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thatbangtanbloom · 3 years

Text

unspoken | bts [1]

unspoken

teaser | [1]

characters: kim namjoon, kim seokjin, min yoongi, jung hoseok, park jimin, kim taehyung, jeon jungkook, reader

pairings: ot7 x fem! reader

categories: angst, fluff, smut

genre: idol!bts, idol!reader (maybe obsessive!bts??? yandere!bts???)

warnings: reader has her life TOGETHER (???appears to anyway), jungkook being sad about reader giving others (mostly tae) attention, make out on the couch, sex on the couch, all the boys kinda obsessive behavior mentioned at the end?, bts members are possessive (mostly jk!!), (uhhh may be slight yandere themes? no violence to)

a/n: this follows immediately after the teaser, so it mostly focuses on jungkook!!! other members will be introduced in the next chapters

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to holding things together. You had been trained for years to be a top idol. Five: those were the years you spent bringing your lyricism to perfection, years dedicated to personality training for variety shows and publicity conferences, years conjured up in between vocal training sessions and dance practices to make you every bit of a fourth generation idol that you could manage. As the leader of one of the the top girl groups in Korea, you had grown used to taking constructive criticism and turning it into perfect moves. You leveraged commercial film deals with ease as you opted for optimal screen time for each of your members easily. You easily quelled squabbles between the four other members in your group over bouts of jealousy and short term argument. For years, you trained as a lone gem to bring both men and women to your knees alike with the mere turn of your wrist or seductive smile. You were trained for everything.

What you were not trained for were your seven boyfriends. The seven of them did not hold a single provision in your years of training nor was there any booklet for explaining how to juggle their varying needs and degrees of affection they desired from you. None of them has been forecasted as an event in your already packed schedule between V-Lives, fan meetings, press conferences, or music shows when collecting win after win. You still managed your best.

When you were not preparing for a new album, learning a new dance routine, or writing new lyrics, your time was divided up amongst the seven of them. You often accompanied Seokjin as he played Maple Story with you settled into his lap with a giggle whenever he complained about the new skins. Or, you could be found sitting in the studio with Yoongi drinking iced americanos (a drink you detested more than the monthly evaluations you had as a trainee) working on lyrics together with your fingers entwined together. With Hoseok, you spent the bulk of your time dancing to your hearts content or pressed against one another in ways that would appear amoral if not for the spoken seductions he would whisper to you. Namjoon’s own commitment to giving you an endless list of recommendations as you laid in his arms, conversing about the black ink on white pages with full hearts. Jimin often meant being cuddled under heaps of blankets as you watched animal videos together and played with his hair when you were not reassuring him of how well he had done the day before. Taehyung meant practicing the scripts together for the dramas you would audition for and splashing each other to your hearts content as you washed the dishes of the dorm after Seokjin cooked. And lastly, being with Jungkook meant impromptu video shoots all the time; the boy wanting to remember every moment he spent with you as though it would be his last.

You may not had been the most organized, but you did know how to cherish each of your boys just as you did the other valuable people and aspirations within your life. While not meticulous, things almost always went to plan for you when you worked hard enough… but even that meant that surprises (especially the pleasant surprises) could make all the difference.

So it was given when you woke up at five in the morning the next day to find Jungkook sitting rigidly on the sofa, you had an inkling of how your day would go with this very uncommon occurence. The youngest of your boyfriends often opted for staying up only when playing video games or producing new tracks for his highly anticipated mixtape, but you saw nothing in hand but his phone.

“You’re awake.” You comment as you lean over the couch to press your lips gently against his temple. All the tension in his body seems to leave when his arms snake around your waist to send you plummeting into his lap.

Jungkook had always been rather fond of using his strength against you.

“You were with hyung again, last night.” He stares more so as a statement rather than a question. It had been one of those days when things felt a bit too overwhelming and Taehyung had sensed it before you. It was not intentional you found yourself being coddled by the raven haired man, but it seemed to be happening more and more as contract recertification was coming and the girls growing increasingly antsy about future concepts.

You can hear the displeasure in Jungkook’s voice. “Is something wrong?” You ask as you sit up in his lap to touch his cheek.

“You’re always with him.” Jungkook whispers with a frown settling on his lips. “You know he’s not your only boyfriend, right? There’s me... and the others..”

You bite the inside of your lip as you think about the delicate balance of your relationship with the seven of them. Their feelings weren’t as easy as dodging invasive questions in a press conference or could be corrected after a quick meeting with producers. Perhaps you were not as prepared as you thought. You just wanted to hold it together again.

“I know you’re my boyfriend too, Kook.” You say as you snake your arms around his shoulders. “You know that I love you all equally, right?”

Scoffing, Jungkook pouts. “You say that,”

“Jungkook.” You frown deeper as you press your forehead against his. “I mean it. I love you all the same! Each of you have your own charms that make me realize why I wanted to be with you in the first place. I love you just as much as I love Taehyung and I love Taehyung just as much as I love Seokjin. And I love Seokjin as much as I love Nam-“

“야.. 야... I gathered that much. You could have stopped with loving me.” Jungkook jokes, making the familiar flutter of your stomach return. You were happy he understood. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

“You’re not?” You muse with a raise of your brow.

“Mmm.” Jungkook replies as his hands grip both of your hips to pull you closer before pressing you flushed against his chest. “I can think of ways for you to make it up to me, baby girl.” He is no less subtle as his hands run up along your sides and settle over your breast. He opts for teasing the right one first, circling the sensitive bud between his index finger and thumb. “I can think of a very good way for you to make it up to me.”

He lifts up your white shirt and tugs down the cup of your bra to place an open-mouthed kiss onto your right breast and then your left with a long sigh. “So. so..so fucking pretty and all for me,” His words send vibrations along your skin. He reluctantly pulls back, watching your shirt fall back over your frame and rubs the small of your back gingerly. “I always want you, you know that, right?”

“If you want me, you know you already have me.” You quip prior to kissing along his jawline. He was a sucker for kisses there- he always had been. The thought of your kisses alone could have him cupping the base of his cock and edging himself for release when he thinks about your soft lips on his jaw, his neck, his lips, his cock.

Nevertheless, you scoff at his words. He always amused you when he pulled out that nickname in particular, but you couldn’t deny that it combined with the taunting look in his eyes did provoke some part of you. “I have to get back to the dorms before the girls wake up, Jungkook.”

“I’ll drive you.” He offers with a smile as devilish as Lucifer himself. Jeon Jungkook was equal parts crafty as he was intelligent.

“As enticing as it is to do that and we both know how badly I do want you,” you preface as you toy with the golden chain that dangles around Jungkook’s neck. He had known you were far too fond of it. “That will draw attention.. they’ll recognize your car.” You frown in attempts to reasoning with him. He doesn’t back down though; he never does when it comes to you.

“We can figure things out,” He whispers as he begins to kiss along you neck slowly. The sensation of his lips are gentle in comparison to the way his hips rut against your own. “Just wanna be inside you.. it’s been so long.”

The youngest of your boyfriends always had a bit of an appetite. During award shows, he often was the first to come find you in some miraculous show of stealth. Even during concerts when BigHit would hold its annual New Years Eve Live, he would linger backstage to catch a glimpse of you. You have dated him long enough to know the subtlety was not his forte. Now was no different.

You tug lightly at the ends of his hair to make him look at you. It is instinctual; the moan falling from his lips as his grip on your hip tightens. It does not stop either as he expertly rolls his hips against your spread ones.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy around my thick cock,” He rasps into your ear as his right hand slights down your hip to your ass and cups it. His hands are a stark contrast to how his lips kiss your skin like a brush on the canvas. He wants all of you. He wants to feel a part of you in the deepest way. “Please? I need you so badly, baby.” He whispers as his member presses more in between your thighs, just over your clothed sex.

You let out a curse from his wandering hands. “You really know how to provoke me, huh?” You shake your head in amusement as you pin Jungkook down onto the couch. He follows easily - he’s always been a good boy whenever you’re around you.

“You shouldn’t hold back. You know I like it rough, YN-ah.” He presses his tongue against the side of his cheek. It’s always been a tell of his when he can barely hold it together - can barely hold back from wanting to feel all of you. “No teasing either.” He’s always been eager to test you, eager to see how much you would let him get away with.

You straddle his hips with practiced ease while untying his gray sweatpants, “You’ve always talked too much.” You halfheartedly remark as you tug down the taut fabric down his tanned thick thighs.

“You love it when I talk,” He quips back. He’s smug as his hand reaches out to stroke your cheek gingerly. He watches you with nothing but admiration and lust in his eyes. He’s always enjoyed how you take control, but that does not mean that he is not one to challenge you. What was the fun in fully submitting when you could make him? “But you like it so much more when my head is between your pretty thighs, don’t you? You like the way my tongue thrusts into your tight pussy until you’re on the brink of cumming?”

You give a noncommittal hum as every so often, his thumb presses down over the denim of your jeans to your clit to intensify the flex of his thigh. He’s always loved this view of you hovering over him, moaning from the slightest action he gives you and wanting more until it drives you over the edge. He knows you could quite possibly cum just from this alone, but Jeon Jungkook has always been a generous man.

With this in mind, he takes advantage of your hips lingering over his right thigh after shifting to toss his sweatpants to the side to press his flexed thigh against you and sends you flush against his chest with a smirk. He likes seeing the contorted look of frustration on your look from the sudden change of pace and he only raises a brow. “What’s wrong, baby? Did you think I would give in easily?”

“Oh, Jungkook,” You give a breathy sigh as your eyes meet his own full blown ones. He’s always had gorgeous chocolate brown eyes; the usual galaxy colored in them eclipsed by something far darker. Before you can reprimand him, he presses down harder onto your hips until you straddle his thigh and flexes his thigh once more. The sensation makes you sensitive, especially when he manages to brush your clit with the slightest action.

What a brat, he was.

You don’t hold back the moan that escapes from the back of your throat. He is more keen to feel all of you when your hands fall to his chest to try to regain your posture, but Jungkook finds it more endearing the way you still grind against his flexed thigh like a fucked out kitten.

He knows that he could cum simply from hearing your moans alone, but you’ve taught him well at holding out. He watches the way your hips press harder against his own thigh, wanting to feel all of him despite the two layers of clothing that separate him from you.

He takes initiative to unbutton the top of your jeans before rolling them down your thighs. He is speedy as his arm grips your waist to press you against his chest and they soon join the puddle of his own jeans on the floor. He has always been insatiable when it comes to you, often eager to drop to his knees and eat you out until the sunrise, and a burning sensation in your stomach tells you that this time won’t be any different.

“What was that about needing to get back to your dorms?” He asks with smirk on his face as he turns your chin to look at him. His words are accusatory, acting as though you were not riding his thigh to fruition. “I can think of a better way to do this, though.”

“So can I,” You reply after finally getting over the initial high of him teasing you.

“Mmm,” Jungkook whispers without another word. Normally shy around others, he never could quite control himself around you. He had no intention on doing so either, especially not when you were half clothed in front of him and he had gotten the taste of you he had wanted, but still, Jeon Jungkook remained insatiable. “I have a request.”

“A request?” You repeat back to him with a tilt of your head. You can tell that he is the temptation incarnate as his hands begin to cup your sex and slowly his middle and index finger begin to tease your wet folds through your panties.

Nodding, he indents his sense with a tug at your panties to send them down your thighs. “Mmm. A request-“ He says before once more rolling on top of you and pinning you down into the couch. He never did get tired of manhandling you-the way your body fell limp under his just with the swiftness of his moves was more than enough to have his cock grow harder to be inside of you, but he would wait. He would be good until you told him not to be.

“And that is…” You find it hard to keep up the conversation, especially when Jungkook drops to his elbows to carefully cup both of your hips and draw you nearer to him. Your pussy grows wetter just from the way his index finger continues to brush over your clit before swiping down your slit to get a bit of your essence and he licks his fingers.

He does not answer you, only opting to connect his lips against your aching cunt without warning. Soft like petals, his lips kiss your clit ever so slightly prior to him moving closer to you like a man starved to begin to send stripes of love against your cunt with his tongue. The first of them has you bucking your hips to entrance his face between your thighs, but the rest nearly have you twitching for more. Perhaps you were a bit more worked up then you anticipated.

Your hands immediately find chase in his hair, wanting to remember each thrust into your tight pussy from Jungkook’s thick tongue. He is careful to savor each drop of your essence that begins to paint his jaw with love. He honestly thinks he can grow drunk from the amazing taste that dribbles from you.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” He rasps against your cunt, only adding to the vibrations of your tight pussy. “I just wanna stay between your thighs forever.” His licks are ultimately calculated, but every now and then he grows lost in your essence as his nose begins to bump against your clit every so often. The added sensation has you nearly stuttering out his name. “Fuck, I really want to be inside this tight pussy. You like the way I eat your pussy, don’t you?”

You are keenly aware of Jungkook’s love of praise and you ultimately have no problem giving it to him as you choke out on your moans, “That feels so good, Kook-fuck- baby boy, knows how to eat pussy well, doesn’t he?“

“Fuck, I almost just from hearing that,” He rasps out, making you realize how he grinds against the cushion of the couch at the same cadence of you bucking your hips. He’s so fucked out at this point, barely able to hold it together when he can feel how tightly your walls clench around his wet tongue. It turns him on to no end and he can only think of how tightly you would fit around him. “You know,” He pulls back slowly, but his fingers still return to scissor inside your wet cunt as he leans forward on his knees to hover over you. “You know you could have all of us to yourselves, right? For a whole week… no distractions,” He curls his fingers inside of you, making you moan louder in pleasure from how good it feels. “It’s been a long time since you’ve felt Yoongi-hyung’s tongue inside of your pretty pussy, huh?”

The thought of Yoongi alone make you tighten your hips a bit more and you nod. Yet, you still question, where is he going with this?

“I’ve been thinking.. well,” He stops rubbing your clit for a moment to make sure you have his full attention before adding another finger. Before he can continue, he finds himself growing more lustful for the essence that pools at your hips and returns his mouth onto your wet cunt with a sigh of relief. He’s in euphoria with each moan that escapes your mouth. “You taste so fucking sweet “-and we want to go on a trip. The eight of us. You’ve got break and so do we coming up. I’m sure we could fit things together, right?”

Fitting things together - all you can think about is how perfect Jungkook would fit inside of you if he weren’t eating you out right now, but you are not one to complain. You are more than happy to spend time with the boys, “Of course… I would love tha-“ You suck in a deep breath to mask the moan when Jungkook finds your g-spot without much need to look. He memorized you like the back of his hand.

“Mmm, I can tell you’re close.” He smirks as he slaps your ass. The added pain as you wiggling your hips for more friction against his tongue, but he likes seeing you like this. Completely at his mercy and every whim to treat you as he pleases. You who seemingly always held things together, crumbling right in front of him as a slobbering mess as he eats you out. It was so hot.

“Shit-“ You rasp out as you feel the familiar twinge in your stomach. Your walls only tighten more around Jungkook’s fingers as he speeds up the pace to watch the way your face contours into pleasure. Your back arches when he curls his fingers inside of you for a third time and unknowingly to you, Jungkook finds his own release chasing after yours when his cock throbs more in pleasure. “I’m so close Jungkook-“

“Me too, baby, fuck,.” He whispers as he increases the thrust of his fingers inside of you to match the thrust of his own hips to bring you both to your eyes. His thighs flex as the familiar tension in his stomach bubbles up and he wants to cum all over you. God, he wants to lick every drop of your cum from your body as it mixes with his own.

Without another word, your high comes crashing down as your eyes shut closed and your hips buckle one last time around Jungkook’s fingers. You call out out his name before realizing it and tightly encapsulate his fingers between your thighs as you lazily ride out your high.

Jungkook does not fair any better as he uses his free hand to cup the base of his cock and pump the aching desire that begins to consume him. Seeing you cum is more than enough to have his stomach tense one last time before white ribbons paint your stomach, making him grunt in pleasure from how sexy you are and the intensity of the orgasm that he had just experienced.

He collapses on top of you, sighing into the crook of your neck as he nuzzles his face affectionately into your own. Despite the ache in your core somewhat subsiding, Jungkook still grinds his softening cock against your thigh for the last of his high, “Fuck.. that was so good.”

“You did well,” you reassure him as you pant up and down. You turn your face to press a kiss against his lips and smile. “I’m also excited for this trip you guys are planning.”

Jungkook blinks as he thinks about the trip and nods shyly. He leans more into your touch, wanting to feel all of you as he snakes his arms around his waist to hold you close. “I am too… I just really want to be with you, but the others also want it too…”

“I want to be with them too. I love you and them, you know?” You whisper quietly into his ear while gingerly stroking his cheek.

“I love you too,” Jungkook whispers against your skin while leaving butterfly kisses along your shoulder. “But.. can I ask you something else?”

You nod, “Mmm?”

“Please don’t spend so much time with Taehyung,” Jungkook whispers as he finds himself growing more demure. HE doesn’t want to see your reaction; the way your features furrow into confusion at the request in fear of you rejecting him. “I’m not saying to avoid him.. but .. but please try to be with me a lot, too.. I. I worry you’ll stop loving me… or won’t think of me.. and forget me.” He felt incredibly vulnerable in front of you, especially now when he has done his best to give it all to you, but it still makes him nervous.

“Jungkook,” Your features soften at his words and you gingerly stroke his cheek. “I think of you so much. You know that right? I love you a lot and will do better since it worries you. You mean just as much to me as everyone else does.” You smile warmly, “So don’t worry about it… okay?”

Your words provide him some solace, so Jungkook shyly agrees, “Okay..” He whispers, but his grip on your hand doesn’t let go. Nevermind that he was your boyfriend, along with his six haunts who you loved equally just as you loved him. He could sense the growing tension between the seven of them as they all tried to vy for your attention.

He knew of Jimin’s own interest of whisking you away from everyone with his pretty eye smile and wanting to teach you contemporary dances so you could see the way that Jimin would lead you away. Hell, even Jimin had suggested that he would be eager to take you away from everyone if he had the chance. Namjoon was no better, only thinking of the sparkle I your eyes as he suggested a new book to you, a new concept that ultimately left you in awe of him to where you would ideally follow him and never move away.

Seokjin had made it clear of his own intents to have you and you alone when he suggested taking you back home to meet his family and see the traditional way of doing things in Korea; the smile his parents would give from finding someone so prim and proper like you. Though appearing aloof, Yoongi had his own stake in luring you into his own embrace through words of eloquence, rhymes to make your heart dizzy, and a tongue to course you into things unimaginable. Hoseok’s own methodology of spoiling you to no end with attention and suggested dancing was the first part of many to guide you into his charms; the others focusing on learning every bit of you until the end for him to ruin.

Taehyung had been the most bold of it - eagerly molding himself to be whatever you wanted under the guise of practicing monologues and scenes from his favorite movies. Too keenly aware, Jungkook could recognize how very much their own behaviors were no different from his own as he laid in wake to catch you alone and make you his at every opportunity he could with a voice like a siren and bright galaxy eyes that made you want to give him anything he asked for. He had to be keenly aware of this when it would be so easy to let go with six others wanting your attention alone.

To make you let go. And he would be damned if would let you go, either. If he couldn’t have you, no one else would be able to either.

- - - -

Don't be a silent reader! how do you think the relationship is going to go now that you know a bit more about the relationship dynamic?

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amysubmits · 3 years

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In your post "Hard Softening", why had you been giving CD "looks" / not feeling submissive in the first place? Because he could not spank you for too long? I thought you don't get "routine" maintenance, but were you unable to feel his dominance (or is it pain?) due to the quiet thing? I guess the related question is what is wrong with not feeling submissive? Does it make you feel unsettled or just wrong? Maybe I am wrong and you do find you need regular maintenance, just not scheduled?

This is fun brain food. Apologies in advance for the book i’m about to type. :)

I don’t think needing maintenance is always about not feeling our D/s. It definitely can be. If I weren’t feeling our D/s that likely would make me require maintenance of some sort. But I also sometimes feel our D/s but still need a role-reminder. Which is what happened recently.

I guess when I really think about what needing maintenance means to me...it’s basically that my ability to feel submissive and to a lesser degree, to be submissive, requires certain things.

As a D/s community we tend to think of maintenance as always being spankings and I don’t see it that way. I think maintenance is done through our dynamic itself, for example. Part of why we have rules and protocol and such is to help maintain our dynamic. Ideally, our dynamic itself keeps me from getting ‘off track’ by regularly giving me what I need in order to feel and act submissive, and ideally it also gives CD what he needs in order to feel and act dominant. It’s also about us both feeling vulnerable enough to maintain our emotional intimacy at the level we crave. Our dynamic suffers if either of us get guarded. I don’t mean to suggest that without rules and such that I’d not be submissive. To some degree, I would be submissive regardless of whether we had rules and such or not. But the level of submission that we aim for is one where I can be obedient to most anything he asks of me, where I can serve him daily, where I can let him make decisions for me and for our relationship with relative ease, where I feel fulfilled and happy about it, too - and that level of submission requires more maintenance vs if we weren’t intentionally trying to have me be submissive. Like before we started DD, I was still submissive in that I would defer things to him when I felt like it, which was often on small things like what ot have for diner or what movie to watch. But I didn’t serve him or agree to obey him or let him boss me around or those sorts of things. So now that I have committed to letting him lead, I have to access being submissive more often and in different ways, and that requires more maintenance and we mostly try to maintain my submission by creating a dynamic that suits my needs. Additionally, there are things we just normally instinctively do that feed into our D/s that aren’t specific rules or agreements. He’ll just naturally do other things that make me feel submissive too, and those things help maintain us, too. I hope the same is true on his side, I hope some of the things I do beyond just following the rules help feed his dominance.

However, there is no perfect formula for what our dynamic can make it so that we never get ‘off track’ because even if our dynamic stays perfectly the same, the things we’re going through in life are constantly impacting our needs, or headspace, our stress level, our mental health, etc. We sort of use our rules and such to create a sense of structure that hopefully helps maintain most of the time, but then we still have to keep an eye on how we’re doing to do “extra” things as needed. I think more often than anything else, it’s mental health or stress things that make us guarded and that require us to do “extra” stuff to get back on track

And part of what I was referencing in that post was that even when something “extra” is needed, it doesn’t have to be spanking - spanking is sort of the hard way to soften me. It’s probably more common that he softens me with softness. Often when I get hardened it’s because I’m holding in emotional stuff that I should be sharing with him. So him getting me to open up and share my anxieties or whatever else with him is basically a form of maintenance for us. Sometimes i’ll be guarded and then he gets me to open up and I cry and then a weight is off my shoulders and I feel extremely close to him and that resets my ability to feel and act more submissive again. Or in the past when he was working too much, sometimes just taking a few hours to just spend time together was maintenance because what I needed most was just his undivided attention. And these things aren’t one-sided, because what they all really get to is a sense of intimacy. So if he gets a bit guarded due to his own stress, that can make us feel ‘off’ until he opens up to me, too.

To go back to your specific questions...

Why wasn’t I feel submissive in the first place? Basically stress or mental health stuff. We had something happen a week or so prior that sort of threw me off. Mabe others are different, but I think getting off track with feeling submissive is just normal. We try to minimize how often it happens, but I think setting a goal of it never happening would be unrealistic.

The stressful thing wasn’t anything between CD or I, it was just a curveball that life threw at us. We had already talked about it, which usually would soften me - and talking definitely did make me feel better. And the problem was resolved, and was resolved in a way I was really happy with, even, but for some reason I just stayed ‘off’. I guess it was probably more than just that 1 thing, as my overall stress and mental health are sort of compounded issues over the last few years, things have been consistently difficult. We had a lot of tough stuff going on even before the pandemic. So when something challenging happens, it’s never really just that 1 thing. It’s always that one new thing stacked on top of other things. I imagine most people feel that way these days, haha.

Anyway. I basically was in a funk and wanted to be lazy and just do what I felt like doing and nothing else and he knew that wasn’t a good idea. In some cases, if I’m feeling ‘off’, him maintaining his expectations of me helps, but for some reason it didn’t help this time. The looks I gave him were mostly in response to him asking me to do things. I’d do what he asked but I was feeling prickly about it. So I guess maybe that’s why a spanking was “needed”. Ordinarily, if I’m guarded, him getting me to open up and/or giving me his dominance through leadership or whatever, would help me to feel submisise and help me feel better and get me back on track. Where this time I was just in a certain type of funk where those things weren’t helping. I was too hardened to be softened with his attention, presence, guidance. We had to sort of break through the wall the hard way.

What is wrong with not feeling submissive? Does it feel unsettling or just wrong?

I don’t think you meant it this way, but just for clarity, if I say that it feels bad or wrong to not feel submissive, I don’t mean bad/wrong in a “naughty” or “bad behavior” type of a way. We don’t see it as me being bad when I don’t feel submissive.

Not feeling submissive doesn’t usually feel unsettling, it’s just not ideal.

For me, feeling submissive is a very good feeling. It’s warm, it’s cozy, it’s feeling useful and needed and valued and cherished, among other good things, all wrapped into one. So I want to feel it as regularly as I can But also, it assists with CD feeling dominant, and with our dynamic flowing well. When I don’t feel submissive, I can still act submissive, but it’s not as free-flowing. There’s a tiny it of tension or friction in the submission - and my submission doesn’t feel as good to CD if i’m more just going through the motions and not feeling it. And if my submission doesn’t feel as good to him, then that impacts our dynamic and it just becomes a chain reaction type of a thing. And when the opposite is true, when I feel really good about my submission, that feeds his dominance, which then come back around to feeding our dynamic and feeding me, and it’s this positive chain reaction. So basically, we try to maintain me feeling submissive and CD feeling dominant because they feel good to us so we just like it, but also because if either of us gets ‘off’ then it ends up having an impact on our dynamic and on each other.

#asks #d/s #domestic discipline

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

Jigsaw // Red: Part Two

Nothin’ Good Comin’

A/N: I re-watched all of season 2 before finishing this. So now my pain is your pain, sorry. Time for Billy to get some revenge.

Warning: murder, death, violence, mentions of sexual assault

Word Count: 3,259

Prompt: (i have a feeling this is the furthest thing from what you were hoping for, anon. But...I just can’t see Billy fluff like that so I hope you don’t hate me! Thank you for sending a request!)

The light came in through the curtains, the silver-gold brilliance of the sun’s first rays marking the early start of a new day. Normally, Billy would have been awake for an hour or two already, moving about in the semi-darkness, performing his morning routine; workout, coffee, shower, news. He liked starting his day before the world did, feeling like it gave him an edge, a sharpness that he could use to his advantage, and he took advantages whenever he could grab them. But it wasn’t a normal morning. It hadn’t been a normal night, either, the two of you lingering in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness, neither of you willing to close your eyes for too many minutes. Instead, the hours were spent committing everything to memory- the way he felt your moans through your kiss, your chest pressed to his. The soft flutter of your eyelids and the way it felt to sink into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, twined with his or thrown over his shoulder. The way his name sounded and what it did to his heartbeat and his breathing when you sighed it into his ear. He wanted to etch you into his bones and tattoo you into his memory. Every freckle, every eyelash, the distinct weight of your body draped over his, the gentle warmth of your breath on his skin, all of it, all of you.

You brushed your fingertips over his eyebrow, tracing the curve of his orbital bone until your light touch found the birthmark between his cheek and lashes. The fingers of your other hand were threading through his hair, long dark strands spread out over the pillowcase. He didn’t dare open his eyes, the lids shutting even more tightly as you lowered yourself over his chest, lips finding his and fitting together seamlessly. Each kiss that you left him with erased every pair of lips that weren’t yours from his memory, his palms forgetting the feel of anyone’s skin but yours with each press and pass over your back. Billy savored every second of closeness, every last shadow as the night melted into morning and painted the patterns of the window frame on the sheets, holding you like it was the last chance he’d ever have, like he couldn’t get you close enough.

In a way, he couldn’t. Somehow, against any natural instinct or ingrained behavior and contrary to what he thought was better judgement, somehow in the time between getting back to you after his last deployment and the dwindling hours left before he’d be torn away again, Billy Russo had fallen in love with you. And that love presented itself in the form of a dull emptiness that was only quelled when he was with you. It was an ache that he always seemed to have, but he’d shoved bullshit and bravado into it for years, packing it down and trying to fill the deep gouges that his life had scraped into him through neglect and abuse. It stung, like rock salt being pressed into a bleeding wound, but he grew up learning how to grit his teeth and bear it, letting it make him hard, calcified and sharp. With you he’d felt something he never had before; comfort and happiness and ease with himself as he was in the moment. With you, that ache was filled and soothed, the calluses shaved away from the jagged edges around his heart, leaving it less protected and more open than ever before.

“Good morning, Billy,” you mumbled sleepily against his lips, slowly breaking the kiss to melt against his side with a sigh. You trailed your fingertips up and down his chest as you tucked your face into his shoulder.

Billy stayed silent, concentrating on the sound of your breathing, the warmth of your body, the smell of your shampoo. It’s the last good morning for a while, gotta make it count. He tightened his hold on you, flexing his arms and pulling himself closer.

You wrinkled your forehead when he still hadn’t said anything a full thirty seconds later, lifting your head to look at him through the curtain of your hair. Swiping it aside, you propped yourself on your elbow, his hand resting on your hip, thumb slowly circling around the bone. “Hey,” you reached for his face to make him look into your eyes instead of where he was touching you. “Look sharp, lieutenant, what’s wrong?”

Billy stopped the motion of his thumb to bring his hand up behind your neck, fingers combing through the hair at the nape. She knows what’s wrong. The ache throbbed but was immediately healed as you dropped your lips to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his eye. “Nothin’,” he fibbed, returning your kisses with one of his own, lips brushing the tip of your nose. “Just tired.” He grinned. “You kept me up all night, I’m gonna have to sleep on the plane.” He knew he wouldn’t.

The smile that you answered with lit the room more than the early morning light that was spilling in. “Had to remind you what you’re coming home to, Billy.”

His chest tightened. Home. The word, to him, had always just meant The States. His apartment was just where he stayed. The few foster families he’d been placed with and the group home he’d spent most of his childhood in didn’t count. They were obligatory, state mandated and regulated constructs designed to make unwanted kids forget that the world didn’t give a shit about them. But home was something he could finally have, because he had you. He tugged you down on top of him. “Like I could ever forget.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

He bolted upright, your name on his lips, breaths coming quick and shallow, and sweat beading on his brow despite the chill in the drafty old warehouse. She… Eyes darting over the dilapidated couch cushion, he searched for any sign of the phantom warmth he still felt leftover from your touch in his dream. A sound somewhere between a sob and a grunt, between anger and despair forced its way from his mouth and he gripped his head with both hands. She’s gone. It was a dream, she’s gone. Another harsh sound escaped him as he stood from the couch to pace the cracked concrete floor. The sky outside was still inky black, illuminated by neons and streetlights. He figured that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but waking up in the Hellscape that his reality had become after the juxtaposition of your body over his and your breath on his skin that his tired, fractured mind had conjured would make it impossible for him to get anymore rest, impossible to do anything but move. Before he knew it, he’d tucked your photo into the pocket of his now sweat and muck ridden sweatshirt, pulled his hood up over his head, and barreled down the steps and out into the night.

He didn’t know where he was going until he was sitting on the dented aluminum bleachers, the cold seeping through the thin scrub pants he wore. The distant hum of engines rumbling over the crumbling streets of the boroughs and the muffled shouts from the housing projects behind the ball fields finally drowned out the teasing whispers leftover from his dream. His left knee bounced erratically as he let go of the illusion and focused on the moment. Staring at the dusty home plate on the other side of the chain link fence, the gears started turning, slowly at first before gaining traction, and a plan started falling into place. I know how to flush ‘em out…Frank…Madani… I know how to get their attention…then I can make ‘em pay. He pulled his sweatshirt more tightly around himself, leaning back on the seat behind him and stretched out his long legs on the one below. He found the photo in his pocket, fingers gliding over the glossy paper, and he nodded off, sirens wailing three bridges away as a lullaby.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The sunlight bore into his closed eyelids, slicing them open as birdsong filled his ears and he woke with a start and a gasp. Wide eyes taking stock of his surroundings, he recalled the events of the previous evening, recalled the plan that he’d formed. With a sniff through flared nostrils, Billy cracked his neck and rotated his left shoulder until it popped, releasing the tension that always built up as he slept before standing from the bleachers, hands shoved in his pockets and filthy socked feet carrying him out of the park and around the corner. It was early enough on a Saturday that not many people were out in this part of town, unless they were still straggling back home from the night before, drunk from bars or yawning from overnight shifts. He found the blue MTA sign for the bus that would take him where he needed to go, and stood there quietly waiting for it to come into view. A woman was sitting on the bench under the covered bus stop, but she had no reaction to Billy’s arrival. Typical New Yorker, blinders on and headphones in, doesn’t wanna know how scared she should be. The air brakes puffed as the bus turned the corner, and the woman stood right behind Billy, close enough that when she gripped the rail to board, her fingers brushed his.

He found a seat and took it silently, forgoing fare in favor of a glare that the bus driver didn’t have the energy to deal with, and stared straight ahead at the seat in front of him, the oblivious woman taking a seat a few rows behind him. Before the doors closed and the bus took off, a young man reeking of stale beer and the heavy smell of whiskey staggered by, shooting a look in Billy’s direction, and laughing as he fell into the seat right behind him. Billy narrowed his eyes as the guy leaned around his seat, nearly falling out of it as the bus began moving.

“Look at you,” he was right beside Billy’s ear, arms leaning on his knees and sunglasses perched on his head. He snickered drunkenly. “The hell happened to your face? The hell are your shoes?” Billy narrowed his eyes and cracked his knuckles. The jerk looked around, trying to get the attention of their fellow riders. “Look at this Edward Scissorhands lookin’ fuck. What’s the matter, Ed? Mommy put your face in a blender?” He laughed then, and shoved the back of Billy’s head, a low growl barely audible coming from somewhere in his throat. “You are one sorry sack, buddy. A real fuckin freak.”

The bus stopped then, and the man stood, laughing as he staggered back out. It wasn’t Billy’s stop. But it was close enough. With a devilish grin he stood and followed the guy down the aisle, the driver letting out a sigh of relief at Billy’s departure. Down one street and through the alley of another he followed his new friend- who happened to be of the same build and size- until they were alone, between two buildings, the man stopping and flicking open a decent sized pocket blade. In a whirlwind of motion that came more naturally than breathing, Billy blocked the attacker’s stab, peeling the knife from this hand by bending it back over his wrist and letting it clatter to the floor. In less than fifteen seconds he had his arm snaked around the asshole’s neck and a grip on his mandible. With one hard crack he snapped the man’s neck and dropped his limp body to the ground. Thanks for the new duds, asshole. Billy stripped off the last remaining vestiges of his hospital stay, clothing himself in the dead man’s jeans, shirt, boots and jacket, plucking the glasses from his head and bending to pick up the dropped blade. Pulling the photos from the pocket of the sweatshirt, he tucked them in the inner pocket of the black, faux fur-lined coat, making sure that he kept you with him as he continued on. He walked back out of the alley leaving his dirty clothes and the corpse of the idiot who pissed him off behind him. That was a good warm up. Back on track.

It was just a few more blocks and he didn’t mind the walk, preferring motion to stillness and questioning how he ever stood being holed up in some sniper post for days at a time. Before he knew it, Billy was walking up the front steps of a rundown old house that felt disgustingly familiar. He made quick work of the lock, letting himself in as he used to, and took a seat at the kitchen table, waiting for Arthur to waddle out from his bedroom. A half empty bottle of shitty amber liquor stood on the table next to an ashtray and yesterday’s paper, a stickball bat propped against the wall in the corner. Fucker still has that? Unbelievable. His lip curled and he shook his head aggressively, recalling the three times he’d spoken about Arthur in his adult life: once with Frank while they watched Jr.’s little league game, once with Madani while he was using her for intel, and once with you, the only person who’d truly understood.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

“I didn’t… I didn’t talk about it for a long time. Didn’t know how to- didn’t know who to talk to, ya know? Didn’t know who to trust. Didn’t know- Hell, maybe there was somethin’ wrong with me, right? Maybe I did somethin’ wrong and that’s why-“ He sniffed, nose wrinkling as he shook his head. “Took me a while but I figured it out. Grown man calls you pretty…you know nothin’ good is comin’.”

“That’s fucked, Billy, I’m… “ your hand found its way into his, and he flipped his palm over so that you could twine your fingers together. “It makes me sick that you had to deal with that I… “ you shook your head but your eyes stayed focused on his. “I know what that’s like, not knowing who to trust… thinking you were wrong… this was someone who was supposed to…who you were supposed to look up to and…” you exhaled, anger and heartbreak written on your face.

“Hey,” he shrugged and pulled you closer to him, running his other hand up and down your bare spine as you lay tangled in bed. “It’s okay. Bastard got his, and I’m alright.” Got you now, the rest I can deal with.

“Yeah,” you kissed his cheek just above the hairline of his beard. “Yeah y’are Billy.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The exchange was quick- a few questions about his face, a few denials of any past wrongdoing, Arthur’s fat, wet frog lips glistening as he took a sip of his boozy coffee. The insistence that he’d been unfairly punished finally shattered what was left of Billy’s calm. Unfair. This asshole doesn’t know unfair. This asshole doesn’t know punishment.

“I was happy to love you kids,” he snarled at Billy. “And some’a you” he said it with disdain for the fact that Billy wasn’t one of the some, “were happy to love me back.”

It happened in a flurry of chairs scraping over the linoleum, mugs shattering on the floor and muffled, fearful sounds from the old man. Billy grabbed for the stick, snapping it over his knee easily to leave two jagged, splintered ends. He plunged one straight through the layers of fat over Arthur’s heart to pierce the muscle and cease its beating, ridding the world of one more piece of shit and leaving a nice big crimson puddle of blood, knowing that Madani and Frank would read his message loud and clear. The satisfaction of bleeding the lousy life out of his childhood abuser mixed with the vengeful rage resulting in a dizzying high that made him feel strong for the first time since leaving Krista in a heap on the floor of his hospital room. He helped himself to a leftover sub sandwich in Arthur’s fridge, found a small wad of cash crumpled on a side table, and left the scene, closing his jacket to cover up his shirt, drenched in blood.

Kicking the other half of the broken stickball bat towards the lumpy form of Arthur’s body, Billy exited the house through the backdoor in search of somewhere he could stake the place out. The house next to Arthur’s had been condemned, deemed unlivable, the tool shed in its yard looking more structurally sound than the house itself. Perfect. He hopped the short fence easily, throwing a look over his shoulder to ensure than no nosy neighbors were peeking through their curtains. Satisfied that he hadn’t been spotted, he slipped into the shed and waited, knowing that as soon as Madani got wind of this she’d be there with all her justice and her jealous hatred, knew she’d find her way onto the crime scene even though she didn’t belong there, knew she couldn’t let go of her desire to see him behind bars. Not gonna happen, Dinah.

Only a few hours passed by, Billy silently staring through the window of the shed, belly full and adrenaline levels back to normal, fingers grazing over that glossy photo in his pocket as he waited. When he saw her go into the house, he grinned. So predictable. He’d purposely left Arthur’s kitchen curtain open so he could see what was going on inside, his eagle eyes not needing the scope of a gun for accuracy. Billy had taken a lot of damage through the years, but his eyesight was still as keen as ever. He watched Madani pull her phone from her pocket and make a call that he knew wasn’t to her superior. Yeah, that’s right Madani, call your dog. Call Frank to clean this up for you. A few more minutes went by before he saw her leave, and he exited the tool shed to follow her. The first car he tried was locked, but a second, older model was left open, the owner probably hoping for someone to steal it for the insurance. Billy was happy to oblige, hotwiring it before Madani had even pulled out of Arthur’s driveway. Keeping his distance, he trailed her all the way back to her place, the edges of his brain tingling and stinging with memories of being there, of being with her and wishing it was you. I’m sorry, it should have been you. It always was, for me.

She parked her car and he watched her nervously check her surroundings, one hand near her waistband on the gun she never left home without. He gave her a few minutes before exiting the stolen car and finding the stairwell, climbing unseen to her floor. He opened his jacket, wanting her to see his shirt and how it had gone from crisp white to deep red, wanting her to know what she was in for as soon as she laid eyes on him. He knew she had locks on her door, and he knew she’d bolt them behind her. But he knew it didn’t matter- he knew he’d be able to break the door down, throwing all of his weight and the weight of his hatred, the weight of his anger, the weight of your loss straight through the bolts and locks. Nothing was going to stop him from getting through that door.

Nothin good is comin for you, Dinah. Nothin good at all.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

#jigsaw #jigsaw // red #red part two #nothing good comin #billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher au #frank castle #dinah madani

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years

Photo

Feast Your Eyes - Chapter 3

by: @lovely-tothe-bone

Written by: @ra3lynn3 @savvylark @lovely-tothe-bone

Prompt 91: Peeta as the tatted, ex-rocker owner of bakery chain (like in in DC-Balto area called dangerously delicious pies). Katniss is an attached (engaged or otherwise unavailable) food critic or reporter doing a piece on him but she and P can’t deny the attraction. Angst and such ensue. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: M; later change to E

Warnings: References to child abuse, sexual innuendos, eventual smut

A/N: Surprise! Happy Friday! Here is the rest of Everlark’s Meet Ugly to kick off the weekend. It’s a lot more fun, and will probably make a lot more sense, if you read Chapter 2 again ; ) If you haven’t read any of FYE yet there is a link on Ch 2 to Ch 1. I want to thank @savvylark who had a fairly heavy hand in writing the actual dessert tasting. She took my fragmented descriptions and dialogue and created flowing structure. It was amazing how with such broken, random sentences she somehow knew what my brain couldn’t translate to the page. Together we tweaked and tweaked it to perfection, even up to last night! Her and @ra3lynn3 are absolutely amazing, I feel very lucky to be creating this with them.

Regaining her senses, she shoved her trembling hand into his large warm rugged one.

“Katniss Everdeen. Thank you for finally showing up.” She was not going to let him off the hook, no matter how attractive he looked.

Peeta’s cheeks flushed, “My apologies, I was held up at a bakery sponsored event.”

Katniss was vaguely aware that his voice resembled the one from the phone calls but struggled to reconcile what she had just witnessed of him with the kind way in which he spoke.

“Do you normally make a habit of overbooking yourself?” Katniss remarked.

“Not if I know a woman so charming as yourself is involved.” Peeta laughed lightly and winked at the silver eyed beauty.

“Mr. Mellark let’s –”

“Peeta.”

“Fine, Peeta,” she enunciated through clenched teeth. “I generally record my interviews, so if you could just sign this release form, stating you’re ok with that, we can finally get started.” Katniss tossed the paper on the desk and plopped onto a chair, preparing the recording app.

“No problem. Fire away when you’re ready.” After signing Peeta leaned back and checked his phone as he rubbed a finger at his temple.

“How about you tell me what that entrance out there was all about?”

His eyebrows rose at the question, then he nodded in understanding. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he queried with a hint of a smile.

Katniss shook her head, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“I’m a musician, I played lead guitar in a band called Nightlock.” He paused waiting for any flicker of recognition. “We were regionally popular with a solid fan base all over Washington, which turned out to be incredibly beneficial when I moved forward with the bakery.” He explained.

“So that fanfare is part of your routine?” Katniss cocked a brow.

“Ah, no. I mean, that is a…ah…common reaction, yes.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. Gone was the charismatic rocker she had been confronted with, the change unsettled her.

“I usually avoid the front as much as possible. I mostly handle special orders and events, plus teach skills to my employees. When I’m here I am locked away in my own world; measuring, mixing, kneading, icing, piping, sculpting, molding, painting.” Peeta’s cerulean eyes burned brighter as he spoke.

Still, Katniss refused to dismiss his display earlier. “Then why did you come through the front today? Trying to show off?”

“No!” Peeta denied with his hands stretched out. He shook his head and looked down with a laugh, “I misplaced my store keys.” He admitted.

“So how does this bakery run if the owner isn’t on time and can’t keep track of his keys?” She challenged. Katniss was all too familiar with this type of behavior, this pattern of thoughtlessness especially set her off.

“If you must know, I was swarmed by a herd of tiny children.” Peeta deadpanned.

Katniss scowled, “What does that have to do with either of those things?”

“Have you ever wrestled your way out of a mob of sugar high six-year old’s? I’m lucky to have made it out alive. Apparently, the store keys weren’t so lucky, they were discovered at the scene of the attack.” He chuckled.

Messalla’s voice interrupted them, “Freshest possible, boss.” He slid two plates filled with warm samples of baked goods on to the desk. The bakery manager flashed Katniss a proud smile and walked back to the kitchen.

Katniss admired the various confections, longing to dive in after the forty minute delay.

“Look,” Peeta continued, “you just caught me on an off day. You wouldn’t be writing this piece unless Decadent had generated enough buzz to catch your interest, am I right?” She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the delicacies to give him a half hearted nod of agreement.

Peeta smirked, “So, I must be doing okay, especially if The Feast sees fit to do a special interest feature on my bakery and I, rather than the normal dessert spread?”

Katniss nodded again but refused to look him in the eye. She was letting her nerves over the assignment and her frustration with Thom wind her up, taking it out on Peeta. She drew in a slow deep breath, willing herself to give Peeta Mellark a chance, even if he was a smidge arrogant–.

Peeta nudged a plate closer to Katniss interrupting her thoughts, “You’re the food critic, now is your chance to find out that we aren’t famous for our motorcyclist ex rocker. I’ll let the desserts speak now.”

Katniss glanced up through her lashes and found him smiling patiently. She eyed the plate and decided to start with a bite of black forest cake. Before she could contain it, a low moan slipped out. Peeta snickered as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I guess that means you’re convinced I’m worth your time?” He leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face and laced his fingers together behind his head.

“Your wickedly delicious desserts are worth my time.” She corrected, swiping another bite of cake. “One delicious sample won’t earn your bakery a glowing review though, Pastry Man.”

Katniss froze, wondering where the words had come from and how it had sounded to Peeta but he was already moving on so she quickly dismissed the thought.

“Ok try this.” He handed her a portion of apple fritter, his fingertips grazed across her fingers as she scooped it up.

She pretended not to notice the tingling that unfurled where their hands brushed. She did notice Peeta’s concentrated gaze, Katniss foolishly suspected for a moment that he felt a thrill as well.

The journalist cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her resolve, “What else do you have for me to taste?”

At Katniss’s words Peeta gave her a look that revealed her double entendre. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to try to explain just what she meant but Peeta graciously began a rundown of all the treats, pointing out Decadent’s best sellers. “These cheese buns are always sold out before closing even though we make two batches per day.” The lightly seasoned buttered cheese bun seemed to dance over her tongue. Katniss’s delight was as evident as it was contagious.

Peeta bit his lip at her pleased expressions.

As colorful as they were fruity, the tarts did not disappoint, with just the right combination of sweet to tang. Katniss couldn’t believe how incredible each one was, like bursts of spring and summer. Since her hiring at The Feast Katniss had had more than her fair share of cupcake tastings but even these simple creations were impressive to her astute palette. The croissants were beyond ideal, the crispy flakes shattering to reveal tender insides. She nibbled muffin bits, surprised at the unique flavor nuances in even the typically mundane classics. On and on it went, every dessert morsel as scrumptious and unique as the previous.

This baker was especially innovative, possessing a keen and discerning palate for flavor harmonies. She reasoned that Peeta Mellark was in no need of attention and praise though, once the article was printed he would see the flattering words.

“Well now I know they don’t line up around the block just for a glimpse of that pretty face of yours.” She teased the baker, reluctant to admit her true thoughts.

“You think I have a pretty face?” Peeta bantered back, batting his eyelashes.

She scowled and rolled her eyes while Peeta laughed at her reaction.

“So what’s your favorite so far?” Peeta asked.

“The triple chocolate eclair, I could live off those.” She groaned. “And the cheese buns. It’s a crime for one person to be so talented.”

Peeta’s hand covered his mouth but Katniss did not miss the earnest smile barely covered by his fingers.

“I worked hard to learn my crafts, Katniss. None of this has come easy. I committed all my time to honing each skill I possess.”

Katniss considered him for a long moment then returned to her notebook to compose the last of her reviews.

“So why a bakery?” She asked around a mouthful of cinnamon roll, licking icing from her fingertips.

Peeta’s eyes flitted away just before a bright grin overtook his face, “Baking runs in my family, on my dad’s side. The Mellark’s have always owned a bakery.”

Peeta’s voice grew wistful as he handed her half a pizzelle, “I learned how to bake cookies before I learned how to read. A couple years ago the band was ready to retire. I was ready to get back to baking and everything just sorta lined up. I catered a few high-end events, the right people noticed and offered to help with the startup. Really, I couldn’t have done it without – “

A harsh buzz drowned out his words, his phone started to slide along the desk before he grabbed it.

Peeta’s eyes flashed alarm but he immediately schooled his features, then he was on his feet.

“I have to go. I need to leave right now.” Peeta scrambled around the office, shoved his arms in his jacket, yanked both gloves on, and snatched his keys.

“I am so sorry Miss Everdeen; please can we reschedule?” His gentle blue eyes pleaded.

Katniss nodded mutely, too stunned to respond.

“I’ll send you a message!” Peeta threw over his shoulder as he dashed out.

Peeta clenched his fists around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He felt his rage building inside at the unfairness of it all. Eli was a child Peeta mentored, only 14, too young to suffer at the hands of the people he should have been able to trust.

“Home is supposed to be a safe place!” Peeta yelled to the empty seats in his vehicle.

No child should fear their own home. Peeta shook his head in disgust, at the injustice many foster children have dealt with, abuse in a foster home. Peeta had kept his cool as he filled out the report at the police station but on the drive home, privately, he was honest with his internal turmoil.

Eli came for his shifts the previous week at the bakery with several tell tale signs of physical abuse. Bruises in strange places, excuses that just didn’t fit, “I fell,” he remarked. “You know brothers,” he dismissed and “I’m just clumsy.” All excuses Peeta had heard before.

Excuses and lies that easily fell from Peeta’s own teenage mouth.

The young boy Peeta had taken under his wing wouldn’t admit any misconduct. Peeta asked further questions, only to be shut down. From his own experiences, Peeta knew he had to try a different approach. Unless the boy was willing to admit the truth it, it would have only broken the boy’s trust if Peeta called social services himself. He had to build that trust and earn Eli’s respect.

Peeta pleaded with the boy to tell his mentor if he was ever in trouble, without hesitation, Peeta would be there for him. Today Peeta had an especially terrible feeling in his gut. When Eli didn’t show up for his shift, he knew to keep his eye out for his phone. He didn’t want to cut the meeting short with the intriguing sweet and sour journalist, but when he received the ‘X’ sent from Eli’s phone, he knew what was more important.

With each of the teens Peeta mentored he had worked with them to set a plan in place. If they were to find themselves in trouble, they would send Peeta a text, a predetermined code. Peeta would pick them up when they needed help, ask questions later. Some of the kids chose to simply text an ‘X’ like Eli did.

As he drove, Peeta replayed the incident in his mind. The battered young boy, trying to hide his injuries, the pleading for mercy from his own foster parent, before Eli’s eyes met Peeta’s. The look of relief that Peeta saw wash over Eli brought a cold chill down Peeta’s spine.

It was all too familiar.

Peeta’s hands started to shake so intensely, he had to pull his car over.

#Springtime Edition 2018 #lovely tothe bone #savvylark #ra3lynn3 #prompt 91 #submission

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donnerpartyofone · 6 years

Text

ramblings

honestly i hate it when people use this word in their content or URLs. i hate it as much and in the same way that i hate the overuse of the word “random”. both represent tactics designed to absolve the user of any obligation to communicate clearly, stand by their opinions, or otherwise allow that the things they choose to do and say and support are symptomatic of who they really are as an individual--as if the things that you engage with are just “something that happened”, like the weather, and there’s some separate secret “you” that has nothing to do with the waves of activity that appear to emanate from your person. not that everything has to be a manifesto, but constantly qualifying your every action or feeling as chaotic and indeterminate is insecure at best and fraudulent at worst. at any degree of severity, it is at the very least just fucking annoying.

but, i’m thinking about quitting tumblr again, and this line of thought could probably be safely categorized as a ramble. i mean i’ve been thinking about it for years, as much as anybody of my vintage does, although my ordinary complaints have just had to do with obnoxious technical and community issues. this net neutrality disaster is really pushing my buttons. can i really afford, mentally, to keep using a yahoo product? but the thing is, as soon as i think this, i’m assailed by internal synthetic echoes of the kinds of radical voices i’ve absorbed from tumblr itself. this is one of my worst personal problems, that i internalize other people’s voices with extreme success. so, as soon as i think about boycotting yahoo by leaving tumblr, i involuntarily imagine someone telling me that i’m an elitist pig for theatrically divorcing myself from a major corporation when many people, who are perhaps the most victimized by corporate behavior, can’t even choose to remove toxic corporate material from their lives, and that my empty gesture is even less than symbolic when i don’t know who picked the orange sitting on my desk and i’m typing this out using a slave-manufactured Apple product furnished by my employer who rather famously tortures its blue collar employees. this morning i was feeling good about using up leftovers for my lunch instead of letting them turn into climate-destroying food waste, until i thought about where the stray mayo packet i just used was going to wind up, and moreover where the plastic bag i used to tie up that trash was going to wind up, and what an asshole i was for thinking about how i can recycle the tin foil i wrapped my sandwich in when in fact recycling plants have been linked to cancer in their employees. i may have congratulated myself this morning for repairing my thrifted shoes with glue instead of throwing them out and replacing them, but the fact that they’re under my feet right now and for as long as i can keep them doesn’t affect the fact that some animal is going to be choking on them when i can no longer make use of them. so, the same internalized radical voice that calls me a huge piece of shit for participating in this or that march or protest, even though i do vote and i do put money toward needs and causes when i can, that voice is definitely here to tell me that dramatically leaving tumblr after seven years makes me at least as much of an asshole as does continuing to use it.

if you exist anywhere left of center lately, your available political energy is pretty routinely sapped by infighting that seems to insist that if your intentions as well as your strategies are not absolutely virginally pure, then you need to just shut the fuck up and pull on your hair shirt and bury yourself alive until a real rain comes to wash all the scum off the streets. it’s like, no progress shall be made until a progress arrives that simultaneously and equally improves all areas of life, leaving no remote potential for debate in its glistening wake. nothing you do matters because everything you do is evil and there is no shortage of people who can prove it to you. the cultural climate i live in has made me really adept at proving it to myself. like the second you think even of certain A list celebrities who use the rewards of their meteoric careers in order to give back to their communities, you can say, well, what’s the carbon footprint of one of their concerts? what’s the point of doing anything at all? it feels like there are really just two ways you can live your life: you can aim for self-actualization, which may do wonders for your personal identity but which seems to require constant material sacrifice on the part of everything around you, OR you can relegate yourself to some sort of extreme jainist existence in which you deprive yourself of every personal indulgence to the point that your individuality is so degraded that the question of the meaning of your life looms larger than ever in relief.

there’s also the question, as evidenced by all this leftist infighting, of who is even smart enough to think of as much as one thing to do that’s actually a good thing to do. even if i were to let go of my entire life as it is to commit myself puritanically to some cause, it seems like a sure thing that i’d pick the wrong cause, with a world of negative side effects for other causes. and on the general matter of choosing sides, i don’t even think i know what, like, anything is anymore. i saw this post float by the other day that said something about how sick the OP was of the fierce leftist protection of sexual predators, as if defending rapists were a popular tenant in left-of-center parties, and the post had tens of thousands of notes and i just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was even referring to from real life. i understand that there’s a lot of talk about how, speaking in very limited terms, “democrats are as bad as republicans”, and i understand what that’s about structurally speaking, but as far as “left” and “right” goes it seems like the language has completely broken down to the point that it doesn’t even refer to anything anymore other than some almost facelessly broad ideas about whether you think the government should help you or leave you alone about X. maybe what i’m really trying to say here is just that i have no idea what the fuck anyone is talking about to the point that just being alive is like being permanently trapped in some foreign country without a single cent of local currency.

so anyway, once i’ve achieved a subterranean level of depression over the fucked up shit that happens as a direct result of every minute that i even exist on the planet earth, i ALSO start to collapse under the slings and arrows of another internalized voice, that of a shitheaded rightwing alpha dog who sees guilt as a symptom of extreme weakness, of useless fragility. and to some degree that’s true, if my main state of being is this dissolving soreness, then how could i possibly be effective even at something that appears to be “the right thing to do”? and moreover it’s like if every single thing i could conceivably do with my life is categorizable as “evil”, then “evil” ceases to be a worthwhile judgment to make and abide by. everything is nothing and nothing is everything so you might as well just do whatever you want, right? but of course that’s not acceptable because in doing whatever i want, with no regard for the worldly consequences, i still feel terrible. so to try to treat that condition, i for-just-one-instance choose to go to the tiny neighborhood grocer next door to the constantly-expanding chain store right next to him, and i remember to bring cloth reusable grocery bags, which of course i know will just be choking out flora and fauna after i’m dead or stopped using them, and then the radical leftist voice in my head berates me for just “doing good” as a hollow gesture designed to make myself feel and look better, and we’re back to everything is nothing and nothing is everything all over again.

and why even worry about this, or literally anything, when at any moment we’re all going to be bombed off the face of the planet because we’ve elected, seemingly for entertainment’s sake, this scandalous id monster who isn’t even a real politician? i’m running out of these daily pills that i need for some real dumbass reasons, and i need to make an appointment for my annual medical humiliation in order to get more of them, but it’s so hard to care. over the last several years i built up a certain amount of personal pride by “being brave” and submitting myself to normal adult maintenance routines, but the more of them i’ve been through, the more they just feel like some sort of kafkaesque ritual whose only result is its own existence. and if i’m just going to boil to death in the rising oceans anyway, why bother?

the most rational idea that my tiny shitty brain is able to come up with is that the best most of us can do is to just do what feels “right”, as often as is practically feasible. so i think, well, leaving tumblr would be a thing, even if it doesn’t make a real difference in real life, it would be something i did based on a feeling of at-least-vague altruism. but then i think of all my friends here, people who are remote and in bad spots in their lives who i can at monitor in some well-meaning way, and i think about my family members here and their excellent art projects that are facilitated by this place, and like doesn’t my thought process indicate that i think all of THOSE people are evil parasites too? i mean what is the ultimate extension of the logic i’m trying to employ here? when i think about that i feel like a bigger sack of shit than ever before. then i kind of start thinking about all the people in the history of my life who have openly categorized my depression, whatever its sources and symptoms at the time, as just me being a pill, being difficult, being negative, being counterproductive, looking for attention: the explicit or tacit response being, “why don’t you just _______?” but i don’t know what this ________ is that’s supposed to replace all my feelings and behavior. i guess that’s kind of the point of this whole thing, that i have no idea what the alternative is supposed to be, to all this, and how i can “just” do that instead.

so, maybe just because it’s something to do, i’m thinking of moving over to blogspot or something that makes me feel even slightly less complicit in the actions of these cartoon villains that run everything. i understand that if i do that, then i’ll be lucky to maintain relationships with even like ten of the people whose presence here i know and love. i assume i would just continue on as normal, although without the benefit of this often-amazing kaleidoscopic font of images and ideas, and the ability to glibly inject some “hilarious” thought of mine into other people’s uptake streams, and the surprise discovery of new and exciting people via the entropy that rules my dash. or maybe i won’t risk all that, and i’ll just sit tight right here, because what really would be the actual result of my bailing? maybe i’ll just delete this later today, when i’m feeling sufficiently embarrassed and overexposed about it. i guess i’m going to go spend money i don’t deserve to make on some stuff that i don’t need to have, in a place that damages the world when i have to live in both obvious and invisible ways, while i think it over, for the rest of my natural life.

#deletable

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hitodama3 · 7 years

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Nightmare Daddies, Part 1

#dream daddy #robert small #robert is the douver ghost #hugo vega #hugo is a berserker #damien bloodmarch #damien is a vampire #mat stella #mat is a siren #part one imagine dream daddy

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kkkaitlyng · 7 years

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To Be Alone

To be alone could potentially get dangerous. [I mean it did get to the point that I almost committed suicide, but we won’t go there in this story] I made my way through the bumps in the road I took which eventually led to meeting myself for the first time by myself. Through this experience I finally learned to love myself.

I lived alone for the first time when I went to live at my dads house in the middle of nowhere MS. [Wiggins, MS to be exact] My cousin Dub lived a cornfield away until he passed away and all the other “neighbors” were miles away. Nearest Walmart was about 20 minutes away and that’s booking it on back country roads at 60 mph. See Wiggins was about an hour from the coast where I worked and all my friends lived, but when my dad had to go out to Texas for a job and asked me to watch his house [which meant free rent and my own place to stay] I said yes. I loved being up there. We have 8 acres of land and it’s such a peaceful place to be in; or so I thought until I spent a night by myself.

The first night I ever spent alone was up there one night. My friend Sammy was supposed to live with me but that fell through the third night we were up there. She couldn’t make it up and never came back. I freaked out. I have Borderline Personality Disorder and abandonment is my biggest fear in life. It has the power to crush me completely until I can no longer breathe through the waves of panic attacks. It did that. I had it together until I drove down the dark lane and had to get out and unlock the gate. For some reason doing this simple task at night has always scared me. Theres about a 200 foot gravel road leading from the main road to the gate that you have to get out of your car for to unlock the pad lock on it and unwrap the chain so the gate can swing open and you can pull your car through to the field. I’ve watched many horror movies and I do get scared easily.

Oh, that’s not the only thing though. It was also going to be my first night staying alone, ever. I had never stayed in any house, hotel room, anything by myself before now. There had always been at least one other person in every house I had ever been at in my life. I called my mom crying. I didn’t want to get out of my car to do this one task. See on the sides of the lane is just woods, then the clearing on our property that we have to mobile homes on, two fire pits, and two sheds. All I could think about was some fucking monster barreling out of somewhere in the darkness and that was it. No more Kaitlyn ever again. My mom said she wouldn’t be able to do it. She had never been alone before and she was just as scared as I was. [This woman grew up on this property] No fucking hope there. I eventually blared the music in my car and ran to the gate. It probably took me two minutes to undo this lock because of how bad I was shaking. Eventually I made it through the gate and had to repeat the process to get back out and lock it back.

I sped across the clearing and around behind my dads trailer. Now all I had to do was get inside. I ran and cursed myself for not leaving the outside light on. Thankfully I had a dog and that helped my nerves the first night. I didn’t leave the couch. I didn’t look out of the windows and I never let it get silent. My heart rate never went down that night. I did get up one time and I hated myself for it. My dog could tell I was scared so her nerves were shot too. Well I went to the kitchen to pour myself some tea and across from the countertops was a full size window behind the kitchen table and when it’s dark it reflects what’s inside. Well Lunabelle sees my reflection and loses her shit. She’s barking and going crazy and I dropped to the floor. I stayed there until Lunabelle came over and calmed me down from the panic attack she gave me. [I realized after that it was my reflection but I didn’t leave the couch again after that]

I spent the first two weeks on the couch adjusting to life by myself. Oh there’s another way that my BPD plays into this story. It’s a not so great “trait” of the disorder which is described as “impulsivity, impaired social relationships, risk taking behaviors” and etc. there’s a lot more but I’ll be breaking down BPD in a mini blog series another time. The only three we need to focus on right now are those and how they played into my stay in Wiggins. When broken down further it’s stated that “unsafe sex” and “numerous sexual partners” is a big thing. That part of my disorder really came out during my stay in Wiggins.

I brought out my sexuality when I was in Wiggins like I was never able to before. I used Tinder and I used it well. I racked up a lot of guys while I lived there and each time I slept with someone new, something inside me died a little. Mostly because they left but I couldn’t blame them, I was going crazy at the time. I didn’t talk to anybody, I turned into a fucking hermit unless I wanted attention. I just sat in my head for hours on end thinking. I thought in silence for four hours one day before I decided to go to the coast. But also with each guy I had with me, the more I loved another side of me. Another sexual being in me that gets off on the attention a guy will give me. I used it for a while, the endorphins that come with the package. I don’t have great coping skills, what can I say?

Because being alone crippled me. When my depression got too bad to handle I wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t a person I wanted to be. I was mean. I lashed out unless I couldn’t get out of bed. My hair would go unbrushed, my body without a bath. I wouldn’t be able to move and there was no one around to help me. I guess I disappeared when I moved to Wiggins when it came to my non sexual social life. I’ll get trigger happy and overshare that I went through bouts of self mutilation at that point in my life when I couldn’t find endorphins anywhere else. It’s not something I like talking about yet but it happened. I’ve never felt my depression get me to that point before. But finally after the first 2 months passed,

Being alone freed me. When I stood outside in the field with the sun on my face and the wind blowing through my clothes and across the skin underneath. I found peace with myself. This happened towards the end of my time at Wiggins. I learned to keep my thoughts in check for the most part. I made a routine for myself to get me going to learn how to combat my anxiety and depression. I would spend my time thinking with the tv on to where I couldn’t go down any of the dark paths in my mind but rather put my thoughts to good use. I would spend time in the bubble bath and just be happy with life instead of wishing I had the courage to drown myself in it. Living alone finally conditioned me to the point that I can handle being alone more easily now. I can handle the anxiety that comes with that thought. I was able to finally tell a guy no, that I would rather be alone than to be used. It made me become independent emotionally which was something I never could do before. As mentioned before I didn’t use healthy coping habits when combating my depression and constant self doubt. But I finally found a peace in myself standing in that field that I knew I was special. I figured out my self worth that day. I finally realized that no man will ever be able to “fix” me because I needed to do myself. Only then did I learn to love myself.

Eventually the days became a blur and my time in Wiggins would soon come to an end as my dad returned from his job. I stayed in the house with him for a while until I moved out. I look back at my time there and I appreciate it for what it taught me. Though I may have learned the hard way, I’m glad I learned at all. Maybe this was the better option somehow. I would question it but the Cosmos do their thing and they seem to be doing a pretty good job so I don’t want to offend the universe.

P.S. Unlocking the gate didn’t really get much easier. I still hate that shit.

#enjoy #blogger #blog #my diary #repost #short story #bpd #bpd problems #to be alone #storytelling

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letting-it-go-blog · 7 years

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Our Way or the Highway! (What I Want My Family to Know About OCD)

My grandfather suffers from severe OCD and in turn, so do I. It can be a debilitating disorder that is highly likely to be hereditary, capable of being passed down through the generations. For OCD suffers, like my grandfather and I, it is not a choice and can be held largely responsible for what’s interpreted by most as negative personality traits and poor behavior. Our battered loved ones that endure our absurd daily routines know best that we can be just down right irrational and mean at times.

I had red flags of OCD as a child that were never really noticed until I became an adult and could reflect on my own behavior. My earliest memories of my disorder consist of harmless idiosyncrasies that eventually increased in frequency and intensity. One day on the way to my back bedroom I jumped up, (just for fun) to hand smack the hanging attic string. This meaningless action evolved over the years to a habitual necessity which made it impossible for me to enter my room without repeating this first. Once I became old enough for the use of an alarm clock, my obsession with numbers and time began to surface. For no rhyme or reason, I began setting all my alarms to odd numbers only. I became completely obsessed with time. I am still always aware of it, even in the middle of the night or in my sleep. I am overly punctual to say the very least. Don’t laugh, but dog hairs, sand, and dirt were serious stressors for me back then. Oddly enough, only if they were on my feet. I would dive into a filthy, furred animal without any hesitation. But, if my feet were wet from a shower or swimming pool, the slightest debris sticking to them would unravel me.

I have written in the past about my own personal struggles with OCD as an adult and how it effects my daily life style. As I am now acting as a much-needed advocate for my grandfather, I would like to touch on the normality of our worlds (to us) that are so often viewed as abnormalities in the real world. I will start by saying that I can see a little piece of every immediate family member in me. I have many of my parent’s and grandparent’s personality traits, morals, and attributes. Some good, some great, and some dreadful. But, I still believe that I am a good combination of them all. However, (and possibly unfortunately) mentally I am the perfect likeness to my grandfather that most of you would not believe. Ultimately, this is because most of you do not know who I really am when you’re not looking.

I do not speak for all OCD sufferers as symptoms and severity vary greatly. But for my grandfather and I, we have an urgent need to go. And I do not mean to the bathroom (although both of our ages are on a steep incline). I mean to get up and be on the go. Constantly! To get out and see the world and everyone in it. We cannot be left out or held idle. The thought of missing something in life causes true distress and anxiety. So, we rectify this by being meticulous planners (AKA Drill Sergeants). Our minds will not allow our bodies to sit still and our minds are never at rest. We give ourselves irrelevant tasks just to keep busy and keep boredom at bay. But, we will then stress over these tasks as if they were not utterly pointless and self-induced. When we are too fatigued to keep up with our own irrational work load, we delegate it. We don’t care who does it, only that it gets done, and then our minds can be at peace. We can be slave drivers to ourselves and to our dearest loved ones. Of course, everything must be done exactly the way that our obsessive-compulsive minds say and nobody ever does it better than we do. We are servants to our disorder and so are the few people that miraculously continue to put up with us. When we do not feel needed, involved, and are not kept in a constant state of motion, depression quickly sinks in.

Because number fixation is a common symptom of OCD, we watch the clocks, count our money, and constantly run numbers through our heads. We would be great in accounting and thrive off checking and rechecking the books. Documenting, labeling, and organizing is our forte. It’s no wonder that we can’t sleep! In my opinion, Insomnia is one of the worst symptoms that we suffer through. Lack of sleep has been proven to negatively affect your mental and physical well-being, along with compromising your immune system. It is hell on our bodies and minds. Not to mention how interruptive it is to other family member’s sleep patterns. But, not sleeping is not our choice. It is an unwelcomed hindrance that even the strongest of pharmaceuticals cannot always aid. Whether it stems from watching the clock all night or the anticipation of the next day’s events, often enough, we can’t sleep. And when we do, we are light sleepers that do not sleep for long. Even right now, I am pulling a “all-nighter” because I had something important to say which my mind just couldn’t let wait. You’ve got to at least give us some credit for our zest for life!

The smallest obsession can lead to a huge chain reaction, branching out to intertwine with our emotions and alter our demeanor. We are impulsively mean and we are sorry for it. We can experience an extreme sudden onset of agitation and impatience with those around us who are disturbing our schedule, routine, or orderly fashion. We are creatures of habit, also experiencing severe anguish when change rocks our world. Unfortunately, unless we are actively suppressing our OCD traits, any routine disruption often leads to some form of altercation. We snap. Usually it’s without thinking or giving any warning. And most times, we are just as shocked as you are by our outbursts. Treatment for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder involves a combination of pharmaceutical treatments and therapy. Self-realization is the first step in overcoming this disorder. Being able to recognize the symptoms, wanting to change for yourself, and change for the sake of your loved ones, is an essential step towards any type of recovery. Treating OCD is not as easy as popping a pill. Retraining how your brain thinks and getting out of your old, crippling habits is the main goal of therapy. It can be an exhausting uphill battle that restarts at the break of every day. It takes true commitment, strength, and recognition to continue the daily inner struggle with yourself and your OCD tendencies.

-To my family: My wish in writing this piece is not only to shed a little awareness on this serious topic, but to make it a bit more personal by exposing a side of myself that I am not very proud of. I hope that by making myself a bit vulnerable by sharing my own personal accounts we may all gain some empathy and understanding within the family for members who are suffering on both sides of the fence. You know all about the challenges and frustrations that go along with this disorder. But please also know that we are grateful for you, for your love, and your loyalty. Know that we are aware of the monsters we are so capable of being. Know that we do not like it either and that we are suffering too. Know that we are sick with a disorder and need patience and understanding more than most. Know that we couldn’t cope without you and that you are truly invaluable to us. You are greatly loved by us…

-To my husband and children: Thank you for always loving me unconditionally and always know that I am sorry. I am a work in progress. I will continue to fight and improve myself every day for my love of you…

-To my grandfather: I understand and I forgive you…

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