#you can tell they are those kind of people who are serious business on the job

[handfulofmuses]

shoutout to Bartholomew who was the only one who dared to stand up to Jinx when she took over and refused to bow and got punished for it it's little but that one scene says a lot about him.

[moonstruckme]

Hellooo!!! I have a Spencer Reid request, but feel free to ignore it if you're not up for it hahaha! I was thinking about BAU!Reader and maybe her and Spencer starting to mimic each other because they've been together for a while and spend so much time together? Like the way they talk, etc! I think it could be so so cute, especially if they don't realize they're doing it and the team noticing it for them? Thank you so much, I love everything that you write 🤍

Thanks gorgeous!

cw: discussion of tongue preservation methods? sorry in advance

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 560 words

You gaze lovingly at your boyfriend as he goes into detail about how to preserve severed tongues. 

“So the fact that this unsub is purchasing equipment actually shows a lack of medical expertise, since he seems to be going overboard with preservation measures.” Spencer’s nodding as he talks, a tiny scrunch between his brows. “It’s pretty silly actually. It’s probably only a matter of time until he figures out he just needs to keep them on ice.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Morgan chuckles quietly. 

Spencer blinks, eyes refocusing as he comes out of his brain and back into the conference room. “What?”

“Did you just say the unsub was silly?” Prentiss asks, and his eyebrows refurrow. 

“Did I?” 

“Let’s stay on task.” Hotch is all business. “If he were as inexperienced as that would suggest, he probably wouldn’t make clean cuts. This skill level indicates some level of expertise.” 

“Well, actually, I’m not sure it would necessarily be medical expertise,” you say, cringing at your own knowledge. “The process he’s using doesn’t sound dissimilar to how I think they preserve cow tongues. Maybe he’s preparing them to eat.” 

You’re doing your best not to squirm, and Spencer can likely tell, placing a slender hand on your leg under the table. “That’s a good point,” he says, “he could have experience as a chef or in the meatpacking business.” 

Prentiss frowns. “Yeah, but how many chefs know how to preserve tongues?” 

“Maybe we could start by looking into restaurants that serve those kinds of delicacies,” JJ suggests. 

“Good.” Hotch closes his binder, standing. “Garcia, you get started on that and we’ll touch base with you from Atlanta. Wheels up in two hours.” 

“Yes sir.” Garcia looks a bit green—you sympathize—as she hurries out of the conference room. 

Morgan’s giving you one of his knowing looks, collecting his things extra slow, until finally you sigh. “What?” 

“Well, actually,” he mimics, lips curving into a grin. “You and pretty boy must be getting serious if you’re taking on his signature phrase.” 

You roll your eyes, but Spencer smiles, looping his crossbody bag over his head. “Actually, language style matching is only one form of mirroring. If you’re paying attention, people who spend a lot of time together can mirror each other down to their breathing rhythms or how many times they blink within a minute.” 

You look at him interestedly. “So what does that mean? Just that we’re spending too much time together?” 

The look Spencer gives you threatens to liquefy you with its softness. “There’s never too much time.” 

Morgan’s laughter is hooting, and you want to find that as cheesy as he does, you really do, but the place within yourself where you usually reach for sarcasm has gone mushy and useless. You rearrange some things in your bag unnecessarily, head down to hide your blush.

“Wow,” Morgan sighs happily, “I don’t know which one of you is more whipped.” 

This would normally be your opportunity to think of a retort, but luckily you don’t have to. JJ pops back into the room, looking frowny. 

“We just got a call from Atlanta. The unsub killed again overnight.” 

Spencer grows serious. “He’s accelerating?” 

“Yup.” She nods. “Hotch wants us there now, so it’s wheels up in twenty.” 

You and Spencer nod in tandem. “Sick.”

Morgan’s eyes roll straight up to the ceiling.

[livelaughpeg]

I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

[wikiangela]

you know when you know (I think I do)

rating: G words: 1.4k

[read on Ao3]

___

“So, you and Buck.” Eddie finally gets on the topic he was clearly inching towards the whole evening. Tommy’s lips involuntarily turn up into a smile.

“Yeah. What about us?” He asks, still turned towards the TV, then takes a sip of his beer.

“You guys are, uh, together. Dating.” Eddie fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, sounding a little hesitant and awkward.

“Have been for weeks now.” Tommy nods, smile widening at the mere thought of Evan. He leans his head back against the back of the couch, then turns more towards Eddie. “Any particular reason you’re bringing it up now?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, I’m so happy for you guys, and, uh, it’s none of my business, I just-” He takes a deep breath. Tommy waits, curious about what his friend might have to say. “Listen, Tommy, I don’t wanna be one of these friends who’s all ‘if you hurt him, I’ll kill you’, that’s not me.” Eddie starts, cringing at the words. “Besides, he’s a grown man who’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“True.” Tommy nods. He can already see where Eddie’s going with it. Tommy finds it sweet how much people in Evan’s life love him and care for him, and are protective of him, but not to a weird or unhealthy degree. He can appreciate that.

“But he’s my best friend.” Eddie continues. “And I just worry.”

“Okay?” Tommy prompts when Eddie falls silent, a frown on his face, like he’s considering his next words.

“He’s been through a lot. In general, but also relationship-wise. I’ve seen only part of it, but I’ve heard it all. And I just- I don’t want him to get hurt again.” 

“I’m not planning to hurt him, Eddie.” Tommy says softly. It’s obvious, and he knows what Eddie meant, but he wants to voice it anyway. He would never, ever, in a million years, do anything that could even remotely hurt his Evan. And if he did so unknowingly, he doesn’t think he’d forgive himself. Evan is such a ray of sunshine, he’s so good and sweet, and genuine, and Tommy would do anything just to keep that radiant smile on his face. 

“I know that.” Eddie shakes his head briefly. “People rarely do. It’s just that, Buck always gives a thousand percent of himself into everything.” A fond smile appears on his face, and Tommy is once again witness to the amazing bond those two have. This kind of friendship is so rare, they’re both so lucky to have each other – and Tommy is lucky to be let into it, even just a little bit. “Once he’s in, he’s in. And, Tommy,” Eddie looks him in the eyes, “Buck is definitely in, all the way, no turning back. He’s falling for you so hard and so fast, and letting all his guards down. Because that’s Buck, that’s what he does. And I just don’t want him to get too deep before you’re ready, before you’re both ready, and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I get it.” Tommy nods once, because of course he sees where Eddie’s coming from. “But you have nothing to worry about, Eddie. With Evan…” His lips curl into a smile around the word. “I’m already so far gone.” He shakes his head a little. “I know it’s soon, but I’m really falling for him.” He says quietly, but surely. He’s not used to this, talking about his feelings, about dating, about a person he’s seeing, especially not with someone he’s only known for such a short time. But he and Eddie became fast friends, and he’s Evan’s best friend, and Tommy feels safe enough to say it. He’s also honest and straightforward, and he likes to say it how it is, and this is how it is. He’s falling – or, to be honest, has fallen already – very fast and very hard for Evan Buckley, and he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Evan is it for him. And he’s going to tell him that soon.

“Good.” Eddie says, tone serious, but a soft smile is forming on his lips. “He’s very lovable. You’d be an idiot to not fall for him.”

“I know.” Tommy grins. From the moment they met, he knew there’s something about Evan, something that pulled him in, got his attention right away. They laughed about it later, after they officially started dating and talked about that whole situation, how Evan put so much effort into trying to get his attention, but he had it anyway, from the start. Tommy was just more subtle about it, and he couldn’t figure out if Evan was flirting that day he gave him the Harbor tour or not. Seems like even Evan didn’t know. He’s so adorable, and kind, and bright and happy like sunshine personified. How was Tommy supposed to take one look at him and not develop a crush, that only seems to keep intensifying the more he gets to know him?

“And, for the record, I don’t want you to get hurt, either. We’re friends, too. Unless you break my best friend’s heart, that is.” He adds, his tone a little teasing, before his smile changes into something fond and genuine. “I’m really happy you guys found each other, truly. I’ve never seen him like this.” He chuckles quietly, shakes his head. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I can already tell you two just make sense. So, take good care of my best friend, Kinard.”

“Of course. I plan on it.” Tommy says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. 

“Just, not too much PDA when I’m hanging out with you guys, yeah?” He grimaces. “I don’t wanna feel like I’m third-wheeling a boys' night.” He laughs, and so does Tommy.

“Well, I’m not really a big PDA guy anyway.” He shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But who knows, I can’t really keep my hands to myself around Evan.”

“And it’s time to change the subject,” he shakes his head furiously, “I don’t wanna hear more than I have to. Buck already tells me way too much.” Eddie says quickly, and Tommy laughs again. 

But the subject changes, and their attention is mostly back on the game playing on the TV. They spend the rest of the evening like this, watching sports, drinking beer and chatting. That’s how Evan finds them when he lets himself into Tommy’s house later, since he left the door unlocked.

He walks into the room, says hi to Eddie, then unceremoniously plops down in Tommy’s lap, giving him a long, sweet kiss, smiling into it. Tommy’s free hand circles around his waist, the other still holding his beer.

“Hello to you, too, Evan, how was your day?” Tommy chuckles when they pull away, his nose rubbing against Evan’s. He was spending the day with Jee-Yun, giving Maddie and Howie the day to themselves.

“It was good, we went to the playground, and then to help Bobby and Athena with unpacking, and then had coffee at Hen’s.” Evan grins, his face still so close to Tommy’s he almost looks blurry. “But I missed you so much.” He presses another kiss to Tommy’s lips, which Tommy obviously reciprocates. When he pulls away and glances at Eddie, expecting him to have an amused but annoyed look on his face, or maybe a faux-disgust, but what he finds instead is the fondest, proudest look he’s seen from him, as he looks straight ahead at the TV, giving them a semblance of privacy. Eddie looks just genuinely so happy for his best friend, for both of them. It warms Tommy’s heart. Eddie glances at them, and their eyes meet, and he just rolls his eyes fondly, but is still smiling.

“Okay, baby, I missed you, too, but let’s leave that for later or Eddie won’t want to hang out with us anymore.” Tommy says, and Evan pulls away further, chuckling.

“Eh, we always have each other.” He teases and shrugs, and Eddie scoffs loudly.

“You know I can’t watch basketball with you. Or do Muay Thai.” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving Evan a knowing look. He can barely watch any sports with Evan, actually, because he never really gets into it, and whenever he gets bored, somehow they end up making out through the whole thing. Evan’s really good at distracting Tommy from just about anything.

“Oh, that’s all you need me for?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Fine, then I’ll just leave you two-” he starts getting up, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Sit down and drink your beer.” Buck laughs, as he climbs off Tommy’s lap and pulls out a phone out of his pocket. Eddie sits back down, laughing as well. “I’m gonna order pizza for dinner. Any preferences?”

[read also on Ao3]

[maybe-boys-do-love]

I will never be over the kind of queer representation we get in BL, especially Thai BL, because not only do you get, even in a single show, a vast spectrum of mlm characters from bi-awakening jocks and stoners to soft boys and nerds to full-on femme-boys and kathoey folx...

YOU ALSO GET to see how each single character is allowed to act in a broad range of queer performance styles instead of being relegated to stock character traits like a camping queen or the sad repressed cowboy. So you have Tinn in My School President acting serious when he's doing his presidential duties but assertively flirtatious when he's trying to win over Gun and then being hilariously giddy or pouty when he's on the phone in his bedroom. Or you have Pat in Bad Buddy bro-ing out, acting cutesy with his partner, or in deep introspection on the verge of tears. And those are just two especially outstanding examples in a genre full of so many others!

All this means you also get a broader range of actor types that includes actors who present much more clearly as gay (whether they identify openly as such or it's just how they happen to appear), which is such an amazing thing to see for my little gay theater-kid heart. Like Oe-aew in I Promise You the Moon, I was told and repeated the fact to myself that there was very little space in the performance industry for actors whose queerness was too obvious, and that space was made only for the most flamboyant among us (and even then it was only the rare instance that they were more than a comedic side character). But seeing an actor like Gun--who, without naming his sexuality, visually presents like a femme twink and is clearly comfortable with exploring feminine and queer expression in his personal life--have a field where he gets to play such a vast range of rolls and not have it questioned is remarkable. And there are actors who have more subtle tells to a sensitive eye that then now have a place at the table where there used to be no chair at all. And creating an environment for those actors who present as queer means that those traits and gestures can be invested into the characters' queerness in a way that has previously been specifically avoided in a well-meant but homophobic attempt to disrupt gay stereotypes. (And I'd even reach to say it gives straight actors better opportunities to develop gay qualities in their characters.)

I'm so grateful to see a world where the variety of queerness for men can exist because it seemed so impossible not that long ago. I can recognize failures and flaws in this industry but there is no media to my knowledge that comes anywhere close to the kind of gay representation happening in the Asian BL world (especially if you include the reality shows in there!). And while that world is technically a fantasy world, it's built in a real professional industry by real people including a lot of queer-folks, and those fantasies they're crafting within that business are propositions for audiences to bring to fruition in their daily lives.

[kalki-tarot]

Your dream spouse vs. the real one ❤️‍🔥

You & your Destined fs 🌙

Take a deep breathe and pick a picture you feel most drawn to.

Disclaimer : tarot is not 100% accurate, this reading is just for fun. Tarot does not substitute professional treatment of any kind. I'm not responsible for any decisions you make on behalf of my readings. This may not resonate with everyone. Please be mindful of your own actions and thoughts ♡

I'll be very straightforward with whatever comes through and if you're not comfortable with that, please don't read this post.

Pile 1

Your dream spouse ❤️‍🔥 ‧₊˚

TW ⚠️ : tr*uma bonding.

You want the bad boy/girl type husband/wife. Someone who is impulsive, daring and savage. You may want someone who is your perfect match, and very compatible with you. You desire to bond over trauma with someone. You know those couples who've seen each other's most vulnerable sides. You want a very romantic and caring connection which goes till soul level. You may also want someone who is famous or well known or even who has power and command in the society. You like big surprises. You want to take care of someone who has been emotionally broken down or sad. You want to comfort a sad person. You want a spouse who has old money. You know that trope when there is a powerful person in the society, who's famous and all that, but they have love missing in their lives. You want to be that love to your spouse. You want a deep and intimate spouse who's cold to others but warm snd loving to you only.

Your real spouse 💓 ‧₊˚

33 and 66 can be significant. Your real life spouse is someone very hardworking and honest. They may like to socialize or be with family and friends. This is a very cute and homely energy. Your fs can be someone well known in their field for what they do. They are a family person, someone who's purpose is their family. They believe in long term commitments. They don't joke around, they want serious commitment or else don't enter their life. They may like to meditate or they are calm and composed, they don't seem to lose their cool easily. They are energetic and quick to make changes. They can be an engineer or in business. They are funny and cool. Their personality is very easy going and smooth. They may have emotional outburts a lot of times, but they don't vent it out on you. They may sometimes unknowingly disturb people and then get sad snd walk away when someone tells them something. Despite all of this, they can be of a very giving nature. They donate and do charity work a lot. They sometimes may have limiting beliefs that stresses them out.

Pile 2

Your dream spouse ❤️‍🔥 ‧₊˚

You want your spouse to choose you over any other girl/guy. You wanna be their top priority over anything. You want a mysterious spouse who only opens up to you. You want someone closed off from the world. You want a romantic person who is just like a gentleman/woman. Very caring towards you. You want an happily ever after with your fs. You want to have a rich and happy married life afterwards. Your fs may have a other women's eyes too on them. And they would choose you. You want a rich and wealthy fs.

Your real spouse 💓 ‧₊˚

Your fs may have many expectations of others on their shoulders which constantly makes them fight for themselves. Alright, this person is unhappy with their family or something. They get really sad about this. They somehow gather courage to do what others want from them. But they don't like it. And this is taking a toll on their mental health and making them hate everyone and everything. This thing came through so i told you. Let's get some more cards about their personality.

They want a stable and committed partner with a long term vision. They can be a hardworking person. They are undergoing a transformation right now with the death card. They are pretty emotional and romantic. They have the ability to give lots of love to you.

Pile 3

Your dream spouse ❤️‍🔥 ‧₊˚

You want to meet your spouse by destiny or fate just like kdramas. You want someone romantic, caring and loving to you. You may want someone who is like a reward to you. You want someone emotional, you wanna share an emotional and deep connection with your fs. You want a lawyer by profession? You want someone dominating, loyal and family oriented. Someone who works on a high position and offers you stability. You dream of a happily ever after marriage life with your fs. You want someone to heal or fix your broken heart. You want someone who listens to you without telling anything. You want someone rational as well as emotional, a balance of everything. That's good, actually. You secretly desire a soulmate for yourself.

Your real spouse 💓 ‧₊˚

Your fs may have two sisters. Your real life fs is someone who has a lot of options and choices in love but still, somewhere their heart says that no, there is someone else meant for them, that can be you. They're waiting for you. They are someone with a strong will and determination. They always act fast and logically. Whatever They're doing right now, they are starting someone new and afresh, can be a new start in life or work related. Their feminine energy can be a bit imbalanced right now. There is something which stops them from being expressive of their emotional side. This may be due to some childhood issues by a female figure i see. They are facing this blovk right now. But they're working on it.

[star-anise]

Everyone's got a take, and I've got a take too, about the current Internet Villain: James Somerton, a gay Youtuber who just got exposed (in the back half of a 4-hour video) as massively plagiarizing the work of LGBTQ+ media critics, historians, and memoirists, and then exposed in another 2-hour video as just making up the wildest nonsense about the topics he demonstrably had access to accurate information on.

He achieved a six-figure income on his work by squeezing money out of his audience with claims...

That only he was creating content that preserved queer history and elevated the voices and experiences of the LGBTQ+ community (a lie)

He was in serious financial distress and would have to go out of business if people didn't give him tons of money (a lie)

That he was going to use some of that cash to make definitely good and not-at-all-plagiarized independent movies, a thing he was definitely skilled and experienced enough to do (a lie), and

That those plagiarism allegations were incorrect,, and frankly,,,, hurtful and homophobic. (a GIANT lie)

Like, here's a visualization of the script of one of his videos, "Society and Queer Horror". The highlighted bits were lifted nearly verbatim from the works of others—the 18 authors identified at the time the exposé was posted—and presented as Somerton's own work.

So here's what drives me absolutely up the wall about this:

If he had just ADMITTED that it was the work of other people, THAT WOULD STILL BE COOL. If he had just said, up front, "We are going on a survey of thoughts and insights people have had about this topic", that would still be a good video with a real audience!

Like yes, he studied business in university, he might not have gotten the kinds of research skills and knowledge someone like Kaz Rowe uses to not just report on the history and analysis of others, but evaluate their relative validity and trustworthiness.

But honestly, since watching my niblings (oldest is 13) watch Youtube, I think you honestly can't underestimate the number of viewers who are really hungry for someone saying, "I don't understand this topic! Let's explore it together!"

But NOOOOOOO, Somerton didn't want to be just some schmuck waxing enthusiastic about homoeroticism on film and acknowledging the smartness of other people. He wanted to be HIM, MR. SMARTYBOY, very sophisticated and alluring and thoughtful and deep. Definitely an intellectual heavyweight who just happened to spout off his own personal ideas and analysis that put him at the forefront of all the scholarship on the topic he's come across.

I hate being wrong. Hate being wrong. But blogging for most of my life has forced me to confront constant textual evidence that two or ten or twenty years ago, I said some dumb-ass shit. Honestly, it'd probably keep me up at night sometimes even if I didn't have a written record. I absolutely understand the desire to scan the field, find the coolest people around, and quickly clothe yourself in as perfect an imitation of them as you can manage.

But if you want to be an artist or a scholar who produces something lasting, you can't prioritize coolness over truth all the time. To develop your true, independent voice, you need to find a time and place where it is just you and just the work you're doing, and you have pick up your tools and say, I don't know if I'm doing this right, but this is what feels right to me.

There are a lot of things in life to which we can only truly contribute our presence and our perspectives. Things we can only witness or hold space for. We cannot go back and bleed the pain out of history, or erase the complexity of another person's life. Not honestly, at least.

But those are the times that need our presence, our perspectives, our witness, and our space. When we gather round and tell sad tales about the death of kings, honesty can be the only thing you give that's worth a damn in the large scale of things.

If this dude had owned up to the truth and honestly showed the work of trying to piece together a queer understanding of the world, trying to draw the threads of culture together until he found a place he fit inside them, it would have been so much more valuable to our culture as a whole.

He probably made more money this way, though. While it lasted.

[spideybatsy]

Late Night

Summary: GN!Reader gets a cleaning job working at Wayne Enterprises when a certain billionaire playboy develops an obsession with them. Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader WC: 3K Warnings: being watched without knowing, mentions of erections, nothing too serious. Notes: Can be read as any batsy you’d like, I personally picture Bale bc I’m a slut for him <3 This is the first chapter in my new series! I haven't written in a year, so be kind Masterlist

The wind pressed against your sweat slick skin as you stepped into the shadow of Wayne Tower. A shiver rolled down your spine, half caused by the weather and half by the ravenous butterflies in your stomach. Starting a new job is never easy but God, you have never needed a job as much as you need this one.

The renewal of your lease brought a steep increase in rent at the same time as your boss announced he was closing the business. You couldn’t really say you were surprised, the bakery was definitely a front for something nefarious, why else would the GCPD come in every other week?

It was a shame, really. You loved working at the bakery, especially during those quiet moments when you could just sit there and watch the world go by. God knows you’ll be rushed off your feet now.

Cleaning wasn’t your first choice, nor was it your second. Hell, it wasn’t even on the list. But you were not in the position to be anything but grateful when your friend mentioned an opening at their work. The hours weren’t the best but the pay was surprisingly good.

You walked into the building and were immediately shoved by someone sprinting to the lift. Taking a deep breath, you regained your bearings, straightened your shirt, and headed for security. You’d been in the building only once, for your interview, but figured you’d need some sort of pass to get into the actual offices. 

The security man who served you was disarmingly attractive and you couldn’t help but blush as he ran his eyes down your figure. His hair was a dirty blonde, pushed back and behind his ears. 

“First day?”

“That obvious?” 

He chuckled, before asking for your name and looking you up on the system.  “I’ll just call your supervisor, Emily, to come down.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you fell into an almost awkward silence. “How, uh, long until your shift finishes?”

“I’m on a morning today, so I finish at 12. How about you?” 

“Well, I’ll usually be doing the 4 till 10 shift but they wanted me in earlier today. So, I'll finish around 3.” 

“Too bad.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Well, I would’ve loved to take you out for dinner.” Were your cheeks on fire or was it suddenly just really hot in here? “Maybe it’ll have to be lunch instead.”

You opened your mouth to respond but was interrupted by Emily calling your name. 

“There you are, I’ve been waiting for you!”

You flashed a sorry smile at him and rushed over to your friend's side. 

“Hey, what’s that guard's name?” Although you knew he couldn’t hear you from here, you still whispered.

You cringed as Emily started to turn back, quickly reaching out and stopping her.

“I think that’s Russell.” She whispered back, “Why?”

“He asked me out on a date.”

“Really?” Well, no more whispering. You simply nodded your head, following her into the lift. “You don’t even have your access pass and you’ve got the men drooling. You dirty stop out.” 

“I haven’t slept with him!”

“Yet.”

“I’ll be telling HR you called me a slut.”

“Hoping they’ll sleep with you too?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing her slightly with your shoulder. As the numbers on the lift drew higher, the two of you settled down. Joking with your friend was one thing but you needed people here to take you seriously, even if you were just the cleaner.

“Are the people here nice?” You weren’t expecting your voice to sound so… small.

Emily looked over at you, affectionately bumping your shoulder. “Yeah, most of them are lovely.” 

“What about the others?”

“Fuckable.”

The lift doors opened and filled the floor with the sound of your combined laughter. 

—-

“And down here, you have Mister Wayne’s office.” You followed Emily down the hallway, looking into an office and making eye contact with an older man. You gave him a quick smile and was pleased when he returned it. 

“That’s Lucius Fox, he’s really the boss.”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” 

“What about him?” Emily stopped at the front of the last door.

“Well, it’s Wayne Enterprises, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You couldn’t help but gasp as she threw the door open, jumping to apologise to the aforementioned man. 

Only, he wasn’t there.

Emily laughed, walking further into the room. “He’s hardly here, probably recovering from his drunken nights spent with supermodels.”

You hesitantly followed her in, amazed by the so-called office. This one room was probably bigger than your whole apartment. It definitely had better views. 

“I’m not sure you should be talking about our boss like that,” you mumbled, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows. 

Emily came to stand next to you, “it’s not like he’s ever here to hear it.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you jolted around, instantly fearing the worst. Was it possible you could be fired before you even got your first paycheck? How were you going to pay rent now?

You couldn’t tell if you should be relieved or not when you realised it was the man you’d smiled at earlier. Lucius Fox. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Emily replied, turning back to the view. 

Oh my God. What was she doing? “Please excuse my friend, Mr Fox. I think she meant-”

“I know what she meant,” he responded while walking over. 

You opted to say nothing and pretended to look out the window, wishing for the tension to dissipate as quickly as possible.

“You’re scaring them to death, Fox.” 

The older man laughed, coming to rest his hand on your shoulder. “Worry not, dear. You’ll grow used to the banter.”

The tension started melting from your shoulders, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

—

Within two weeks, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine. You came into work at 3:45 to make yourself a tea and read your book, before starting work at 4. You start at the side furthest from Wayne’s office, as they left the earliest. By the time you reached the common areas, the rest of the staff would be leaving, only Fox remaining. He was always the last one to leave, usually close to 7. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, since you knew he was typically the first person in the office too. So, you’d bring him a decaffeinated coffee around 5pm. You’d find yourself talking to him for a while, usually about stories from the past that you could both laugh about. 

Truth be told, you were starting to really enjoy the man's company. He had a dry sense of humour that you found hilarious. Being in the office late could be rather lonely, so you clung onto the moments you had with him. 

A positive of working alone in the office was that you could play all your music out loud. You’d recently gotten into a podcast where three friends read stories and discussed them. A lot of them were light hearted or ‘am i the asshole’ reddit posts.

Tonight, you listened to their supernatural episode as you finished up in Fox’s office when you heard a bang down the hallway. Slowly, you creeped to the door to peep down the corridor but there was no one there.

Maybe the ghost stories were getting to you. You shook your head and turned back into the office when you heard the noise again. Jumping, you looked toward the sound. The only thing down there was Mr Wayne’s office.

Clutching your mop between closed fists, you edged down the hallway. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and rushed in, hoping to catch the perpetrator in action.

Only the office was empty, of course it was. You couldn’t help the relief that coursed through your veins. It was obviously going to be empty, you had yet to see The Bruce Wayne in this room. You were starting to wonder if it had even been used. Maybe Fox should get this office, that way someone can appreciate the view.

You laughed quietly to yourself before turning off the podcast and putting on some tunes. That was more than enough scares for you tonight.

Unbeknownst to you, you were not alone. A certain billionaire had stumbled in here before his night duty, expecting to find the place empty as usual. He hadn’t been in for a few weeks now but things rarely changed this high in the building.

Then you’d burst into the room, armed with a mop and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. You were the single most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Who were you and what were you doing here? 

He couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in his trousers. No. Now is not the time. 

He stayed in the shadows and watched you work, diligently going from one room to another before stopping in the kitchen to make a drink. You pulled a book out of your bag and read for a while. Bruce found himself creeping closer, eager to see what you were reading. 

Then you looked up and it seemed like you were staring straight at him. He knew you couldn’t see him but he couldn’t stop the way his heart stuttered in his chest. Nor the way his lower half jolted. 

What was it about you that made his infamous control slip? He’d never had this issue, not even as a teenager.

Your eyes widened as you kept gazing in his direction and he slowly turned his head. The bat symbol drifted amongst the clouds. 

He held back a sigh as he shifted further into the darkness. 

Maybe he was due a visit back into the office, after all. 

—

Or maybe not. 

It had been a week since Bruce first saw you in his office, clutching a mop like your life depended on it. Sometimes, when he lay awake in his bed, he thought about how oblivious you were to his presence that night. And every night since.

He should really get you some self defence classes, perhaps send them as a gift from Wayne Enterprises. He hated thinking about what could’ve happened if he really was a burglar. He could only keep you so safe, you needed to be able to handle yourself. 

Then he felt a bit crazy. Here he was, talking about you like you were… part of his life. Although, he supposed at this point you were part of his life. He just wasn’t part of yours. Too many times he’d driven to the building just to never get out of his car.

He’d asked Fox about you at his last equipment meeting. He tried to act nonchalant about it, casually asking if there were any new staff on the top floor. 

“We have a new cleaner.” Fox said, relaying your name. “They’ve been here for about three weeks. Settling in very well.”

Bruce repeated your name, strangely satisfied by the way it rolled off his tongue. 

“May I inquire why you’ve asked about them?” Fox’s words caught Bruce off guard. “You’ve never been interested in the Wayne staff before.”

“Just keeping up to date with the comings and goings of my fathers legacy.” Bruce suddenly found the kevlar padding very interesting. 

“Better late than never, I suppose.” Fox hummed, running his fingers across the fabric. “This kevlar is half the weight of your current gear.”

“Is it still as durable?”

You didn’t come up in the conversation again but Fox filed the information away, eager to ask Alfred about it. 

—

“What does your partner think about you working so late?”

Fox’s question caught you completely off guard, causing you to almost spurt out your tea. He immediately grabbed the tissues off his desk, handing them to you.

“Forgive me, it was an inappropriate question.” 

“No, no, no. It’s fine.” You said, finally swallowing down your mouthful. “I, uh, don’t have a partner. So, I don’t think they mind.”

“I suppose that makes two of us.” 

Before you could respond, he tactfully changed the conversation. 

—

“They’re single, you know.” 

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t look away from his newspaper. “Whose single, Alfred?”

His heart almost broke free from his chest when Alfred said your name. 

“How would you know that?” Bruce’s words were more rushed than he would’ve liked, the newspaper long forgotten on the table.

“Every old man has his secrets.”

“You spoke to Fox,” Bruce sighed. “They probably thought he was coming onto them.”

“Worried you have competition, Master Wayne?” 

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You know, I may not be the master of romance but I hear that the first step in any relationship is to talk to each other.” 

“Obviously,” Bruce muttered, picking his newspaper back up.

“What you’re doing right now has a name, Master Wayne.” 

“And what is that?”

“Stalking.”

Bruce couldn’t help but flinch at the word. He turned to defend himself but Alfred was already gone, leaving him a pot of tea. 

—

You were sitting in the kitchen, tea in one hand and your book in the other. You’d found yourself in the office a bit earlier than usual but didn’t mind. It was always good to have some time to wind down before you started your shift. 

“What are you reading?” 

You couldn’t help but inwardly sigh, putting your bookmark in. “Just a-” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up. If Russell was attractive, this man was downright gorgeous. A face carved for a god with luscious hair combed behind his ear. 

He looked eerily familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. You could feel your cheeks heat up as you bought your gaze back down to the book.

“I’ve never heard of The Dry Heart before,” Bruce’s heart leapt from his chest as he took the seat across from you. “What’s it about?”

You sneaked a glance up at him but immediately looked back down when you made eye contact. “It’s about an unhappy marriage, I’m reading it for a book club.”

He hummed, his eyes searching your face. You were even more breath-catching up close. “You must be our new cleaner,” you liked the way he said your name far too much. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.”

“You have?” Who was this man? You would remember seeing such a gorgeous face among the office. 

“I try to meet all the new employees but I’ve been a bit slack lately, please forgive me.”

You slowly lifted your eyes to look at him and couldn’t help the way your lips lifted. 

“Consider it forgotten,” you said softly.

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Fox. 

“Mr Wayne, how lovely to see you again.” Lucius came in and stood beside you. “I see you’ve met our latest employee.”

Your eyes shoot, Mr Wayne? Surely not. In your rushed state, you completely missed the way Fox smirked at Bruce, causing the younger man to stare daggers back at him.

“Of course, it’s important to know everyone in the office.” 

Fox hummed, turning back to you. “Please excuse us, I have a very important meeting to drag Mr Wayne into.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You had a hard time even saying the words, your mind whirling. Wasn’t Bruce Wayne an arrogant asshole? This man was the furthest from that. He was so kind and funny. And good looking. Holy shit was he good looking.

No, you’re not doing that. Not to your boss. Especially not when your boss is a world famous womaniser. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow him as he walks out or the way they trail down to his perfect ass. Entering the hallway, Fox rolls his eyes when he sees the massive smirk on Bruce’s face. 

—

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

You can’t help but jump as Bruce walks into the kitchen. “Mr. Wayne, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Please,” he sits down at the table and smiles at you. “Call me Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce.” 

Bruce savours the way his name rolls off your tongue and how your cheeks go bright red under his gaze. His eyes follow as your blush spreads down your neck and under your neckline. 

“I usually take the new employees out for lunch, your turn is well overdue.” He takes a moment before continuing. “I guess ours would be more like dinner.”

“I suppose so,” you smile at him, oblivious to his wandering gaze. “But you don’t have to do that, Bruce. It’s fine, honestly.”

“I insist. How about tonight?”

You brought a lousy microwave dinner for tonight but there’s no reason why it can’t wait for tomorrow. Plus, who doesn’t like a free dinner? Lost in thought, Bruce takes the opportunity to study the way you bite your lip and store it away for later. 

“Sure, tonight is good.”

—

You weren’t sure what to expect during dinner but it wasn’t this. Bent over, your hand clutching your side in an attempt to ease your stitch as you laugh hysterically. Bruce is laughing too, his smile so big it shows his perfectly pearly whites.

“No way, you’re lying.” You gasp between breaths.

“I wish,” Bruce looks away in faux-shame. “I wasn’t always the smoothest.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Your laugh settles into a smile. 

“Why’s that?” He sounds genuine when he asks, curious even.

“Well, look at you.” You immediately heat at the implication, quickly stuttering off an excuse. This is not a date. “Y-You’re The Bruce Wayne. It would’ve been a-all over the newspapers if you, uh, messed up.”

Bruce merely hums, his eyes dropping down to your lips as you bite away at them again. 

This is bad. You cannot be flirting with the boss, especially not your boss's boss. Sure, he might be into it now but he’s not known to stick around with the same person for long. You can not afford to lose this job if things go bad.

You’re saved by the server coming back to drop off the check. Bruce’s hand grasps yours as you go to take the check, sending a bolt of electricity down your arm. His eyes find your own, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I’ve got you.”

Fuck. 

[katuschka]

Touch Starved Pups – One

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader x Josh Kiszka 4.011 words

Welcome to Part One of the story about what happens to two well-behaved, bored and horny romantics when a new feisty, worldly and hot social media manager enters the building...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): expressive language, promiscuous behaviour, unprotected sex (or still rather just allusions to it , just setting the scene...), oral sex, handjob, kissing, twinfight, fistfight, angst, mockery, consensual teasing game that's borderline exploitative, slightly toxic behaviour...so, to sum it up, this is pure rock&roll filth, folks.

Also, if you like the story and want to get notifications for future updates, you can join the Taglist or see the Masterlist

Hooked? Read Part Two.

I know who I am when I'm alone

I'm something else when I see you

You don't understand, you should never know

How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

Walking down the photo pit after all the other photographers cleared off is my favorite part of the day. Or night, to be more precise. That’s when I shine: strutting along, ready to capture all those best moments that make all you bitches go feral during AND after the show. This is my queendom. I make content for you lot. And I’m damn good at it.

How do I know that? The numbers just skyrocketed after I joined the team. Ka ching! All those poor things that came before me had no idea how to do their job. Tried to do some lifeless artsy shit that might be good for booklets and collectors’ crap that only collects dust, but not followers. They listened to what the band and their management wanted, but that’s not how it’s done. Nuh uh. I listen to you, my dudes. Your screeches, howls and cries. Some say that you’re crazy, but I know better. I’m here to observe what drives you crazy, and then I shall stir it up even more. When it comes to online content, the only thing that matters is what YOU want.

Make no mistake, I create art too. The crucial difference is that it’s not shit. Socials need candid eye candy and I’m here to provide it. 

I gotta admit, they make my job quite easy. All four of them do, but the twins are human masterpieces. Born pretty, they gradually learned that they could monetize it just as much as their respective talents. I didn’t need to come up with a strategy; it’s always been there for the taking. The fact that my predecessors have been mostly ignoring this is a mind-boggling mystery to me. Those guys know for sure that they ruin your panties. I just needed to know how.

So I rolled up my sleeves and went down to the barricade to do my research. Marketing’s no rocket science. Veni, vidi, vici. I just looked at them through your eyes and your own photos, and let me tell you – you bitches aren’t crazy, you are right! Yeah, I saw it too. And I get it. Some people in the team wanna keep pretending that it’s all about the music – which is surprisingly good, by the way – but that’s not what makes you sleep in the dirt and sit on a curb for days, and then again…and again. Those sons of bitches basically fuck on stage, looking very tasty while doing so. Especially Frodo and Patchybeard. Whether it’s a guitar, a mic stand or just plain air – they just shag it! Y’all look like you can feel it, and they’re very well aware. It strokes their egos, so they just keep adding fuel to the fire. The first time I saw that, I just stood there with my mouth wide open and just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was a fucking orgy! And then, when it was time to walk into their bright conference room and pretend to do some serious business for a change, I put on my super serious and super professional face, and I told them what needed to be done. 

Let’s just take your usual fangirl stuff and make it official. Sorry, not sorry. You crave it, so what. I keep the Facebook page artsy and businesslike for those gramps and music snobs that would go batshit crazy if they saw any more pictures with sweaty “jummies”, sparkling dicks and marshmallow balls; but anywhere else, it’s a party. 

Some of you keep wondering why they behave like such frenzied horndogs all the time. My lovelies, the explanation is pretty simple. It’s because they are! You wanna know if they are like that in real life? Yes, the answer is yes! It’s good for the show, sure thing, and they’re both true born professionals creating a breathtaking spectacle. “It’s all for you, bla bla bla!” But the truth is that they’re naturals, not really much different offstage. Lusty, filthy, bad. 

Just kidding. They’re sweethearts. Lust-driven, whiny pups that want to be played with. When the show is over, they both follow me backstage like the good boys that they are, wagging their tails at me enthusiastically. 

Ooops, what did I just say? Lemme put my fingers to my mouth and giggle like a coy lady that I’m not. Some of you already suspect it anyway, and it was collectively decided that you should hate me with passion. I guess now I’m famous, too. D’oh!

So, yeah… When I said that it was there for the taking, I forgot to mention that I also wanted to take it. Life on tour is lonely and stressful. I’m not immune to that either. Sex helps. That’s why the rockstars of yore kept fucking everything that dared to come close while they were all high as a kite. Because why not…well, apart from the fact that unlike good sex, drugs actually ruin lives. No, I’m not a fan. 

Times have changed and today’s musicians – and I’m not talking about all those wannabes with backing tracks – really need to work hard to earn their bread.They’re self-aware and sober (Take that with a pinch of salt…they’re sober while actually working.). Often homesick. Sure, some of them are still jerks or junkies. Or both. Not a fan of these either. I worked with some and it was a nightmare. 

But, when I joined the Greta Van Fleet team, I found a bunch of down-to-earth and touch starved homeboys, well aware of their power but hesitant to act upon it. That’s the difference between having a huge dick and being one. They’re – and now let me let out a sob or two for the dramatic effect – gentlemen! 

You know what a sweetheart with a huge dick is? That’s your dream come true. Believe me. That’s just something you want. I certainly did.

Not from the start, though. No. They treat the crew like friends and family, and as much as that was certainly a pleasant change, I wavered initially. They were all so kind and gentlemanly that I just decided to keep my friendly distance, thinking they really were such mama’s boys that they appeared to be…The impression didn’t last long. Soon I heard them making jokes and lewd comments when they thought no one was listening. Some of those comments were about my bouncy ass, too. 

Men, am I right? 

Alas, sweethearts’ dicks are still just dicks, and neglect will gradually take its toll. I could see right through their nervous ticks. 

Jake was the first one that fell into my snares. I didn’t really pursue it; I’m not a monster. Like I said, we were lonely and stressed, and so it just happened one fine day. He craved human contact, and I was there. Life is complicated, but certain things are still pretty simple. Thank god, or whatever supernatural entity you believe in. 

It was a lovely evening in his 2-storey hotel apartment. He often got those, because the others had this habit of gathering together in his room to discuss business – since it was his band – and to get shitfaced in the process. 

We were both sitting cross legged on his bed, both already pleasantly booze-soaked and shrouded in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the dimmed lamps in the main room. I had been giving him a lecture on the importance of a good online presence that evening. Or at least I was trying to do that… When the others got a bit too rowdy, we retreated to his bedroom to have some privacy.

When it comes to online shit, Jake’s the most difficult one. He doesn’t like it. Plain and simple. He had created this cute mask of a smooth and aloof poet slash ancient adventurer, behind which he hides, but you bitches don’t like that. You like watching him talking to his SG in front of thousands like she’s his obedient whore. See, there’s a certain discrepancy in that. I kinda understood where it was coming from, him being in his element onstage and all that shit, but I also needed him to understand my point.

And it was tough. He’s complicated. He likes to pretend to be a tough, mysterious guy, but deep down he’s just a shy and wide-eyed fawn that bounces when you say “boo”. Not always, mind. I learned that  the hard way once when I was leaving his room with scarlet imprints of his fingers on my thighs. However, drunk Jake is a meek and needy cutiepie. I could definitely use it to my advantage. So I poured us more drinks. 

“I dunno, s’not really me,” he countered after I tried to explain one more time. 

I showed him another one of the most recent videos. “Are you telling me this is not you?”

I grew really fond of his quiet “hahaha” every time he felt discomfited and flattered at the same time. Just like now. Stroking his chin with his finger, he shifted nervously and continued: “Well, yeah…uuum…you like this?” 

That was the moment when I knew I had him firmly in my grasp. Yeah, Jakey, I reeeeally like it. Let me just show you how much.

I seized my chance. We laughed and joked and flirted and all that shit. Talking about his desirable body parts that y’all take snapshots of soon turned to physical manifestations and before we knew it, his fly was open, his fat cock hard and out and firmly in my hand. I brushed my thumb gently over his pink and already leaking head before I wrapped my fingers around his shaft once again and started pumping him slowly. He just sat there and watched me with his lips parted, both mesmerized and taken aback by how quickly things escalated. I returned his stare, looking him firmly in the eye while I quickened my pace, and his breathy exhales turned to full-fledged, loud moans. I tried to shush him by forcing my other thumb in his mouth… and that only made it worse. There were still other people in the adjacent room and the door was open, but he just wouldn’t shut up! I had to grab his chin and stick my tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet. 

That sobered him up a bit. He didn’t want me to stop, he just wanted to regain control. Our tongues wrestled for a few seconds before he grabbed my cheeks and returned the kiss in such a manner that made my pussy spasm. I liked that, and we continued like that until he came all over my fingers a few minutes later. Thankfully, someone put some music on in the other room and it muffled his moans a bit, because my mouth could no longer contain them. He howled in it. It was hot.

You know, I’ve had the misfortune to cross paths with assholes who’d just throw me out after that, both satisfied and ashamed that my skills made them finish so quickly and unceremoniously, without fanfare and praises. Not Jake. He had to reciprocate AND prove himself at the same time. He’s vain, but in a good, gentlemanly way. 

After everyone else left, he just fucked my brains out. It surprised me how much he wanted to kiss, and not just my lips (either kind). His tongue was running marathons all over my body, and if I remember it correctly, I think I came five times that night. Not my record, but still a very impressive first-time. 

After that, he just kept crawling back to me, stopping me in empty hallways just to whisper obscene poems about my hungry pussy in my ear. Talking about how he’d feed me. 

He’s a sly one: the kind of a man that would run his fingertips gently down your spine in a room full of other people, while talking casually about fucking you raw, only for you to hear. I mean, that’s exactly what he did once or twice. I’m sure our “conversations” always looked completely innocent from a distance, with only Josh sometimes watching us with his lips pursed. Sometimes his eyes even narrowed a bit. That feisty chipmunk knew from the very start, and I thought I could spot jealousy in that piercing stare of his. I enjoyed that, just as much as Jake enjoyed making me wet in public, and calling it “retribution”. Honestly, I didn’t mind. Punish me as much as you want, baby, and keep using all those fancy words while doing so. Yeah. 

I’m a born provocateur, so I often just asked for more. Every time I saw him start licking his lips absentmindedly, I struck. In the end, it was always him who had to calm down, to keep it cool…to hide his hard dick. 

We both loved it. It was our little fight for dominance. We teased each other and then there would be a reward. 

It was a bit different with Josh. He’s a lover, not a fighter. He doesn’t need to fight for dominance and so he often rejects that role voluntarily.

At first I thought he wouldn’t be interested at all, even though his grabby hands landed on my bare skin more often than some would deem comfortable. But he’s like that with everyone! Including Bob, the chalice filler. It often doesn’t mean a thing. 

I knew it meant something when he almost grabbed my ass once. I tried to experiment with the same strategy I once used on Jake: using his own weapons against him, making him cross the friendly line.

It happened during a soundcheck while I was showing him a preview of my next scheduled post. His weapon was right there, on full display, and I further accentuated it by a subtle, punny caption. It made him giggle and I winked at him. 

“So, you okay with this? I mean, it’s all over the internet anyway…”

“Dear sparrow, if I weren’t okay with this, you wouldn’t be able to take such a lovely picture of it.” His hand first landed on the small of my back familiarly, just like it always did, and as we talked about other pictures in the carousel, I felt his fingers move even lower until the tip of his pinkie slid under the hem of my pants. I cleared my throat ostentatiously and he drew his hand away quickly as if I had burned him. 

“You know, I should report you for harassment for this,” I said matter-of-factly, still looking at the screen, trying to look both cool and unphased, but the twitch in the corner of my mouth gave me away. A true master of reading such subtleties, he slapped his fingers with his other hand and grinned at me. “Naughty me. Can’t blame me. You just smell so nice, sparrow. What is that?” 

“Hypnotic Poison.”

“Right…” He licked his teeth in a vain attempt not to grin even more. To be hundred percent sure, he still asked me if I wasn’t mad. Sure I wasn’t. I had been waiting for this. 

We parted after that, minding our respective businesses, but all those fleeting glances he cast my way during the rest of the afternoon didn’t escape my attention. Later, just before the show, he cornered me in the bathroom, startling me. I almost poked my eye out with a mascara when I noticed him standing right behind me. “Jesus Fucking Christ on a stick, Josh!”

“Yeah, I’m all that.” It was obvious he wasn’t there to take a leak as he kept watching me watch him in the reflection and his eyes grew darker. I slowly turned around and ran my finger down the hem of his low neckline, even more slowly. Tentatively, almost. Never breaking eye contact and with his lips slightly parted, he let me go lower until I reached the zipper head and tugged at it playfully. 

“Black velvet really suits you, you know?” I teased.

“Yeah, I know.” 

Cheeky brat. You wanna play, baby? Let me show you how it’s done. I slipped the tips of my fingers under the hem of his cleavage until I found his left nipple and started running circles over it with my middle finger. His breath hitched and his eyes widened before he seemingly regained his composure and flashed me a sly smile. 

“So…ummm…you and Jake are…exclusive?”

“Wow, you’re pretty straightforward,” I laughed. “No, we’re not. Just having some fun. Why?” 

Why, indeed. He made it pretty clear why, and I let my tongue give him the answer he desired. After the show that very night, he knocked on my door with a shy smile plastered on his face after I opened it. I welcomed him in.

Josh never fought me. He always presented himself on a silver platter and let me do whatever I pleased. Then he repaid me when the payment was due. My initial impression of him being a pillow princess wasn’t completely off, but my god! The man can fuck! Never try to piss him off. Or you know what? DO try to piss him off, because it turns him to a jackhammer. 

I once called him a sissy and the wrath that poured down on me afterwards made me see stars. 

So that’s how it went. They both knew what was happening behind closed doors with the other one, and both were ok with that, as long as it didn’t interfere with their own plans. And that was just a matter of time. 

To tell you the truth, I did wonder what it would be like to have them both, so when the opportunity presented itself, I would be a fool not to encourage it. 

Every once in a while, there are shows where shit just happens and everything that can go wrong, does do wrong. It was one of those nights. Even back at the venue, right after the show, I saw how both their faces were twisted with tension, and maybe the best way to avoid even more trouble would have been to avoid them altogether. They weren’t the only people who had a rough night. I was exhausted, too. If I were a bit more responsible, I would have settled for a nice hot bath and a filthy book, but sadly, I’m a people pleaser. Also, nothing can calm me down better than the smell of male skin.

It was long past midnight when I heard a knock on my door. 

“It’s me, Bebe. Please, let me in.” 

That’s right. He gave me that nickname shortly after we started fucking, even though I teased him that he would never beat those allegation that way. 

If you guessed that I indeed did open the door, you’re right. He didn’t even wait for the invitation to enter this time. The stress was doing us no good. I could smell even more troubleon the horizon, but I ignored it.

“Jake, you can’t just storm inside like this. What if I had company?” It was no use to argue with him. No longer sober to begin with, he was already making himself at home and pouring himself another drink. 

“Please, Bebe, stop teasing. I need you! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Well, tough luck! Josh asked first.”

“Oh no, no no no! It’s my turn, baby! You can’t do this to me. Tonight was hell. Call him and tell him that you’re mine.” I shot him a sharp look, so he added quickly: “... for the night. ” Well, that only made it worse. 

Funny how quickly they got accustomed to the fact that I was just within reach. I would have been offended if I weren’t aware of how insolently I played with them too. Still, I should have said no, but I’m just human. 

However, the whole situation was already a bit more complicated than that. “I can’t. He’s already here.” 

Jake cast me a confused look before he smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt to get rid of him. “Where? Hiding in the closet?”

“No, he’s in the shower.”

He just stood there for a short while, contemplating something, before he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and whispered sultrily: “Please, love, just a blowjob then. Your mouth can do wonders, baby. I beg you.” Noticing that I wavered, he bent closer to whisper in my ear: “You can ride my face anytime you want. You know that.”

Again, I should have said no, but the said mouth already started watering when I noticed the rapidly growing bulge. Mentally, he was already hitting my tonsils. I was on my knees in seconds. I knew Josh usually took his time, so maybe it was manageable. And if not…well, surely there was a way to benefit from the hypothetical pickle, should it happen.

And it happened. I was deepthroating him with both his hands holding my head and his head tilted back, when we heard the door open.

“Jesus fuck, Jake!” 

The moment of surprise made me gag. Jake withdrew quickly and started tugging himself back in his pants, which wasn’t easy, given his current state. Josh, however, just stood there completely and unabashedly naked. “Get out!” he bellowed, completely forgetting that it was in fact MY room they were both in. 

“No,” Jake spat back.

They started barking at each other like berserk chihuahuas. I swear, I was seconds from throwing them BOTH out, dicks out and all. They could keep shouting at each other in the hall or even in the main lobby for all I cared, but the wicked creature in me wanted to see how this would escalate. And it escalated majestically. 

I hadn’t bothered to unpack my suitcase earlier that day. It just lay open on the floor with my purple vibrator placed haphazardly on top of my lingerie. Jake spotted it, bent down to retrieve it and before I could argue, he thrust it against Josh’s bare chest while his other hand patted his cheek: “Here, this should do. Now bugger off!” 

I think I stopped breathing for a second. They teased each other quite often, but this seemed downright mean, even to their standards. I think Jake realized it too, but it was too late. We both watched the flames that appeared behind Josh’s dilated pupils and before either of us could react, Josh started after him and pushed him against the wall. And so the party started. In a matter of mere seconds, Jake fist almost collided with Josh’s jaw. Thankfully, Frodo is quite nimble, so he ducked the blow and striked back, his knuckles colliding with Jake’s forearm. Watching them wrestle like that, fuming, limbs intertwined, I was almost sorry I had no popcorn at hand. It was a comical sight: Josh still completely naked, Jake barely tucked back in his jeans. 

Have you ever seen puppies fighting over a toy? That’s them. They were both so needy and neither one ready to give up. It was time to seize the opportunity, so I… started laughíng. Loudly and mockingly. They both let go of each other and turned their heads to the source of that offensive sound: me. 

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on my arms and with my legs crossed, contemplating my next move. Realizing I had no panties under my punto tube dress, I decided to Basic Instinct them. Sure, nothing new, but men are simple creatures. A naked pussy is like the Moon they howl at. It’s always new. Moreover, the fact that they never saw me like this before together was surely a great bonding experience of its own. I watched their faces for more clues and grinned viciously when I saw exactly what I hoped for. See, they’re different in many ways including this. Jake licks his lips, while Josh clenches his jaw. I tutted at them, watching how they both raised their eyebrows in a silent question. 

“Guys! You both know very well that I got more than one hole.”

Hooked? Read Part Two.

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @emojakekiszka @hollyco @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @cheersdannyx2 @gvfstuddedmajesty @gvfmarge @dayumclarizzel @musicislove3389 @lipstickitty

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Behind the Crime

Warren Lipka x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral male receiving, dominate warren, underage drinking, underage smoking, use of marijuana, rough sex, hint of choking, talk of robbery, um yeah i think that’s it

summary: from the moment you were brought into the heist, you knew working with warren was going to be hard…

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for not posting guys i have not been on the grind lately. i watched this movie and omfg evan was so attractive i just needed to write. if you’re the real warren lipka just scroll this is about evan…

~~~

You sit back in your chair, the crew members adjusting your mic. You’re starting to regret doing this interview, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything’s already set up, the camera is about to be rolling. The interviewer is sitting a few feet away from you, notes in his hand. He waits for you to give him the signal that you’re ready. You nod, he begins.

“So, y/n, how did you become involved with the group?” He asks.

“I was first approached by Spencer when I was eating lunch outside one day...”

~~~

You were sitting alone, the cool fall breeze almost too cold to be comforting. You didn’t pay much mind to it though, you were more focussed on your studying. You were flipping through the pages of another history article when suddenly there was a presence beside you. Looking up at them as soon as you noticed, you recognized the boy as someone from your class.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your tone polite.

He looked nervous as if he were about to ask you out. “Hi, uh, I don’t know if you remember my name, I’m Spencer we have Art History together.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” you replied. “Do you need help with the homework or something?”

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, if you’re not busy or anything,” he said, his voice quiet.

You look away for a second before replying. “Sure, sit down if you want I’m not busy.”

He smiled at you before quickly sitting at the spot across from you. He put his bag on the table, you could see him take a deep breath. Was he really going to ask you out? You thought he was cute, but definitely not your type. You started to pray he wouldn’t say anything along those lines.

“I started to ask around a week or two ago about people who are good with computers and stuff, a lot of people told me you were the best person to go to,” he started. He lacked confidence in his voice, you felt bad for the poor guy but paid close attention to his words. “I need some... help with cameras.”

“What kind of cameras?” You asked, intrigued.

What he was saying was true, you were decently good with computers. You mostly would hack into places and disable things you didn’t like, like the cameras on the public library computers. It wasn’t anything illegal, at least you didn’t think it was illegal. It probably was, but you didn’t care.

“Just you know cameras in... semipublic places...”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind though? Phone, laptop, desktop, security?”

“Security,” he answered quietly. “But before you say no listen, how does a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of payment sound?

“What?”

“I won’t tell you the details till I know you’re on board but let's just say something is going down and we need help with the cameras. The pay would be huge and all you’d have to do is just mess with some cameras for like twenty minutes.”

You only stared at him; your mouth slightly hung open. Was he being serious? Was he really asking you to join him in a potential robbery that would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars? You never would’ve expected to be asked such a question on a cloudy Thursday at lunch. You shut your book completely and look around to make sure nobody is close.

“This money, it’s guaranteed?”

He nods. “As long as we get the job done, you’ll have it.”

You knew it was crazy, you knew whatever was going to happen would either result in you going to prison or having to run off into hiding. But the thought of being able to pay all your student loans off and have extra money to live off of was more appealing. Hacking into cameras wasn’t that hard, and it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless it was.

“If you’re trying to get me to make sure a murder or rape isn’t on camera I’ll snitch,” you warned him.

“Oh no, nothing like that is happening at all. It’s just you know a robbery,” he replied, his expression genuine.

You nodded your head, convinced whatever he was asking couldn’t be that bad. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~

“What was your first impression of the guys?

You smile. “They were really cool, funny, just overall really fun people to hang out with.”

“Do you remember the first time you met all of them?”

“Of course, like it was yesterday...”

~~~

The house you sat in front of didn’t look like a typical criminal's house. It looked like an average American’s family house actually. You were parked out on the road outside the house Spencer told you to go to, you were meeting the rest of the people involved with the robbery. It had been about ten minutes of you sitting out there debating whether or not to go in before you got a text from Spencer asking where you were. You sighed, praying to God this decision was the right one before getting out of your car.

You knocked on the front door with a shaky fist. You started to regret your decision, you thought about turning around and leaving, but the door was opened before you could act on it. An older woman stood in front of you, she looked to be in her 50s.

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” she said, making your cheeks turn red. “You’re here to see Warren, right?”

You had no idea who Warren was, but you nodded. The lady's smile grew, and she opened the door for you and ushered you inside. She directed you to the basement entrance, asking you a million questions you had no answers to. After those few but excruciating painful minutes though, you walked down the basement stairs and finally caught sight of Spencer.

There were three other guys in the room and all of their eyes were on you. Two, along with Spencer, were sitting on a couch. One of them was skinny with glasses, the other muscular with no glasses. They didn’t grasp your attention though. The last guy who was standing did. He had long dark curly hair, and eyes to match. His eyes met yours before you watched them slowly move up and down your body. You didn’t know how to react.

“Guys, this is y/n,” Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Eric,” the guy with glasses introduced himself.

“Chas,” the muscular guy spoke, not paying much attention to you. “Are you sure this was a good idea, Spence? How much do we really know about this chick? No offense.”

“Shut up, we agreed,” Spencer hissed. He waved you over and you complied, walking to the couch and sitting on the end beside him.

The standing guy took a step forward and held out his hand to you. You looked up at him before accepting his handshake. His hand was rough, you liked the feeling of it in yours. “I’m Warren and you are our cameraman or woman I guess.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“How much has Spencer told you?” Warren asked after letting go of your hand and stepping back. It was then you noticed the maps on the wall with drawings all over them, the layout looked familiar.

“Just that I need to hack some cameras and that it’ll pay me a lot,” you answered. “I don’t even know what you guys are stealing.”

“Well y/n, I’m sure you’ve been to your own school's library right?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever taken a tour of the library’s rare book collection?”

You nodded again.

Warren smirked. “Then you know exactly what we’re stealing.”

Your face fell and you immediately looked at Spencer and the rest of the guys. “Are you serious? You guys want to steal historic books?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Chas mumbled from his chair.

“Shut up Chas,” Warren quickly snapped. He looked back at you, his dark eyes engulfing yours completely. “We’ve been planning this out for months, and you are the last piece to our puzzle y/n. Think about how much you’ll be earning.”

You didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a bad idea.

~~~

“Chas eventually stopped being cold to me, I actually think in the end he became my closest friend in the group,” you say, finishing your story.

The interviewer gives you a look. “Well, besides Warren right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, a confused look on your face.

“I have to ask if the stories are true, you know about you and him. The other guys say something changed between the two of you after a party you all attended. I mean, didn’t the police even question if your involvement had a deeper meaning than simply the money?”

You shake your head, giving your best performance. “Me and Warren were only ever best friends, there was never a deeper meaning behind anything.”

~~~

Music was pumping through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head you could feel it. It had been a few weeks since you met the guys, and they all wanted to do something fun before the heist. So, a frat party was naturally the easiest option. That’s where you were now, already two shots and half a joint in. You didn’t know where Spencer, Nick, and Warren were, but Chas was dancing with you.

Though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, you and Chas quickly learned how well you get along. He was a good friend, all of the guys were. You liked how easily they could make you laugh and brighten your mood. They were all good people who you enjoyed being around.

Warren was the only one that you felt different for. You didn’t know why, but from the first day you met you knew your feelings for him would be different than the other three. The way he looked at you alone was completely different than the others. There was always something darker in his eyes, something you knew wasn’t supposed to be there for simply a friend. Every time the two of you looked at each other, your stomach filled with butterflies. You wanted it too. But in those first few weeks, nothing had happened. No matter how much either of you wanted it.

After some minutes of you and Chas dancing, Warren and Spencer appeared. They asked if the two of you wanted to go out and smoke, you both agreed and followed them outside the back. Not too many people were in the backyard, but there were enough for there to be a bonfire going. The four of you found an empty spot near the fire and sat down. Warren took out a joint and lit it before passing it around.

“Where’s Nick?” You asked after taking a hit.

Spencer shrugged. “Probably with the weird kids doing weird stuff.”

“He’s not that weird,” Chas replied. “He’s just awkward.”

You watched as Warren took another long hit of the joint. Because of the weed and alcohol, you found yourself even more attracted to him than when you were sober. You wanted so desperately to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to hear his voice as you touched him. He suddenly met your gaze, his lips curled up into a mesmerizing smile. You wanted to kiss him. It was too much for you to handle.

You swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your shorts. “I need to um use the bathroom.”

You didn’t wait for any of their replies. Instead, you rushed back into the house straight to the kitchen. You poured yourself a shot, downing it before giving it a second thought. You needed these feelings to go away. How were you supposed to work with Warren if you couldn’t even look at him without thinking about having sex with him? It made you feel awful. A hookup couldn’t be the reason the robbery went bad, you refused to let that happen.

After another shot, you started to forget about your feelings. In fact, you started to forget about Warren completely. All you felt was the burning sensation of the alcohol in your stomach and chest, it felt good. You stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, grabbing the railings of the staircase for support. Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you, their hand on your back.

“Y/N, are you good?” It was Warren.

You turned your head and looked at him, God how could he look even better? “No- I’m not okay.”

“You’re wasted, you need some water,” he said. He moved his hand around your waist and pulled you up straight. You felt like you were on fire. “Come on, back to the kitchen.”

“Why are you here? I just- I just wanna forget about you,” you mumbled.

He started helping you walk back to the kitchen. “What? Why would you want to forget about me?”

“Because... I want you but I can’t have you. I thought you- felt the same that’s why it’s been so hard to resist,” you spoke, stumbling over your words. “I can’t look at you without thinking about you fucking me.”

Even in your drunken state, you could still see the cockiness on Warren’s face. He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly before turning and getting you a cup of water. You leaned your head back against one of the cabinets, your head was spinning. You couldn’t think straight.

“Drink,” Warren’s voice filled your ears.

You lifted your head and grabbed the solo cup from his hand, downing the water faster than ever. When you finished, you threw the cup to the floor, your eyes meeting Warren’s once again. He was standing close enough that if you reached, you could touch him.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps it was because of how long you’d felt the tension between you two, that gave you the courage to gently place your hand on the top of his head. His hair was soft, just like you’d expected it to be. You smiled and played with his curls. He didn’t object, you were glad. You needed this.

“Do you want me?” You asked, your voice barely audible against the loud music.

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I thought so, but I could always be wrong.”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” he said. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand off his head before stepping closer to you. “If this house wasn’t crowded, I’d fuck you right here, right now.”

Your heart was racing, your cheeks bright red. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Warren was still holding your wrist, it sent electric shocks throughout your body. His eyes began to shift from your eyes to your lips and so on. You swallowed; a lump had formed in your throat.

“There’s probably an empty room somewhere,” you mentioned. “You could take me to one of them and show me you mean what you say.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, you’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not- I swear. I consent, I’ll remember all of this in the morning,” you replied quickly.

“All right.”

Before you could say anything else, Warren scooped you into his arms and began to carry you through the house. You didn’t know whether to pretend you were drunk so it wouldn’t look suspicious or stay awake to also not make it look suspicious. You chose to stay awake and within minutes you and Warren were alone in a bedroom, your lips connected.

The kiss was fast and rough, everything you expected from him. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he towered over you. You wasted no time, immediately kicking off your shoes and pushing Warren back until he fell onto the bed. He pulled you on top of him, guiding your hips in slow motions over his clothed erection. You felt like you were on fire, you needed more.

You broke this kiss and leaned back so you were straddling him. You pulled off your shirt and bra, Warren followed your actions. Once your eyes fell upon his toned abdomen, you audibly moaned. You quickly leaned down again and kissed his chest, beginning a trail down his body. Each breath that left his mouth made your pussy drip even more. And when you reached his navel, his breaths turned into soft whispers.

“Keep going.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When you no longer had any skin left to kiss you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. He got your signal and instantly pulled his shorts and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. You weren’t surprised at his size; you had a feeling he’d be big. You started off by slowly stroking him with your hand, the expressions on his face already enough to make you cum.

After a minute or so of that, you bent down and pressed a small kiss to his tip. You loved the way his leg twitched. It made you proud. So, you took him into your mouth. He gasped, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head. He didn’t push you; he only twirled your hair back into a ponytail-like style and gripped it tight. You moved your head up and down, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. You were never a fan of giving head to guys, but with Warren, it was a different story.

Not much time passed before Warren pushed you gently, telling you he wasn’t going to last much longer. You didn’t care, you wanted him to finish in your mouth. But he told you he wanted to have sex, so you stopped. You peeled off your shorts and underwear before you climbed back onto him. His naked body against yours felt unreal, you were almost convinced this was all part of your drunken imagination.

However, when Warren pulled your head down and began to kiss your lips again, you knew it had to be real. His hands gripped your ass, kneading and playing with your skin. You positioned his tip at your entrance, you were so wet you didn’t need any lube. You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, you wanted to know it was okay. He gave you a nod and so you began to push yourself down on him.

He filled you well, just the perfect amount. You had thrown your head back, a moan escaping your lips. You hadn’t had sex in months, and this was the perfect way to break that streak. You started to move your body forward and backward while simultaneously going up and down. Warren’s grip on your ass tightened with each movement you made.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “You do it so well.”

Your confidence was boosted; you began to move faster. This only lasted a few minutes though, much to your dismay. You weren’t too athletic; you didn’t have good stamina. Warren noticed this, and without saying anything he flipped your bodies. Once on top of you, he began violent thrusts. You almost screamed from the pleasure; you’d never felt anything remotely close to it in your life. He hit your cervix each time, it made your back arch off the mattress and your nails dig into his back.

“Warren,” you whimpered. “Oh, fuck Warren.”

One of his hands wrapped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he just rested it there. You felt the knot in your stomach form at this. It felt so good to be dominated by him. It had been your dream for weeks, and it had finally come true. You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Warren fucking you fill your senses.

When you came, you practically screamed his name. You swore you could see stars. You’d never experienced an orgasm so hard in your life. Warren came a few seconds after you, you felt his dick pulsing inside you. He collapsed on you. You didn’t care about how his weight crushed you, you still held him as the two of you began to come down from your highs.

~~~

As the crew packs up, you remain in your chair, staring blankly out one of your windows. The interviewer is still across from you, but you don’t notice until he speaks.

“Just tell me one thing, off the record,” he says, grabbing your attention. “Did you love him?”

A small smile grows on your lips. “With all my heart.”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Skin | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: mentions of assault/battery, canon violence, canon gore (take care of urselves bbies)

Word Count: 5826

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You and Dean didn’t talk about Toledo. You were back to not talking about much of anything. Your fights had become much less frequent, and when you did fight, it was more playful than malicious. For that, you were grateful. You felt incredibly conflicted about the fact that he was beginning to grow on you. 

‘Like a wart,’ you thought. ‘Or a blister, maybe.’

Whatever he was, he was beginning to chip through your hard exterior. You also found out he hadn’t told Sam what you’d told him about your family which you were surprised by. 

The three of you spent more time on the road than you did anywhere else. When you used to drive cross-country by yourself, you felt yourself beginning to go crazy a few hours into the drive. As much as you loved your alone time, you also craved the company of others. Now that you had it, you weren’t sure how you were going to leave these guys once you found John. 

Dean turned in his seat to face Sam. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” 

He didn’t respond.

“Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy,” he finally answered. 

“Busy doin’ what?” you placed your head on his shoulder over the top of the seat.

“Reading e-mails.” 

Dean had gotten out of the car and began pumping gas. “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford.” Sam still seemed disinterested in conversation.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean asked.

“Why not?” He still hadn’t turned his attention from his phone.

“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“And I couldn’t make my way into that lie?” you asked. 

“What do I tell ‘em, (Y/N/N)? That we picked up some chick in California and took her on the road with us?” he chuckled. “And I don’t lie to them. I just don’t tell ‘em… everything.”

“Yeah, that’s called lying,” you retorted. “I get it, though, the truth is much worse.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”

His older brother shrugged.

“You’re serious?” Sam wasn’t really asking.

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period,” Dean responded.

“How many friends do I have, Sam?” you asked him.

“Me.”

“Exactly,” you giggled.

“You two are kind of anti-social, you know that?” He returned to scrolling through his emails.

“Eh, whatever.” You flopped back on the bench seat.

“God….” Sam trailed off.

“What?” you and Dean asked.

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.”

“Is she hot?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Dean—” 

Sam ignored the two of you. “I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” his brother questioned.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.”

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.”

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.”

“Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

Sam wasn’t having it. “It is our problem. They’re my friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean and Sam got into what you can only describe as a staring contest before Dean scoffed; seemingly admitting defeat. Next thing you knew, you were headed to St. Louis.

***

The massive door on the undoubtedly expensive house you’d arrived at opened to reveal a beautiful blonde girl. 

‘Damn all these pretty blonde bitches we keep running into,’ you thought.

“Oh my God, Sam!” she smiled, throwing her arms around her friend.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” Sam jested.

“You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

“I got your e-mail.” His tone had become somber.

“I didn’t think that you would come here,” she answered earnestly.

Dean shoved in front of Sam. “Dean. Older brother.”

‘He’s making his fucking voice deeper again.’

She shook his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled back.

“We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.” You peeked out from behind Sam. “I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Nice to meet you!” You were only mildly annoyed by how wonderful her disposition was. “Come in.”

“Nice place,” Dean commented, taking in his grandiose surroundings.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free,” Becky explained.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asked.

“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.”

‘Of course, they fucking do.’

“Do you guys want a beer or something?” she asked politely.

Dean obviously did, but his brother stopped him. “No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.”

“Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Becky began to cry. 

‘She’s even pretty when she cries.’

“So, he called 911, and the police— they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight,” she relayed.

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.”

“We could,” Dean agreed, but you could tell he still wasn’t picking up where Sam was going with this.

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” the blonde asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam patted his brother’s shoulder.

“Detective, actually,” Dean laughed.

“Really? Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.”

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just— I don’t know,” she said.

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent,” Sam replied.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.”

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends,” Dean mocked after Becky had walked down the hall.

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help,” Sam responded.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.”

“Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.”

Dean said nothing, clearly defeated.

***

“You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asked Dean as the four of you walked into Zack's house.

Dean clearly was having fun with the whole “cop” thing. “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.”

You hated how smug he could be. Rebecca came inside with you and informed you that Emily had let her attacker in. 

She then informed you about a recent incident that struck you as odd. “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes— Zack’s clothes. The police— they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.” In the midst of her story, you could hear a dog barking angrily across the street. Dean peered out of the window, and Becca came up behind him. “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“What happened?” you asked her.

“He just changed.”

Dean turned over his shoulder to her. “Do you remember when he changed?”

“I guess around the time of the murder,” she shrugged. 

You found Sam staring at a picture of himself, another college-aged boy you assumed was Zack, and Rebecca that was framed in the hallway. 

Dean came up behind you soon after. “So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.”

“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal,” Sam said.

“Yeah, maybe Fido saw somethin’.”

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

“Yeah, prob—” you started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

You shot him a look. “The evidence is staring you in the face, and you still can’t admit you’re wrong.”

He shot a look back at you that said, ‘Don’t try me.’

Before you could push each other’s buttons any further, Rebecca came over to you, and Dean turned his attention to her. “So, the tape. The security footage— you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

How Becky was buying into Dean’s lie, you had no idea. He was really laying it on thick.

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop,” she giggled. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

The three of you went back to Becky’s parents’ home to review the security footage. It was of Zack entering his house, but a strange glint on the film caught your eye.

“22:04,” Dean noted the time stamp, “that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.”

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with,” Becky added.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam asked. 

“Oh, sure,” she replied politely, turning to go to the kitchen.

“Maybe some sandwiches, too?” He was putting on the puppy dog eyes just a bit to convince her. 

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” she snarked.

“I wish,” Dean mumbled. 

“Can you focus, please?” you asked him.

“What are you, my mother?” Your banter was no longer filled with malice, just a hint of aggravation. 

“No, but frankly, the thought of you trying to bang someone makes me want to throw up in my mouth. I’d prefer not to watch it happen,” you replied playfully. “But look.” You rewound the tape an started it over. You caught the glint again, paused it, and realized Zack’s eyes were silver. “There!”

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare,” Dean shrugged.

“Does that look like any camera flare you’ve ever seen?” you asked rhetorically. 

He just looked away, defeated. 

“You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul,” Sam chimed in. “Remember that dog that was freaking out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

“Like a Doppelganger?” Your brow knitted together, mind trying to wrap around what you were dealing with.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was in two places at once,” Sam said.

Despite the luxurious villa Sam’s friend called home, the three of you didn’t want to intrude on her privacy; opting for yet another shitty motel. Something about this case was bugging you, though, and you tossed and turned all night thinking about it. And then, it hit you.

You pulled on your jacket and boots and rushed over to the boys’ room. A sleepy Dean answered the door. You hated to admit it, but he and his fluffy, mussed up hair were adorable when he’d just woken up.

“Morning, sunshine,” you grinned.

He scratched his head. “(Y/N), what the fu—”

“We have to get to Zack’s house. I just thought of something. “

Sam appeared behind Dean, already dressed. “Whatcha got?”

Dean stepped back from the door, letting you into the room. 

“We saw ‘Zack’ go in, but never saw the killer leave,” you explained. “But of course, we didn’t. Why would the cops be looking for that when they nabbed Zack in his house with his dead girlfriend?” 

Sam was with you, nodding his head.

“Did you have to realize that before five in the morning?” Dean yawned, pulling a pair of pants on.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly. “Couldn’t sleep. But I figured that out, so that’s all that matters.”

Dean shook his head and yawned again. “Sam, you’re driving. I might crash my baby if I drive right now.”

***

“He must’ve gone out the back door,” Sam said. You and the brothers were walking toward Zack’s house. “So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”

“I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning,” Dean grumbled.

“C’mon,” you groaned, dragging his arm to follow Sam around the back of Zack’s house. Sure enough, there was a dried, dark red substance smeared on a nearby telephone pole.

“Blood. Somebody came this way,” Sam noted.

“Yeah, but the trail ends,” Dean added from a few paces ahead. “I don’t see anything over here.”

Just as he finished speaking, an ambulance drove past the house with its sirens wailing. You and Sam looked at each other before hurrying back to Dean’s car. Dean followed the ambulance to its destination where a man was handcuffed and being shoved into the back of a police car.

“What happened?” Dean asked a bystander.

“He tried to kill his wife,” she responded with a hand to her chest. “Tied her up and beat her.”

“Really?” you asked.

“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy.” She shook her head sorrowfully and watched as the police car drove away.

The three of you hung around the scene for a while until it had been completely cleared out. You regrouped while you snooped around.

“Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?” Dean asked as he approached you and Sam.

“Yeah,” his brother answered.

“Definitely our kind of problem.”

You gasped, feigning shock. “Mark it in the calendar, Dean Winchester admitted he was wrong!”

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he retorted.

“What’d you find out?” Sam asked.

“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked,” Dean explained.

“So, he was in two places at once, too.”

“Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; police think he’s a nutjob.”

You paused for a moment, thinking. “You think it could be a shapeshifter?”

“Something that can make itself look like anyone? Sure,” Sam responded. “Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men.”

“Right, skinwalkers, werewolves,” Dean added. “We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.”

“Let me ask you this— in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?” the younger brother asked.

“Not that I know of.” You shook your head. “But someone ran out the back of his house and headed this way. And then… the trail just… ends. Just like at your friend’s house.” You gestured toward Sam.

“Well, there’s another way to go.” You followed Dean’s gaze down to a manhole.

“Ew, gross.” Your face scrunched up in disgust as Sam started to move the manhole cover. 

The three of you quickly climbed down so as to not be seen. 

“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too,” Sam said as the three of you made your way down the tunnel. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

You were leading the group, and stopped suddenly when you noticed a pile of blood and skin on the ground. “Blegh, look!”

“Is this from his victims?” Sam looked equally as disgusted.

Dean pulled out his pocket knife and lifted a piece of the skin off the ground. “You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape, maybe it sheds.”

“That is sick,” you affirmed.

He dropped the skin back to the ground and turned to you to wipe his knife off on your jacket.

“Ew, dude!” you shoved his arm. “What the fuck?”

He just laughed in response.

You and the boys headed back up to the car to load up with some weapons.

“Well, one thing I learned from Dad—” Dean began, riffling through the weapons cavity, “—is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart,” you chimed in.

He nodded and handed you a case of the bullets. 

Sam’s cell phone rang. “This is Sam… We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out… What are you talkin’ about?”

He seemed caught off-guard. You thought he was talking to Rebecca, but had no idea why she’d be upset with you. You eyed Dean who shrugged.

“Why would you do that?... Bec— We’re tryin’ to help… Bec, I’m sorry, but—” And then he clapped his phone shut, looking disappointed.

Dean found it an appropriate moment to be a bit of a dick. “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just—it’d be easier if—”

“If I was like you guys,” he replied quietly. 

“Sam, I’m not trying to be heartless, but Dean’s kinda right.” Both brothers seemed surprised you were agreeing with Dean for once. “We’re not like other people.” 

“But I’ll tell you one thing.” Dean’s lighthearted tone was back. “This whole gig— it ain’t without perks.” He held out a gun to Sam, whose face was still crestfallen.

You followed Sam and Dean back down the manhole, gun loaded with silver bullets. You carried the case of bullets Dean handed to you in your inner jacket pocket; just in case. After a few minutes of trudging through toxic sludge with baited breath, you noticed another pile of blood and skin on a pipe next to Sam’s head. “I think we’re close to its lair,” you told them.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked. 

“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face,” you snickered. 

“Oh, God!” His face scrunched up in disgust.

There was another pile of clothing and rotting skin a few paces ahead of you. 

“Looks like it’s lived here for a while,” you heard Dean say from behind you.

You turned to face him as you spoke. “Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away— Fuck, Dean!” you cried, seeing the shapeshifter in the form of its last victim behind him. 

Dean wheeled around, only to be knocked to the ground by the smirking creature. You and Sam rushed to his side as the creature sped off. 

“Get the son of a bitch!” Dean commanded. 

The three of you sped down the tunnel and followed him out of the manhole. You couldn’t see where exactly he ended up, and you decided to split up. 

Under the cover of night, you headed down streets and alleyways with your gun hidden inside your jacket. You came to a stop at a dead end and wheeled around at the sound of footsteps behind you. The shapeshifter, still in the form of the businessman, knocked you out cold before you were even able to raise your gun at him. 

***

The next time you came to, you felt itchy bits of rope binding your hands, feet, and neck to a cold, metal post behind you. As your vision began to clear, you could see you were in some kind of a dark, dingy room. It seemed like a house, but you weren’t entirely convinced. You heard what sounded like the older brother’s voice coming from behind you.

“Dean?” you called.

“(Y/N), it’s not—” Sam shouted, but cut himself off with a groan.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he smirked, leaning down to your eye level. He put a hand next to your head on the post. 

You turned your face away from him, straining against the rope. He even smelled like Dean. 

“You are one fucking trainwreck,” he said, searching your face. 

You eyed him curiously. He just laughed coldly in response. “The more I learn about you, the more fucked up you get.”

“What do you mean ‘learn’?” 

As if on cue, the shapeshifter held a hand to his temple, grunting in pain. After a moment had passed, he spoke again. “You made a big mistake telling him— I mean, me— about what you did to your family. If I wasn’t ready to get rid of you before, I sure as hell am now. I hope you’re tellin’ the truth about leaving the second we find Dad, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can put up with you. God, from your voice to your personality, you aggravate the livin’ crap outta me.” The shapeshifter leaned back down in front of your face, the two of you only inches away from one another.

“You’re a burden, (Y/N). You’re exhausting to be around. I constantly have to keep my guard up around you. I can’t trust you, not after what you told me in Toledo. How do I know you won’t turn on me and Sammy?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you kept them at bay. You instead reared back as much as you could and spat in his face. You had taken him by surprise, but his hand was around your throat in an instant. His lips were inches away from your ear and he squeezed your neck just tight enough to where you were beginning to see stars. “You fucking bitch. Y’know, take your voice and personality away, Dean would definitely wanna fuck you. He thought you were hot the first time he met you. Then he actually got to know you, and, eh, things changed. But I’m sure he’d have tons of fun with Sam’s little friend Becky.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.”

He released your throat and you sputtered and coughed when he did. He covered you up with a tarp moments later. You felt pathetic, but you let your tears flow freely now that he was gone, wiggling around to get the tarp off your head. 

“(Y/N), are you back there?” Dean called from somewhere you couldn’t see. 

You knew he hadn’t said those hurtful things to you, but it was still difficult to hear his voice. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here.” Your voice was still shaky from crying. “He went to Rebecca’s, lookin’ like you.”

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one,” Dean gibed at his brother.

You admired his ability to keep his snarky attitude and stupid jokes despite his circumstances. His confidence bewildered you at times.

You pulled at the ropes binding your hands, hissing when you felt the rope creating angry brush burns on your wrists. 

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you,” you heard Sam tell Dean.

“What do you mean?” the older brother asked.

“Yeah, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories,” you told him.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” 

You giggled. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us,” Sam added.

“Yeah, he probably needs to keep us alive. Some kind of psychic connection— ah,” you yelped at the feeling of the rope aggravating your wrists again. The shifter had bound you unbelievably tightly.

“(Y/N), stop, I’m coming to help you,” Dean instructed. 

“I’m a big girl,” you replied sassily. “I can do it.”

Dean had made his way over to you. “Do you have to fight me on everything?” He untied your hands with ease and began working on your neck. 

“Yes, but thank you,” you told him. You still couldn’t look him in the eyes after what the shifter had told you. You were doing your best to keep your exterior steely. You couldn’t deny, though, that his tight-fitting gray t-shirt over rippling muscle and the way he’d helped you were starting to break down your walls a little. 

“Come on, we gotta go,” you heard Sam order from behind you. “He’s probably at Rebecca’s already.”

Dean pushed a window out of the building you were kept in and the three of you climbed out. 

Sam started down the street. “Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean stopped him. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me.”

His brother shrugged. “Sorry.”

“This way.” Dean led the three of you down the street. You ran shielded by the darkness until you reached a store window. There was a display wall of televisions in it, and the news was on. Conveniently, Dean was the breaking news.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End—” the reporter stated, “—where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

Of course, Dean’s attitude was unwavering. “Man! That’s not even a good picture.”

You looked around nervously. 

“It’s good enough,” Sam said.

“Man!” Dean grumbled, following Sam down the street to an alleyway. 

“They said attempted murder,” you pointed out. “At least we know—”

“I didn’t kill her.”

You nodded.

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s all right,” Sam said, looking over his shoulder.

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.” 

‘He’s still as arrogant as ever.’

“We have no weapons, though. No silver bullets,” you countered. 

“Sweetheart, the guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay, it’s a little personal, I wanna find him.” He turned to face you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I get it. We need guns, though.”

“The car?” Sam threw in. 

“I’m bettin’ he drove over to Rebecca’s.” Dean’s face began to heat up. You knew he was thinking about his precious Impala.

“The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.”

“The thought of him drivin’ my car—” he whined.

You shook your head. “Come on.”

“It’s killin’ me,” Dean whined again.

“Let it go,” you and Sam commanded over your shoulders.

The three of you rounded the corner along a tall hedge only to be greeted by the sight of the car.

“Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight.” Dean’s joy was almost contagious.

His stupor was broken by a police car appearing down Rebecca’s street and blocking the end of the road. 

“Fuck.” You spun around the way you came, but another cop car appeared back down that street, too. 

“This way, this way,” Dean began leading you over to a fence and easily climbed atop it. 

“You guys go. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Sam told you.

“What are you talking about? They’ll catch you.” Dean turned into a seated position on top the fence.

“Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s,” Sam quickly spoke. 

You and Dean hopped over multiple fences, fatiguing your limbs quickly. Several blocks from where you and the boys had run into the cops, the two of you stopped to catch your breath. You sat down on a street corner and tucked your knees into your chest.

Dean sat beside you. “What did he say to you?”

You turned to him. “Huh?”

“The shifter. What’d he say to you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, it’s fine—”

“(Y/N), you haven’t looked at me once since we left that thing’s hideout. Tell me what he said.”

“Why can’t you drop it?” you spat, looking down at your boots.

“Because,” he protested. “I gave you a chance to explain in Toledo. At the very least, you owe me that.”

You sighed. “He said you think I’m annoying. And, um, a burden. He said you’re trying to find your dad so quick to get rid of me. And that you can’t trust me because of what I did to my family.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “Anything else?”

“He said everything about me aggravates you and that I exhaust you.”

He nodded. “Do you really believe that?” You could feel his gaze burning holes into the side of your face.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “You haven’t exactly proven otherwise to me.” You looked up at him for the first time in hours.

He seemed surprised by that answer.

“Don’t look at me like that. Aside from Toledo and a few seconds on that plane, all we’ve ever done is fight,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. “But I don’t think those things about you. Honest.”

“I feel like I’m pulling teeth here, Dean,” you remarked. “What do you think of me?”

“I mean, you can be annoying.”

You scoffed, but a smile tugged at your lips. 

“And you’re way too stubborn.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And so are you.”

“And you’re too smart for your own good.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“Would you let me finish?” he deadpanned.

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You just… you intimidate me a little, honestly.” Now Dean was the one who couldn’t look at you.

You were shocked. “Really? Why?”

“Dammit, (Y/N), I’m not good at this,” he sighed. “I know you heard what I said to Haley about that being the most honest I’ve ever been with a woman.”

You giggled at the memory.

“This tops that by far,” he admitted.

You nodded. You’d have this conversation another time. You rose to your feet, and he followed suit. 

“Can we start over?” you asked him.

He eyed you curiously.

“As… acquaintances, I mean,” you explained. “We’re no closer to finding your dad than we were the day I met you, so I imagine I’ll be around for a little while longer. I’d rather us not fight the whole time. It’s getting exhausting, if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we can do that.”

“Okay, then.” You cleared your throat and stuck out your hand. “Hi. I’m (Y/N).”

Dean shook his head at your antics despite the smile pulling on his lips. “Dean.” This time, he actually shook your hand.

***

Later that morning, you and Dean had returned to the car for weapons. Thankfully, Dean still had some silver bullets left in the trunk. With guns in hand, the two of you headed back to the sewers. A few minutes into your walk, you came across a rancid pile of flesh, teeth, and fingernails.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Your face contorted in disgust. You looked up when you heard a rustling noise a little down the tunnel. You could see a dim glow from the place you’d heard the rustling. You tightened your grip on your gun and let Dean lead the way into the chamber. He nodded his head in the direction of the left side of a figure covered in a tarp at the back end of the chamber, indicating for you to go that way. You followed his instruction and crept up on the figure with him. He pulled the sheet away from the figure, only to reveal Rebecca.

“What happened?” you asked her. Her hands and feet were bound, her mouth was gagged, her hair was a mess, and her skin was littered with bruising and cuts. 

She was still shaking and crying as she spoke. “I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay,” Dean told her. 

The two of you untied her and made sure she was able to walk before guiding her out of the sewers.

“We’ve gotta hurry,” Dean said. “Sam went to see you.”

When you got to Rebecca’s house, all you could hear was the grunting, furniture breaking, skin hitting skin, and bones cracking coming from the living room. And then, choking. You had no doubt it was Sam.

Dean seemed to pick up on that as well. He hurried into the den, shouting, “Hey!”

The shifter spotted Dean and got off of Sam. Dean shot twice, and with that, the shifter was dead. 

You rushed over to Sam and cradled his head in your lap. “Are you okay?” you asked him. 

He smiled painfully at you. “Peachy.”

You giggled at him. You looked up at Dean standing over… Dean… and watched as he ripped his necklace off the shifter.

You watched Rebecca say goodbye to Sam, and she waved at you and Dean who stood by the Impala. She turned to go back inside her house.

Sam approached the two of you.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asked his brother.

“Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder,” Sam jested. “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.” 

You giggled. Dean just rolled his eyes. 

“Get in the car, (Y/N),” he chastised you. For the first time since you met him, you knew he wasn’t trying to tear you down. It was refreshing to have an amicable relationship with him.

As Dean tore down the road, he turned to his brother. “Sorry, man.”

“About what?”

“I really wish things could be different, you know?” the older brother said earnestly. “I wish you could just be… Joe College.”

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in,” Sam admitted.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean quipped.

You loved earnest moments between the two brothers. It made you feel normal; in a weird way.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said dryly.

“Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s voice softened.

“You know, I gotta say. I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.” 

You felt one of Dean’s stupid jokes coming on. “Oh, here we go.”

He eyed you in the rearview mirror. 

“Miss what?” Sam asked.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” Dean smirked.

You shook your head. “And there it is.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle

[furiousgoldfish]

While growing up in an abusive family, a part of me strongly refused to grow up, in fact it's still resisting it. I thought at first, it was because I was taught that I am less and less valuable as I age, but it wasn't only that. It turns out, growing around mostly abusive people, can give you some horrifying notions of what it means to be an adult.

I am going to write down how I perceived adulthood, as an abused kid, because I need to work on it myself, and if there's somebody else feeling this, know that these are not your only option for a future:

All adults are stupid, unkind, boring, bitter, aggressive, obsessed with money, do not understand people around them at all.

All adults have to play specific roles assigned to them and don't step outside of these roles. For instance: mother, grandma, father, aunt, teacher, uncle, neighbour. All roles are restrictive and people can only do whatever is assigned to this role (cleaning, cooking, working a job, going to army, being married, etc)

Adults can't play, be curious, or have fun. Adults have to be focused on their role and stay grumpy, serious, bitter and busy. They don't laugh except when drunk.

Adults are having it tougher than children. They are unloved, uncared for, nobody considers them nice or pretty, nobody wants them around or gives them gifts. Adults are permanently unwanted and undesired everywhere.

Adults have good opinions only of people who are already dead. Everyone alive is constantly being humiliated, shamed and criticized. It's better to be dead.

Adults don't care about children, and only think the worst of children. Adults think children should only exist to work and to be yelled at. Adults are dangerous.

Adults don't care about friendships, loyalty, kindness, courage, bonds, closeness, care, or love. Adults friendships are drinking and smoking in the same room while talking badly about every other person in their life. They don't play, laugh or share things. It's a big game of pretense that the other has it better.

Adults lie and fake everything. They lie about their home life, about what they know, about money. They lie about, and to their children. They tell lies confidently. They make things up if they don't know and then tell those lies as if they're truths. They don't feel guilt if caught lying and instead double down on it.

Adults have money but they can't spend it. They have to keep paying bills and they never have enough money for bills and food. They will buy alcohol and cigarettes though, but they're always stressed about bills. They consider it children's fault.

Adults are endlessly stressed about having to 'feed a family'. This is so bad that they actually end up hating their families. They wish all of their children were dead so they wouldn't have to feed them. They can't seem to stop having children but also hate feeding them. It's like they're forced into it.

Adults have to work constantly. They work their jobs and have to do endless chores when they get home. They have to get up early to do chores and do them late at night. They have to do everything alone, unless they can get a child to do it for them. They can't select not to do it, they have to shift it to someone else to avoid it. Adults have no free time, or hobbies. They have to work at all times and always know what needs to be done.

 Adults have bodies that work less and less. They can't run, climb or jump. They're always having surgeries and can barely walk. Their backs and hips hurt and they complain about the pain every time they need to do anything. They blame the work for this but can't stop working. They're still somehow stronger than children when they want to hurt children, and then they're fully mobile. But at all other times they appear sickly and need stuff done for them.

Adults never get over anything that ever happened to them. They're always victimized by everything that ever happened to them. We the children have to get over things instantly, but they are angry and bitter about the past forever. They hold grudges against family members forever. They freely take things out on other family members. They never forgive or forget or calm down.

Adults are not passionate about anything. Their main priority is looking good in front of others and convincing everyone they're better than they are.

Adults selectively care when someone is crying. If it's someone they don't know, they'll act nice about it. If they know the person they will tell them to shut up and stop annoying them. It's like they fall for strangers tears but see through anyone else's as pretense. I don't understand.

Adults die and then other adults get drunk at their funerals. They say you need to cry but they're only serious for the public part and then go and have parties where they just laugh with everyone. Adults don't care about the dead people but say you're not supposed to say anything bad about them now they're dead. They pretend they cared while the person was alive but they didn't. They obsessively clean and decorate graves just for others not to think they 'didn't care'.

Adults will betray anyone's secrets. Adults will tell other adults whatever you told them in confidence. Adults cannot be trusted with information.

Adults judge and badmouth anyone who doesn't act the way they think people are supposed to act. They will impose their own rules and morals on others and shame anyone who doesn't agree. They insist that everyone needs to follow their assigned family role even though they complain about hating their own. They use the most horrid slurs for people they consider 'bad at their role' and write these people off as parasites and worthless people

Adults all agree children should be obedient, quiet and never want anything or disturb them. They want children only to present them with achievements and work for the rest of time.

Adults have sex but nobody is supposed to say anything about it. It's unclear whether they want to be doing it. If it's a part of a role it doesn't seem like they can say no.

Adults can't be cared for or pampered like children can. Adults do not get candy or chocolate. Adults say it's because children are cute and they're not. Adults are jealous of children. Adults complain about not being cared for.

Adults don't understand how hard children have it and always say being a child is the easiest and best time of life. They seem jealous and tell children to be grateful because it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine surviving worse. They claim their childhood was better than anything they deal with now because food was free and they didn't have to have a job.

Adults have no freedom. They have to stay with family and play their role. They can't survive otherwise. They leech off of each other and hate everyone. They live by imposed rules that force everyone to stay together even if they hate each other. They hate everyone around them. They feel loyal to no one. They bring misery to themselves and people around them and don't feel shame or responsibility for anyone they've hurt or ruined.

Adults don't see others as people with their own inner world. They insist that everyone except them is stupid, shallow, mindless and worthless.

Adults are all cowards who will submit to anyone who is stronger and louder. They'll only fight those who are weaker. They don't care about justice and will happily punish victims in unfair fights. They themselves are bitter and upset if they don't get the justice.

Adults only ever look out for themselves. They don't care about other people. They want money and others to admire them and to serve them. If that is not happening they are angry and bitter at the entire world.

Adults don't see good in other people. They don't see what someone else needs or deserves. They don't care about adventures or magic. They don't have wonder or awe inside of themselves. They don't even look at beautiful things in front of them. They don't care about nature, animals or trees. They don't care about books or knowledge, or reading. They don't care about stories or legends. They don't care about people who suffer so badly they want to die. They judge people for suicide.

They don't care about creating or making something unless it can be sold for money. They don't even tolerate others doing it.

They love no one. Everything they do is a drag and a pain to them and they want to push their work on someone else all the time. They don't care about anything except money and how to get more attention and keep pretenses. They have no true friends or care for anyone. All they have is work, rules and roles they need to act. Their lives are meaningless. Even though they have money they cannot travel or use it for fun or joy. They don't think anyone should be free to do as they want. They have no dignity or honor but pretend they do when in company. They yell but pretend they're victims for 'having to yell'.

They don't care if someone wants to die because of their actions. They don't care for anyone who wants to live differently. People who live differently are worthless and stupid to them. They think they're the only ones who are always right even when they're always wrong.

Adults are convinced that when I grow up this will all make sense and I will grow up to be exactly like them

If you felt as a child, or still do, that these are the truths of adulthood, and something you'll end up becoming, it's not true, and it's mostly just abusers who live their lives in this manner. If this is the only thing you've ever known and seen as a child, adulthood would be terrifying and feel like you'd have to lose your soul in order to become like this.

I'll write another follow-up debunking these and writing what I feel adulthood is right now. It's just definitely not that. And living around people who act like this is normal, is traumatic.

[hauntedraggedyanne]

Turning positive traits negative

here are some options you can use to make more complex, real characters

—Optimistic

Refuses to get serious about certain subjects, mocks those who don’t always share their positive viewpoints, says stuff like “if you’re depressed, just be happy 😃”

—Neat

Can’t handle their space being in any other condition, very preoccupied with how they appear rather than how they behave, can’t hold back their tongue if there’s a sock out of place in a friend’s bedroom

—Open

Some things don’t need to be said. They say those things. Every other sentence.

—Effective

Very mission oriented not ‘care about people’s feelings’ oriented. One of those co-workers who makes everyone look bad because they come in early and stay late so everyone kind of already doesn’t like them.

—Leadership

Doesn’t let anyone else take the wheel, as well as controlling when the situation doesn’t require it. Also could be someone who demands praise for their work as well as always being seen as number 1 (could be a cult leader).

—Honest

The type who tells the truth when you show off a new outfit and you ask for their opinion. Believes that fact is greater than feelings and it will get many people mad very, very quickly.

-Wholesome/innocent

Drags other people down to make them feel ‘dirty’ because of the life they lead. Knows that asking people about certain subject matters may make them uncomfortable, but does it anyways to show off just how 🧚🏻‍♀️💕pure🧚🏻‍♀️💕 they are. If you’re struggling with this, watch a bit of those tradwives videos (keep in mind, not the normal ones minding their own business.)

—Imaginative

Comes up with the WORST, most horrific, terrible fates for everyone. Gets really defensive/rude over their work. Thinks that they’re the next big thing in whatever field they’re working in.

—Selfless

Instantly throws themselves in front of danger and doesn’t think about the consequences of their own actions. Could fall victim to situations where they’re forced to take the fall every time while someone else walks right over them.

—Confidence

Can lead to selfishness, over abundance of pride, stubbornness and unwilling to admit wrong doings/beliefs/actions.

—Extroversion

Unable to understand proper boundaries that others have set, tries to bring people out of their comfort zone even when unnecessary, rude.

—Intelligence

One of those nerds that every class has that reminds the teacher of the homework, looks down on those less intelligent and doesn’t care of the social/economical/personal reasons as to why they don’t share the same intellect, prideful.

—Kindness

Nativity, allows the wrong people to walk free, toxic positivity, doesn’t want to understand how some people may just be evil, leading the team into multiple dangerous, avoidable situations.

—Romantic

‘Doesn’t take no for an answer’, makes people uncomfortable, overwhelms people with fantasies of romantic dinners/adventures despite it still being the first date, moves too fast for their love interest.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Beneficial Marriage

Jade x Reader

You’ve thought about it long and hard. Yes, this is the conclusion you came to. A way to secure your future.

You slam your hands on the table as you stand, your eyes boring into Jade’s face. He continues writing in the Lounge’s ledger book without moving from his seat. You would have thought he didn’t take any notice of your abrupt action, but the slight upwards quirk of his lips gives him away.

“As I thought, I have to get married to a competent person!”

You think you hear him exhale a quick puff of air, something that barely qualifies as laughter.

“Is ‘competent’ truly the word you are looking for?” He flips a page, eyes still trained on the numbers. “Surely, you must have meant ‘wonderful,’ ‘kind,’ ‘compassionate,’ ‘loving,’ or something along those lines, no?”

“Those would be nice, too. But competent definitely is my priority. A useless partner is just dead weight on my shoulders, right? There’s no way I can marry someone who’ll drag me down.”

What brought this on was the recent success of your clothing brand. Your wares focus on making human fashion trends comfortable to wear for all manner of beastkin. Tails, ears, fur, horns, you name it and there’s a category in your online shop for it. It is not a new concept, but it is still true that most trending clothes are created with regular humans in mind. It certainly did not hurt for Vil to casually mention your shop in his recent Magicam post.

“If my success continues, doesn’t this mean I have the potential to really make a lot of money?” You have a surprisingly good business sense, so you think you have a pretty good chance of keeping your brand afloat. But with great money comes great responsibility. “I don’t want to get exploited by a partner for my money, nor do I want my partner to be an idiot who makes growing my business difficult. So it’ll be best if they’re competent and have no issues with managing their own income. They could even help out with mine, although I’m aware that might be asking for too much.”

Jade notes down some calculations, flawlessly multitasking between managing the ledger and listening to you. He hasn’t looked up at you once, but you can tell he’s finding great entertainment in listening to your ramblings. The barely restrained grin on his lips is a dead giveaway.

“You underestimate the greed some possess. Even a businessman with a flourishing company may attempt to steal yours.”

“Well then, I imagine my judgement of character will be so good that I can filter out those people right away.” His shoulders shake slightly. Is he stifling a laugh? “Don’t laugh at me. I’m being serious here.”

“Don’t you think,” he says, closing the ledger, “the fact that you remain friends with me indicates your poor skills in judgement?”

“Don’t be edgy. It’s making you exude middle-schooler vibes.” You dramatically place a hand over your chest and close your eyes in mock sorrow. “Stay away from me for your own good! I’m dangerous!”

Jade finally chuckles audibly, hiding his grin behind a gloved hand. You open one eye out of curiosity. His sharp eyes dart up to meet yours. There’s a curve to them that only exists when the smile is genuine. You aren’t sure how happy you are to be the source of his entertainment.

“How interesting it is to hear that is how you perceive my words. I will be more careful with what I say in the future.”

“Whatever, we’re off topic.” You cross your arms and shifting your weight from one foot to the other. In your excitement, you’ve forgotten you have the option to sit back down. “I’m still thinking about my requirements for a partner.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” He leans forward in his seat and tilts his head. He must find your dilemma funny. Certainly, he wouldn’t have any troubles finding a partner, the son of rich parents that he is. “We are still young.”

“And no longer in school! Meeting people has never been so difficult.” It’s not that you don’t socialize. Networking is important for business, after all. Unfortunately, nobody so far has met your standards. “If I lower my expectations, my successful and worry-free future will be compromised!”

“There is nothing wrong with staying single.”

You look to the side, pursing your lips. A slight flush settles on your cheeks. When you reply, it is barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I kind of, sort of, just a tiny bit, want a relationship.”

Jade doesn’t look surprised. If anything, his grin grows bigger and shows a few too many serrated teeth.

“There is nothing wrong with that, either. If it will ease your troubles, may I propose a solution?” He reaches across the table and reaches for your hand. You meet him halfway. Your fingers rest in his palm lightly, with enough control to yank back at a moment’s notice if he decides to pull something unhinged just to tease you. He doesn’t do so, but his expression puts you on alert. “Wouldn’t you agree that I am competent enough to be a candidate for your partner?”

You blink once. Twice.

“What kind of bull—”

You snap your mouth shut. Upon further thought, it’s not a bad offer. You’ve known Jade for years. He’s shifty but reliable when you need him to be. Despite your wariness around his hidden motives and his constant sense of schadenfreude, there’s an underlying unspoken trust between both of you. If it comes down to it, you’re confident you can, to some extent, counter his schemes. His family is rich, he’s set to inherit the business, and he’s capable enough to run it properly. Actually, isn’t he a pretty good choice?

“I’ll consider it.”

It’s worrisome how his smile looks like that of a cat that caught the canary, but you suppose he’s always been like that. You can cut him some slack this time. You don’t even withdraw your hand when he pulls it to his lips.

“I am very pleased to hear that.”

“Only for consideration, okay? I haven’t made a decision yet. But even if I do,” your eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, “it should be fine. Couples can always break up, engagements can be annulled, even marriages can be broken by a divorce. So really, I have nothing to worry about!”

He presses his cheek to the palm of your hand, his grin seeming about to split his face in half. He murmurs against your skin in a tone that sounds more like a promise than a goal.

“Rest assured that if you truly choose to be mine, I have no plans on letting you go.” His eyes, sparkling in mischief and withheld laughter, curve with his smile. “So do take your time and think long and hard about it. I will patiently await your answer.”

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

I’m sorry but can you write more stuff about Vox being a gaslighter? I’m actually obsessed with your analysis

Thaaanks I'm obsessed about them too~ 🩵❤️

So, Vox is like the ultimate gaslighter. Manipulation and brainwashing? That's his whole freaking business plan. I mean, come on, the Voxtek slogan is "Trust Us," and somehow, people actually do.

Oh, let's talk about Voxtek - he's the worst, most manipulative boss ever. He's always pulling stuff like withholding essential information for a task someone's supposed to do, then publicly blaming them for screwing up. And he's sneaky about it too, acting all concerned and disappointed instead of just yelling. It makes people feel useless and insecure, so they bust their butts trying to please him and win back their colleagues' respect, never daring to stand up for themselves. Plus, he's a pro at keeping relationships between higher-up managers tense and distrustful by spreading rumors and creating a competitive vibe. And don't get me started on how he's a total hypocrite - Voxtek, like every other company, preaches its values and missions to create this fake sense of safety and purpose, but then he goes and acts against them or lets someone else do so. It leaves people feeling confused and helpless because they can't play the game when the rules keep changing. Let me tell you, Satan might work hard, but Voxtek's HR department works even harder.

And manipulating people on a personal level? Way too easy for him. People who don't know him well enough think he's some kind of genius (bless their hearts), so they give him way too much credibility. It's crucial for him to be seen as competent because that's how he stays in control. That's why he loves to question the competence of his business partners (Not to be that guy, but those numbers don't look great. Are you sure you can handle this? I don't want to waste my money.) or Valentino (Babe, I've got this. We both know you're not great with financial planning.). Thought hardly ever works on Velvette because she's got zero bullshit tolerance.

Now, when it comes to Valentino, Vox has zero remorse about gaslighting him. To him, gaslighting isn't even violence; it's just a way of handling things, all neat and effective. Why bother yelling and arguing when he can just manipulate Val into agreeing with him? It's like what we saw in episode 2. And even when Val has every right to be angry because Vox acted like a jerk, Vox tends to devaluate his emotions (I don't have time to deal with another temper tantrum, Val; You're always so pissy, why can't you just chill?) or tries to make him doubt his own reality (Maybe you'd remember it better if you weren't high all the time.). He hates arguing with Val, but also is unable to admit that he's wrong, so in his mind, undermining Val's ability to call him out on his bad behavior is a way of keeping their relationship healthy. But it's risky because sometimes Val sees through his manipulations, especially when they're about his feelings, and then things get even messier.

I like to think they trust each other when it comes to serious stuff, like protecting each other from outside dangers, but at the same time, it's like Mr. Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss is married to Mr. Manipulate Mansplain Manwhore - you never know if he's being genuinely nice or if he's trying to get you to do something.

[obsessive-valentine]

Yandere!Hockey-Player x GN!Reader

A peak into the darker side of out beloved ice-hockey-jock boyfriend, what he’s willing to do for his darlings happiness. TW bullying and blood from fist fight

Not to proud of this one but wanted to get something out for you guys, promise I’ll post more soon.

Even though you are now dating one of the more ‘popular’ boys in your new school, not everyone changed up their attitudes towards you. It’s been almost a month but you’re still considered ‘the new student’- trying to find your place amongst people who already know each other. And although it’s easier now with your boyfriend keeping you company most classes, when he’s not around you find it hard to fit in.

It’s one of those days where he doesn’t have many classes with you, he walks you to your class and tells you he’ll meet you outside your class for lunch. For the most part your new classmates are nice to you, you sit comfortably on a table with people who have introduced themselves and offered you a seat on the first day. And the teachers are always welcoming.

But since the start of your introduction one particular boy known for interrupting class to wreak chaos and poke fun at classmates. Recently you found yourself being the butt of most his jokes. Poking and poking waiting for a reaction. You tried to keep your head down, ignore him and let the teacher handle his childish interruptions, but it’s just seems to make the situation worse.

From behind you you felt a quick tug on a few strands of your hair demanding the test answers, you ignored him which only worsened the torment. Then you felt your chair jerk over and over, the teacher to busy to notice him kicking your chair, so you don’t make a scene. He had the gull to tug at your hair again then poke at you with a ruler harder and harder, his friend snickering beside him

After one particularly hard poke you tried to tell him off but the teacher beat you to it, sending him to the back of class after you told her about the harassment. You kept your head down refusing to see the nasty glare he was no doubt giving you.

...

Leaving class he caught your backpack stopping you in your tracks “you shouldn’t have done that” he scoffed before pulling you back further making you stumble and walking out in front of you. You didn’t dwell on the threat seeing you boyfriend at the door and walking over to him, his face looked troubled “who was that?” Having watched half the interaction “just some idiot who thinks it’s fun to annoy me”

“What’s he done?” His voice sounded unusually serious and his back straightened defensively, making you focus the sheer size of the ice hockey player and how serious he becomes before a game against opposing school team. Sometimes you forget how much of a aggressive battering ram he can be due to his golden retriever personality.

You confided in him, ranting to him about how annoying this ‘class clown’ can be as you both walked to the lunch hall. “What a jerk, I’m sorry babe, he won’t touch you again” before you can question what he means he said “you gotta tell me about stuff like this” as you both settled on a table.

...

Most days he’d drive you back home after school but today you had a training session in at the ice rink and he didn’t -so you both parted ways “call me as soon as you’re done” he smiled waving goodbye. As soon as you were out of sight he walked back towards the school waiting in the parking lot.

His pupils dilated and practically seethed through his teeth, how dare someone cause stress to such a kind hearted and innocent person, his love. You failed to see the way his hands painfully clenched into fists as you told him about the ruler and the hair tugging, how he ground his teeth and nose flared in disgust.

He now stood expectantly doing all those same things but with a deadly scowl. And there was his target walking with a small group of boys, he let them pass and walked behind them stalking them out the parking lot and to a foot path before pulling on the targets bag, spinning him around and punching him hard across his face.

“Stay out of this” he shouts as his friends come to save him, shoving one in the chest who got to close. At some point they were both on the floor, both bleeding but one much worse than the other “you touch them or even look at them one more fucking time and you’ll be dead at the bottom of a lake that same day” he growled in his year before letting go of his shirt and letting him fall to the pavement.

Satisfied he walked back to his car, his bloody hands hands smearing on the steering wheel as he let out a relived sigh. He cleaned himself up before going into his house his mother questioned the split lip and bruises, worriedly grabbing his face inspecting it “We got a bit carried away in P.E mom, I’m okay” he reassured.

He gave you a similar excuse when you FaceTimed that night, saying he and the team played a few rounds of rugby on the field after school. You didn’t question it and fell asleep on call.

...

However when he picked you up in the morning and his hands were evidently bruised you began to doubt he was telling the truth about where the came injures from. That isn’t a harmless game of rugby.

And you knew what happened when in class the boy that loves to pick on you, now sat quietly in the farthest seat from you, a violent black eye, multiple scratches and cuts. He refused to look at you, you knew why now. Seeing how bruised your boyfriends knuckles were you could only assume the damage was worse under his clothes.

You couldn’t focus all lesson, would he really do this to someone? So you asked and he apologised promising you that he went to confront him about it but you bully was the one who threw the first punch, he had to defend himself. He saw your face twist in a mix of emotions he reassuringly squeezed your hand “I’m sorry babe, I can’t stand people treating you like that I just wanted to talk -trust me please. I didn’t think it would escalate” he looked like a scolded puppy “I didn’t want to worry you with a little scuffle so I lied” he held both you hands sincerely.

You forgave him, agreeing that boys fight all the time and this wasn’t his fault. Inevitably you’d forget about the incident and choose to believe his reassurances, he doesn’t come across as someone that would start a fight (if only you knew the things he’d do to keep you happy). And once his bruises heal you don’t give it a second thought.

Your adoring boyfriend who drives you everywhere, opens the doors for you, loves his mother, cheers you on during practice and competitions, buys you flowers, falls asleep on FaceTime when he can’t be closer, who just is overall a gentleman -he couldn’t do such a thing. Your sure of it.