you your total. You dig out the appropriate cash and hand it to the employee, thanking her as she hands you your items in a bag. As you leave the store, the employee grabs the phone by the register, immediately dialling the police.

Lucy was the first officer on the scene after the employee called in a sighting of you and was now currently standing in front of the employee, getting all the information she could.

“She came in and bought some food. Just snacks, chips, water, stuff like that.” The employee, named Molly explains, fiddling with her fingers.

“Did you see which way she went once she left?” Lucy asks, getting ready to make notes.

“Yeah, she exited and went that way,” Molly says, walking to the door and pointing in the direction you had walked.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Lucy says quickly, wanting to search the area as quickly as possible. She knew the LAPD hadn’t thought to look this far since most thought you’d be in the centre of the city or gone entirely. She and the other officers decided to spread out and search the area, making sure to instruct everyone to not tell Tim unless there was good news.

As Lucy patrols the area, searching for places you could potentially be hiding. She finds her gaze drifting to the woodland area just on the outskirts of the area. Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied the area, thinking of all the potential places you could be hiding in there.

“Hey, I’m going to check over there,” Lucy calls over to a nearby officer, pointing out where she’d be heading before beginning the short trek up to the area. She walks around, keeping an eye out for anything that could be a place for you to hide, one hand on her gun holster just in case she needs it. After about half an hour of searching, Lucy stumbles across a cabin and she figures it is the perfect place for someone to hide out if they don’t want to be found so she approaches the door, pounding on it and calling out.

“y/n, are you in there?”

“Lucy?” You whisper, barely audible as you stop shoving things into your bag. You debate remaining silent and hoping that Lucy doesn’t come in but after hearing Lucy’s voice, you realise how much you missed being around everyone. How much you missed your home. How much you missed Kojo. How much you missed Tim. Before you can get up and open the door, Lucy does it for you, entering and stopping in the doorway when she notices you.

“y/n…” Lucy starts, beginning to cross to you carefully, stopping just in front of you and crouching down to be at your level.

“Hey, Lucy.” You say weakly, attempting a small smile.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out the last couple of days, huh?” She muses lightly, looking around the small cabin as you nod.

“I used to come here a lot when things were rough before.” You say quietly, making Lucy frown slightly.

“Did something happen with you and Tim?” Lucy asks carefully, watching as you nod.

“He seemed off the last few days and when he came home… I don’t know maybe I annoyed him but he snapped. It reminded me of bad times and I just wanted to get out of there.” You admit quietly, tears springing to your eyes.

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sure Tim didn’t mean to snap at you. I know he cares for you.” Lucy says softly, willing to put her own anger and upset towards Tim aside to mend your relationship with him.

“I know. But it really hurt at the time.” You say, sniffling slightly to try and keep your tears at bay.

“I can imagine. I won’t force you to talk to Tim straight away but we can get you back to the station, you can have a shower and change and I’ll get you something proper to eat. Does that sound good?” Lucy offers, smiling gently as you nod.

“That sounds good.” You reply, a single tear slipping down your cheek. At your response, Lucy helps you pack your things away, picking up your bags and escorting you down to her shop so she can get you to the station. Once she gets you inside, she grabs you a spare t-shirt and pair of sweatpants for you to change into as well as handing you a towel so you can shower. Just before you disappear for your shower, Lucy asks you what you’d like to eat so she can order it to arrive by the time you finish your shower. Once you’ve picked what you want, you go for your shower and Lucy steps out of the locker room, opening her texts and messaging Tim.

‘We’ve found y/n. She’s okay, I’ve brought her back to the station.’

The moment Tim receives the message, he perks up, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he finally relaxes. He was desperate to drive back to the station right then and there, but he was in the middle of watching Aaron giving a ticket to a driver they had pulled over for reckless driving. And as much as he wanted to jump in the shop and drive off, he knew he couldn’t leave Aaron behind. Tim waits impatiently for Aaron to finish the exchange, silently willing the exchange to go quicker so he can get back to the station and check on you. When Aaron had finally finished giving the ticket out and sending the driver on their way, Tim was crossing to the shop as quickly as possible.

“Thorsen, come on we need to get going,” Tim says quickly, waving Aaron over.

“What’s up?” Aaron asks as the two get into the shop.

“Lucy found y/n. She’s at the station.” Tim says, already beginning to drive back to the station. Tim was fairly sure he was nearly breaking several road laws on his way back but all he wanted to do was get to the station. When they finally made it back to the station, Tim barely turned the engine off and pulled the keys out before leaping out of the shop and rushing into the building, quickly locating Lucy.

“Where is she?” Tim asks hurriedly, barely able to focus on anything.

“She’s in the break room. Tim, she told me what happened, take it easy on her.” Lucy urges softly, looking up at Tim.

“I will. Thank you for finding her. I owe you big time.” Tim says gratefully, knowing Lucy probably wanted nothing to do with him after this but he wanted to make sure she knew he owed her. After Lucy nodded in acknowledgement, Tim moved around her and made his way to the break room where you were sitting, picking at the food in front of you as you looked up to see Tim.

“Hi…” You whisper quietly, struggling to maintain eye contact with Tim as he softens, crossing to the chair opposite you and sitting in it.

“Hey, kid,” Tim says, studying your expression carefully as you tear up.

“I’m sorry.” You say, wiping at your eyes harshly.

“No, I’m sorry. I took my anger out on you the other night and you didn’t deserve it.” Tim says, stopping you and taking the chance to apologise himself.

“I didn’t tell you about this before but I’ve been fostered once before. I was about seven when it happened but the people were assholes. They constantly shouted at me and threatened me. When you snapped at me it just reminded me of them.” You explain, too afraid to watch Tim’s reaction as you explain yourself.

“y/n. I’m so sorry I reminded you of them. I never wanted to remind you of anything like that. I wanted to provide you with a safe home and I took that away from you.” Tim apologises, feeling guilt sinking in his stomach as he realises how much he hurt you with what he did.

“But I’m sorry for scaring you. I saw your messages just before you got back. I hurt you too.” You apologise, frowning as Tim shakes his head.

“I deserved it. You didn’t.” Tim insists, and while you knew you could bicker back and forth with him about who hurt who more, you were exhausted.

“Can we go home?” You ask, watching as Tim nods, already standing up from his seat and packing your food away so you can eat it at home.

“Of course we can. Come on, I know a certain someone has missed you the most.” Tim says as you pick up your bags following Tim to his truck and getting in so Tim can take you home. The moment Tim parked the truck, you got out and made your way into the house, smiling widely when you saw Kojo who perked up upon seeing you, leaping up from where he was lying on the floor and practically leaping up at you as you crouch to his level, pushing you onto your back and smothering you in kisses.

“I’ve missed you so much, Kojo.” You say, giggling as Kojo continues to lie all over you, whining happily as he continues to lick at your face.

“Kojo, come on buddy, let her breathe,” Tim says with a laugh, his words making Kojo back off slightly, sitting alongside you as you sit up, petting Kojo as he pants happily. When you get up, you decide to put your bags back in your room, putting your clothes and blanket in the washing machine to wash them before heading into the living room and curling up on the sofa while Kojo and Tim join you. Kojo curled up under your arm, snuggling close to you as Tim put the tv on.

“It’s good to have you home, kid,” Tim says softly, smiling over at you as you smile back.

“It’s good to be home.” You admit, petting Kojo as you focus on the tv, the drama of the last few days seemingly a thing of the past.

Being with Tim and Kojo was where you belonged. They were your family and you wouldn’t trade them for anything. You knew Tim had problems when it came to opening up about anything, but you had learnt not to push so hard this time, and maybe one day he’d find someone to open up to about it so he’d feel less alone. But for now, you were just going to enjoy the afternoon with your loved ones. Grateful to be home.

Tim Tags (comment or ask to be added):

@starlightandsouls @whirlwind2005 @callsigns-haze @fore45fore @reignsboy19 @xi1dius @plutotcles @lives-in-midgard @mystical-258 @malindacath

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #unexpected bond universe #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x teen!reader #x teen!reader

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

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What was the best scene in this OF ep and why was it Sand and Nick attempting to hook up, realizing they don’t like each other like that, having a good laugh and then settling in to cuddle for the night?

BESTIE, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE SO RIGHT ALL THE TIME?!

Hands down, no holds barred, the best scene in this entire episode, and possibly one of my favorites in Only Friends and, dare I say, BL ever was Sand and Nick attempting to hook up, realizing they don't like each other like that, having a good laugh, and then settling in to cuddle for the night.

CAUSE IT'S

FUCKING

QUEER

Far far too often in shows, BL or otherwise, there really is no attempts at showing different forms of platonic love, especially between men. It's part of what I really loved about New Girl actually was the very loving, comfortable, affectionate, and extremely platonic love between Nick and Schmidt.

Here though, I think there is frequently this perception that if people are friends with the gender they are attracted to, that they will inevitably give in to desire and fall in love or whatever (this is extremely common in hetero relationships to be sure) but that isn't the case, and it doesn't have to be the case, and we really should be showing people that it is a-o-fucking-kay for boys to platonically love each other.

My best friend and I are extremely queer platonic, and without a doubt the majority of the people that have seen us interact inevitably end up asking if we are dating, had crushes on each other, etc. and it truly can take a significant chunk of time to try to convince them we aren't lying. We cuddle, and kiss eachother on the forehead, and hold hands, and I love them but not romantically, and the same goes for them.

And the same can and should go for Nick and Sand. I love their loser friendship, I love that they were like "hey let's try it", I love that they realized that the care they have for each other was platonic, but that the care exists, and that they cuddled in bed because you can give physical affection to people you love without it being romantic or sexually charged. I love that the awkwardness of kissing your friend lasted like ten seconds and then they were like "yeah, it's cool let's be physically affectionate with one another assured in how we see our friendship"

And so too, in a show like Only Friends where you have so many hook ups happening, or any show where you have a romance, it can be really interesting and important to show people try to be physically intimate, and to have there be no sexual tension within it so that you can establish with even greater sincerity and believability a romantic pairs' attraction to one another.

With every episode of Only Friends that comes out, I keep thinking about that ask that @absolutebl got about why people were excited for this messy, toxic show when they hated other messy, toxic shows (like TharnType), and how much of that answer revolves around the trust we have for Jojo as a queer man in depicting actual queer male experiences. I will forever be grateful to Jojo and co for giving us this scene, and now I shall sit here and wait patiently to praise whatever show gives me gays all platonically making out with each other in the club.

(and putting all the rest of that aside, let's be real, these boys have been put through the fucking wringer with their boys of choice and they deserve a little laughter).

#only friends #ofts #only friends the series #mark pakin #first kanaphan #firstmark #sandnick #JOJO WAS SO CORRECT WHEN HE SAID “I LOVE THEIR LOSER FRIENDSHIP”

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befuddledcinnamonroll · 3 months

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I've been thinking a lot about expectations this week.

A number of years ago, when I was visiting my brother, he criticized me for not doing something that he expected me to do. It was a frustrating talk because he wasn't at all willing to hear my perspective. But what bothered me the most about it was when I said "you can just ask" and he said "I shouldn't have to".

I was doing everything culturally expected of a good guest, I didn't even know what his extra expectations were, and yet he felt entitled to be mad at me for not automatically knowing them, and not living up to them.

It can be so easy for us to let our expectations get ahead of us, to make assumptions based on our own perspectives, and to then feel let down.

And I feel like I'm seeing a lot of this kind of thing in people's experience with media these days. There seems to be a clash happening between expectations and reality. And people feeling genuinely upset when the reality is not what they wanted.

I'm seeing a lot of complaints and "critiques" that seem to fall in to the category of "this is not how I personally want this to go" or "this doesn't resonate with my personal experience".

To be clear, I'm not saying this in a pointing fingers kind of way, because I have 100% done it myself.

When the trailer for Cutie Pie first came out, I got so excited imagining Kuea as some bad boy living a double life. He was going to be so hard to tame, he was going to put Lian through the wringer, and it was going to be amazing.

What I got was something very different from what I expected, and I struggled with the show.

But it was a really valuable learning moment for me. Because everything in the trailer was in the series. It was my interpretation of it, of those few minutes out of hours of material, my assumptions about the moments not yet shown, that caused me frustration.

That was a turning point in my "let's see where the journey takes us" philosophy. And I have to say, engaging in QL has been a hell of a lot more fun since I learned to let go of what I thought should happen.

I still have critiques of shows, of course I do. Nothing is above criticism. But I don't get so personally affronted now when something doesn't do what I expect. I'm more willing to see where the destination takes us before I decide the journey isn't working.

Of course I am still human, and I still get caught off guard sometimes by expectations I didn't realize I had let slip in.

But I have found my experience immeasurably improved by considering a few things when I'm watching a series:

Am I leading with curiosity, or judgment?

What is happening here culturally? What assumptions am I making based on my own background and country of origin? What happens if I step back and look at the bigger picture of how this culture engages with media? Do I even know, or do I have more to learn?

Is this actually bad... or is it just not for me? Is this just not resonating with me? Is it making me uncomfortable? What can this discomfort tell me about myself? Is it a bad show, or just a show I need to walk away from?

Am I more focused on the story I want told, and not paying enough attention to the story that the creators of the series want to tell? What assumptions am I making about their intent?

Am I only focused on what the value is for me as an individual, and not considering how this may be making other people feel seen or be meeting their needs? Can I acknowledge that there can be inherent value in things that do not give value to me personally?

There is value in critique, but there is also importance in self-reflection and understanding why we are feeling the way that we are, and when our own setting of expectations may be playing a role.

It's funny that in some ways this seems to be a reflection of what a golden age of QL we are living in - there are so many options, and time is so scarce, that I can see why people are frustrated when they feel like a show is not living up to what they wanted.

But as someone who has lived multiple decades without this kind of media, and only relatively recently having been able to experience it...there is a lot more to be gained by reveling in what you are loving than over what you are hating.

#i'm not going to tag this with anything community related #I just needed to process some thoughts #and i decided to put it out there #because i know i'm not the only one feeling this way #my appreciation to those who have shared their perspectives with me

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btr-rewatch · 3 months

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Big Time Rush Fandom lore from back in the day

The fandom during the years the show was on was booming with constant content being churned out, especially fanfics. Most of the BTR fanfic community knew each other and formed collective headcanons and lore that were then spread and picked up by the rest of the fandom (ie tumblr). I had only just recently discovered online fandom spaces at the time, so I didn't contribute fanfics or anything (which is good because I was young, and they would have been terrible), but I did absorb a good deal that stuck with me. Thought it might be fun to share. A lot of this might still apply today but truth be told, I don't really know much about the current fandom headcanons. I'm still learning things as I continue to interact with people on here! Also! Idk if anyone currently in the fandom was around during Miss Fenway's reign, but she was the Queen of the BTR fandom and most "famous" of the fanfic community. A lot of the headcanons adopted by the fandom started with her and were quickly picked up by others.

Kendall • Pretty much unanimous agreement that his father was a deadbeat who had walked out on the family very shortly after Katie was born. This explains why there is ZERO mention of him in the show, no family pictures in the background that hint at a father still being in their lives, etc. He caused them a lot of pain, so they erased any trace of him. • Some people took a little bit of a kinder approach to him, where he was a genuinely loving dad when Kendall was very young, but then things unraveled, and he ended up leaving. • He was big into hockey, which sparked Kendall's love for the sport. • Lots of sad fanfics involving Little Kendall dealing with his parents deteriorating marriage and being forced to "take charge" once his dad left. • Also agreement that he likely dealt with a decent amount of anxiety and very clear abandonment issues, along with a hero complex. • Naturally, Kendall was very often the focus of intensely angsty fics. He was always being pushed to the limit, ignoring his own issues, sacrificing himself, etc until he reached his breaking point.

Logan • Prior to the airing of Big Time Moms, it was generally headcanoned that Logan's mother had died when he was very young, and he was being raised by his father. • It was also headcanoned (in the fanfic-sphere at least) that Logan's dad was an awful person. Don't ask me how this came to be because I don't actually know. All I remember is discovering fanfiction, reading fic after fic of Logan's dad being horrible, and going, "Huh, I guess that's a thing." • Logan's dad ranged anywhere from being a raging workaholic who totally ignored & neglected Logan to being outright abusive. • The main reason Logan threw himself so hard into school and being "smart" was so his father would notice him. It did not work. • Because of this, the fandom headcanoned that Logan was pretty much "adopted" into the Knight family from the moment he befriended Kendall. Mrs. Knight is the one who raised him and gave him love, and so he and Kendall grew up as brothers. (Several fanfics even had Logan be officially adopted into the Knight family at some point) • If there was an award for most tortured character in BTR fanfiction, Logan would have won hands down during the 2009-2013 fanfic era. This guy was put through the wringer! He was always experiencing trauma. When he wasn't being emotionally scarred by his dad, he was dying tragically or losing an arm in a shark attack or getting brain damage or being kidnapped. Logan suffered constantly lol the poor guy.

Carlos • He likely got the best, most lighthearted side of fandom headcanons and probably suffered the least in fics. Largely because he's Carlos, and nobody wants to hurt Carlos. • From a big, loud, happy family. Definitely the healthiest, most stable upbringing of all the boys. • Babied and loved so so much by his parents. • People had different ideas regarding the actual makeup of his immediate family, but most people headcanoned him as the oldest and only boy, with 3 or 4 much younger sisters. • His father was often written as having a special bond with Logan. I remember a trend in fics where Logan called Mr. Garcia "papa" and looked to him as the main father figure in his life. • It's still assumed that Carlos has a serious case of ADHD, right? Because that was a given back in the day. James • Honestly, I remember the least amount of James lore. Let's see... • Only child • Uses his superficial exterior to hide the fact he's deeply insecure • Actually feels everything so deeply that he has to pretend he doesn't care to avoid getting hurt. This was used to many fic writer's advantage. • Loved by his parents, but they don't show it well, and he grew up feeling disconnected from them. And that's about all I've got!

I should dig back through my old list of bookmarked fanfics at some point and make a post of the ones that were my favorites.

#big time rush #btr #kendall knight #james diamond #carlos garcia #logan mitchell #miscellaneous

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crochetedblorbos · 2 months

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"I am not now, nor have I ever been, adorable."

Character Name: Jonathan Sims, a/k/a The Archivist, a/k/a The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy, a/k/a Snoop God’s Favorite Kid

Fandom: The Magnus Archives [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Jonathan Sims

Yarn Used: Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Dark Almond Trousers: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Cardigan: CraftSmart Value - Olive Shirt: CraftSmart Value - White Skin: CraftSmart Value - Coffee Hair: CraftSmart Value - Dark Chocolate, CraftSmart value - Grey Glasses: Ashland Decorative Wire - Black, 12 gauge

Basic pattern here.

Look. How can you NOT love this pathetic wet cat of a man. (And like most cats, he is also a bastard at times.) He really went through the wringer over the course of the podcast, both physically and emotionally. Thank God he had Martin there for him.

Jon differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually remembered to do the soles in a different color this time! Other than the color, they were done the same way as Joseph’s.

Trousers: I accidentally shortened them. I did not mean to shorten them, but frankly, I miscounted on the first leg and only realized it halfway up the second, so I stopped them at R27 instead of R29, so he’s just a tad bit shorter than normal. (Which is fine, and fits my headcanon for Jon.) I also…well, I’ve finally thrown my lot in on the Great Archival Ass Debate on the side of the Assless, so in R32 (what would normally be R34, but again, everything is two rows lower than normal), I put the decrease in the very back, rather than on either side of R41 as usual. Other than that, they’re the same as Joseph’s.

Cardigan and Shirt: I more or less used the same technique I used for Hux, except that I started a round lower (I think) to make the V deeper. I switched fully to the white for R50 (R52 in the base pattern), then did three stitches on either side of the center stitch of R51 in back loops only to give myself something to hook onto. I then went back later and stitched a collar by making a simple triangle in the front loops of those stitches. I also skipped what would have been R54 in the base pattern and, when I switched to the skin color, I went straight for the decrease to 12 sc around. I was hoping this would make his head less floppy.

Head: I used the loop method again. It’s just easier at this point, especially since Jon canonically has enough grey in his hair that he looks older than thirty. I gave him long hair and left it loose, but at least I got it the right length this time (sorry again, Hux). I was going to give him ears, but honestly, I made his glasses small enough that I didn’t need to. I didn't necessarily plan on giving him buck teeth, but I was in the middle of a D&D session while I was working on his face and white yarn was the only thing I had to hand, so rather than run back to my room for black or dark brown I just went with it.

Arms: When you’re crocheting a character who canonically has a very nasty burn scar on one hand, you have three choices. You can ignore it, you can attempt to replicate it in variegated yarn, or you can crochet a hand and set it on fire. And, well...

...I have a lighter and very poor impulse control. [Side note: I mentioned this to an IRL friend who also listens to TMA, and they said brightly, “Just like the Archivist!] (For the record, burning acrylic yarn doesn’t actually smell as terrible as you might think.) I also decided to cut out the final increase in his hands to make them long and thin. This also means I didn’t decrease for his wrists, which was fine, because I gave him shirt cuffs folded over the end of his cardigan as follows: R9: Join shirt yarn, ch 2, dc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first dc (10 dc). R10: Ch 1, sc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first sc (10 sc). R11: Join cardigan yarn, ch 2, hdc in back loop of each stitch in R9 around, sl st in first hdc (10 hdc). Continue rest of arm as normal.

Glasses: These definitely did not turn out like I expected, but eh, they work. I bent the wire into square spectacles and stuck them on. As mentioned, I did them tight enough (accidentally) that I didn’t even need the ears.

Bonus: I deliberately did Jon’s hands so he can hold hands with Martin, or tried to anyway. I realized only after he was complete that I matched the magnet in Jon’s right hand to the one in Martin’s right hand, and there’s not really room to turn them around. I might try pulling Martin’s arms off later and switching them around, but for now…well, at least they can hold hands the other way around.

#blorbo from my shows #crocheting #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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pregmothy · 4 months

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I can't help but think about a corrupt doctor playing aloof.

He was amicable, if not a bit standoffish; he even helped you and your husband with "fertility treatments" so you could get pregnant in the first place; how could you not trust him? He's one of your neighbors and has been a bit of a character since you first moved into this space backwoods neighborhood, only catching glimpses of him in your periphery before finally catching him tending to herbs in his garden and starting a conversation. One thing led to another, and you got close enough to accept his help for your pregnancy. He's affordable, courteous, and, despite being a little... off, he even makes house calls. So, you keep going back while your stomach swells and when your chest grows too big and sensitive for any binders or sports bras.

He's been a big help during your rather difficult pregnancy. You kept falling ill for one reason or another. A weakened immune system causes you to get sick easily, and morning sickness makes your stomach weak. Your body was admittedly frail, and here you were, putting it through the wringer. Still, the doctor always reassured you, even encouraged you, saying your body was a "prime candidate to produce offspring," that's a way to word a compliment. He reliably comes to the rescue with quick remedies and strong medicine to soothe your stomach and mind. More so than your husband was doing, providing almost no help until the doctor arrived and waiting for the doctor to give the ok before immediately leaving you to your lonesome. The doctor had become your biggest comfort at this time, promptly responding to your calls and providing plenty of assurances.

The doctor was rather peculiar, he’s actually pretty shy and despite being experienced, his demeanor was reserved outside of his work. It explains how you haven't been able to get a good look at him before you met, at least. He often stumbled during casual conversation, and his eyes didn't really meet yours. He takes measured gazes when working, but when he’s not, his eyes flicker here and there as if he is trying to avoid looking at something obscene. You would be slightly offended if it wasn’t for the quality of care he gave you, memorizing details to an almost scary degree, practically predicting what ailments you would have before you had them, and swiftly treating you. You had offhandedly muttered about your medication to deal with nausea once, not even talking to him really, and he stopped by the next day with some fresh-grown ginger. He really can be sweet deep down, despite the strange behavior.

With one thing or another, you kept calling and grew accustomed to this somewhat awkward doctor and his equally awkward methods. The medicine he provided worked, and he was the closest help you would get out here, so you weren't going to complain much, but you had to admit, some of his procedures were a bit odd; boy, did you have stories.

He was thorough in his work and examinations, checking you head to toe, in every crevasse, and you mean EVERY CREVASSE. You remember the first time he gave you an in-depth exam, and, surprise, surprise, his hands were cold, causing you to jump slightly. It was strange feeling those cold hands on your oversensitive hole the first time, but you stomached it and allowed him to continue. He had actually stopped when you flinched... how considerate. he even had you alter your wardrobe and check your clothes. No more jeans and stiff fabrics, only loose, thin clothing, even when your bump was relatively small, for better movement and thermoregulation, he said. He followed up on the clothes matter as well, asking how you felt, if you liked them, and if they were accommodating your pregnancy properly. You said yes, they were fine, that was truthful, but it was somewhat difficult to switch to thinner underwear, with your cunt producing more fluid and essentially soaking through them, that was truthful. From then on, the doctor made the, in your opinion, crazy request for a pair of soaked underwear. Increased discharge production is normal, and he wanted to test it to make sure it was healthy. You were incredibly apprehensive at first, the idea of giving a random man your underwear was horrifying, and you made your thoughts known. He then explained that he wasn't some random man but your doctor and provided a long list of all the risks to your pregnancy if he left anything to chance. All of what he said was truthful; he wasn't some random man, and your body was too feeble to risk it, so you relented, giving him a pair of your underwear and watching as he put it in a biohazard bag and tucked it into his work briefcase. At least he was professional about it, but you never got that pair back.

One time, the baby was just too active and made your body sore, so he came over and gave you some light painkillers and even offered a back massage, which you enthusiastically accepted. It was a rare occurrence that the doctor offered to touch you for something outside of medical obligations. He even briefly lifted your stomach to help take the weight off your back. You found yourself back to his chest, so lost in the relief that you almost missed the sound of sniffing behind you. Was he sick? You hoped what he smelled wasn't you; it would be so embarrassing if, after getting so physically close, you smelled bad. He didn't bring it up afterward, and you didn't either. During his next visit, he brought this strange salve with him, saying that since the baby was growing and already so active, the skin on your stomach would become more taut and sensitive, so it was meant to moisturize the skin. He offered to help with the first application, and you accepted, you didnt see why not. You raised your shirt over your bump, just under your new breasts, and that focused gaze instantly turned to your stomach. It sort of startled you how quickly he honed in on you, but you supposed it was his job; what is a doctor if not studious. The salve smelt strange, nothing too strong, subtle, and actually kind of familiar, but you couldn't quite pin it down. He continued, putting a small dollop on your stomach and rubbing it in. he took his time, being thorough and making sure it covered your whole stomach, gaze not straying from it. You felt kind of shy at that. You know he's your doctor, but did he have to look so close? He was usually rather reserved about touching you so closely. You sat as he worked, rubbing the salve into your skin and even massaging your stomach for a bit. Only after a while did you shift in your seat, and this seemed to gain his attention. Promptly' standing up and clearing his throat, avoiding your eyes again, he declared himself done, telling you the proper dosage, and he was on his way. That was... strange. It's not too out of character for the awkward doctor, but you didn't expect him to get so... intimate.

Another time, you found your chest terribly sore. The doctor came over and told you it was fine, just some compacted milk in your newly swelled breasts, which were unused to being so full. Unsatisfied with that answer, you groaned at the strain. It didn’t matter if it was fine, it still hurt. So, you asked if the good doctor could do something. He explained that the milk just needs to be released, either by pump or by hand compression. You didn’t own a pump, and you didn’t know how to get the milk yourself, so you asked for his help. At this, he almost lost it, stuttering out verbal instructions and growing redder in the face by the second. Ultimately, you interrupted and told him you trusted him, he was your doctor, after all. Why get so flustered now of all times?

Flashing some sad puppy dog eyes, you managed to pull him to sit next to you. Pulling off your top, he wraps an arm around you, cupping your breasts and rolling them in his palms. You flinched at his doctor-like frigid hands, the feeling on such a sensitive area surprised you. After they warmed up, he got a gentle grasp on one of your nipples before looking at you for confirmation. You give the affirmative, and he rubs and massages the bud between his fingers, eliciting a soft groan from you, this time not from discomfort but from the strangeness of the feeling. It felt good. Were your nipples always this sensitive? It must have been the pregnancy. He was so warm and so close to you at this moment that you could feel yourself relaxing by the second. He continued his caresses for a bit before pinching at the nipple, drawing out beads of milk. You let out a gasped moan at that, and he stops, letting go of your nipple. Snapping out of your stupor from the sudden lack of sensation, you, a little bit too enthusiastically, ask him to continue, reassuring him that the touch felt good. He continued on like this, massaging, pinching, and milking one breast after the other until the soreness was alleviated. It was warm and comfortable with your back against his chest, it lulled you into a kind of trance. You felt a bit floaty afterward, tingles of pleasure still flowing down your spine, and he offered to make this a regular occurrence since it seemed to alleviate more than just bodily soreness. You accepted, but you had to admit the scenario was a bit weird. The doctor would be coming over weekly to milk you, maybe it's more regular in the practice than you think, he's the medical professional not you.

You grew fond of the touches despite yourself, and you supposed, despite the initial rejection, he was OK with the closeness too, if not a little fond as well. Your husband hadn’t touched you much since your bump really started showing, so you’ve been, admittedly, a little deprived. Despite his cold hands always making you jump for examinations - really, he examined your entire body so frequently you would have thought to have been used to it by now - they were a comfort on your sensitive skin. When they finally warmed up, if he kept his hands on you that long, they were incredibly soothing. You might even say you’ve come to look forward to the touch… maybe… not out loud, though.

Your relationship grew over time, and his checkups became regular enough that he would even stop by on his own occasionally to check in and then promptly leave. He’s rather skittish as well, frequently at your house but never staying for too long, he sometimes leaves before you can make the two of you tea. You can’t say you don’t miss the company, your husband hasn’t been showing you much attention, and you find yourself somewhat starved for interaction. You did whatever you could to keep the doctor a second longer, asking for an additional check, asking him to reach something you couldn’t “with this big belly in the way, after all.” You even invited him to feel the baby kick after a routine checkup once. It's kind of cute how shy he is, his ears turning red when inspecting your belly.

And after a while, it seems like he caught on. Despite still being a bit awkward, he indulged your whims. Stuttering facts about botany, anatomy (yours included), and how his day was when you asked for any conversation. Helping clean up around the house, which you thanked him with a cup of tea. With those intense eyes, he even rubbed your stomach when you invited him and acquiesced to apply the salve for you on occasion, sometimes the baby bucked at his touch. However, he still made sure to keep boundaries on the rare occasion your husband was around. The doctor brought by gifts and trinkets he happened upon in town for you since you were, by his advice, homebound.

He gave you a lovely red scarf and said he thought it complimented your style and that you would like it. While the doctor was handling matters in the kitchen, you were sat in an armchair in the living room, off your swollen ankles, deciding what to do with the scarf and what outfits you could make. Absent-mindedly toying with it, you ended up tying it around your stomach, a nice bow situated on top. While you’re messing with the loops, the doctor steps away from the kitchen, "T-the dishes are all clean and put away. Is there anyth-" he pauses once his eyes land on you, gaze shifting to your stomach and the big red bow on top. You looked down at the bow. “Oh, thank you so much for your help again, doctor. I was just playing around a bit, trying to figure out styles I liked.” You giggled to yourself and looked back up at him, but what you saw startled you a bit. He was still looking at your stomach, unmoving, but his gaze had grown dark. You couldn’t read the emotion behind his stare, but it was a little unnerving. Did you do something wrong?

You cleared your throat. “U-um, doctor? Is something wrong? D-do you not like it?” You meekly question, and it snaps him out of his stupor. He averts his gaze and clears his throat, hiding a blush behind his fist. “Apologies, I’ve got a bit on my mind today, and I just remembered something.” Oh. “Oh, ok.” And that was that. He soon dismissed himself, and you were left alone again. That was so strange, it was almost like he was glaring… You pushed it out of your mind, justifying it as one of the doctor's quirks with eye contact, and never brought it up again. You didn’t want to risk scaring him off or, worse, scaring yourself over what is probably nothing. You liked your dynamic already as it was and didn’t want to lose the company.

One day, when you were about 7 months along, you were lying in bed with a mean stomachache and a light fever. Panting heavily, you're wearing nothing but a thin oversized shirt, overheating and sweating through everything else. Your husband is nowhere in sight, having left for a trip with his friends over the weekend, leaving the doctor to tend to you in your bedroom. Lying on your side, the doctor’s back was facing towards you, writing something you couldn’t see on a clipboard. Your stomach churned again, causing you to flinch and groan. You lift up your shirt, hoping the cool air will do something to soothe the ache, but to no avail. It was so uncomfortable, and your body was so sore. At moments like these, you felt so alone, so vulnerable, so weak. You hated how your body seemed to be capable of almost anything but this, unable to support this one desire. Had the doctor’s assurances been false, could you really go on like this? You open your eyes again and find that the doctor is crouched in front of you, looking at you with that measured gaze.

This time, you meet his eyes again, and it’s once again unreadable and just as dark as before, but they look different somehow as if communicating something to you. The good doctor who has cured your ailments and soothed your stomach again and again. The one who spent time with you, touched you, and cared for you, understanding all of your needs before you even made them known. He’s close, right in front of you, and you’re in need. So fragile in that moment, you whimper and reach out for his hand. He doesn’t stop you, even meeting you halfway, putting his hand in yours, and cooperating when you lead it to your uneasy belly. His cold hands were a comfort to your overheating skin. Understanding your needs like always, he gently rubbed your stomach back and forth, easing it across the sensitive skin. You whimpered again from the soft, calming assurance the reliable doctor always gave. He reached another cool hand up and placed the back of it against your forehead, probably to measure your temperature, but you didn’t care at this moment, leaning into the soothing touch you missed so much at that moment. "There you go," his voice croaked from lack of use. "You’ll be fine. You’ll both be ok with me." you relaxed further into his touch. "Just rest... you’re in my hands now."

#not sure I got the obsessive part down quite right but here it is #this is 5 pages (2795 words) and light research #bd/sm blog #bd/sm kink #ftm nsft #ftnb nsft #send dirty asks #preg k!nk #preggo kink #pregnancy kink #preggophilia #pregnant kink #ftm pregnancy #impreg kink #forced impreg #this was a little hard to pin down but the scarf is representative of the Egyptian god Min (to the best of my ability)

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months

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It's interesting to see Rook and Lilia expressing much sadness in this chapter. Before chapter 7, they rarely show much sadness when express a bit. But seeing Lilia expressing the years gone by for Malleus to be born and Rook have to use his arrows against dream version of Neige and Vil, it felt heartbreaking it is for the things they done to get by. I also forgot about Silver and Sebek as they never express much sadness. Sebek being in rock bottom on how he wanted to have Malleus's sadness while Silver being the child of those who took Malleus's mother away made him feel guilty. It makes me think Malleus will express much sadness soon.

This is just like how Idia express so much anger that his hair gone red. We already seen his sadness about losing Ortho in chapter 6, but never this angry excluding his overblot form. Although his anger is more of how his mother hack his password and he blames Malleus for it.

If this keeps up, we might see new expressions for the rest of cast that haven't seen before.

To be fair, I don't think we've really seen most of the characters express this level of intense sadness (save for maybe the OB boys, since the main story centers on them). The situations before just never really called for this level of a reaction.

Seems like a lot of effort was put into making sure these boys go through the wringer in book 7. Being confronted by reality-shattering truths (Idia, Pomefiore), and uncovering unsavory secrets about your origins and country’s history (Silver, Sebek) can do that. I imagine a large part of it is because "waking" them is done either by a strong emotional or physical shock 😭 Even for characters who don't have a particular trauma (ie Epel), just the realization of the truth contrasted with the false reality he has been presented with could be distressing. No one is safe from the book 7 feels... You can really tell the devs are pulling out all the stops for this installment; there's so many new assets from outfits to facial expressions and more! Some particular favorites of mine are Idia's new animated crying face and his new red hair + determined face combo:

As the anon says, we haven't seen him go full red hair in his 2D model outside of his overblot form in book 6:

Idia does go full red hair in his Dorm Uniform vignettes, but he does not have red-hair or introduce a new facial expression in his 2D model in the vignettes to match:

(Here are the Idia models that appear directly before and after the Groovy illustration appears in his third vignette:)

Anyway!! Really looking forward to seeing what kinds of new looks we’ll see on the characters in future updates ^^ I’m already seeing fandom buzz and speculation on what we might get!

#twst #twisted wonderland #Idia Shroud #Lilia Vanrouge #Silver #Rook Hunt #Sebek Zigvolt #Diasomnia #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #book 7 spoilers #book 7 part 7 spoilers #idia dorm uniform vignette spoilers #notes from the writing raven #book 6 spoilers

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joeyalohadream · 4 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/joeyalohadream/751240031313772544/wednesday-wip-clegan-stalag-fic-currently-at

wow this sounds amazing! do we get to see the hurt/ comfort between buck and bucky when he comes out of the stalag?

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask and I’m glad you enjoyed the little preview!

Will there be hurt/comfort when Gale is out of the cooler? The answer is a resounding YES! I really put Bucky through the wringer in this story. It hits him all at once that he and Gale have always operated as a team, really since the beginning when they were fast tracked to promotion and he hasn’t been his usual half of their duo.

The guilt he feels at realizing, once Gale is out of the picture, at everything Gale has been carrying on his shoulders since entering the Stalag is immense.

Bucky is dealing with the way captivity is changing him, changing everyone, and trying to be his old self for the men in Gale’s absence while really only feeling like a shadow. I’m at about 10,000 words of Bucky adjusting, improving, sliding back, and pushing through.

But… once Gale is released from the cooler, there will be a very lengthy conclusion that is mostly hurt/comfort between the boys.

After so long in isolation Gale:

- has lost too much weight

- is very overwhelmed by the full barracks, all the men, noise, even touch

- had to deal with cruel words from the guards and he’s always been sensitive to verbal abuse because of his childhood

- he’s got slow healing injuries from the beating he took

- and on top of all that, he’s sick from the starvation, malnutrition and generally terrible conditions of the room he was in and can’t shake it

He wants to be strong and he’s Gale so he puts his best foot forward, but with Bucky he can be vulnerable. And Bucky will take good care of him. Softness and fluff will abound, but it will all be sprinkled with angst, as is expected in their circumstance.

Sorry for the ramble, but this fic turned into a beast and I’m very excited for it!

#buck x bucky #clegan #mota fic #mota fanfic #mota #ask me anything #fic request #current wip #JoeySendsGaletotheCooler

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radioactivepeasant · 2 months

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Snippets: Free Day Thursday (Second, sillier part to follow Friday)

Poll Results: Trespasser Jak

Picking up from HERE, Jak and Daxter have been taken back to Spargus

The drive back to the city was not quiet. Every couple seconds, the kid with the amulet he shouldn't have had was pointing to something else, talking a mile a minute to the fuzzy orange thing. The red rock bluffs fascinated him. The crocadeer on the clifftops fascinated him. The frith-rotted cactus was interesting to this stranger.

Jak started to lean out of the seat again, trying to take in every speck of the horizon.

"Will you stop that?" Damas asked irritably, "You're going to fall out, and I'm not turning this car around to go get you. What are you so entranced by, huh?"

Jak's enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "After they took us to Haven- I thought there was nothing left out there but wasteland!"

"You're in the Wasteland," Damas reminded him.

"Nah."

Jak stood up despite the driver's protests and clung to the turret gun to watch a flock of birds.

"This place isn't wasted. It's alive."

"And you won't be if you don't sit down right now-!"

Damas’s headache only multiplied -- exponentially. once they had actually returned Spargus.

The stranger gawked at everything, sometimes lagging as many as ten behind to look at the most mundane things. Forges. The communication hub/post office. Leapers. A stray chickalope he tried to pick up-!

Getting him into the Gate District garrison building took five minutes longer than it should've, by which time Damas’s patience was almost completely gone. It was all he could do to keep some modicum of professionalism as he herded the boy and the talking spirit thing into a clean, well-lit room for interrogation. He left them with a stern warning to wait there until someone came to figure out who they were.

Then he left to make a very strong pot of coffee. He wasn't going back in there without it.

He quickly decided that needed another kind of drink when he returned ten minutes later only to find Jak, barefoot, sitting on top of the table like a moody teenaged gargoyle. That ratty blue winter tunic was tied around his waist now, and the loose scarf and oversized undershirt didn't quite cover a surprising amount of scars for someone his age -- or maybe not so surprising if he was an Heir, given the proclivity of Haven to put those through the wringer-

No. No jumping to conclusions.

Old burns on the soles of his feet that looked roughly six to seven years old -- a childhood accident or stubborn adventure, most likely -- were the most benign of them. Damas saw old, healed clawmarks, and strange fractal-like patterns not unlike those struck by lightning, crossing his upper arms, shoulders and chest. Here and there he saw raised lines -- the telltale sutures of do-it-yourself shrapnel removal. Regardless of whose blood flowed in his veins, this kid was a soldier. And it looked like he'd been a soldier for a depressingly long time.

Damas pushed the thoughts from his mind and took a seat in the chair the trespasser had ignored.

"Alright. Let's get this over with as quickly as we can, shall we? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Oh...kay...?" Jak gave him a puzzled, wary look and scooted back across the table to rest his back against the wall. "I mean, I can't answer everything, and half of what I do tell you won't sound believable, but that's honestly not my problem."

Patience, Damas. Inhale, slowly. You're just stressed. You can't kill him if he's related to you.

Damas took an exaggerated breath and folded his hands on the top of the table. "I don't much care about your activities in Haven. My agents deliver news regularly enough. No, I want to know how you opened a locked door with a Seal of Mar on it."

The kid looked surprised, and then intrigued.

"Mar? Wait, really? He made it out here too?" Jak looked almost impressed. "Huh! Guy got around!"

"Answer the question."

The orange one answered in the kid's stead.

"Jak here's got the distinct misfortune of being descended from the guy-"

*Allegedly," Jak interrupted. His voice was distinctly harder than before.

"What "allegedly"? Dragging me into the frickin nightmare tomb wasn't enough for ya?"

"Everything we know about that guy we got from Krew, or Samos," his companion argued, "And most of the Oracles didn't bother to warn us that Samos was lying to us our whole lives. So no, I'm not taking that on faith."

Clearly this was a sore spot for the young man.

It just so happened to also be a very sore spot for Damas.

They were just going to act like they so happened to "conveniently" let slip that this boy was supposed to be related to him? Did they think he was a fool?

"What are you playing at?" he snapped, startling them both. "Do you think I am so easily taken in?"

"What-?"

"Tell me, boy," Damas said, much more quietly, "What makes you either brave enough or stupid enough to try to pull that story with me?"

And Jak blinked at him with eyes that were a little too familiar. Wide. Full of shadows and pain and anger but still clinging to the vestiges of innocence. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Um. Who? Are you?"

If this was a con, the kid was a decent actor, Damas had to give him that.

"You're telling me you're a survivor of the House of Mar."

"No? I said other people told me I was related to that guy. People with a vested interest in controlling me."

Jak scoffed bitterly and spread his arms wide.

"Little "abandoned" orphan boy kept isolated to train as a soldier, so he wouldn't know what they planned for him. Wouldn't run. And then magically suddenly he's heir to the worst city on the planet? Give me a break. The guards in Praxis's lab came up with better lies than that."

Damas wanted to agree with the kid. He wanted so much to agree with him. Whatever else he might be, clearly Jak was not the kind of person who bought into delusions of grandeur. In fact, he sounded like he actively resented the thought. Damas could appreciate that. Rot, he could even sympathize with the kid.

But.

He had opened a sealed door.

And the river-weasel had just said something about a Tomb.

He really really didn't want to be right, but if they could give an accurate description of the Tomb at some point, that information would be pretty hard to fake.

"Why did they think they could pass you off as Haven's heir?" Damas asked bluntly.

"Because I can make old Precursor crap work, I guess? And the Oracles like me." Jak folded his arms and shrugged. "They're useless when it comes to actually protecting anyone, but at least they tried to help after the fact. More than most hu'mens did."

Oh. Alright, okay. Maybe he's a sage prodigy and he's never been trained. That would make sense-

"Pal, the Oracle called you a "chosen one". That's gotta mean something."

"Chosen for what? Time looped torture?" Jak's entire posture had become rigid. He was beyond agitated, but Damas couldn't quite pin down if it was anger or fear or something closer to grief.

"....I...sorry." The orange one looked down, clearly ashamed. "That's- fair point. I won't bring it up anymore."

Damas didn't want to hear another word of this. Not one. Without stopping to think lest he talk himself out of it, he drew a knife from the back of his belt. The boy tensed even further, looking like he might snap as he watched Damas pull a sheet of paper haphazardly from the notepad that came standard in all the interrogation rooms. Damas ignored him and placed the tip of the blade to the pad of his thumb, pushing until two large drops of blood dripped onto the paper. The boy's tension eased slightly, but he still looked vaguely alarmed.

Damas wiped the blade and, steeling himself, held it out hilt-first to Jak.

"Your turn."

Jak glared at him.

"Are you nuts?"

Damas remained stonefaced. "You want to prove those people wrong? Blood comparison. Computer will be able to identify if it matches old records or not."

"Then why'd you cut yourself?" Jak challenged.

"Control sample," Damas answered shortly, staring until the boy gave in and set the blade against the tip of his little finger.

He declined to specify whether he meant for or against.

Jak twisted his pinkie between his fingers and let a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. He narrowed his eyes at Damas.

"And this is supposed to take...how long?"

"Two months if they're not busy."

Jak unfolded his legs and slid off the tabletop. "Months?! What good does that do me? They'll probably have found a way to guilt me into going back to Haven by then!"

Hm.

Damas leaned back in his chair and studied the boy with a new perspective.

"You're a runaway. Aren't you?"

Jak scowled and folded his arms.

"I'm not! I'm just...there's something I have to do out here. And I can't go back yet."

Suspicion trickled in cold at the back of Damas’s mind. He folded the edge down over the bloodied paper and tucked it into his belt.

"And what," he asked warily, "is this "something" you intend to do?"

The boy's ears dropped, broadcasting uncertainty despite his belligerent posture.

"I...don't know yet. There's just...something was calling me. And I can't leave until I know what it is."

This boy was going to be a walking migraine trigger, wasn't he? But unfortunately there was a reasonably high probability that he was Damas’s kinsman, which meant that under no circumstances could he just toss the kid back to Haven and say "not my circus, not my moncaws".

Just get through this until the blood tests come back. Who knows, maybe the guy will find a place here in the meantime. Or he might decide to fight the squid and die horribly. One step at a time.

Damas opened the door and beckoned to one of the district guards down the hall. Commander Shui left her subordinates immediately to respond.

"Sir?"

Damas nodded back towards the trespasser.

"Have someone show him to the showers. Once he's cleaned up, see if you can't determine his age."

Shui glanced at Jak, but never lost her stoic expression. "Understood. Is he a candidate for the trials?"

Damas ignored the harsh whispering between the boy and the...okay that was called an ottsel apparently. Didn't have those out in the desert.

"I doubt even he knows. For the moment, we will proceed as though he is a refugee."

He sighed.

"I have matters to attend to. Inform me if he causes any problems."

Jak wasn't sure how to feel about this turn of events. Six days of maddening dreams of eco comets and a broken string of beads. Five days of something pulling on his eco core, or his soul, the way the Precursor Stone had.

He wasn't sorry for leaving Haven in the middle of the night. The Grand Council had been getting more and more vocal with their more...Praxian...views on his right to life and liberty, and Samos just kept telling him to focus on what was "more important", fighting metalheads and new Krimzon Deathbots.

When the Call took him down that ancient eco mine, it had felt like an escape. He'd told himself he'd go back after he found what was at the end of the tunnel. And he'd meant to, if only because he thought he had nowhere else to go. After all, Daxter had built a life in Haven. He had a mentor. A girlfriend. A whole business!

But regardless of all the pretty lies Samos and Onin and Ashelin filled his ears with, Haven was not Jak's home. He would not take responsibility for their evil. And even if he was descended from their founder, they all let Praxis kill whatever blood relatives he might've had! They decided the line of Mar had no say in government, so who was Jak to contradict them?

It was strange -- almost unfathomable -- how his perspective could have changed with a rebalancing of eco. The Oracle down in that desert temple, it had pushed through old scars, given him access to light eco, when he'd thought the substance didn't exist anymore. The constant aches that ruled his every waking moment when it was even slightly cold out, the irritability, the burning in his core, it was gone.

How had he become so accustomed to at least low levels of pain as a daily companion? Jak hadn't realized how bad his condition had been until it was gone. And his mind felt clearer than it had in months. Maybe even years. Home was far behind them now. Sandover was forever lost to them, along with all remains of Jak's innocence. Because of Onin. And because of Samos.

Without his thoughts dulled by pain and lack of sleep, Jak thought of his heartfelt thanks to the manipulative old sage and wanted to be sick.

And now he was on an island, eighty nautical miles from Haven. A wild, living, sanctuary of Wastelanders and open wilderness. They called it "wasteland", but Jak couldn't understand why when it was so beautiful.

That Call still pulled at his heart, told him he wasn't done here yet. And he was relieved, because the longer he spent under clear, blue, sky, the more he hated the thought of returning to that corrupted city.

Just because he'd told Ashelin it was worth saving didn't mean he belonged to it.

Damas -- the angry man he'd startled when they came up out of the catacombs -- left, and a well-built woman about his height entered the interrogation room.

"Holy crap, a lady Sig!" Daxter hissed in his ear.

The Wastelander did have a prosthetic eye -- her left, not her right -- of the same make, but that was really the only similarity. She carried herself like Ashelin -- someone in command, used to cooperation if not obedience -- and that alone put Jak on-edge. He met her searching gaze with a hard stare, determined not to be the first to flinch.

"Hm." The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I see what he means. When's the last time you washed?"

"Do pools of water count?" Jak asked. If there was sarcasm in the tone, so what? "Expendables don't get time to wash."

"Eesh." The woman curled her lip. "Well that's not going to fly in my garrison."

She turned to shout down the hall, "Strom! Get the rookie to the showers before the flies move in!"

"Oh rot you!"

#fic prompts #writing prompts #snippet Thursday #free day thursday #jak and daxter #king damas #dadmas #Damas doesn't know it yet but in about three days Jak and Daxter will have decided they're adopting his as resident parent #Damas was not informed beforehand #the guards don't know what to do with Jak so they send him to the Foundling Barracks #Samos calls to demand that they tell him where they are and return immediately because Daxter turned off location tracking #and Jak is just 'so. i think i may have just been put in an orphanage.' completely nonchalant #since he got his eco balanced for the first time in years he's thinking a lot more clearly and realizing his mentors are Sus #long post #trespasser au

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ideas-4-stories · 7 months

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Inspired by the "buggy gets stabbed with a seastone knife but defeats the assassin" anon and subsequent post.

Buggy really would have had SO MANY SCARS. He's immune to cuts and chops and slices. Not blunt force trauma, burns, bullets, whips, etc. Also he was a pirate apprentice on GOL D. ROGER'S SHIP!! He ate that devil fruit young, sure, but he was still a pirate before then and I highly doubt that that, nor whatever his early life was, would lead to pristine, unblemished skin.

Also - freckles. Give Buggy Freckles 2024.

Anyway, yeah, Buggy would have a MOSAIC of scars and tattoos - many of which have meanings the likes of which are lost to most. Also projection, but Buggy has a medusa tattoo somewhere on his person. Yes the one who did the tattoo for him was on the crew, and still is. Yes they are also the defacto therapist on the island. It's good pay and they get to add Names to the I'll Kill Them One Day list ((it's a whole book. With five volumes. It's on going.))

I have... an angry idea. For Buggy shrugging off seastone wounds and using his own injury as an opening. Roger would have wanted the boys STRONG but happy and safe. He saw so much of himself in Shanks that the attention was perceived as preferential treatment. Shanks was the heavy hitter with potential and skill and charisma -

Buggy was the supporting cast.

Rayleigh, unable to help Roger through the illness, through so many things, projected that onto Buggy ((Very Pearl + Connie, if you know Steven Universe, before Steven stepped in to set that record straight)). Ray would make sure Buggy was strong enough for Shanks. He put that kid through the WRINGER, and it was arguably hell. Buggy came out stronger but also far more terrified - so much so that he struggled to even utilize that strength in any true way. Rayleigh declared it a failure. Apologized to Buggy for 'failing to make him good enough'.

This did a number on him.

One thing that lasted was his frankly unsettling tolerance to water and seastone. He still works on it, and he never quite dropped it. He always has at least one seastone earring in because it's both smth he HAS to do and also it slows down his brain a little, dulling the edge of his normal panic. Like a crystal girlie but far more literal.

This isn't his first rodeo with seastone weapons either - he may have been in the East, but he was still a decently renowned criminal with a hefty bounty. He's an old hand at this!

Still hurts like a bitch though.

He'd absolutely make the dumbest puns too. "Don't worry, I'm in STABle condition! :oD"

"You need stitches, you utter buffoon."

"That wasn't very- hnn- knife of you."

"Please pass out from bloodloss."

"You cut me so deep, Hawkyyy- OW?!"

"Seas save me"

Crocodile is fighting between yelling louder, committing three felonies, laughing, and shutting the clown up. Be it by choking him or kissing him is up for debate. The doctor, used to Buggy's antics, just hands him a fidget toy. "Don't touch the wound, my supplies or try to move yet. Solve the rubix cube before you even consider getting up."

"Boring-"

"I'll tell the kitchen to make hotdogs if you do."

Buggy is now very focused on the pretty color cube.

Oh, referring to this post gotcha!

Yeah, Buggy totally would because he’s a chemist, working with all those bombs and the guy looks like he would trip sometimes while working. Buggy has to have burn scars (I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone said that Buggy has star-shaped, firework burns on his hands. Part of the reason he hides his hands away, I like that idea even that means Buggy got hurt) Now it an idea that I got when I was half-asleep, that I read in the morning with confusion… a cannonball… I don’t why my sleepy brain decided that, but now thinking about it would have to be a ricochet cannonball that he survived from (to be honest Buggy seems like a person who would survive a cannonball to the head, like some Monkey family we know) Then with probably the logical route of bullets, whips, etc… are from being hunted by marines and enemies of the Roger Pirates before he somehow blends into the background and people forgot about him.

I would say Buggy would have eaten his devil fruit around nine years old, for the AU I’m trying to writ… Also freckles… HELL FUCK YEAH!!! I love that idea; it would be so cute on him!!! Scattered all around his body, totally seen him connecting them into shapes and patterns when he’s bored and has nothing else to do.

Definably, he’s a pirate, of course he has many scars, and Buggy having at least 10 tattoos ranging from large too small. I don’t think Buggy ever has sat someone down to explain them, or maybe he has and stopped because people not understanding. Ooooooo, I look up what the Medusa tattoo means, I like to think it’s for survival and strength. With my idea for two long tattoos, I think they would be a mixture of different flowers with hidden things between them - like hidden treasure to find, those tattoos have meanings as well as some funny ones around his body as well. Because it’s Buggy, of course, he will at least have one fucking funny one.

I love an idea their defacto therapist, I think I’ve already have a OC for the job and yes, love the book called I'll Kill Them One Day list. Love that it has five volumes, you know some of those names are crossed off and it continues to grow.

This is an angry idea indeed, poor Buggy… as we see that Buggy is not supporting cast, with his followers (they are like cult followers in a way) and his crew. Basically pushed to the side for Shanks to be the one in the spotlight as the “leader” of the two (I definitely doubt that Shanks didn’t look up to Buggy during sometimes when they were cabin boys)

Oh fuck, no wonder why Buggy hasn’t talk to Rayleigh and makes my idea of them meeting as cold and awkward. Like Rayleigh would greet with nicknames from long ago, expecting the same as what he remembered last of Buggy, only to have Buggy to greet him coldy. Either, with Dark King Rayeleigh or Slivers Rayleigh instead of nicknames that he use to call Rayleigh.

Why…why projected his problems onto Buggy! Like of course that did a number on Buggy, ecspeaily after Ray apologized to Buggy for ‘failing to make him good enough’... You can’t say that to a fucking child, you know they will think it’s all their fault! I mean look at Buggy, he already has enough problems with his self-esteem, he doesn’t need anymore!!!

Poor Buggy, going thtough hell because Rayleigh wants him strong like him to keep Shanks safe because he’s being as stupid as Roger. It makes sense that Buggy can’t use his strength because of being afraid and worrying so much (Buggy is definitely a worry-wort)

I agree with Buggy has an high tolerance to water and seastone, I mean Buggy seemed to of been a really good swimmer from how angry he is from Shanks scaring him and making him swallow the Bara Bara fruit (if not, then it’s a headcanon for me that he’s a really good swimmer before he swallowed the devil fruit) You think he would just stop going into the water? I mean I can see Buggy finding those small pools of water on a beach… I forgot what they are called, anyway you think he wouldn’t go in them to feel the sea? I think Buggy would.

Oooooo a seastone earring or some other type of seastone jewelry on his body. That’s interesting, I’ve never thought about it. The seastone helps him corrals his chop chop powers from doing all the time as well. Calming his brain, dulling the edge of his normal panic is a clever way, bro probably found how much seastone he needs to do so. From this post, Buggy has to have some edibles mixed into brownies or some other type of pastry (it’s now a headcanon for me) Dude has to have some drugs to calm down with the stress that Crocodile and Mihawk have put him through.

Yeah, it's definitely not Buggy’s first rodeo with seastone weapons, I can see Buggy being hunted by people during the time after Roger was killed and I see that’s the time where most of his seastone wounds came from. I wonder now if Buggy hordes the seastone weapons that people attacked him with?… I’ve decided yes, Buggy would keep them.

I stand for Buggy making the dumbest and baddest puns when he is hurt, especially when he gets attacked by seastone weapons. It takes his mind off of the pain they give him (Also the banter between Buggy and Mihawk you made is chefs’ kiss)

Both Crocodile and Mihawk just being done with Buggy and quite disturbed by how Buggy handles his pain. Mihawk wants him to shut up and sit still, while Crocodile is fighting between screaming, committing felonies (like he hasn’t committed felonies more than enough), laughing his ass off, then wanting to either choke Buggy or kiss him to shut the clown up. That’s so them, and Buggy is getting a little shit like always.

This doctor is just like the doctor OC; Kuo-Lee, I’ve created to be the Buggy Pirates medic. Really, being done with what Buggy does and uses things to keep him still. This is so right, handing him a fidget toy, saying that if he is good than he’ll tell the kitchens to give their captain is favorite food. Yeah, that will make Buggy sit as still as he can, to be honest, Buggy isn’t one to sit still.

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years

Text

{23} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 8,448

Warnings: Intense/Extreme Violence: mental and physical torture, Verbal Abuse, Physical Abuse, Mental Illness: depression, anxiety, failed suicide mention and pointed verbal assault regarding failed suicide attempt, Blood and Gore, Slut Shaming, Past Smut mentioned, OC really goes through the wringer this chapter, but nothing is done or said by any of the guys. I think that’s everything. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I have been planning this chapter since the very beginning of this story, so I really hope that if you read it, you enjoy it. OC really goes through it, but I think OC stays pretty strong. Reminder, if any of the topics of this chapter make you uncomfortable, please do not read it. I am more than happy to do a jot point list with the key plot points you may have missed by skipping this part of the series. Just let me know! The next chapter will have some serious action in it, and the boys will return. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - Part Seventeen - Part Eighteen - Part Nineteen - Part Twenty - Part Twenty-One - Part Twenty-Two - Mini Masterlist

“Miyeon,” the low gasp of her name falling from your lips is synonymous with the way Kuroo lets out a threatening hiss beside you.

Three things happen then, simultaneously.

In the instant you go to reach out to all eight of them within your mind, it feels as if a glass case is slamming down over your void. No matter how hard you try to break through, the invisible wall prevents you from being able to contact any of them. The black water of your void ripples against this barrier, splashing against the sides as panic begins to seize your entire body.

Your only way to contact them has now been cut off.

All while this was occurring, Kuroo had lunged at Miyeon.

Too easily, she deflects his attack. An invisible force knocks Kuroo back, slamming him into the wall quite harshly and causing a loud cry to escape him. As soon as he hits the floor, he attempts to stand back to his feet, only for that invisible force to begin crushing his sides.

“No!” Without thinking, you attempt to reach for Kuroo in the next second, seeing him struggling to breathe as more whimpers escape his little body.

The next moment, you feel yourself being slammed against the wall, a hand digging into your throat and cutting off any and all air to your lungs. Miyeon’s nails dig so harshly into your skin, that you can feel the trickles of blood beginning to drip down the side of your neck where her nails puncture your skin.

“Ah-ah, none of that,” she tuts, shaking her head as she meets your gaze. “Don’t go ruining our fun before it’s even started, Love.”

The way she mockingly drawls out the nickname has disgust flooding your veins. The glare you send her way is deadly, but it seems to only amuse her for the time being.

A moment of silence passes as she eases her hold on your throat just the slightest.

“I can’t have you dying on me just yet,” she grins, nails still harshly digging into your skin. “I have much planned for you.”

You blink, yet nothing happens. Still, you hear the muted whines of Kuroo in the background, becoming less and less frequent the more time passes.

Your heart absolutely aches for him right now. All he wanted to do was defend you, and he ended up getting hurt. If only you could reach out and contact at least one of the guys to inform them of your situation, but that damn glass wall keeps blocking your every attempt.

Faintly, you hear Miyeon curse, looking to the side.

“Damn warlock,” she hisses, releasing her hand from your throat. “I knew he would end up being good for nothing. Can’t even get us out like he promised.”

Immediately, you start coughing, gasping for air. You attempt to move away, but the glint of a dagger suddenly held to your throat has you freezing in your tracks.

“Well, since that good for nothing warlock’s magic doesn’t seem to be working, looks like I’ll have to improvise.” She sighs. “So much for the manhunt I had planned.”

“I’m not playing any of your stupid games,” you go to shove her off of you, but she barely moves an inch.

“You think you have any power here?” She laughs, pressing the blade that much further into your skin, and drawing a faint trickle of blood as the edge slices your throat. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

“Choking me? Pressing a blade to my throat?” You quirk a brow, gritting your teeth for the moment. “If I didn’t know any better, Miyeon, I’d say you’re obsessed with me. At least buy me a drink first.”

“Shut up, you stupid whore,” the back of her hand sends you tumbling to the floor. Her eyes flash black as she stands over you, looking down at you from her nose. “Well, since we can’t leave now, why don’t you give me a tour of my new home. I’ll be living here after I kill you, anyways.”

You realize what she must mean now. The wards are too strong. She may have been able to get in, but now she can’t get out. Not even with the aid of Dimitri, apparently.

You just hope you can survive long enough until the guys get back. Though, from the looks of things, you bet everything that that’s what she’s hoping will happen, too.

What better way than to break them by killing you right in front of their very own eyes?

Swallowing thickly, your gaze scans over her figure. A second dagger is strapped to her one thigh, and you finally register the one that she holds in her hand. The jewelled handle is all too familiar to you, and you realize with a crushing sense of dread that she was the one who bought the ceremonial dagger from David’s shop all those weeks ago.

“Your new home?” You slowly begin to crawl backwards and away from her. Only, Miyeon doesn’t seem to like that, stepping on your ankle quite harshly in the next second.

The sound of crunching bones reaches your ears and pain erupts beneath your skin. You can barely move your toes, but you do everything in your power to prevent yourself from crying out in pain. After all, it’s exactly what Miyeon wants.

“You don’t get to ask questions here.” She spits, eyes narrowed as she glares down at your form still on the ground. “Get up, and show me around my new home.”

Gritting your teeth once more, you slowly raise yourself to your feet. However, you cannot prevent the wince of pain from showing on your features as you put any sort of pressure on your now broken ankle. Wordlessly, you begin to limp down the hallway.

Your hands clench into fists at your sides in an attempt to control your anger for the moment. The way you can hear her ominous footfalls following mere inches behind you has you praying to whatever gods out there that at least one of the guys returns soon to help you.

Still, you attempt to reach out to any one of them in your mind. One second, you focus your energy in on that vibrant red string you know is attached to Hongjoong’s own mind to no avail. Then, you’re rushing across your void to try and pluck the soft pink string you know belongs to San, only for what feels like a harsh burning sensation to erupt in your mind.

Now, at each point of contact, that burning becomes more present, pushing you further back into the recesses of your own mindscape. So, you still your void, doing whatever you can to rest mentally before you wear yourself out. If Miyeon is blacking your communication with the boys, then she clearly doesn’t want them interrupting whatever she has planned for you. Not only that, but she obviously wants to break through to shatter whatever she can of your mental state, if that throbbing pain returning is anything to go by. You would bet anything now that she had been the cause of your various headaches over the past few months this whole time.

Approaching the first door, you don’t even say anything as she steps inside your own bedroom.

“Disgusting,” her nose crinkles. “I’m going to have to seriously air out this room to get rid of your scent before I even attempt to sleep in here. Then again, maybe I’ll just have to fuck all of them one by one in the bed to mask the stench of you.”

Something in your eyes flash. “Like hell they’d ever touch you.”

“They did, once,” she grins, shoving you quite harshly down the hallway as she steps out of the room. “I doubt you’ve been able to truly satisfy them. You’ve probably fucked them all over this house, you slut, letting them use you like the toy you are. I’m simply trying to save you the heartache. They don’t love you. They never have, and they never will.”

You bite your tongue as your eyes flash once more. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, but you know it would be in your best interest to keep your mouth shut for the moment. The last thing you want is to set her off and really have her kill you. The guys can’t help you if you’re dead.

“Keep moving,” she shoves you again, causing you to brace yourself on that broken ankle of yours. The way you flinch as you apply sudden pressure to the crushed bones has a maniacal smile stretching across her features. “Believe me, when I’m done with you, that foot will feel like child’s play.”

Keeping silent, you press your lips into a thin line. You manage to make it through the game room, Mingi’s bar area, the kitchen, the dance studio, and the cinema room all without another incident. Of course, Miyeon makes little comments here and there, hoping to rile you up, mainly about fucking them ‘where you have before’. You can just tell she’s attempting to assert her dominance over you, but you’re not having it for one second.

Finally, you make it to the music room, watching as she steps inside. The way she continuously looks around the rooms with such disinterest has your blood boiling.

“They really did all of this for you?” She scoffs, shaking her head. “Pathetic.”

Then, her eyes are catching on one instrument in particular. An instrument that has you hobbling across the room in an instant as you see her reach for it.

The sound of a smack echoes quite harshly through the room, and you watch as Miyeon’s nostrils flare. Her eyes flash as you hit her hand away from touching Yeosang’s violin for a second time.

“Don’t you dare touch his violin.” You’re voice is low, deadly.

For a moment, you can tell that she’s caught off guard. The glare you send her way is the darkest she’s ever seen you look, and she actual blinks in shock. That is, until a harsh scowl is pulling at her features.

In an instant, she’s grabbed the wrist of the hand you used to smack her own with, crushing it beneath her grip. Your lips part in a silent gasp, arm twisting in the direction she’s forcing you to go before flinging you across the room without another thought.

A pain filled cry escapes your lips as your back makes contact with the grand piano, landing on top of the wood and managing to smash the lid inwards. Before you can even attempt to move, you feel a crushing weight surrounding you, hearing the strings begin to snap beneath your body as they whip across your exposed flesh. Blood begins swelling along the small cuts, and you feel the legs of the piano crumble as you crash to the floor.

Nothing but crushed wood and snapped strings surround you, tiny slivers sticking into your skin as you attempt to catch your breath. Tears line your vision, but you do everything in your power to prevent them from falling for the moment. There is no way in hell you are going to allow Miyeon the pleasure to see you cry, or hear you scream. You will not succumb to her so easily. You are not going to give her what she wants.

Vaguely, you can register footsteps walking towards you, and again, you attempt to reach out to Yunho in your mind. That bright yellow string glares at you from behind the invisible wall, and you nearly cry out in frustration.

So close, yet so far.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me that that was enough to kill you,” Miyeon rolls her eyes, kicking your foot quite harshly on the side of your broken ankle.

You hiss in response, watching as she leans down to physical pull you out of the remains of the smashed piano. You can feel wooden splinters digging into your back, and probably drawing even more blood in their wake.

“Stand up, you stupid human,” she hisses, kicking you once more as she rights herself. “I don’t have all day.”

Putting any sort of pressure onto your now crushed wrist has a searing pain travelling up your arm. You can feel your whole body throb as you move, your ankle groaning in protest. The worst twinge comes from the middle of your back, sure you’ve probably herniated a disc in your spine as you feel a pinch every time you go to move.

Yet still, you remain alive. Like hell you’ll let her kill you.

Keeping your head held high, and your tears at bay, you begin to exit the room. Of course, you do whatever you can to prevent your limp from slowing you down right now, cradling your wrist to your chest as you make your way back down the hallway. You will not let on just how hurt you are, even if your head begins to throb worse with each passing moment.

The dining room is the next to appear as you lead her down the side corridor. A room of which you surprisingly haven’t been to since that evening all those months ago.

But Miyeon doesn’t know that.

“Ugh, how many times have they indulged themselves in you on this table?” Her face contorts in disgust. “Guess that will have to be replaced. I don’t need reminders of whores in my house.”

Let her think what she wants, it won’t make her hate you any less than she already does. Not to mention the fact that she probably wouldn’t believe you even if you tried.

Oddly enough, when you pass by each of their bedrooms, Miyeon doesn’t even bother to look. Granted, none of their doors remain open, a habit you’ve noticed they all have since you started living with them.

Finally, you make it to Seonghwa’s tailor shop, and Miyeon doesn’t even hesitate to invite herself in.

“I wonder if he’s working on something actually good,” she hums, almost thoughtfully, to herself.

Your nostrils flare, that familiar heat of anger rushing through your veins.

“Oh, what’s this?” She turns to look at you with a quirked brow, slinging her arm around a bust which holds one of the most extravagant dresses you’ve ever seen in your life.

The skirt flares out at the waist, knowing without a doubt that the soft colour is meant to match well with you. You can tell that a lot of thought and effort has gone into this literal definition of a ballgown fit for a Queen, and you just know that Seonghwa has been making this dress for you. It was probably what he was working on before Stella came to get them.

“Oh, this will never do,” she tuts, shaking her head.

You can see what she’s about to do before she even starts. The way her hand raises to the sweetheart neckline has you moving in an instant. Guess you’ll never learn.

“No!”

This time, she’s ready for you to pounce, batting you away like she would a pesky little fly.

You stumble to the floor, landing harshly on your wrist and hearing it crack again in protest. Looking up just in time, you watch her pull out that damned jewelled dagger and begin slashing at the material. Miyeon even goes so far as to tear the fabric with her hands, shredding the delicate detailing, and tossing the scraps around the room.

“Stop it!” Your voice comes out much more firm that you expect, and you can tell she’s just as caught off guard by it as well.

“You dare to give me orders?” Her voice booms, the lights in the room seemingly dimming as her form towers over you. The dagger she has clutched in her hand glints dangerously. “One more protest out of you, and I’ll make you regret the day you were ever born.”

Your blood runs cold as you know her words are true. There is no telling just what Miyeon will do to you, so prolonging this little ‘tour’ for as long as you can is really your best bet.

The eight of them will be back soon. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. You don’t know if you could survive without that small shred of hope you desperately cling onto as your attempt to once again reach out to Jongho is thwarted in your own mind.

Two minutes later, and after Miyeon completely leaves Seonghwa’s tailor shop in tatters, you’re in the library. Your heart begins to pound in uncertainty as to what Miyeon will do next, worry furrowing your brow. Though, from the way you see Miyeon smirk, you’re convinced she believes it’s in pain.

“What makes you so fucking special that they would do all of this for you? A library? Really?” She shakes her head, clear disbelief on her features. “Pathetic.”

“It’s more than they’d ever do for you.” You spit, venom on your tongue.

Looks like you really cannot control yourself today.

Instantly, her hand is back around your throat, lifting you in the air so that your feet dangle helplessly beneath you. You go to kick her, only for that invisible force to be back, squeezing tightly around your legs.

“When I’m through with them, they’ll do everything I want them to.” She snarls, voice low as anger pulls at her features. “Without question.”

“They will never love you.” You choke out, clawing desperately at her hand as her nails manage to reopen the punctures on your neck.

“No, maybe not,” she hums, tilting her head threateningly. “At least not willingly, but I have my ways.”

With that, she throws you harshly against the closest bookshelf, a few books toppling off and crashing into your body as they fall to the floor. You wince as a particularly thick hardcover hits the top of your head, leaving you in a slight daze.

With nothing but hatred in your eyes, you watch as she walks over to the double doors at the far end of the library. Ungracefully, she flings them open, her whole body shaking in fury as she sees the garden presented before her very eyes.

“They made you a garden?” Her voice is low, ominous as she turns her gaze sharply to you. At the way you remain silent, she snaps. “Speak, you useless mortal!”

“You have eyes, don’t you?” You retort, narrowing your own gaze back at her.

You know your worth. You’re not just going to let her walk all over you anymore. She doesn’t deserve to believe she has that type of power over you.

That same unknown force pulls you towards her, and you notice her still shaking in fury.

“Watch your tone, mortal,” she hisses, grabbing the material of your shirt as she spits harshly in your face. “I’m this close to changing my plans and skinning you alive right where you stand.”

“At least tease me if you’re going to fuck me over like that,” you smirk, hoping to rile her up even more.

At the way she shrieks in response, shoving you back in an instant, you know it’s worked.

Unfortunately for you, it causes you to land badly once more on your fractured ankle, and this time, you cannot hide your grimace. A fact which has a smirk of her own tugging at her lips.

“Weak,” she spits, rolling her eyes. “Looks like I’ll have to burn this place to the ground to sanitize it before building it anew with my Kings.”

“If they don’t burn you first.” You spit back, just as harshly, a sneer tugging at your lips.

“Have you ever smelt the way fire melts human flesh?” Miyeon’s eyes are crazed, hand coming up to grip your jaw harshly as she forces you to turn your head to the garden spread out before you. “It’s quite disgusting: the way your frail skin bubbles beneath the heat, the smoke choking every last breath from your scorched lungs.” Slowly, you begin to see the plants begin to wither as she drags you towards the fountain still trickling peacefully in the centre of the space. “I can’t wait to watch you burn.”

Before another word of protest can leave your lips, she’s shoving your head beneath the water. No matter how hard you struggle, or attempt to resist her hold, you cannot break free.

Your lungs scream desperately for air. Water invades your senses, flooding your nose and slipping past your parted lips as you do whatever you can to fight against Miyeon’s hold for the moment. Not even the way your own nails claw at her skin causes her to flinch.

A maniacal grin stretches across her features once more as she sees you struggling to breathe. Of course, just as she feels your body weakening, she pulls you back, holding your gaze to her crazed one as you wheeze, coughing water from your lungs all the while.

“It would be so easy to kill you in whatever way I see fit,” she says, voice mocking sympathy. “You should remember that the next time you want to run your mouth. In fact, you should be thanking me for keeping you alive this long after you stole My King from me.”

You do not fail to notice how she uses the singular form of that word this time, and your whole body shudders in disgust. Only, Miyeon believes it’s in fear. A fact which makes her grin widen.

“Once I free that mind of yours, you’ll be grovelling at my feet, practically begging me to kill you,” she leans in, whispering lowly in your ear. A violent shiver wracks your spine as you heave for air. “I have no use for filth in my New World.”

Again, your head throbs, and you nearly fall to the ground in pain. With everything that you are, you focus on strengthening that void in your mind. It seems as if she hasn’t quite been able to break through completely yet, and you will do whatever you can to make sure that she cannot.

The worst part is, the stronger you reinforce your void, the more your head throbs. It’s like she’s practically coaxing you to lower your defences to make that pain go away.

Her face scrunches in annoyance.

“Ugh, why do you insist on fighting me?” She begins to drag you out of the now dead garden and up the stairs to the second story of the library. “This stupid void of yours won’t protect you for much longer. I’ve already cut off all contact with them from you, and it will only get worse from here. You should just give in. I promise I’ll make all the pain go away then.”

“There is no promise you can make that will make me ever surrender to you.” You spit, tone harsh as she drags you out of the library for the moment.

“You really are dumber than I thought,” she sighs, shoving you in front of her. “Continue the tour of my new home.”

You say nothing as you stumble down the hall. You can feel the material of your shirt clinging to your chest as water drips down your torso. Once more, you cradle your wrist to your body, the bones pulsing as the struggle at the fountain aggravated the break. Even your back twinges worse than before, given the angle Miyeon had you pinned down in. Your ankle is fairing no better, either.

At least the small cuts all over your body have seemed to have stopped bleeding. For now.

For the second time that day, Miyeon completely ignores the bedrooms on this side of the house. Which leaves only one room left.

A room which you will guard with your life.

“Move.” She commands, just as you fling yourself in front of the closed door.

“I would rather burn alive than let you into this room.” Your voice trembles in anger, keeping your tone low and somewhat threatening.

“What’s so fucking special about this room, anyways?” Her face contorts in a sneer, inhaling sharply. “It reeks of Yunho.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes flashing as pure hatred courses through your veins at the tone she uses. “You don’t deserve to speak his name.”

“This must be his stupid art room.” She huffs out a breath. “I don’t know why he even bothers. He’s not even that good of an artist-“

You lunge.

The sound of smashing wood greets your ears, and the breath gets knocked right out of your lungs as Miyeon lands on top of you. The shattered remains of the door lay around you, splinters once again digging harshly into your back as she begins to choke the life out of you.

“How dare you!” She screeches. “You dare try and lay your hands on me? Me?”

Desperately, you claw at her hands, scratching her harshly and drawing blood only for her cuts to instantly heal in the next second. In the blink of an eye, that jewelled dagger is back at your throat.

“I was willing to skip this room, but because of how passionate you seem to be in protecting it, I think I’ll leave a little gift for him to find.” Purposely, she slashes a faint line on your neck as she pulls away, standing off of you in the next second.

Your entire body throbs, vision blurring at the edges as you turn yourself onto your stomach. Your mind screams at you to move as she slowly stalks around the room, twirling the dagger in her hands as she begins to hum to herself.

Quirking her brow, she shifts past the couch and walks right up to the dried out flower crown hanging proudly on the wall beside the windows. Slowly, she begins reaching for it.

“Don’t touch that.” You manage to just push yourself up onto your hands and knees, blood rushing through your ears.

Her smug grin says it all.

Instantly, she’s tearing the object from the wall, pulling the brittle flowers apart and laughing as they crumble to the floor.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Pushing yourself up even further, you can only collapse back to the floor in pain, your arms giving out beneath you as your whole body trembles.

A moment later, and she’s walked over to his shelves, pulling a sketchbook into her hands. As soon as she opens the cover, a scowl is pulling at her lips, taking the time to tear each page out one by one. Slowly.

“Stop it!” You yell, eyes shining with unshed tears as you watch each sketch flutter to the floor, displaying every piece of artwork he has drawn of you. For you.

Miyeon’s maniacal laughter fills your ears. “Do you actually think any of these are good?”

Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes flash black as seeing the next drawing presented to her on the page.

“What is the meaning of this?” Instantly, the sketchbook is shoved in your face.

Of all the pictures you would have thought she would put on display - the one of your hands intertwined with Yunho’s, you with Brego in that open field, the portrait he drew of you that day where you fully claimed each other with one another’s blood - you never expected it to be one you haven’t seen before.

There, on the page before you, rests your image. Swirls like wisps of smoke cover your naked torso, a design unlike any other painted over your heart as you toss your head back in pleasure. From the angle, and the way your one arm is positioned, you can tell that this is his own memory being drawn onto paper once more. For there, staring back at you is the exact visage of your body, orgasming as you sat on his face.

Your wide eyes meet Miyeon’s wild ones, a fury unlike anything you’ve seen before shining within her gaze.

The page is torn to shreds.

“You vile creature,” you hiss, hands clenching into fists on the ground as you glance at all of the scattered pages torn from Yunho’s sketchbook littering the floor.

“Takes one to know one,” she grins, turning the book around only to scowl in the next second. “You really are a whore.”

Another page is torn to shreds. Then another, and another. Until a snarl is slipping passed her lips once more.

“You slut! You let him watch?” Again, she turns the sketchbook around to display the drawing on the page.

This time, you see your image being held in Jongho’s lap, his face pressed into the side of your neck as Wooyoung kneels before you. With the way his hands are pressing into your thighs, it’s clear that he’s happy to be eating you out, your fingers tangled desperately in his hair. Even with your head tilted back, your blissed out expression is obvious, lips parted in what you’re sure is a moan.

“Just how many times have you let the others watch as one of them fucks you? You really let them use you like this?” She laughs in disbelief, shaking her head in the next second as she tears this page out of the book. “Fucking whore. I bet you’re so fucking cockdrunk on them you don’t even care about who they actually are.”

White hot fury courses through your veins as your head throbs, and you feel your void slip the tiniest bit. You can tell she jumps at this opportunity, watching as the water ripples out, your mind feeling as if the whole area is rumbling within your skull.

“Says the bitch who only cares about herself.” You retort, teeth clenching as your jaw twitches.

“I simply learned from those Kings of yours,” her voice is low as she slams the sketchbook closed, tossing it across the room.

It is then that her eyes land on the lone canvass resting upon an easel at the side of the room.

“Oh? What’s this?” She hums, as if she hadn’t glanced the painting the second she crashed into the room.

Your eyes go wide, panic seizing your throat and causing it to tighten as you watch her twirl the dagger in her hand once more. Slowly, she stalks towards that stunning portrait of you wearing that flower crown.

Yunho’s prized possession, other than you, of course.

Miyeon raises her one hand, jewelled dagger glinting in the light of the setting sun.

Your legs move before you even register you’ve stood to your feet.

In one fluid motion, Miyeon brings the dagger down with every intention to slash the canvass in two. Only, instead of tearing apart the portrait, your figure shoving into her side sends the dagger tumbling from her hand. The two of you go crashing to the floor, and it takes no time at all for Miyeon to be on top of your struggling figure, pinning you beneath her frenzied form.

A gasp escapes your lips as she grabs you jaw harshly in her grip, raising your head up only to slam it back to the ground.

Spots dance in your vision, and again, your void ripples from the sudden attack. Your entire body aches, heart stuttering in your chest as your lungs burn with each breath you take.

While you remain momentarily stunned, Miyeon is quick to stand back to her feet, grabbing her fallen dagger and turning back to the painting. Again, she raises the knife.

This time, you manage to swing your legs, catching her off guard as she tumbles to the floor. You manage to scramble to your feet just as she does the same, jumping in front of her as she slashes her arm upwards to finally cut the canvass.

The feeling of the tip of the blade dragging across the front of your body has a grunt escaping you, Your shirt now rests in tatters, barely clinging together by a thread as red begins to soak into the material.

“Fine!” She shouts. “Since you want to die that badly, I am more than happy to begin the process!”

In the blink of an eye, she’s wrapped her hand back around your neck, cutting off your air flow as she drags you from the room. The way she can see your blood dripping onto the ground as she pulls you down the stairs, legs kicking uselessly behind you, has a smirk pulling at her features.

She knows just the place to do it, too.

The moment she reaches the opposite side of the house, she’s shoving the door to the dance studio open. Your struggling form is dragged carelessly into the room, Miyeon throwing your body against the wall of mirrors and watching on with glee as one of the panels shatters from the impact.

You can feel blades of glass sticking into your back, more blood escaping your broken and beaten body. As soon as you go to move, your head spins, nausea building in our chest as you attempt to catch yourself on your broken wrist.

The moment your wrist touches the floor, bile rises in your throat. You can barely catch your breath as you empty the contents of your stomach onto the ground, blood dripping from your mouth as tears gather in your eyes. Your head is absolutely pounding right now, becoming as worse as it had been last night. Your skull feels as if it will split open at any moment. Any attempts to swallow the bitterness that lingers in your mouth burns your throat, breaths coming in ragged pants as Miyeon stalks towards you like a predator would its prey.

“You’re going to watch as I carve you up so badly, they won’t even be able to recognize you when they get back,” she growls, dragging a chair over from the side of the room to place it directly in front of one of the intact mirrors. “And then, you’re going to have the pleasure of watching their hearts be crushed as I destroy you as soon as they return.”

Miyeon grabs you by the back of the neck, right where your skull meets your spine. Squeezing enough to have your vision swirling once more, she pulls you to your feet, slamming you down in the chair in the next second. You barely register her tying your wrists to the arms of the seat you’re in, wondering where she got the material to do such a thing. In the back of your mind, you figure she probably stole something from Seonghwa’s tailor shop.

Blinking, you focus back in on your surroundings. Again, you work on keeping your void intact as you feel that pounding ice pick like sensation return, eyes squeeing shut as your breathing deepens. Whatever you do, you will not give in. Besides, the guys should be home any minute now. Right?

Glancing down at your figure, you notice your shirt has been torn off, blood dripping freely down your torso from the cut she gave you back in the art room.

“I’ve been waiting to use this,” she grins, pulling the other dagger from it’s holster on her thigh.

The dagger she admires is clean, an intricate design gracing the handle from what you can see. It’s certainly longer than the other one, a slight jagged edge sitting right above where the blade meets the pommel. From the glint alone, you can tell that it’s pure silver, polished and sharpened meticulously: with the utmost care.

“A shame I don’t have the matching one,” she pouts mockingly. “Though, after today, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about the set being separated for much longer.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly as she paces slowly around your shaking form. The way your heart continues to pound in your chest has a nervous sweat breaking out onto your forehead. Your body feels way too hot for the time being, throat raw with the dryness of anxiety. The bitter taste of bile resides on your tongue, and you can only do your best to watch Miyeon’s every move carefully, following her figure in the reflection of the mirror when you cannot see her in front of you.

Stopping just behind your back, Miyeon meets your gaze in the mirror.

“You know,” she begins, shoving the dagger deep into your back as you body lurches forward in response. “I almost missed out on this entire opportunity.”

The way she slowly removes the dagger has you feeling every inch of the blade as she pulls it from your body. You begin to pant, gritting your teeth together to keep the whimper from falling your lips that so desperately wants to escape.

“It must have been so difficult for you,” you manage to spit out, voice strained as she stabs you once more in your back, only in a different spot.

“You have no idea,” she breathes, repeating the action once more. “That idiot almost ruined everything.”

It is then that you realize what she’s doing. Each new stab she gives you is in exactly the same places as those arrows were that pierced your back all those weeks ago.

Your eyes flash in recognition. “The warlock.”

“Looks like I made him too devoted to me,” she hums, nonchalantly. “Damn bastard thought I would be so ecstatic to know he killed you himself when I explicitly told him the honour would be mine. Guess that’s what happens when you alter somebody’s mind so intensely.”

“He wanted to kill me for you.” You state, just as she walks around to face you, leaning over your body as her one hand rests on the back of the chair.

“Thought it would prove his love for me,” she rolls her eyes. “I already know how devoted he is. After all-“ she catches herself, a smug grin pulling at her lips, “no, I shouldn’t boast.”

“Oh, please, Your Majesty,” you drawl out, suppressing the roll of your eyes as you attempt to stroke her ego for the moment. If you can pull as much information out of her as you can, you will. It will help you tremendously. “Boast away.”

“Well, if you insist,” she giggles, that same maniacal grin stretching across her features. “It took me a while to perfect it, but I finally learned how to weave myself so fully into someone’s mind that they becomes completely devoted to me. Of course, there were a few kinks I had to work out, but Dimitri was just the test run. Once I got rid of that pesky family of his, things became that much easier to invade the recesses of his mind, and make him mine.”

“You killed his family?” Your breath catches in your throat as she teasingly trails the blade of the dagger down the side of your cheek before lightly cutting the skin of your jaw.

“He didn’t need them, anyways,” she hums. “One less attachment that could break the spell.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You briefly recall how Mingi told you about Dimitri and his supposed wife and two kids. Looks like they were right in thinking the warlock had settled down, only for Miyeon to completely destroy everything he had.

Your eyes flash. “And I suppose Malik is just collateral, then?”

She laughs, boisterous and full of hidden malice.

“How do you think I got the chemical imbalances right with Dimitri?” A wicked grin pulls at her face.

“Dimitri wasn’t your first.” You state, disgust pulling at your features.

“Oh, no, Malik truly does love me. He loved me twenty years ago when I convinced him to stage a coup to dethrone those unbelievably gullible Kings.” She giggles. “He still loves me now, and he would do anything and everything I ask of him.”

“I’m sure he loves knowing that you’re in love with another.” You observe, keeping your expression blank for the moment.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, mocking playfulness. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. As long as he bends to my every will, and creates my New World, that’s all that matters.”

“Do you truly care for no one but yourself?” You recoil, appalled by her very being even more so than you were before.

She leans in further to you. “I care about My King, and only My King. Everyone else can burn in hell.”

“You’re a monster,” you spit, slamming your head forward as hard as you can, and managing to catch her off guard.

“You bitch!” She shrieks, hand coming up to clutch at her now bleeding nose.

Though, with the way your head spins, especially after she slaps you hard enough to send your entire body tumbling to the floor, chair and all, you’re not quite sure it was a good idea.

An annoyed breath escapes her, yanking you back upright by your broken wrist and causing you to let out a pain filled cry as she tightens her hold on you.

“Do you want to die before the time is up?” She snarls, eyes crazed as she meets your gaze. At the way you remain quiet, she smirks. “I thought so.”

“Oh, so you do think.” You scoff, feigning being impressed.

A resounding smack echoes around the room as she backhands you across your other cheek.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You huff, spitting out some blood onto the floor. “Pathetic.”

Miyeon tuts, shaking her head. “All I try to do is save you from a life of heartache at the hands of these demons, and I get called pathetic? How sad.”

“Save me?” You quirk a brow, tilting your head forward in disbelief.

“You really think they’re in love with you?” Her voice drawls out, a dark laugh escaping her in the next second. “I thought I told you that they only see you as a sex toy. They’re only using you for their own selfish desires. As soon as you fuck all of them, they’ll kill you right where you stand. I’m only protecting you before that happens.”

“You think I would believe a word you say?” You scoff, rolling your eyes.

The mental ice pick slams into your skull, and your vision blurs.

“I’m only telling you exactly what they did to me.” Miyeon replies, dragging the blade down your arm and drawing more blood. “They pretended to love me, once. I’m simply saving you the heartache.”

You remain silent, worried that if you open your mouth for the moment you might let out another pain filled whimper.

“You’re far too ugly for them, anyways,” she continues. “What the fuck would they want with you? You’re nothing but dirt compared to them. Do you really think they see you as their equal?” She scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh. A human on the same level as Gods?”

“Yet you still seek their validation at every opportunity you get,” your voice is low, glaring up at Miyeon as your hands tighten around the arms of the chair you’re in. “Tell me again who the desperate one is? They will never want you. Not after today. Not after this.”

“Shut up!” She screams, slashing the blade across the upper portion of your chest in anger and barely missing your throat. “I won’t need to worry about whether or not they’ll want me. After I’m through with them, I’ll be the only damn thing they’ll ever desire in their entire lives! I’m their true Queen. Not you.”

“Oh, Miyeon,” you tut, shaking your head. “Miyeon, Miyeon, Miyeon.” You blink, grinning widely all the while as blood drips down your face. “You’re nothing.”

A violent scream tears from her throat as she stabs the dagger in her hand through your right thigh.

You cannot help it. The wound inflicted on you makes you cry out, your head being tossed back as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears cling to your lashes but you refuse to let them fall. At this point, maybe it would be better if you just riled her up enough to kill you. It would save you the pain of going through any more of her torture.

Opening your eyes, you see Miyeon’s chest heaving in front of you. If you thought she looked wild before, she looks absolutely insane now. Her hair is ruffled, teeth bared in a snarl as her gaze bleeds black.

The corners of your vision begin to fade, and you can feel your void beginning to slip more and more with each passing second.

“You are nothing to them.” You pant, nails beginning to crack from how tightly you dig them into the wood of the armrests.

You feel a crack appear in your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot cover it up. The way your lake begins to drain has panic seizing your entire being. The worst part is, you can see the way Miyeon smirks, a victorious gleam shining in her eyes as she searches your own, seemingly staring into your soul.

“You really are burdensome, aren’t you?” She drawls, twirling that jewelled dagger in her hands once more.

You huff, “is that the worst you’ve got?”

“Nobody likes you,” she continues. “All you are is a good for nothing, waste of space. You should never have been born.”

No matter how hard you try, that crack keeps getting wider and wider, the water dissipating faster and faster. Your head feels as if it’s splitting open, that familiar feeling of nausea creeping up inside of your chest again.

“Ugly. Vile. Pathetic.” She spits, circling you slowly as she berates you with every breath.

“I’ve passed kidney stones bigger than you.” You counter, a frown to your brow.

“Do you think they actually desire you?” She huffs out a dry laugh. “How could anyone desire you? Why would anyone love you? What can you offer them?”

Once more, Miyeon comes to stand in front of you. The dagger stills in her hands as her eyes flash.

“Your sister hated you so much for what happened to her child, she tried to kill herself.” She sneers. “It was all your fault.”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to maintain some form of control of your thoughts.

That crack begins to get wider and wider, the water almost completely drained at this point.

“I bet she wishes she never found you that day,” Miyeon adds, her eyes glinting beneath the artificial light of the dance studio. “After all, how could you fail to do something as basic as that?”

“No.” The grip you have on the arms of the chair is deadly, blood sleeping from your fingertips as you hold on for dear life.

“You should have never been born.” She repeats, nothing but a hiss to her lips. “Fucking useless, pathetic, unlovable whore. I bet they’ve all gotten tired of waiting for you to fuck them all, that they’re just waiting for an opportunity to get rid of you. They’ll probably thank me as soon as they get back, revelling me as their saviour from your unwanted presence.”

Your whole body begins to shake, and your mind begins to slip from your grasp.

A victorious smirk tugs onto Miyeon’s features. “You should have died the first time.”

Your mind goes completely blank.

A silence so still settles over the room as your head falls forward. The throws of unconsciousness threaten to pull you under at any moment, feeling your mind being shredded through at a rapid pace. Memories upon memories are unveiled, more being added to your mind that you don’t recognize, but you believe to be true.

Brief flashes of all eight of them appear in your mind, nothing but disgust on their features as they look on at you in anger.

“I never cared for you in the first place.” Hongjoong snarls, eyes as black as night.

A brief glimpse of a conversation in the garden flits through your mind.

“You mean nothing to us.” Mingi states, looking down upon you with a blank gaze.

A figure holding you in bed, whispering his undying love for you over and over again as you sleep.

“You are nothing.” San’s entire body begins to shake in rage, eyes flashing black as he looks upon you with complete abhorrence on his features.

A figure bows to you on the ground, surrounded by three other males in the same position, all with their heads pressed to the floor.

Then, the scene is shifting, and you faintly register something being carved into the skin of your chest. The sting of each incision almost pulls you from your mind, but something drags you back beneath the surface instantly, drowning you in your thoughts once more.

You see Yeosang standing before you with a look of complete and utter contempt on his face.

“I have never wanted you,” he sneers, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Nor will I ever want you.”

It is those words that finally break you.

Your lips part in a silent scream, mind battling within itself as images of that one intimate morning shared with Yeosang flood your every sense. Almost as if your memories are fighting against once another. As if to say that, no, those aren’t real. Remember what’s real.

Miyeon’s eyes go wide with an unbridled fury unlike anything before. Her chest heaves as these memories of yours wash over her, hands beginning to shake as she sees Yeosang touching you so intimately while staring at you so fondly, embracing you so lovingly.

That should be her. That will be her, even if it’s the last thing that she ever does.

“You fucking whore,” she spits lowly, voice nothing but a feral snarl as it rumbles out from her chest. “I’ll kill you for touching him.”

The dagger she’s holding onto slams into your left hand. The same exact hand that had touched Yeosang so tenderly - so intimately - with. She has half the mind to carve out your tongue right this very moment, but she doesn’t want you to choke on your blood just yet.

No. She has much more planned for you, especially now that she has free access to your mind. Perhaps she’ll start with slicing off your fingers one by one.

Faintly, you register someone screaming in the distance, their voice shrill, desperate, and raw.

Oh, wait. That’s you.

477 notes · View notes

stevenbasic · 2 months

Text

Growing into the Job, Post 403: Sock Puppets

“Gooood morning…good morning Dr. Jjjjjjj…” I was awakened by, of all things, a boop on the nose. My face scrunched up, Melissa's voice cutting through the fog of my deep slumber. When I dared to open my eyes, just a slit at first but then wider, what I saw wasn’t Melissa’s face greeting me, but instead the thing that booped me on the nose. “Time to wake up for me, Mr. Sleepyhead!” it said.

A sock, one of mine. On her hand. A sock puppet.

Melissa giggled, and booped me again, this time grabbing my nose like the sock puppet was biting me.

“Rrrrr!” she growled, pretending to be the puppet, speaking for it in a weirdly comic voice and using her fingers inside it to open and close like its mouth, “Me hungry!”

My body ached, arguing and unwilling to be pulled from its stupor. It was an abrupt awakening, and I was trying my best to blink myself awake. Morning, maybe soon after sunrise. The sock puppet - thin, light gray, from the dress pair I’d worn yesterday for the photoshoot - danced and wiggled in front of me. I was laying on my back, she on her right side next to me on my left. I couldn’t help but smile a little at her antics, trying not to think too much that this was like a mother with a two-year old.

“Me want breakfast!”

She giggled again, delighted at her little game. It was so early!

“Want you for breakfast!” it said, and dove into my neck.

“Melissa!” I laughed, “Stop!” That tickled!

As I struggled to come more to life, I was aware of a weird taste in my mouth, like I hadn’t brushed my teeth in a long time. Which I guess I didn’t last night, but this was particularly…I don't know…sour? Also, wow, I was exhausted. I could barely move and - double wow. My nethers were sore. Like I’d been put through a wringer. How many times last night had we..?

“Nom nom nom, nom nom nom!” the sock puppet sang, taking nibbles of me, tickly, making me squirm and laugh. My neck - “nom nom…” my chest - “nom nom…” and, having pushed the covers aside, my morning wood - “nom NOM!”

“Nnnnghhh…ughh…!” I was sore. “Melissa, ouch,” I pleaded, half-laughing, my hand reaching down to stay her, grabbing her at the forearm. My sock, built to fit my size-6 foot, barely made it to her wrist.

“Oooo Melisssssy is so sorry!” the sock puppet apologized, backing off my how-the-hell-can-I-still-be-hard cock, “She made you do sexy too many times? When you sleepy-sleep?”

When I slept? “Wait what?”

“Yes yes Melissssy eat, eat you, five times, nom nom nom!” the sock-thing announced, dancing animatedly above my face, “and you getted to do milk. Melissssy eat, you eat, but sock hungry still!!”

‘Getted to do milk’? And…? “F-five times?”

“Yes, sweetie, five times <giggle!>, while you were sleeping,” Melissa answered, now in her own voice, “You seemed like you needed it. You were so full up!”

Oh my god what the hell.

“But I’m sorry if it was too much,” she apologized, her pout not able to hide a proud little smirk, like she wasn’t really all that sorry. She started to peel the sock off her wrist. “You slept right through them.”

So…she’d given me blow jobs? In my sleep?? Five of them?!? “Jesus, Melissa…” I muttered, incredulous..

“Language,” she scolded.

What? Now I’m not allowed to swear?

“Did the monkeys disturb you last night?” she asked, sock now off her hand.

“The…what?”

“The monkeys, the boys I had come over to fix things downstairs. We made a mess, you and me,” she answered, pausing for a second. Listening to something. “They’re still here, I’m pretty sure. Finishing up.”

She’d taken the sock, unrolled it again

“‘The boys’? Like, the construction guys from the office?” I asked. Maybe I did hear them? I seemed to recall vague dreams, men chanting. “How d- Nnngh!!”

I groaned when she slid the sock down over my erection.

“M-Melissa what-?”

“Shhhh…” she giggled, smoothing the thin sock over me, “You’re sore. This is soft.” She grabbed my sock-sheathed sword, causing my hips to buck. “Feel nice?”

I groaned again, eyes fluttering. Oh my god yes but I’m so tired.

“Noooooo…!” she sang, suddenly scooching up and leaning in, bringing her face to inches from mine, above me. Her hair, a huge, huge thick blanket of it covered us. “No sleeping! Not just yet!” she whined, pouting again, “Talk to me. Just for a minute. I’ve been laying here all night looking at you, but I have to go to work soon.”

Work? oh man. It’s like, what? Thursday?

Her left hand was aside my pillow, supporting her weight, her right hand still held my overworked cock. She gave it a squeeze.

Nnngh oh god Whoah. Stars in front of my eyes, my lids fluttering again.

“I don't like how sleepy you are,” she complained, girlishly, “I have to learn not to feed you so late.” She shook her head of hair a bit, settled it even more luxuriously about me. This woman knew how to keep a man interested, but what was she saying?.

My brow furrowed. Feed me? What did she mean by that? I’d barely eaten anything last night, right? Though, this weird taste in my mouth?

Whatever confusion I had around these cryptic comments quickly faded as I looked up at her. Here, in the morning, sunlight filtering transcendently through her soft dark hair, she was absolutely stunning. Gorgeous, and she knew it. I could tell by her smile. Plus she smelled great. Was it a shampoo? It gave me a little energy, when I breathed it in.

She giggled, seeing me so taken by her, and gave my cock a gentle stroke. She backed up, away from me just a bit, her face now maybe a foot or so above mine, eyes locked on me, stroked me again. Still, her hair was a thick curtain all around us, thick and glorious and….long. Really long.

“God, you have a lot of hair,” I marveled, “Like…yikes. A real lot.” It wasn’t this long yesterday, was it?

She giggled, smiling down at me enigmatically.

“How’d it get so long, s-so fast?” I asked, admittedly confused.

“I told you, baby, I’m changing into what you like,” she replied, plainly, “You like long hair.”

”I do?”

“Yes, apparently,” she continued, shaking out her mane again, thick waves of it shimmering around us, “so mine grows really long, really fast.”

“Like, overnight? But that’s impossible…”

“Tell that to my scissors. I cut it every morning.”

What?? “You have to cut your hair every morning?”

“Yeah, unless I want to look like a hair monster.”

“A-and you think that’s because of me??”

“Shh it’s okay, I don’t mind,” she said, thinking I was apologizing. No! This was just crazy talk!

“No Melissa I don’t want-“

“Hey it’s okay lots of guys don’t even realize their preferences, or where they come from,” she said, smiling tenderly down at me, “But, a lot of times they come from, well…<giggle!>…I have some ideas. Lemme guess - your mom had long hair?”

Just then, a memory flashed. It was one of the few I had of my mother, who’d left me when I was a toddler. She was leaning over me in my crib, her huge waves of dark hair making a little private space for us…

Melissa was looking at me, seeing my eyes widen as I recalled it. She looked intently at me, and I had the feeling she was looking deep. “Big boobs too, huh? Your mom?” she asked.

God help me, yes. In the memory, my mother was wearing a scoopneck, I could look right down her top. Her breasts were big.

“So, breasts as big as Mommy’s, huh?” she said, enigmatically, as over me her upper body shifted, her bare, glorious chest rising over me, “That’s what you want?”

What was she saying?!?

“M-Melissa no I-“

“it’s okay. It’s natural, for men to want what their mommies had,” she said, her hand starting once again to slowly stroke my cock through my thin wool sock. Melissa’s enormous bare breasts now filled my vision. “Men want Mommy’s boobs, Mommy’s hair, Mommy’s hips,” she purred, “Maybe even Mommy’s hands…”

“oh-oh my god M-Melissa n-n-no-…”

My protests sounded small, half-hearted - even to me.

“Stop complaining, baby, I don’t mind,” she cooed from above me, now more firmly stroking my tender erection, “Let mommy do this for you…”

”w-wait wh-what?!”

“Oh hush…don’t try to deny it. I know I’m a bit of a mother-figure for you,” she giggled, bringing jiggles through the massive mountains that hovered over me, “And you loved when I called myself mama last night.”

“oh my g-…” I groaned, my whole body shuddering as her stroking was having its intended effect, along with the view she was affording me, the bulging undersides of her breasts, “J-Jesus Christ, Melissa…”

“Hey, language,” she reprimanded, “But shhhh it’s okay, I love that I remind you of her, make you feel safe and warm and well-taken care of.” She stroked me, stroked me, the fabric of the sock only heightening the sensation. “But I’m going to do it better than she did. I’m going to be the best mommy-girlfriend for you. The best mommy ever for my good little boy.”

“oh…god…Melissa…”

“mmmhm that’s right,” she purred, “You like that idea, don’t you? Mommy girlfriend?”

“nnnngh M-Melissa, wait…” Was I ready for this? “h-hold on..”

“Shhh it’s okay. I like doing it. Like, last night, I loved feeding you your bottle.”

Again: ”What?!?”

This time I was really incredulous.

With a giggle, Melissa bent down low towards me, causing me to inadvertently back up as much as I could into my pillow as her face looked into me. Suddenly she seemed so huge that it felt like if she were to open her mouth she could eat me. Raven hair, again, piled around us warm and soft, and her full voice was barely above a whisper as she purred down into my face.

“My little man was so fussy and moaning in his sleep,” Melissa explained, with both sympathy and amusement dancing in her eyes, “And I felt so, so bad for you. You had a bit of a scare yesterday, didn’t you? With those mean men trying to come take you away?”

“Oh…y-yeah…” I replied, recalling the attorneys. There was no way I was going to argue with her on this point. That had stressed me out.

“And so I figured, my baby could use a little warm milk, to help him sleep nice,” Melissa continued, kissing my cheek now with her soft lips. “And so I went downstairs, came back, laid down on the bed and fed you some. And guess what, it settled you right down!”

“Wait. So you…came in and…gave me milk!?” I asked already squirming in the indignity, even as her left hand held my solid cock.

“Mmhm. With a baby bottle,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I had one of Katarina’s in the fridge.”

“You f-fed me from a baby bottle!?!” I exclaimed, the shock, the emasculating humiliation of it making me nearly disintegrate…especially as I realized it was probably- “Was it her breastmilk again?!?” Last weekend I’d been - I figured as a joke, right? - tricked into drinking milk that Katarina, my new Polish migrant employee and a new mom, had pumped. “Please don’t tell me it w-“

“mmhm of course,” Melissa replied, “Of course it was Katarina’s.”

“Y-you can’t do th-that!!” I sputtered, feeling the humiliation just piling on me.

“Oh, but it worked so well! You drank it right down. I think you liked it,” she said, “In fact, I think you loved it.”

And I loved watching you get smaller - I didn’t know it then, but I know it now: that's what she was thinking. Katarina, by some strange ability, was able to infuse her milk with these effects.

“Melissa!! What the hell?!?”

“Hey milk is the only thing you can easily stomach, it makes you relaxed, makes you feel good,” she offered.

“Ahhg! But it’s breastmilk!! Katarina’s breastmilk!! ” I looked in her eyes, and it was like I could hear exactly what she was thinking at me, in a voice as clear as if she was speaking it:

Would it be better if it was mine? Would you still refuse that?

My mind started reeling

“You looked like such a precious little baby,” Melissa cooed, picking up back into a slow rhythm of her hand, my cock. She looked right into my eyes, examined my face. “Ugh…it almost hurts how cute you are sometimes!”

She seemed to consider something for a moment, and then leaned in, closed her eyes, and engulfed my mouth in a long, slow, deep kiss. Like yesterday, she wasn’t playing around, this was no small smooch. Her big lips wrapped around my entire mouth, sealing it shut completely, and her tongue pushed into me and utterly took over. I stared helplessly into Melissa’s eyes as her tongue threatened to go down my throat. I began to see stars and hoped for the first few seconds that she would pull away from the kiss and let me breathe, but then almost immediately melted right into the kiss. If I need to breathe, she’ll do it for me. And yes, when she finally did push air into me, a moment later, I tried hard not to groan in the deep pleasure I felt.

My eyes fluttered, and I began to think. Adjusting to this new world represented a constant challenge. My mind was deprived of all the oxygen except hers, but in that moment I could see it. Like a tiny sunrise in the back of my head, light shone for me, allowing me to see and consciously accept our building dynamic. Melissa was sweet, at many times almost childlike, but seeing what she could physically do last night, the wonders her body showed me evidenced a level of power to which I could never come close. I knew that, if I let it, it could be a power that would consume me. Despite her obvious physical superiority though, she had never raised her voice, let alone her hand to me.

She breathed for me again, her eyes still locked on mine. I could see reflected in them the truth: that with all her strength she would never touch me with anything but tenderness. In that moment I accepted her again as the alpha, and took another step in accepting this new reality and forgetting the old world. I would not only let Melissa be my anchor and shield in this new one, if she wanted to be my mother figure that…that was okay too.

She broke our kiss, looking deep into my eyes and feeling exactly what I was thinking. When she spoke again her voice was wracked with emotion.

“Oh, baby, yes,” she said, pushing herself up again to rise over me until her gigantic breasts hovered over my face, “I love you so much.”

I stared up at her, in absolute love. These are the greatest tits god ever created, and they’re all for me.

“Yes, sweetie, yes” I heard her say, “but God’s got nothing to do with it.”

Suddenly, her nipple was in my mouth, the great mass of her right breast mashed into my face. Her hand pumped now, pumped at my sock-covered cock. I sucked, sucked on her but soon mmmph… mmmph… ”MMmph!!!”

“Can’t breathe, honey?” she giggled, pulling up off me to allow me air.

“N-n-no I…I…” I could barely form words, but managed to speak after a moment. “It’s…it’s like The Attack of the Blob.”

Melissa giggled, her hand slowing for a moment down between my legs. “The what?”

“The Blob? The movie monster?” Oh god I hope she doesn’t think I’m calling her fat.

“Like Godzilla?” she answered, “The big, big monster?” She began to sit up, rising higher above me.

“Yeah kinda,” I answered, lost now in appreciating the incredible physique of her now towering torso. Her underboob was astounding, it alone dwarfing my head.

She’d paused, letting me look up at her.

“Feeling small, baby?” she purred.

“y-yes,” I answered, without a thought.

“Mmmmm good,” she growled. She’d begun, again, to stroke my cock through my gray dress sock. “And you’re okay with it now, getting smaller?”

That set me back a bit. “Uh…wh-what do you mean.”

“Last night, sweetie,” she said, languorously stroking me now, indulging me, “last night you said you wanted it, to get so much smaller than me, so I could hold you and keep you safe like you were inside me.”

My face flushed. “it’s…it’s always been a fantasy,” I managed, shrinking down under the ignominy of it.

“Oh, sweetie, I know,” she said, shifting her body now, moving, pushing covers out of the way and spreading my legs. My cock still in hand - and still in my thin gray dress sock - Melissa now kneeled down between my knees. Her breasts were squashed between her arms, giving me a mind-numbing amount of cleavage to stare at. “How about now you start thinking about living out your fantasies? Can you do that for me?”

“oh my god okay,” I agreed, not having the will to do anything else, watching as she shifted again, leaning down, positioning herself and her glorious chest right behind my huge, throbbing organ in its thin woolen sheath.

“Like Mr. Sock here,” she said, referring to my cock, who had now taken over the role of the sock puppet, “He knows what he likes, and he's not afraid to enjoy it, are you Mr. Sock?”

At that, she pulled him - it, I mean ‘it’, or, uh, ‘me’ - back into her cleavage. He vanished, all but completely, maybe just the fabric-sheathed head mushrooming out near the top. “There we go…” she purred, moving her body just enough so that now maybe more of him pushed up out of her tits, then slid back in to disappear. The sleeve of wool sock around my shaft, the rubbing of its fabric over my skin, only added the sensation of the muscular caress of her tits around me. “There we go….”

I groaned. Holy shit.

She giggled. “Yeah, Mr. Sock knows what he likes,” Melissa began, rubbing herself up and down my length again, and then again, so slowly, “He doesn’t mind being so much smaller than me, he doesn’t mind at all…he knows it only makes it better.”

“oh god, oh god, oh god yes,” I groaned, watching as my 6’8” superhuman girlfriend with tits the size of watermelons began to titfuck me with consummate ease. My sock-puppet cock slid in, and out. In, and out. The soft, rhythmic motions up and down my overly sensitive erection left me speechless.

“The Attack of the Blob, right?” she chuckled, squashing her chest even more bounteously around my shaft, until I couldn’t see him at all. Her voluptuousness was everywhere. “He doesn’t seem to mind getting eaten by the Blob, no. No, not at all…”

Still she shifted on me, moving her torso, her shoulders and arms in just the right way to titfuck me, up and down, up and down.

“He seems happy being surrounded by me, hm?”

It was too much. I was already completely spent at this point. I’d barely found the strength to wake up, my body shocked awake by Melissa and her ‘little friend.’ I was tender from god knows how many ejaculations yesterday and last night, and the emotions of the morning were already exhausting. I found myself - despite being subsumed in the pleasure of the world’s greatest titfuck - a bit concerned. I could take it, now, sure…but for how much longer? How will I handle this if she’s still growing? And, even worse, if I was still shrinking? In “The Blob”, the creature absorbed its victims. Was Melissa slowly doing that already, to me?

“Mr. Sock likes it so much, being in there, doesn’t he?” she spoke, her voice beginning to take up the urgency of her task. She was intending to make me come like this, her eyes locked on my open-jawed face as she pumped her spectacular torso up and down on me. “Tell me, Mr. Sock, tell me you like being in there, surrounded by Melisssssy.”

“y-yes…yes I do,” I said, for the love of god answering for my dick, whose head popped for a second here, a second there, out of her upper cleavage near her collarbone. I could see the dark stain of a wet pre-come on the light gray fabric of the sock. “yes please…”

Her eyes flashed. She wanted more. “Tell me you like being in there, where it’s so soft, inside Mommy.” <pump, pump>

“Oh uuuggh…Oh my god yes,” I groaned.

“Tell me again.” <pump, pump> “Tell me what you want.”

“I…I want to be inside you.”

Now she groaned herself. “Ohh..oh god yes sweetie yes of course you do.” <pump, pump> “Tell me your mommy has big boobs, tell me she has big hair, just like Melissssy.”

“oh my god…she had…”

My voice failed me. I couldn’t say it.

But Melissa pressed on.

“Tell me you want her to feed you like she did last night, tell me you want the bottle.”

“oh god Melissssy yes..”

“Tell me you want the breast.”

“yes..! yes..!”

“Yes, baby, Yes Yes,” she moaned, “Come for Mommy!”

“NNNNNGGGHHH!!!” I groaned, “NNNNGHHH!”

“COME!”

NNNNGH! NNNGH! NNNNGH!!! Right into her, right between her breasts. Right in her magnificent, pillowy cleavage my cock exploded into the sock-condom each pump lubricated by my own jucies, into the fabric of “Mr Sock” making him-

NNgh! NNgh! NNNgh!

-making him - oh god oh god oh god - fill up, the wet slobber of my juices already heavy and thick and making the thin wool darken darken darken, each time it appeared above the swell of her breasts the come stain blossoming bigger and bigger and bigger and-

She pulled it off.

NNGh! My bare skin, now, sliding up between her tits.

She squeezed the sock, drools of come bursting forth from it onto her chest, lubricating us. “Come! Come on, Mr. Sock, come!” she still urged, she still commanded me.

Still orgasming, still spurting - holy god how am I making this much?!? - I dumped more, more, more onto her chest, into her cleavage - slippery, slippery, slippery.

“oh oh oh god…” I moaned. Pain! My loins, tendons, thighs all screaming. But also so much pleasure!

Nngggh…

nnnngh….

nnnnnngh….

She eased me through it.

“Come on baby, come on honey, that’s right,” she cooed, “come for Mommy…”

“oh my god…oh my god…”

“That’s okay baby, get it out, get it all out.”

“s-so much…” I whined, as my climax waned, “so much…” My vision had already begun to darken.

“Mmm hm…” she purred, “so much for me.”

She began to rub my come into her skin, with the palm and fingers of her left hand smearing the spent, sodden sock all over her chest. I watched, and felt my eyes becoming heavy.

“There you go baby, all better now,” she consoled me, using the wet sock to gently stroke my member, which still twitched in her cleavage, little spasms, “all better for your day.”

“Mmm hmm yeah…” I murmured, feeling sleep quickly approaching.

“I have a busy day at work,” she told me, “we canceled your patients for today, it’s better if you stay home here.”

“h-home?” I repeated, tremulous of voice, “b-by myself?”

“Oh, sweetie, no, you won’t be alone,” she said, still stroking and gently squeezing me, “Randi will stay with you today, babysitting.”

“Babysitting..??”

=============================================

sorry for the lack of image; the one I cooked up is too much for tumblr.

#growingintothejob

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