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lipglossanon · 23 days

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Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking.

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone.

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more.

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs.

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space).

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face.

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile.

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms.

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone.

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app.

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone.

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side.

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television.

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom.

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin.

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment.

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you.

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf.

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions.

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks.

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue.

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties.

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple.

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts.

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words.

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him.

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice.

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed.

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile.

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back.

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot.

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length.

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly.

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm.

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole.

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder.

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips.

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands.

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head.

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him.

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far.

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him.

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.

#pseudo incest #stepson!leon #stepmom!reader #fem!reader #stepson!leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy smut #resident evil fanfiction

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animentality · 4 months

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So one thing I wish we’d seen fleshed out a bit more is whether or not Gortash is actually decent in combat. The fight against him is pretty lame at least compared to other bosses and while we know he’s adept with his crossbow we don’t see it get significant use. We know that he hired Karlach as a bodyguard, implying that he may not be confident enough in his skills to keep himself safe from threats. I think she also described him as an indoorsy type at one point, or something to that effect. He relies heavily on the steel watch and guards for safety, which feels pretty par for the course for a wanna be dictator to be fair, but also suggests that he’d rather not end up in direct combat himself. Iirc he also doesn’t have a backup weapon apart from the arbalest but I may be blanking on that.

However, we also know that Durge considered the Hall of Wonders heist a means of testing his mettle in combat, and the fact that they went on to work closely with him suggests that he proved himself in one way or another. The fact that he got his start in Baldurs Gate in a gang before moving on to smuggling and arms dealing seems to suggest a likelihood of some type of fighting proficiency, even if just in knowing how to brawl. And while we don’t know much about the Mephistopheles heist, it’s hard to imagine Durge walking into the Hells next to someone who is useless if shit hits the proverbial fan.

All this to say it almost feels wishy washy as far as if we’re supposed to take away the idea that without outside help is Gortash basically all but defenseless, or he’s dangerous and would just rather not get blood on his hands. The Orin fight is a little disappointing too, but we know from the game just how dangerous she’s supposed to be, likewise with Ketheric. Part of me blames the fact that he doesn’t have an (official in the game) class for us to make better assumptions off of. In fact, all of this really makes me warm up to the idea that he should have been an artificer with a gun, because that seems like the perfect fit for his character.

ANON, Gortash makes no fucking sense stat wise.

He has BOOSTED stats even though he's like an Artificer and his best stat SHOULD BE intelligence.

He used a magical crossbow, EXCEPT HE HAS GAUNTLETS FOR PUNCHING WITH HIS BARE HANDS?

He technically belonged to a gang back when he was young, but you expect me to believe a dude who plays with ranged toys really wants to GRAPPLE with people?

EXCEPT THAT HE DOES?

Which is so weird.

Plus he seems to love traps and buffs and debuffs, and relying on the Steel Watch, but then it still doesn't make sense with the gauntlets????

So I don't know.

He SEEMS like a squishy little wizard nerd, but the game thinks he has amazing stats even though he looks like a pathetic wet kitten that spilled its milk bowl on itself.

Look at this fucker's stats???

Why does he have high strength and dex and intelligence and wisdom and charisma????

Excuse me?

This freak?????

NO.

His intelligence and charisma, fine, but his wisdom and dex should be 10.

Strength I'll give him only because I suspect he has to at least marginally lift shit to work on in his workshop, maybe.

But dex???? No.

This man does NOT get up out of his office chair. His spine is deforming.

Plus this bitch ain't wise! He's intelligent, but he's not WISE.

Just look what happened with the netherbrain. Didn't see that shit coming, now did he?

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash

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gangplanksorenji · 1 year

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Good _arts (When everything feels lost but I am—)

Pairing: LE SSERAFIM Chaewon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3353

A/N 1: Hellow Orenjideul! This will be my year-end fic and Happy new year to y'all! Thank you for following the journey I had been into and I hope you'll like this piece of mine! Stay safe y'all!

—---------------------------------------------------

“I just wanna love myself

난 좋을 때도 나쁠 때도

Love my weakness

화려했던 기대와는

달리왠지 볼품없다 해도

Find the good parts, the good parts—”

---

Breathe in; breathe out.

Just take a deep breath and you’ll be fine—just don’t overthink about it and you’ll be fine.

It doesn’t work—nothing seems to be working in the first place.

One more try. Calm yourself and relax your mind—feel the euphoric essence and not fall to the dark abyss lurking down.

“Hah…” you let out a deep sigh and smiled right after, knowing that you did what you could—your utmost performance. Gaslighting yourself that you did everything flawlessly isn’t gonna work and it never will.

“Ohh… I shouldn’t have gone over the limit, how stupid of me!” Another blame onto yourself for an unfortunate mishap leads you into losing your confidence. You frowned in frustration as the post-realization of your embarrassment is inevitable—you wanted to forget what happened but simply can’t.

Letting it slide off your mind wouldn’t help if you keep on thinking on how to forget it, and it shows. You puff your cheeks and let out a long breath, wanting yourself to ease the pain you’ve been feeling.

*phone vibrates*

You don’t want to answer it first as you—wait, what if it’s someone? Well, you don’t want to even put up a fight of your own demons on just a simple decision of answering a phone call, right? So, without a doubt, you picked it up without even looking at who it was and you were surprised by the voice on the phone.

“Hello Oppa!”

Your eyes widen; cheeks forming a shade of red as your lips involuntarily form a smile. You just can’t help but feel the ultimate delight whenever you hear her saccharine voice—even her scuffed voice on the phone can’t deny how sweet her voice is.

Chaewon. Kim Chae-won. The sweetest girl you’ve ever met; the cutest girl on the whole planet; the person that you can always lean on and trust—she just has everything a man wants and you’re lucky you’ve met her. Nothing in this world is perfect, but she’s the literal living embodiment of “perfection” and no one could change your mind with that—she’s your everything.

“Yah, Hello Chaewon-ah. Why did you call me?”

“Ahh, I called you to ask you how things went…”

“Huh, what do you mean by that?” you played dumb and oblivious on the phone, hoping that Chaewon would change the topic but her curiosity is inevitable—you don’t want to talk about the performance earlier as you wanted to forget what just happened.

“Hmp, don’t play dumb Oppa. I’m talking about your performance today! Did it went goo—”

“No.”

A cold, unnerving tone breaks Chaewon's sentence and the radiant energy that she emanates. Even though the both of you are just in a phone call, she can feel how spine-chilling your tone is. You don’t want to scare Chaewon in any way, it’s just the fact that you don’t want to talk about what happened earlier but she doesn’t seem moved by your sudden change of demeanor.

“Oh… I’m sorry for asking that, Oppa.”

“Uh-ahh, it’s a-alright, Chaewon. It’s just…”

“It’s just?”

You paused, pouting your lips, uneasy on what you’re going to say but you will, for you trust Chaewon with all your heart and you know how she’ll understand you.

“It's just—can I just come over at your place?”

“Ohh… Sure, Oppa. It's just that we're in a cafe with Kazuha and Yunjin, so maybe I'll come home later than expected.”

You frantically nod as you smile, knowing that you'll meet her again.

“Ohh, alright… Uhm, can I just come and fetch you on your way home? So you don't need to bother calling yourself a taxi. Just say where the cafe is and I'll go there—”

“Oh, it's alright Oppa. I'll just call a cab on my way home so you don't need to bother—”

“Please, Chaewon-ah?” your tone is reassuring and sincere, letting Chaewon know how much you trust her and how you wanted to mind fetching her in the first place.

Chaewon was having second thoughts at first as she thinks that you’ll be bothered enough but her heart says the opposite—she wants to meet you and is unhesitant of thinking about denying it.

“If you insist, Oppa… Sure thing.”

“Thank you, Chaewon-ah. Just call me if I’ll fetch you, I’m in my car right now, okay?”

“Okay Oppa, bye.”

“Bye Chaewon.”

You ended the call right after and let out a deep sigh. The sigh wasn’t anything near of stress but rather, a sigh of reassurance knowing that your day is getting a little brighter after talking to Chaewon on the phone.

Ah, she’s really a gift from above and you’ll forever cherish—

*phone rings*

Your eyelids slowly open; your eyes adjusting from the bright light your car screen (the touchscreen device or basically a screen that can be called as an ‘infotainment system’) is emanating. Suddenly, you come back to your senses and the phone rings echoes around the vehicle.

You slept without even knowing that you actually did. It’s must be the pent-up stress earlier but the phone is still ringing, maybe you should answer it—

“Hello? Chaewon?”

“Oppa! I already texted you on where the cafe is. Meet me there, right near the benches, okay?”

“Okay, Chaewon. I just slept all of a s-sudden. *yawns* I’m sorry.”

“Oppa, it’s alright. You’re not sorry; I understand how tough your day must be.”

“Thank you Chaewon-ah—” you smiled through the phone, enamored by how thoughtful and understanding she is—you’re always grateful for meeting a girl like her.

“—for understanding me. Uhm, I’ll come to the cafe as soon as possible, okay? Bye, see ya’.”

“Bye Oppa, see you too!”

You hung up the phone call as you rushed-not-so-rushed out of the parking position you’re in, ready to fetch Chaewon on the cafe she texted. You’re grateful that the cafe wasn’t really far from where you are right now—not even exceeding two kilometers according to the navigation system you’ve searched on.

“Bingo. It's not that far away, gladly.”

-----------------------------------

Slowly dancing your head alongside the beat of the song from the radio, you feel a hint of delight and satisfaction—it may not seem to do something but it’ll do. Not so long after numerous songs, you finally arrived at the cafe she texted and thanked yourself for not getting lost on your way here, even though you almost did.

*horns blaring*

As soon as she saw the familiar color and plate number of your car, she waved goodbye to her friends, Kazuha and Yunjin as they exchanged smiles between the delightful blabbering they had earlier. A black-haired girl with her faint white highlights waddled her way onto your car and as soon as you saw it, you hopped out of the car and opened the door for her.

“Aww, you’re so sweet, Oppa. Thank you…”

“It’s no big deal, Chaewon-ah.”

You also insisted on waving goodbye to her friends as they responded immediately. With your not-so-awkward meeting with Chaewon, you laughed it out as she smiled endearingly to you. You made eye contact with her as you awkwardly looked away right after, feeling something’s uncanny and off at this moment. Not so long after, the both of you hopped into the vehicle.

“Yah, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Uhm, I’m just worried about you earlier, what seems to be the bad thing that happened?”

Her eyes switched demeanor as it fixated towards you as her eyebrows scrunch in curiosity, expecting an answer uttering from your lips.

“O-o-ohh, t-that? Uhm, it’s just noth—”

“Stop with this Oppa, I’m here to help. So please—” her gaze locked onto yours again, her eyes reassuring and endearing for you to tell the truth. She further reassures you by caressing your right thigh as her thumb fidgets around the cloth.

“—tell me the truth.”

You're skeptical, your lips sighed in defeat as you looked right into her eyes, her captivating eyes—stare on those soulful, hazel-brown eyes—and finally, said what you've been keeping.

“I didn't deliver my best performance and I was ashamed of myself for being such the weakest link…”

Chaewon's eyes were in the mix of concern and distraught, unsure of what could happen next. She caressed your left cheek, cupping it gently right after as she reassured you.

“Oppa, you were never the weakest link. We may all have flaws but it doesn't mean it's always negative. We also have our own strengths too—”

“Yeah, but—I messed up pretty badly.”

“How bad?”

You clicked your tongue and faced away from her and to the window, being embarrassed as you gained enough strength again to open up to her.

“Really bad… I just—there’s just a lot to tell you.”

Chaewon's eyebrows furrowed in dismay, frowning right after as she felt sympathy for your maybe-your-worst mistakes.

“It's alright, Oppa. We'll continue this later, okay?'”

“Alright…”

Before stepping on the gas pedal, you thought of one thing and asked Chaewon something.

“Aren’t Kazuha and Yunjin going to come home? I mean, I can escort them on their way home—”

“Oh, them? They said that they’ll still stay and I decided to go and meet you earlier than expected because of you Oppa.”

You're in shock, eyes wide open from her statement. Did she really did that for you? Well, that’s really sweet. You had never thought that Chaewon would be this serious just to meet you—maybe your wretched state earlier is enough for her concerned heart to act up.

“Oh wow Chaewon… Thank you, I owe you so much—”

“Come on Oppa, it’s alright; the feeling is mutual too. I owe you a lot too…”

Her smile exudes sweetness and vibrance, making it brighter than any star on the cluster of systems known to mankind. That smile of hers. It is one of the reasons why I love her with all my heart.

After a small, affectionate talk with her, you then stepped on the gas pedal and drove your way onto Chaewon’s place.

*car vrooms*

-----------------------------------

“Yah, Oppa! That was so awkward!”

“I know right? Like we just stared at each other and thank God, he talked first.”

“Oh wow. *giggles* Oh, we're at our place now.”

Chaewon hurriedly readied herself as you parked the car and turned off the engine. You unlocked the doors and both of you got out of the car and initiated to carry Chaewon’s bag in order to ease the burden that she’s carrying even though she doesn’t have any—you’re repaying her kind heart with your gentlemanly actions.

Chaewon unlocks the door of her house and you were surprised with the new ambiance—organized shelves alongside the new T.V. setup and new pillowcases and carpets, and the strawberry scent by the diffuser serves as the cherry on top.

“Wow, a lot has changed here since my last visit.”

“Yeah, I tend to organize stuff in my free time and I thank Kkura-unnie for helping me out in organizing things.”

“Wow, that’s great to hear.”

Chaewon then rushed to the refrigerator to get some water and glasses on the shelves. You wander down around the living room and smile seeing the pictures of her friends, family, herself and the both of you lying around the cabinet.

“You want some water, Oppa?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good right now—”

“Food? We got some leftover ‘kimchi jjigae’ (kimchi stew) and some ‘jjajangmyeon’ (black bean noodles) here. Don’t you want some?”

“Nah, I’m good Chaewon. Thanks anyways.”

“Uhm, now talk to me, Oppa.”

Oh yeah. You suddenly forgot the reason why you’re at her place and you wouldn’t dare to lie in front of your teeth with such a plethora of excuses.

“Oh, that…” your face suddenly vexed, remembering the grasps of such an embarrassing act in front of the audience. You just thank god no one laughed hysterically on your mistakes or unless you could’ve lost your confidence there and there.

“I don’t know what to really feel. I feel like all my practice has gone into dust after that mistake. I just hate myself after that.” you sighed deeply, feeling the regret and dismay of what happened earlier.

“I don’t even know if the mentors and my professors were amused by my performance, I forgot a couple of my lines and I’m glad I made some impromptu to slide it off but it just doesn’t seem right.”

You brought your right hand onto your forehead, closing your eyes as disappointment dominated your emotions.

“It was your last, graded performance, right, Oppa?”

“Yeah, and I fucked up bad.”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that Oppa—” Chaewon then went and sat right beside you as she held your hand, making you reassured by her touch. “—you didn’t mess up anything and you said you said some impromptu to cover it up, right?”

“Yes, but here’s the worst thing: I went blank multiple times and stuttered too. I just feel fucked at that moment—shit…”

“Oppa…” Chaewon’s face is now closer against yours, staring endearingly with those puppy eyes. “Have you ever considered looking at the brighter side?”

“How come there’s a brighter side, Chaewon? I messed up and thank god no one noticed yet only the smallest details.”

“There can be, Oppa.”

You always know how optimistic Chaewon is—how she often cheers you up and makes your day brighter. You always know how she can make you laugh even in your all-so-serious mood, she just knows how she can make you in awe and let down your defenses for her—she’s your kryptonite.

You half-expected her to tell things like this before you fetched her and you’re right. You feel skeptical with her persuasions but you can’t help but think of the brighter side of this.

“Hah… Alright, Chaewon, enlighten me then.”

“Have you ever thought that the impromptu you made could be actually better than the script?”

“B-But I wrote the script, and I don’t think it’s better—”

“Oppa, even the simplest of actions can impact something so vastly. Maybe, just maybe, your professors or mentors can even applaud or complement your performance despite something lacking, yet I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing bad.”

You paused for a moment, contemplating Chaewon's reassuring and optimistic words. Maybe she can be right.

“Tch, I don’t know Chaewon but—”

Chaewon anticipates. Her idyllic yet worrying expression—her furrowed eyebrows matched with her saccharine smile—painted all over her face expects something following your conjunction.

“But?”

You hugged her. Without any second to waste, you didn’t hesitate to kiss her cheeks and thanked her for her thoughtfulness and the time to listen to you.

You owe her so much and you feel like, you didn’t deserve her—

No. Stop with these intrusive thoughts and look to the brighter side—like how Chaewon would say to you.

The hug lasted for only a couple of seconds and you could tell how Chaewon was flustered at that moment—her cheeks tinted a rosy pink as well as her ears getting red at the moment.

“Chaewon, thank you so much for these.”

Your genuine tone makes Chaewon in awe, her eyes pleading as her smile exudes vibrance and you can't help but fall into the contagiousness of it—smiling too as soon as she smiles.

“It's just a small thing, Oppa. I'm always there for you, don't you forget it.”

She then hugged you tightly and you didn't hesitate to accept her affection—accepting it with open arms. She deepened the embrace with her face resting on your chest as she murmured, “Thank you too, Oppa. I’m so thankful to meet you. So so thankful…”

Your eyes involuntarily teared-up, touched by her short yet sweet message as you didn't hesitate to let out your true feelings too.

“I could never ask for anything more in this world because of you Chaewon. Thank you for everything.”

The embrace was full of affection as you pushed her gently against you—the both of you meeting eyes to each other—breaking the embrace in exchange for a kiss. A kiss to remember.

The next thing Chaewon saw is just your lips latched onto hers as you taste the faint of the vanilla lip balm. You kissed her a little bit more before detaching, your animalistic urge wanting more but you resisted.

“I love you, Chaewon.”

These simple words are enough to make someone's heart flutter. These simple words are worth remembering for a lifetime. These simple words that can make thousands and thousands of memories worth cherishing.

“I love you too, Oppa.”

The both of you locked eyes and exchanged smiles, feeling reinvigorated than before.

“Just to hope they would be pleased, at least.”

“I believe that they will, Oppa. Also—” Chaewon got off on the couch as she hurriedly got something on the shelves.

Wires with the colors of blue and black is all you can see as she set-ups the conglomeration of wires near the T.V. and with that, you insisted to help yet within a blink of an eye, she already finished wiring anything up.

“—do you wanna play some games, Oppa?” she asked you with a controller in her hand.

You would be lying if you don't want to. How can you resist playing with a puffball like her? With that being said you nodded and got the wireless controller from her hand as you started grasping the controls of it.

“Try and be relaxed, Oppa. We'll play some chill exploration games if you want to so you won't be stressed.”

Another nod, agreeing on her actions.

“Ahh, the things you do to me, Chaewon…”

And now with a simple click, the game starts as the adventure begins…

—-------------------------------

Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours and so on. Time really went fast as you didn't see the dark aura of the sky outside—signaling that it's already nighttime and the both of you didn’t notice because of how busy you were on the game.

“Wow, *yawns* —we really did a lot of this game, Oppa. I’ll just harvest the rest of the crops and maybe explore more on the other side.”

“Yeah, sure, Chaewon, I’ll go and do some fishing then.”

You focused on going near the pond as you suddenly felt a weight on your left shoulder. You looked to your left, Chaewon silently snoring; her eyes shut; sleeping soundly.

You tucked her white-highlighted hair behind her ear, taking a look at her beautiful and pristine features: her cute, boopable nose; her faint eyes, innocent from her sleeping and her soft, plump lips.

You took a sight of her impeccable features and kissed her cheek. You smiled right after as you exited the game from both controllers and turned off the T.V. right after.

Such epitome of perfection she is. You're in awe seeing how beautiful she really is. Even with the simplest outfit and faint make-up, she stands out, exceeding any criteria of beauty—she's the real epitome of it.

You lay her down on the couch and took the nearby blanket on the coffee table, wrapping it around her as she didn't seem to be bothered by your actions—still sleeping peacefully.

“Good night, Chae.”

Give her a quick peck on the forehead, you smile as you sit beside her, caressing her hair and cheeks.

“Thank you for everything, Chaewon. Thank you for guiding me on the times I feel lost. Thank you and no words can explain how much I love you.”

The vast night sky has countless stars that seemed endless, but you could only see one, and that's Chaewon.

You leaned next to her, trying to sleep as you, not so long after, you gave in to your drowsiness.

--------------------------------

Text Message from “yurii the hamster”:

“Oppa! I have some good news for you! Our professors commended our performance earlier! They also said you performed well and your acting is great! Thank you again for all of these, Oppa, everything isn't possible without your help and everyone of us. Thank youuu! ;)”

Well, this will be great news for you when you woke up.

#le sserafim #chaewon #le sserafim fluff #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim x male reader #le sserafim fic

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a-boca-do-inferno · 6 months

Text

i decide what’s appropriate (john milton x reader) [request]

summary: (y/n) is growing tired of her boss' advances.

warnings: light angst, light fluff, a little stalking

words: 0.8k

notes: just another day of wanting to fuck that old man. enjoy <3

“Giddy up, we’re going for a ride”, his voice sounds somewhat demanding, the look on his face making the girl shiver from head to toe.

(y/n) lets out a heavy sigh as John takes her out of her thoughts. She turns to see him standing in the doorway with a wide smile. Repetitive. Things were starting to get repetitive and (y/n) didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. Could she perhaps quit the job and move out of town? Who was she kidding, in what world would John let her do such a thing? He had connections and money, she surely wasn’t getting away that easily. She couldn’t even sue the guy for his uncomfortable comments, as he was the hottest lawyer in town. Hell, John would make her pay him money for suing in the first place. That was the type of power he held. With another defeated sigh, she only complied in silence. Nothing she ever said made a difference, anyway.

John walks with her towards his car, which probably costs more money than (y/n) will ever make in her lifetime as a secretary, and swiftly opens the door for her. “After you, sweetheart.”

(y/n) hesitates. He’s been stalking her in the office for a month now, but getting into this man’s car just seems too much. She should probably run and never look back, but her feet don’t share the same opinion as they make their way into the vehicle gracefully. The girl doesn’t even have to look at John's face to know he’s got a smug smile painting his lips while he sits beside her and turns on the engine. They drive to seemingly nowhere in particular, and his conversible causes her hair to blow with the wind as he steps into the pedal without ceremony. The breeze hitting her face is nice, and for a moment she forgets her annoyance at her boss these past few weeks.

John doesn’t say a thing for quite some time, but he keeps an eye on her every now and then. He doesn’t stop at red lights and she feels slightly anxious, however, his relaxed demeanor ends up affecting her in a good way. His confidence that they could never crash somehow soothes (y/n) and the only thing in her mind now is the sound of the roaring wind in her ears. Her hair is a mess, but she doesn’t care. For a split second, she doesn’t care about anything. Her lips curve upwards at the thought.

John takes note of it and raises his brow. “Someone’s loosening up, I see.”

She only hums in response, closing her eyes and resting her head against the seat. “Yeah.”

“Your brother said you wanted to quit”, he says casually, but it’s clear he’s not pleased with the information. (y/n) thinks about punching Kevin in the face as John adds with a snort, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“You don’t exactly talk about quitting your job to your boss, Mr. Milton”, she laughs it off awkwardly, avoiding his piercing gaze.

He finds the comment funny, as he chuckles along and nods. “Call me John.”

“That’s not appropriate”, (y/n) looks down at her lap, her voice sounding more submissive than she initially intended. There’s just something about this guy.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “I decide what’s appropriate at my firm. Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart.”

“What else did Kevin tell you?”, she gives him a questioning look. She figured they spoke of her on occasion, as it was inevitable. Kevin had been the one to recommend her to John when she moved to New York. Everything she did would weigh on him too.

“Nothing much, really. We talk mostly about work. We’re professionals, you know?”, he grins at her knowingly, as if he had just read her mind.

(y/n) feels a shiver up her spine, but smiles shyly. “Good.”

“I told him I wanna figure you out”, he continues, parking the car in front of a fancy restaurant. Even the doors look expensive. (y/n) stares back at him with a slight frown, trying to understand what he means by that. John gets out of the car and opens her door, offering his hand. She blushes a little and accepts his help. Her knees feel weak with his proximity, his rough palm still holding hers firmly. Their faces are close when he mumbles, his hot breath hitting her mouth, “can I?”

(y/n) reckons this is the only time her words might make a difference, after all. Yet, with his dark eyes watching her every movement like a hawk, her mind goes completely blank. She feels enchanted, under a spell. Her voice comes in a pathetic whisper, “yes.”

John smirks.

#the devil's advocate #the devil's advocate x reader #john milton #john milton x reader #al pacino x reader #al pacino imagine #al pacino

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luffyvace · 2 months

Note

hello! can i request hairo's kisses?

yes you may nonny! 💗💗

I’m so glad to see someone requested my silly little series!!

Enjoy anon!! And thank you! <3

Hairo’s kisses!

your first kiss would probably happen a few weeks after you’ve become an official couple

And I’m talking past the dating phase

which you likely dated for at least 4 months

Hairo had no interest in romance before, canonly

But when he does get a chance to date, let alone kiss you?

he’s all over you!!

and he’s not embarrassed one bit :)

As for your first kiss 😚

he doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily at all

so it would simply depend on what your doing, or- more like where :P

and by this I mean if your inside at the time, your first kiss will happen in private!

if your outside at the moment? pda is fine by him 💞

he’s proud to have you as his s/o so he isn’t afraid to show it at all

in fact he’s not even thinking if others are around

he’s focused on you

i mean of course! It’s not about them!

LOL

he’s also the type of person to see they’re parents kiss and not cringe, or not be embarrassed to kiss they’re mom in front of they’re friends, for a better example

you know? He just sees it as a normal thing, not cheesy or anything

a display of affection—just as it is <3

back to the lecture at hand—

Let’s say you guys were inside at the time

I’m going to go ahead and say he catches you completely off guard

you two were doing whatever you were doing

probably chatting while doing so

and as soon as the conversation ended he leaned in and gave you a 3 second kiss

Now he is a gentleman—so directly after he realizes he didn’t ask first

”oh- uh- oops- did……did you want a kiss?”

”I should’ve asked first really! I don’t even know if that was your first kiss or if I’m moving too fast—my mom told me I might wanna wait-“

”it was fine, Hairo. I loved it”

you announced beaming

and apparently that’s infectious because he got a case of the smiles too 😊

You probably resumed what you were doing before

but not before sharing a comfortable silence while doing something sappy like cuddling for a bit or holding hands 💗

from then on he’ll give you a kiss anywhere

its not like pda is illegal or forbidden or something so he sees nothing wrong with it!

The most common kiss you’ll receive from him is a forehead kiss

to say goodbye, to say hello, to say thank you, to say good luck, to say goodnight

all of the above and more

he more so gives kisses on the lips when you two are being all cuddly n such

like a quick peck after a goodbye hug

or when your snuggled up, cooing little praises to each other

Hairo’s kisses are soft and usually short

so the ‘short and sweet’ type

his lips are actually really soft!

he doesn’t have chapped lips or anything and they’re naturally moisturized

he doesn’t even do anything or put anything on he’s just kinda lucky 😂

let him tell it, it might be because he works out- 😄

I can nor confirm or deny I have no idea I haven’t researched it

but besides the point

Hairo’s kisses are gentle and meaningful

In each and every one of his kisses you can feel the love and adoration

it sends tingles up your spine and gives you goosebumps from how loved you feel

theres always at least 2 seconds of googly eyes being exchanged after your kiss as well

whether a whole crowd is watching or not

if your not into pda you’ll have to tell him because as I said he views it in a casual (yet of course, still romantic) way

So he kinda just initiates it naturally

But don’t be hesitant to tell him your uncomfortable with it! 💓

he completely understands and will keep in all his affection til he can burst it at you in private 💝

if your okay with pda, he initiates it as normal! :)

You might as well call your man the kiss genie

because ask and you shall receive darling

If this guy isn’t the gentlest giant idk who is

💋💪

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museumgiftshoperaser · 1 year

Text

only bought this dress so you could take it off

(lil Ronance modern AU, neighbors kinda thing)

Robin’s already in pajamas when someone knocks on her door. And by pajamas she means she’s wearing boxers and a bleach stained shirt she stole from Steve. So she’s not exactly thrilled to get up. And why should she anyway? Sunday nights are sacred, especially now that classes started back up. It’s the one night of the week where Steve’s gone for basketball practice and she can watch whatever she wants on the TV in the living room. She loves Steve, platonic soulmates and all that jazz, but she can’t for the life of her get him to enjoy the wonders of competitive cooking shows. Like right now. A woman on the screen tilts a skillet over the fire, cooking a steak to absolute perfection as Robin pops another handful of M&Ms into her mouth. It’s quality entertainment. If she gets up now, she might miss something important. What if that woman overcooks her steak? Maybe if she keeps quiet the person will just go away. “I can hear the TV!” the voice comes through the wall, too muffled to recognize. “I need some help!” And then, after a short silence. “Please?” She rolls herself off the couch with a groan, doesn’t even care if the mystery guest can hear it. She runs a quick hand through her hair to make herself somewhat presentable opens the door and- Oh fuck. It’s her. Nancy. Their new next door neighbor and coincidentally the most beautiful person she’s ever laid eyes on. Robin clutches the doorpost so hard it hurts because her elevator crush is two feet away from her, dressed in deep blue, skintight satin. Nancy’s hair is pinned to the side and she’s holding her strapless dress up at the neckline. “Can you zip me?” she asks with a sheepish grin. “I’m running late and I’m all by myself.” Her heels make them almost the same height, but Nancy is still an inch short, leaving her to look up at Robin through her thick, black lashes. She doesn’t usually wear this much make-up. Wherever she’s going, she’s trying to impress someone. When Robin doesn’t speak, Nancy turns her back, revealing a long stretch of exposed skin. The zipper goes all the way down to her lower back. There’s a little mole next to her spine, which is a thing that Robin knows about her now, and it feels far too intimate. “Uh sure…” she mumbles. “Just… What do you…?” “It’s just a zipper, Robin.” Nancy’s back is turned, but she can hear the grin is her voice. “I’m you can figure it out.” She swallows hard. Nancy knows her name. Of course she does. They’ve talked a handful of times when they happened to enter the lobby at the same time. She came to introduce herself when she moved in last month. Still it’s weird that she takes up any mental real estate for this girl so beautiful it physically hurts. Robin takes the end of the zipper between two careful fingers, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s a bit finicky,” Nancy says and she tilts her head to the side, exposing even more of the bare skin around her neck. “Just give it a good tug.” Fucking hell. Robin places a hand on Nancy’s waist for leverage and zips the dress along the curve of her spine. She’s not wearing a bra, strapless and all, and Robin’s trying really hard not to think about that. “So where are you going?” she asks and then she just keeps talking. “You got a date? A boyfriend?” She clenches her jaw and crosses her fingers that didn’t sound weird. Just polite conversation. Making acquaintance. Right? “Oh, God no.” Nancy turns around and smooths down the fabric over her hips. “I have yet to find a man in this city worth dressing up for.” “Tell me about it,” Robin says in a lame attempt at a joke. Nancy no doubt has different reasons for her lack of interest in the men around these parts. Like being objectively out of everyone’s league. Unlike Robin, who realized she was a lesbian back in middle school and hasn’t looked at a man since. Well, she’s technically looked at Steve, if you wanna get literal about it. But he doesn’t count. That’s practically her brother. “Nah, I’ve got a work thing,” Nancy says and she rolls her eyes. “Office party I can’t really skip.” Robin vaguely remembers an elevator conversation where Nancy told her she worked in publishing. “Well, you look great,” she squeaks. Nancy smiles, showing off the dimples that kickstarted the elevator crush all those weeks ago. “You’re so sweet.” She doesn’t even break eye contact as she says it. Robin can feel her cheeks flush and she mentally prepares herself to scream into her pillow the second this door closes. “Which reminds me,” Nancy adds with a coy smile. “I have a little housewarming coming up next Friday. You and uh…. Steve was it?” Robin nods. “Well, you and Steve are definitely invited.” For a brief moment, Nancy’s eyes flick past her so she can sneak a glance into the living room. “Starts at eight, be sure to ask him too.” Oh. Was that her goal? Was she hoping Steve would answer? That makes sense. “We’d love to,” Robin says with a polite smile. “I’ll tell Steve, I think he’s free that night.” Nancy runs her hands along her sides one more time, smoothing down the already flawless curve of her dress. “That’d be lovely,” she says and before she turns she adds; “Can’t wait.”

#stranger things #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #no clue where this came from #but suddenly it was written #might give it a little sequal at some point #nancy knows what she's doing #i cannot be held responsible for what i write after listening to dress by taylor swift

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megansabode · 23 days

Text

Good Luck, Babe

She gets into her apartment and deadbolts her door after her. Her bag drops to the floor as she sighs, then goes to the kitchen and grabs a snack bar.

Her back leans against the counter behind her as she stares into the reflection of the tiles on the kitchen walls. And when someone appears behind her, she gasps and drops her snack bar, turning around.

Blonde hair. Red eyes. That stupid grin.

“Himiko?”

After Himiko died in the war, Ochaco has lost herself. She's hooked up with men to try and find some meaning in life, but that's difficult when you're lesbian and not over your highschool girlfriend. But when she's proposed to by the man she slept with, and Himiko shows up again, is this all a dream, or is it reality?

Himiko is actually alive and Ochaco needs dire help

wc: 2876

himichako/ togachako oneshot, originally posted on ao3 @megansabode

((i use ‘ochaco’ instead of ‘ochako’ when i write her name, it’s just how i write it lmao))

contains: swearing, car chase, lesbian ochaco, toga isn’t actually dead, kissing with tongue, bkdk, aged up pro heroes

Since Himiko died on the battlefield, Ochaco has lost herself. She’s scared to even look in the mirror because she knows she’ll see her ex-girlfriend behind her, mocking her for changing herself.

Ochaco is a slut.

She knows it. Everyone says it. Well, not everyone. Some people choose nicer words. But she is a slut. That’s what she calls it. She finds no reason to sugarcoat it.

She hooks up with men and feels nothing. Nothing at all. All of her classmates are fine. They have relationships, or friendships to fall back on. Even Mina, who’s cupioromantic, has decided to raise a kid with Kirishima as friends.

And Ochaco’s stuck mourning over a girl who died years ago.

“Hey.” The man next to her grins. “You alright?” Ochaco nods, pulling the robe further over her body. “Mm. That was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t. Ochaco thinks it was probably one of the worst nights she’s ever had.

“Mhm. You wanna know what I would do after this?” Ochaco doesn’t move her head or speak. “I would make you my wife and we’d do this every night. And then we’d have a bunch of kids running around and you’d just stay home while I get the money.” Ochaco feels like killing herself.

“Wow.” She says in a dull tone.

“Mhm. So.” The man moves in front of her and gets on one knee, pulling out a ring. “Will you marry me?”

What the fuck.

Ochaco just stares at him, a chill going down her spine. Half of her wants to be special, to settle for what. But the other half of her doesn’t want to be an object used for sex, tied to a bed to create children for the rest of her life.

“Uh, I’ll think about it.” She says. He grins and nods, handing her the ring. She’s tempted to throw it into the bin.

“Make the right choice, darling.” Oh, now she’s really going to jump off the fucking roof. She grabs her clothes and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She pulls her clothes on, and her phone rings. She picks it up. “Mhm?”

“So, what fuckward did you hook up with this time?” Katsuki asks. She groans. “How bad?”

“Terrible.” She says. “Oh, it was just horrible. Sometimes I feel bad that you’re gay.”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, but I’m dating someone.”

“Ha-ha.” Ochaco pauses, remembering the ring. “Oh, shit, Katsuki.”

“What?”

“He fucking proposed to me.” Instead of being horrified after hearing that, Katsuki just bursts out laughing. “What?”

“He gave you terrible sex and proposed to you after? What kind of fucking dick did you find, Ochaco?” He asks, still laughing. “Holy shit, get out of there.”

“I’m getting out.” She says. “He said he’ll make me his wife and use me as a sex slave, too.”

Katsuki stopped laughing. “He said what?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to live in mine and Izuku’s spare room?” He asks.

“Mm. I’m sure. I’m just…gonna go home.”

“Alright. Stay safe.” Katsuki tells her.

She nods. “Yeah. Tell Izuku I said hi.” Katsuki hums in approval and hangs up.

Ochaco pulls the rest of her clothes on and leaves while the man’s in the shower. She doesn’t even bother to leave a note—she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to see him ever again.

Her apartment isn’t too far away—which she probably needs to change. That man doesn’t seem like the type to just leave her alone after proposing to her.

Does he think that it isn’t just one night? Because that’s what she does—one night. Only one.

Not becoming a wife and giving a man children for the rest of her life.

She gets into her apartment and deadbolts her door after her. Her bag drops to the floor as she sighs, then goes to the kitchen and grabs a snack bar.

Blonde hair. Red eyes. That stupid grin.

“Himiko?”

Himiko smiles, her head tilting to the side. “Hey, Ochaco. Is this your new apartment? Much better than the old one.” Ochaco stares at Himiko as she walks closer. “Looks more expensive, too.”

Is she dreaming? She has to be.

“A-are you real?” Ochaco asks, her voice breaking. Himiko just laughs, and Ochaco feels a part of her heart mend itself.

“Of course I’m real, silly!” Ochaco reaches out her hand, and touches Himiko.

“W-what? But—but you’re dead! You died in my arms!” Himiko purses her lips.

“They—they got me back alive. At the Hospital. They threatened to send me to Tartarus, but then I made a deal…”

“What deal?” Ochaco asks. Himiko stays silent and Ochaco grabs her shoulders. “What deal, Himiko?”

“I—I go into hiding. And they don’t care about me. And I’ve…I’ve been stalking you, too. Not like, entirely, I don’t watch you…do anything. But I’ve missed you.”

“Why—why didn’t you ever tell me? You could’ve come to me, I would’ve kept you safe, Himiko.” She says, her hands going up to cup Himiko’s face. “I–I love you-”

“Someone who loves me wouldn’t go and hook up with a hundred men after I’m dead.” Ochaco’s breath hitches in her throat, and Himiko moves back. “How about you accept that proposal, huh? You could’ve chucked that ring in your pocket in the trash–why didn’t you?”

“I will!” Ochaco shouts. “I-I will, I promise, I-”

“No, you won’t. Because you want to feel special. And I’m not going to make you feel special because I’m a villain.” She bites the last word out, and Ochaco gasps. “I told you this would happen.”

I told you so.

Ochaco shakes her head. “No, I don’t–I’ve never cared that you’re a villain. Never.”

“So why are you sleeping around?”

“Because you died!” Ochaco screams. “You died and you left me and I fucking broke down! You died and I died with you! And, I can’t—I can’t even let myself think about you because I knew you would hate me, and look where that got me!” She yells, her voice raspy from shouting. “I—I can’t do this!”

Himiko stares at her as Ochaco grabs the ring and twists it, then throws it in the bin. “There. There—there, it’s gone.”

She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Himiko hugs her, the soft and safe arms making her cry even more. “Ochaco-“

“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Himiko. I’m—I’m scared. I’m scared of myself, I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Ochaco-“

“Himiko, I don’t want to do this-“

Himiko grabs Ochaco’s face, her thumbs against the girl’s cheeks. “Ochaco. It’s fine.”

“But you said earlier-“

“Forget what I said. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Yeah, this is confusing. I’m confusing, you’re confusing, we’re confusing. But I fucking love you and I have ever since the first day I saw you and thought you’d look better covered in blood.” Ochaco laughs. “But now, I don’t care whether you’re covered in blood or not. I just love you.”

Ochaco stares at Himiko, then says those four words that many could find difficult to say, and four words that Ochaco could never say to anyone else. “I love you too.” She pauses. “Himiko.”

“I love the way you say my name.” Ochaco laughs. “And I love you.”

They lock eyes, and the unspoken words of everything they’ve wanted to say are spoken, silently. Ochaco stares at Himiko’s red eyes as Himiko stares at Ochaco’s brown eyes, and soon they stare into each other’s eyes.

And then they lean in.

And then they kiss. And Himiko’s hands go to Ochaco’s waist and Ochaco’s arms wrap around Himiko’s neck. Ochaco leans back as Himiko’s hands move to Ochaco’s lower back, holding her as she deepens the kiss.

Ochaco gasps as she feels Himiko’s tongue against her lips, and she parts them, letting out a small noise as Himiko’s tongue presses against hers.

This is different. This is different from the hook-ups, from the horrific sex Ochaco has put herself through with hundreds of men.

Because this is Himiko. This is Ochaco’s (kind of) ex girlfriend, this is the girl Ochaco kissed in the comfort of closets, this is the girl that everyone guessed after the war that Ochaco hated.

Ochaco has never loved Himiko more. And Ochaco has never hated Himiko.

They pull away quickly at a loud bang on the door. “Oh, no.” Ochaco whispers.

“Is that—oh, shit.” Himiko gets up. “Stay here.” Ochaco nods, moving back into her apartment, and she moves into the kitchen, her back flush against the wall.

The man who proposed to her is at her door. She just knows it—she knows he’s here. He’s probably been stalking her.

The door opens. “Hey!” Himiko says, leaning against the door. Oh, fuck. Himiko had opened the door.

Himiko’s supposed to be dead.

“T-Toga?” The man gasps, and Ochaco hears a foot move. “The villain? Where—where’s Uraraka Ochaco?”

Oh. Wait.

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not around anymore.” The man gasps and Ochaco hears movement down the steps. The door closes and Himiko soon comes into view.

“I’m afraid the police may be here in the next four minutes, tops.” She says.

Ochaco sighs. “Fuck’s sake.” She grabs Himiko’s hand and gets her keys and phone, then goes to her room and grabs her hero costume, then goes back to the door.

“You’re not going to take anything else?”

“I don’t have anything else.”

“Oh.” They go down the stairs and get to Ochaco’s car. Ochaco gets in the driver’s seat and Himiko gets in the passenger seat. “Never thought I’d be a passenger princess.” Ochaco rolls her eyes and connects her phone to the car.

She presses, ‘Call’ and taps on Katsuki’s name. He immediately picks up. “The hell do you want? I’m busy here-“

“Hey, Bakugo!” Himiko shouts.

Fuck.

Katsuki pauses, then yells. “What the fuck?” Ochaco hears Izuku mumble in the background. “Toga?”

“Toga?” Izuku mumbles. Ochaco groans as she starts up the car and starts driving out of the car park.

“There she is!” The man yells. Ochaco checks the rearview mirror. The police have just pulled up.

“Shit. Himiko, hold on.” Himiko nods and Ochaco pushes the car into sport mode, then speeds down the long road outside her apartment complex. “Katsuki, I may be bringing the police to your house.”

“You may be what?” Katsuki yells into the receiver.

“What’s happening?” Izuku asks.

Ochaco sighs. “Do you remember when I said that guy proposed to me?”

Now it’s Izuku’s turn to yell. “When that guy what?”

“Long story.” Katsuki, Ochaco and Himiko say at the same time. Izuku just groans.

“Yeah?” Katsuki says. “Wait-“

“He stalked Ochaco and I went to the door and…insinuated I killed Ochaco. So now the police are after us and—holy shit, Ochaco! Ochaco turns around a corner, pulling the steering wheel completely to the side. “Do you want us to be roadkill or something?”

“Shut up and let me drive.” She pulls on the handbrake and they speed down the road, the police sirens getting louder.

“Are those sirens?” Katsuki yells.

“Katsuki, considering you used to be top of our class, I would think your comprehension skills would be better!” Ochaco shouts, the speed pulling her body back as she overtakes a car.

She just hears Katsuki groan. “Well, yeah, but you’re in a fucking car chase.”

“She’s in a what?” Izuku asks in a tired tone.

“Go to sleep, Izuku.”

“But I-“

“Go to sleep.” Izuku goes silent and Katsuki sighs again. “What’s your speed?”

“110.” Ochaco says, pulling around a corner again. “70. 120.”

“I’m sorry?” Katsuki yells, and Ochaco swears Izuku says something. “Sleep.”

“But you woke me up.” Izuku says.

“I really don’t care about your sappy shit right now, because Ochaco’s about to fucking kill us!” Himiko yells, holding onto the sides of her seat. “Fucking hell!”

“Ever heard of road rage, Himiko?”

“I joined the LOV at the age of 16, no, I don’t know what road rage is, Ochaco! Unless you mean chasing down a huge truck to steal quirk-cancelling bullets from Overhaul, but I wasn’t even really there for that!” Himiko shouts.

“Oh, fuck.” Katsuki sighs, and Ochaco can almost see him rubbing his temples. “When’re you gonna be here?”

Ochaco checks her side mirror. “Himiko, get in the back. Lay low.”

“While you’re going five times the speed limit? No!”

“Oh, that’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s what it feels like!” Himiko yells. “Oh, fuck, we’re dead.” Himiko climbs through the gaps between the front two chairs, sliding under them.

“Alright, Katsuki. See you soon.”

“Ochaco, you can’t be seriously-“ She hangs up before he can yell at her even more. Ochaco slows down and pulls over, then grabs her hero costume and presses a button, pulling it on quickly. Then, she gets out of the car.

“You are—Uravity?” The policeman closest to her shouts. “Wh—but-“

“Are you serious?” Ochaco yells. “I was about to capture a villain and now you’re chasing me down?”

“Wh—what villain?” The policeman asks.

“That one.” Ochaco points at the man who proposed to her just earlier.

His eyes widen. “What? No—no, Im not a villain-“

“On what charge?” The policeman asks Ochaco. “Uravity, you must have a reason-“

“Breaking and entering. And stalking. Oh, and can lying be added to that list, we all know that Toga Himiko is dead.” The policemen gasp, then one goes to arrest the man.

“What? No, you can’t seriously be doing this, you told me where you live!” Ochaco just crosses her arms, staring at him.

“Take him away.” The policeman says. “Thank you, Uravity. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” Ochaco says.

She turns and gets back in her car and drives away. She knows that the man won’t be in prison for long without foolproof evidence.

So it’s time to take up Katsuki’s offer.

Himiko pushes herself out from under the seats. “I hated that.”

Ochaco laughs. “I guessed as much. It’s only five minutes to Katsuki’s and Izuku’s, anyway.” Himiko nods, sitting in the back seat.

“What did you say to them?” She asks.

“Not much. They arrested the man for stalking and breaking and entering. Although, I don’t think that we should go back now that he knows where I live.”

“So…?”

“Katsuki’s and Izuku’s. I’m sure they won’t mind another person staying around.” Himiko sighs, but nods, and Ochaco drives on.

“We’re here!” Ochaco chucks her spare key on the kitchen table as Himiko looks around. Katsuki and Izuku are the top paid heroes in Japan, so they both have a house, instead of an apartment like the other heroes from Class 1-A.

“Holy shit…” Himiko mutters.

“What’re you gawking at?” Katsuki asks as he walks down the stairs. “It’s a house.”

“Mm. It’s a house with a villain who’s never had a proper family in it.” Himiko comments. Katsuki rolls his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him.

Ochaco sighs. “Got the guy arrested. But I don’t think he’ll be there for long.”

“You can stay here-“

She cuts Katsuki off. “Why do you think I’m here?” He sighs. “I’m getting my shit together.”

“Finally.” Izuku says, in the middle of the stairs. Ochaco rolls her eyes and he smiles. “I was waiting for the day you stopped wasting away and never staying at your apartment.”

“Hm. Me too.” Himiko says.

Ochaco scoffs. “Is this slut-shaming?”

“Yes.” All three say at the same time.

“And if it’s on record, all the men you got with were fucking shit. I didn’t even need to meet them to know that.” Katsuki says.

“Wow. Great. Thanks for that.” Ochaco says, sighing. “So…can me and Himiko take the spare room?”

Katsuki nods. “Yeah, just don’t be too loud.”

“Homophobia.” Himiko comments.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah, get on with your gay shit.” Himiko says, grabbing Ochaco’s arm and pulling her towards the stairs.

“Touché!” Katsuki yells as Himiko puts up her middle finger and goes up the stairs. Once they’re up, Ochaco shows Himiko where the room is and they sit down on the bed.

“I like this place. Very nice.”

“Mhm.” Ochaco stares at her hand wrapped around Himiko’s.

Himiko grabs her chin gently, then turns her face to hers. “What’s wrong?”

“For some reason, I feel like I’m dreaming.” Ochaco says. “And I really don’t want to be dreaming.”

“...Of course you’re not dreaming, silly. But, are you tired?” Ochaco nods slowly. “Alright. Wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.” Himiko smiles and Ochaco lays on her side, Himiko’s arms wrapping around her waist from behind. “Goodnight, Himiko.”

“Goodnight, Ochaco.”

And when Ochaco wakes up in the morning, she’s in the man’s bed again.

Maybe she should check herself into a mental hospital the next time she dreams that Himiko’s still alive again.

#bnha #mha #mhaoneshot #bnhaoneshot #bkdk #tgchk #togachako #himichako #gays #kissing #literature #writing

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gothamslostboy · 2 years

Text

Fine Dining 2

The Lost Boys

male reader

PART 1 PART 3

“Sorry it took so long, you saw how packed it was Dwayne” I called out to the boys when I saw them, though with their hearing I doubt I needed to be as loud as I was. I stopped next to Marko’s bike, his arm wrapped around my shoulder as a greeting while Paul did the same on the other side of me.

“Don’t worry about it Angel, we just grabbed a quick bite.” I rolled my eyes but let myself smile at Marko’s dark humor, something I’d grown used to over time, although unease does still manage to fill my stomach occasionally. The other three let their amusement show at different levels, Paul chuckling lightly as he leans a bit closer to my side.

“So what’s the plan for tonight Y/N? You going home or staying with us?” David takes the last drag from his cigarette before dropping it and smushing it with his foot, doing his usual intense stare. David just recently started speaking with me, I assume because he thought one of the other boys would eventually eat me or something, and I’m still adjusting to the chill that races down my spine when he says my name. I really should’ve gotten used to it by now, the man refuses to address me without saying it, I have a hunch it’s because he knows what effect it has on me.

We’re still holding eye contact when I start to speak, quickly getting cut off by Dwayne; “actually me and him are gonna be alone tonight, we have some things to discuss” he hold out his hand, taking mine and helping me on the back of his bike.

“Aw man, what kinda things could you be talking about that the rest of us can’t hear?I wanna hang out with N/N” I turn my head to hide my grin, Paul always starts to complain when someone separates from the group, and only gets egged on when the person shows their amusement. Though his pouting face and turned head is tempting to give into.

“Oh didn’t you here? In order to get Max off his back, Dwayne has decided that we’re Mr. and Mr. Y/L/N.”

“Why can’t we use my last name?”

“Do you even remember your last name dude?” I push his shoulder lightly and he shrugs, 4 of us smiling, but the feeling of David’s stare has me turning to realize he doesn’t seem interested in our plans or conversation.

“Why can’t you just suck it up and deal with it Dwayne? The rest of us do.” The air around us thickens as I watch Dwayne and David look at each other, the light fog in their eyes signaling that a conversation I’m not supposed hear is playing in their minds.

The awkward silence last for a while, me, Paul, and Marko looking at our surroundings and each other as we wait for a silent battle to end. Apparently they aren’t being let in on the conversation either.

After another painful 5 minutes I decide that’s it’s enough and clear my throat before starting, “you know what? It’s been a long day and I have the morning shift tomorrow. We’ll talk about it later alright D?” The fog retreats from their eyes as I climb off the bike, the four vampires all looking at me now.

“Are you sure Y/N? We don’t have to cancel plans because of David. If you do have to go at least let me drive you home.” Dwayne didn’t acknowledge the insult I know David threw into his mind, shaking the fog away as soon as it entered with out even a glance in his direction. I’m only more confused at how annoyed the two have gotten, and Marko looks about the same as me, but he’s quickly moving away from the situation to retrieve Paul, who has wandered over to the concert. Smart bastard.

“If he’s tired, he’s tired Dwayne. I’ll take Y/N to his house then we can finish this at the cave.”Dwayne’s mouth opens to argue, but it seems David used his powers as the pack’s second in command to get his way. With a frustrated exhale, Dwayne drives off, leaving only a small wave in my direction.

“Oh, you don’t have to David, I’m more then willing to walk. I only live-”

“I wasn’t asking Y/N, get on the bike. You’d get mugged walking alone this late.” I roll my eyes again, not understanding how 9:00pm is late, turning away and quickening my pace when David’s bike roars to life.

“Don’t ignore me Y/N. It’s a poor decision and you’re smarter than that.” He cuts off my path, icy eye piercing my skin, waiting for me to look up from the floor. When I do, he instantly makes eye contact and smirks the same time another chill shoots through me.

“The most dangerous things around here aren’t gonna hurt me David. I make this walk every day and I used to do it every night before I met you guys. Thank you but you don’t need to go through the trouble. Good night.” I start to walk around the bike, but he scoffs and firmly grasp my wrist, smirking again when I gasp, electricity spilling into my body at my first ever physical contact with David.

“I’m giving you a ride home. no trouble kitten.” I curse myself for the heat that floods my face, barely noticing that I’m being led on the bike until he wraps my my arms around him, satisfied with his victory as he raises an eyebrow. “What? Nothing to say this time Y/N? How boring.” His tone shows he’s anything but bored, and my head finally clears enough for me to speak.

“Did you, um, did you call me, you called me kitten?” My face only gets hotter after my pathetic attempt at a sentence, and I can only hope that this is just an awful nightmare I’m having.

“Yes I did.” Before I can say anything more embarrassing, he pulls away from the boardwalk, laughing when I fully cling myself to him at the sudden movement. At this point I should just let go of him. It’d probably be a less painful than the embarrassment filling every bone in my body.

“Don’t let go Y/N. If you get seriously injured I’d be forced to turn you or the boys would kill me for letting you die.” I can just barely hear him over the engine, but his stern tone still leaves no room for argument so I hold tight and press my face into his back. Curse his vampiric mind reading.

“Good boy, now lets get you home.”

#tlb #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys paul #david #the lost boys x male reader #male reader #fanfic #y/n fanfic #glb fan fiction #glb tlb

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babbygirlblues · 1 year

Text

A Fallen Facade (chapter five)

i.e. The One Chance - part V

The next chapter from the One Chance... sometimes things have to fall apart to build something new. (Smut in this chapter, alpha!Nat x omega!Reader)

5.7K

The One Chance (part i, part ii, part iii, part iv,)

18+ MINORS DNI

It’s been days since your birthday and there’s an awkwardness that’s never before existed between you and Natasha. You haven’t seen her since she dropped you back home. The car ride was quiet with Natasha seemingly with a lot on her mind and unwilling to share it.

You’ve been lying in bed most of the morning, and not used to so many days away from the red-headed alpha. Moping but have been the best word for it were you ready to admit that was what you were doing. You’d opened and closed her message line on your phone far too many times. Your fingers fly over the screen, clicking a simple message before pausing… it doesn’t feel right. It sits weird and you’re not sure why it’s suddenly hard to talk to her.

Hey! What are you up to? Wanna hang out tonight? I’ve got a craving for pizza :) :)

You slam down on the backspace button and delete it all, throwing your phone to the bed where it thumps and bounces to a dead still.

Your mother knocks on the door a second later, with her characteristically soft and impatient short successive bangs against the wood. Her nails scratch against the grain and your heightened hearing causes your spine shivers at the sound like nails against a blackboard.

“Mother?”

“I’ve got something here for you.” She says with her head wedged into the gap in the door.

“Oh?” Your chest lightens for a moment, still guarded but curious, “Come in, please.”

She comes through the doorway following a beautiful flowing dress held out in front of her. It brushes against her pant covered knees and she looks awfully proud with glistening eyes.

She presents the dress to you, “Here, my darling girl.”

“For me?”

“Of course!”

She holds the dress to the front of your chest and lets it drape down your torso.

She lines it up below your shoulders and clicks her tongue with approval, “Oh! It’s perfect.”

“It’s beautiful, Ma.”

“Try it on!” She instructs quickly, batting your hands onto the material.

“Okay.” You give in with a quiet sigh.

You slip the dress on, braless and then slide your track pants off underneath. Already it’s becoming exhausting trying to placate your mother. You just hope she’ll be happy with this so that you can go back to your own space, slip something more comfortable on and think about Natasha.

She shuffles back into your room when you call out to her.

Her hair bounces as she gasps, “Wonderful, just what I was looking for… God, I’m good.” She shakes her head, pleased with herself.

“Thank you, Mother-”

“Your father’s going to be so pleased.”

“Father?”

“Hmm? Yeah.” She mumbles, distracted with smoothing the hair around your forehead, pulling a few strands into place around your face. “Okay, clean up your hair a little and meet us downstairs in 20 minutes.”

“Wait, what? Downstairs?”

“Yes, you and the dress, downstairs and presentable in 20 minutes.”

“Why?”

She leaves without another word.

~~~

Someone knocks on the door as you’re stepping downstairs and you reflexively clutch the railing with a suddenly straightened back. Your parents are waiting by the door and from the corner of your eye, you notice that the lounge room appears set up for guests.

“Who is that?”

“Get downstairs.” Your father orders impatiently from the doorway.

You're on the last few steps when he swings the door open to reveal a young man under the archway. Your fathers palm collides with the boy’s with a loud slap that he uses to bring him into a half-hearted hug and he thumps his back in an exuberant greeting.

The boy looks up to you expectantly and when your father follows his gaze he waves you down the rest of the staircase.

“Y/N.” The subtle threatening gravel in his tone is too familiar and it makes you scuffle down the stairs until you reach them.

He straightens up, lifting his chin above you and says your name again, “Y/N, this is Dylan.”

You’re speechless and your father’s expectant gaze burns into the periphery of your vision. Dylan speaks up before you can stand there foolishly any longer.

“It’s a relief to meet you at last.” Dylan holds a hand out to you and you take it in greeting. He pulls it up to his lips for a wet, ghostly kiss against your knuckles, “You’re just as your father described.”

His leering gaze is almost intrusive and the surprise of your mother’s gift sickens into its place in the puzzle. He lingers over the low cut at your chest, where the delicate lace edges expose your neck and shoulders down to the tops of your breasts.

Your parents have outdone themselves. The coffee table is set with an assortment of expensive sweets and delicacies. It all feels like part of the sale, your autonomy and soul as the centrepiece and main attraction across from him on the opposite couch facing out the window.

You can’t help but halfway zone out from the conversation immediately as it starts. Your father’s voice smothers the conversation and you know that he won’t notice the way you’re mentally elsewhere. He asks Dylan about the family business that he’s lined up to join and the conversation turns to a list of boring accolades that fail to impress you in the slightest.

It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, but your mind starts its own game as a distraction from this hell. It starts with Dylan’s skin, he’s splotchy white, stained with an odd, dark shade of orange where a fake tan has obviously been liberally applied in amateurish, uneven patches. You think about the soft warmth of Natasha’s skin, dotted with a rare freckle and perpetually flushed a pretty pink with a glow like an angel. She’s smooth and silky, the skin at her neck always smells intoxicating and the delicate skin at the dip of her hips has become your favourite place to touch, run your fingers over and kiss. Where his hair is light brown and slicked back with an oily gel, Natasha’s brilliant red locks are as clear in your mind as the speckled green of her eyes. In every way Dylan seems to fail in comparison.

Your eyes continue to trail over his body and you pause at the way his thighs are spread wide on the seat taking up as much room as possible. You can’t help but conjure an image of Natasha’s thighs. Of course, you’ve seen her kick someone’s chest in, tumble down in a leg lock and choke a man out with her thighs. But you’ve also felt them. The strength, the heated smoothness of them when she pressed up, skin against skin, and grinded herself deeper into your walls. You flush at the memory and shift on your seat, awkwardly changing the crossing of your legs to try and adjust to the sudden wave of arousal stirring in your lower stomach.

Your father appears totally oblivious to the grimy look in Dylans smile, his teeth flashing your way on almost every possible occasion. It’s not the charming look that he imagines. You feel more like a new toy for a spoiled child on Christmas Day as he eyes you off like a prize.

The conversation drags on for over an hour, but eventually Dylan runs out of things to boast about, leaving your parents more than impressed, and you even more loathsome. Your own refusal to answer questions with more than a few short sentences leaves the conversation drying up to an awkward silence where your mother grows restless quickly.

“Perhaps a walk through the garden…” She offers, turning to you with an insistent look, “Y/N?”

“Sure.” You smile placatingly.

“Yes! A walk, alright!” Father jumps up, knocking the table in his haste.

“Er, perhaps just the two of them… darling?”

You see your father’s grin waver at the thought of you being left on your own to impress Dylan. Still, he pushes you out the door to avoid any disagreement.

Dylan follows half a step behind you like a shadow as you take him through the small creek that runs through the back of your parents' property. He talks to you most of the way out, repeating most of what your father had already asked. All about his money, his job, where he wants to live, how many pups he desires, etc etc.

The afternoon goes mostly the same way. He remains unconcerned by the fact that you’re not listening to a word while you hum and agree quietly every so often. That seems to be enough for him. You find yourself staring off into the sky as the sun starts to set. You’ve never paid such detail to the shadows of the clouds, the way blue slowly lightens and darkens into purple, pink, and then finally a brief flash of orange. The moment feels heavy with grief and acceptance all together, in your head you try to say goodbye to your dreams with Natasha. It’s hard and despite everything a small piece of you is strong and it clings onto her.

You set up a table on the patio, candlelight and a dining place for two. You’re mindlessly smiling at Dylan’s dull sense of humour when you hear the back door slide open. To your surprise, you see Natasha standing there, looking out at the two of you.

She steps out, aggressively planting her feet on the stone, her legs are bare in shorts that make your stomach ache but then she’s quick to stop herself. Still metres away, her ribs contract under a pretty blouse you’ve never seen before.

“Natasha?”

Her face drops into something stern and dead and your heart begs to replace that pain with her beautiful smile. She steps back away as soon as your chair squeaks and your knees push it back to stand from the table.

You chase her to the door but you don't reach her in time because she practically sprints back through the house. Her legs are longer and she’s far quicker than you. You stop at the doorway, heart pounding and a few short moments later you hear her car door slam and her tires spinning on the gravel out the front of your house.

Sea sick legs take you back through the house and outside to Dylan at the table. In shock you sit back down, automatically picking back up your fork where it lies limp in your clenched hand. Your mind is running a million miles an hour and a strange shock settles in your stomach that you can’t really comprehend.

Dylan smiles through a mouthful of food, “That beta looks totally in love with you.” He brings his glass to his lips and laughs like it's pathetically hilarious.

“She’s an alpha.” You mumble back, hardly finding it in you to speak.

That just makes him laugh harder.

“Oh that is too good!” He boasts. “When your father said the alpha’s in this town were pathetic, I couldn’t imagine it would be this bad.”

What’s the point in even replying? You can hardly hear him speaking.

“Excuse me for a moment.” You mumble across to him, picking your phone up from the tablecloth. Your eyes drop to the phone in your lap where your fingers typing furiously across the screen. You send her text after text.

Nat?

Hey, you okay?

You don’t really wait for a reply, 30 seconds seems like long enough, so you type again…

What’s going on?

I can explain everything here.

God! You think about that look on her face and it breaks your heart.

Are you alright?

In the absence of a reply, your mind starts to wonder, why was she even here? God, she looked so pretty.

Do you need something?

Dinner finishes and she still hasn’t replied. You can see that she’s seen the messages but not even a text bubble pops up to say she’s typing. You type again.

I’m gonna come over when I can leave.

Tash?

You’re starting to scare me.

Please, just tell me if you’re okay.

The evening drags on until Dylan finally bids you goodnight. Back under the arch of the doorway, you smile as politely as you can, secretly praying that he would hurry up and leave. His careless kiss lands at the edge of your lips, where his aim for your mouth gets cut off as you turn your cheek to him.

He’s slightly put off by your rejection, obviously not expecting it from an omega, he smooths both hands down over his hair, the crackly gel crunching under his fingers and he straightens up. You couldn’t care less if he’s angry with you, although you imagine he might be.

He clears his throat and for the first time tonight, he looks awkward, “I’ll text you, tomorrow sometime.”

“Okay.” You reply quickly with a nod, too impatient and careless to acknowledge the obvious weirdness of the exchange.

The second his car is out of sight you’re frantically unchaining your bicycle from the side of the house and wincing through the immediate discomfort of the sharp metal pedals cutting into your feet through the thin flats your mother gave you. You tear down the street with the wind blowing up your flowing skirt and it trails behind you like a silky flag, making you feel like you’re flying.

The road to Natasha’s apartment has never felt so long and yet you arrive quicker than ever. It’s turning into a cold night and you’re pumping your legs so hard that the damp sweat collecting at your back makes you shiver. As soon as you stop, the concrete footpath steals the warmth from your feet as you jump off the bike and walk.

You don’t bother ringing her bell downstairs, when you arrive at the gate you punch the code into the box and the lock clicks to let you through. You throw your bike at the fence and it clashes, metal against metal, in a jumbled bang.

Her flat is on the third floor, so you skip the steps two at a time, huffing deep breaths by the time you reach the top. There’s a soft glowing light from under the door and you find yourself hesitating before knocking.

You clench and unclench your fist, then with a deep breath you take a final step closer to the door and raise your knuckles to tap against the wood.

“Natasha?!”

You listen out for a sign of her inside but you can’t hear a sound.

“I know you’re in there! I saw your car in the driveway downstairs… I can smell you.”

There’s a heavy unspoken tension in the silence after you knock on her door again. Whatever unspoken line that existed between you has been blurred incomprehensibly and now you’re fumbling in the haze, too far gone to worry about your insecurities.

“Natasha, please.” You beg, “Can you just open the door?”

Silence.

“Are you upset about Dylan?”

Her voice breaks the silence, raspy on the other side of the door, “Why would I be upset?”

You realise how stupid that sounds, but a stirring feeling in your stomach tells you that you’re right, “I-I don’t know… but I can explain everything.”

“Your bond? It’s to him?”

“What? Fuck no. He’s the stupid mate my father’s set up. He just showed up today.”

“Oh.”

You test the door handle and it doesn’t budge, the lock clicking and blocking you out. If Natasha notices, she doesn’t care and remains on the offensive.

“So you’re just going to mate with someone you don’t have a bond to?”

You sigh, “I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do.” She replies impatiently. She’s frustrated, you can feel it.

“What am I supposed to do Natasha?”

“Do something. Jesus.”

Her sharp tone cuts your patience away and now you’re angry when you speak to her. “You’re an alpha, Tash. And you don’t have a bond, you wouldn’t understand.”

It’s a sensitive topic and you immediately feel bad about bringing it up. You sigh remorsefully and let your head drop against the door, heart feeling so heavy it’s about to drop from your chest, cracking a few ribs on the way down. “This isn’t some mediaeval orchestrated wedding, but you know what my father is like.”

That makes her angry, with herself, you, the situation. It tips whatever remaining reserve she had over the edge.

“I’ve been bonded to you since I was twelve years old!” Her voice is hoarse and seems louder than it actually was. She might as well be screaming it from the rooftops, but even her croaky whisper through the door rattles you.

Your forehead lifts from its place against the door.

“I- What?”

You can hear her panting through the door, hear the shake in her breath, hear her hesitate before her feet shuffle over the carpet to the entrance. Your hands still above the doorway, spread out and scared to make a sound out of even the slightest movement.

The lock clicks slowly, heavily. She creaks the door ajar and you can see her red-lined, puffy eyes peeking out behind it.

“Tasha?” Your eyes are full of questions, you can feel them tumbling towards your lips but not one single one comes forward with clarity.

Her eyes flicker quickly between yours and she just nods her head, “It’s true.”

“I… how… when… what?”

You watch her smile softly, a tear tracks down her cheeks and gets lost between her lips, “Since the first day, the first time I saw you - it just happened.”

Your feet twitch on the ground, suddenly feeling incredibly unsteady on your legs.

“In class?” You ask breathlessly and confused, searching through your memory of every detail you can remember from that day.

She shakes her head though, “No. In the school yard, from the backseat of my Mom’s car.”

Everything about that makes you giddy and your most deeply held secret comes tumbling out of your lips.

“Jesus, Natasha! I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Is there anything more to say than that? You try to find the words. Sure, your bond took longer. It started off strong and then grew day by day as you learnt more about her. As you became friends, she let down her walls and you fell for her strength but even more so for her softness.

“Huh?” Her forehead scrunches up and she tilts her head in confusion. “You-?”

“Natasha, my bond… has always been to you.”

She steps closer, paused in front of you, her eyes unfocused and glazed over. She starts to scare you with her posture, motionless but so tense from head to toe.

"Natasha?"

"Why didn't you say something?" She whispers.

Fear, insecurity, friendship, losing you, my father, love…

You shrug miserably, "Why didn't you?"

She stays frozen in place and you’re unsure what to do. Her hair drapes down over her eyes as her head drops heavily towards the ground.

You step inside from the hallway and towards her carefully, approaching like you would a wild animal. Your hands softly reach for her stomach, above the waistband of her pants and you stroke the material there. When she doesn’t shy away, your palms press into her abdomen, fingers curly softly around the edge of her waist. The soft blouse wrinkles under your hands, it’s pretty with white and pink flowers in a dark red that looks so good on her.

You bend down to see into her eyes when she refuses to look up at you. A sad tear is tracking down her cheek and your heart crumbles.

“Oh, Tash.”

She shakes her head, the last bit of fight in her holds on for a second longer.

You lean on closer, your lips flutter like butterfly wings softly against the side of her jaw, light and unsure, timidly inching towards a bolder touch.

Her hand snakes up into your hair and she cups the back of your skull, holding your neck in place. Her grip is tight, soothing and she ever so slowly guides her lips down to yours. She kisses you heavily as she lays claim to your mouth. It feels like drinking water in the desert, like a cold glass after a deep sleep in the heat of summer. Her lips breathe life into your soul like nothing else ever could. The kiss is different to all the others you’ve shared. The relief and honesty seeps through it and you realise all the love you’d been holding back doesn’t need to be hidden away anymore.

She twists around you and with a quick, harsh breath through her nose she drags you into her arms. You stumble backwards, tripping over each other and Natasha reaches for the door behind you, pushing it as you get closer. As soon as the door closes behind you she’s on you. The door clicks closed and you’re seconds away from crashing into the door after it. Her body follows, pressing you up against the wood and this time her hand firmly cups the back of your skull and she cradles you from knocking your head.

“Oh my god.” You gasp and you can hardly get the words out, you’re half smiling, half heaving. Her strong fingers at your waist and the other hand in your hair is making you breathless. She presses her forehead against yours and you close your eyes to feel her close.

“Sorry, is’t too much?” She mumbles back against your lips.

You shake your head, “I didn’t say that.”

You encourage her, sinking into her arms and curling a leg around her waist. She lifts you at the crux of your knee and then grips high around your upper thigh.

When she reaches for your other leg, you jump lightly off your toe on the ground and wrap your legs fully around her waist. The determined and confident pressure from her hands holding you up in the air at the crux of your upper thigh and ass is making you melt further into her arms and tighten your legs around her waist.

“Bedroom?” She pants, the question sharp and demanding.

“Hmm?” You groan, watching her lips move but barely registering her words, “No, here.” You pant breathlessly, “Fuck me against the front door… I can’t wait.”

“Nat?”

She moans softly, mumbling against your lips as she sinks in for another kiss. You drop your jaw as she swipes her tongue against your lower lip and you suckle her penetrating tongue teasingly.

The pretty short shorts she’s wearing are delicate soft linen and so thin. As she grinds against your own pelvis, you can feel her instantly growing harder. One of her hands rips the zipper down and you think you hear something tear. She awkwardly pushes the waistband down until it’s hugging halfway down her ass and just low enough to free her cock.

She’s as magnificent as ever when you glance down to watch her fist her length out from her underwear.

“Fuck.” You mumble. Will you ever get over how beautiful she is? Doubtful.

She shuffles you higher in her arms, your thighs resting in the crux of her elbow and she easily angles your entrance towards her as you reef your dress up. She can’t see properly and despite holding you up against the door, she slides up against your entrance on the first pass. You reach down to rip your underwear out of the way and help guide her impatient thrust inside your cunt.

She gets right there, the wide tip edging at your slick entrance and she hesitates. You can feel the heat radiating off her, and the teasing pressure right between your legs. You moan pitifully, a desperate plea mixing with the pleasure of her body so close. It makes her hips stutter and you feel the muscles in her back tense as she holds back a violent reaction to your sound.

You arch back in her arms, head back against the door and look down at her, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I-” She mumbles,

“Natasha?”

“Not like this.” She mumbles, her nose traces down the column of your throat and she tucks under your chin at the shape edge of her cheek.

“What?”

She squirms slightly, dragging the pressure away from your entrance to brush up against the edge of your ass, and the breath you’ve been holding gets sucked from your lungs.

“I feel like I’m going to bite you.” She groans and it feels like a growl that she places at the base of your throat.

“Oh.”

You drop your head to her shoulder and nuzzle in at the crux of her neck

As her pulse thrums under your lips you gently bare your teeth to the sensitive skin, running the sharp and smooth edge of your incisors along her pulse. Ever so carefully, you take a small pinch between your teeth and delicately bite down. It’s not hard enough to break skin, nowhere near it. But it makes her fingers dig into your thigh and a raspy, warning purring vibrates from her chest. She pulls you closer and it’s a test of her self-control to stop herself from latching straight onto your throat in retaliation.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” You whisper to her.

You present your neck to her by lifting your chin and tilting your head slightly to the side. It’s a submissive position but your power isn’t gone. She’s holding you up above her, looking up at you through her lashes and every feature of her face is so familiar - it’s home.

“I’m already yours.” You tell her.

She takes her time to latch onto your neck, just below your fast pumping pulse point and at the same time, she bites down to hold you in place and her hips thrust up into you. She moves with an aching determination, her teeth gradually getting tighter and her hips rutting relentlessly, working to get deeper inside your walls.

She’s tender and cautious but you still yelp softly when finally sheaths herself completely inside, sighing as her hips and thighs press up against yours. She lets go of the bite on your throat and you involuntarily whimper when it’s gone. It’s only a dull ache, Natasha inspects the red swelling from her mouth and some indentations leftover from her teeth, but it’s nothing permanent. She ardently tries to soothe the inflamed spot, soft kisses from her lips already starting to heal the mark. She rocks into you at the same time, passionately grinding into you against the door. The door lock thumps behind you, clicking against the metal and wood as the door slams into the frame.

You fight back a rising orgasm when Natasha keeps nailing a spot inside you that makes you arch your neck back and collide with the door. She keeps a ruthless rhythm until you fall apart with a climax that makes you moan. You reflexively bring a hand to your mouth, muffling the sound much to Natasha’s dismay. It feels too exposing to moan into her living room walls with a shared hallway right on the other side of the door.

As your muscles relax, you sigh in her arms and feel the way the muscles in her arm are working to hold you up. She must be getting tired, you think, and she’s way too eager to impress you to say anything.

“Nat.” You press a warm hand to her chest, gesturing for her to let you down to the ground. She lets you down from her arms and you seductively twist to face the door.

She caresses your hips in broad strokes, pushing your dress up over your lower back and she runs her palms over your ribs.

“Are you okay?”

“Take it off.” You tell her breathlessly.

She slowly pulls down the zipper at the back and you bend forward further to let the dress fall off over your head.

It drops to the ground at your feet in a shiny puddle and as you go to stand up straight, Natasha stops you halfway, keeping you bent at the waist. You reach for the door handle for some support in the position.

She steps up impossibly closer behind you and easily slides in to take you from behind. From this position it’s even easy for her to exert all her control over you. Everything is a frantic search for your pleasure and you practically hiccup with moans as she thrusts hard and slow into you.

“You’re mine now.” She says, and there’s an air of a question that stained the end of her breath.

“Yes.” You gasp. “I’m yours.”

She pauses deep inside you.

“I’m yours, too.” She admits quietly, “Everything I am, everything I have belongs to you. It always has.”

You can’t help but mewl at that, your omega purring at the omission. The sound makes Natasha roar and she starts pounding again, even harder, redoubling her efforts. Your toes curl painfully into the wooden floor as your knees tremble.

“Tash!” You cry out loud this time, Natasha hands gripping your free wrist tightly behind your back and you have nothing to muffle your moans.

You don’t ask her to stop, you're long gone into overstimulation but choose to wait for her to finally let go. After a few more hard strokes that make your stomach clench, you have to ask her.

“Why aren’t you finishing?” You mumble and then whimper softly, “P-Please.”

“I-I can’t!” She whines.

“Huh?”

“Y/N. I can’t cum inside you.”

Oh. It’s her skin deep inside you and you shiver at the thought of her claiming your walls properly. Everything belonging to her feels right, your heart starts to beat fast and you free your hand to touch her. You give her hand a squeeze.

“It’s ok. You can. Please, you can.”

She groans heavily, “I- hmmm.”

A few harsh quick thrusts into you from behind almost send you head first through the wall, but she drags you back on to her just as hard as she pounds into you. After the last one she lets go of your waist and pushes gently against the dimples in your lower back, pulling herself out with a wet pop.

She quickly fists her length, furiously jerking herself off until she orgasms weakly. She drops her hand defeatedly and looks hardly satisfied. You know that an orgasm outside your cunt isn’t very pleasurable, it barely takes the edge off. She stands there, foggy and tense, with her cock still swollen rock hard, denying her relief.

Your weak legs finally get a temporary relief as you slide down to your knees on the floor.

“Come’ere.”

“Y/N.” Her protest is weaker than her recent orgasm.

You raise an eyebrow at her, wordlessly commanding her closer.

She steps up to you, a very small sway to her hips that makes her length swing in front of your face. You don’t waste a second before taking her in your mouth and sinking as far down as your throat would let you. She’s got an incredible girth that gets caught, blocking your windpipe and no matter how hard you push, you can’t force yourself further.

Natasha’s hands shake as she places a gentle grip on the back of your skull and carefully starts to feed more of her cock to your mouth. Your hands clasp tightly to the back of her thighs and you pull harder, trying to make her thrust further so you could deep throat her.

She draws out first, dragging back against your throat and lips. It gives you a chance to breathe that you didn’t even realise you were missing. Every nerve ending over your whole body feels electrocuted with nervous, blissful energy.

She rocks back in slightly faster and you relax every muscle in your body, hoping that it will help as she spears deeper down your throat than before.

“Oh! Fuck. Holy fuck.”

She drags in and out a few more times, shallow and gentle. You can hear her panting in the distance with your own heart beating in your ears like a bass drum.

You keep pulling yourself deeper and in one movement, Natasha ruts forward harder than ever at the same time you push your lips forward and she plugs up your throat deep down. Your plump lips graze her pelvis, your fine nose gets smooshed against her hard lower abs and she twitches hard against your face.

She watches from above you through wide eyes at your own teary expression and her jaw drops at the sight of her cock bulging through your throat. Her hips hump uncontrollably against your lip,s, her alpha telling her to take, take, take, and seconds later she’s gasping as she spurts down your throat.

Natasha steps back on shaky feet and breathes your name quietly, “Y/N.”

You cough lightly as she carefully extracts herself, the first few gulps of air feeling a little strange in your throat. She caresses your jaw intensely and you can see a hint of guilt in her eyes. Even the subtle notion of discomfort from you is extremely painful for her, so she watches you carefully, intent on every detail of your expression. You smile at her, in a way you hope is reassuring, it doesn’t help that your lips are swollen red but the fact that she did that turns her on all over again.

As you stand back to your feet, Natasha drags you into a tight hold, her mouth instantly finding the small bruise left from her bite and she kisses it again. You imagine her placing a real mark there, cutting into your throat and declaring you to the world as hers.

“Can we go to the bedroom now?” She smirks.

“Please.” You whisper back.

She scoops you up with an arm under your knees and carries you bridal style through a short hallway to her bedroom.

#natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov #black widow x reader #The One Chance #wlw #writing #natasha romanoff x female reader

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memphis-menace · 2 years

Text

Siren!Elvis Headcanons

Disclaimer: Okay so just because I drew him, doesn’t mean my headcanons are the be all end all, okay? If you write about him, feel free to make up your own stuff about him, use this stuff about him, whatever you want! That’s the beauty of fandom! This is just how I personally think of the lad when I doodle him.

Disclaimer #2: There will be mentions of animal traits and geographical/topographical shit. I do not claim to actually know anything or claim it as fact. I am making this up, not aiming for accuracy. He’s a sexy water monster, I don’t think “accuracy” applies here.

Once again, @venus-haze has some AMAZING work out regarding her interpretation of him, and hopefully there’s more coming and I can’t wait to eat it up!

Alright, onto my version.

Okay so right off the bat, my version of Siren!Elvis ain’t exactly a fish. That interview that mentioned crocodile eyes took hold of my soul so. The boy is gator based. 🐊

Lives in a swampy/marshy river type area. Look I don’t know terminology I just know what I live by.

Originally, he sang more traditional siren-y songs; mostly just very melodic, wordless tunes. But as people started building residences and moving near his territory, he heard their music - blues, country, rock n’ roll - and decided he really liked it, so his siren song adapted accordingly.

So, being more reptilian than fishy, he doesn’t have a tail. He has semi-webbed clawed hands and feet, and a gator tail to help propel him through the water. He has scales covering his skin in certain places, mostly his back and arms? I’ll try and draw a reference for what I envision one day I’m not good with description there’s a reason I doodle instead of write fanfic 😭

Now yes, he does eat people. Come on, that’s like. The whole “siren” shtick. HOWEVER, if you should catch his eye as something other than food… 👀

Under no uncertain terms, this fella is a YANDERE. Once he’s set his sights on you, it’s over. You’re his. Prepare to be sung into submission, so to speak.

That being said, he knows that realistically he can’t keep you in the swamp indefinitely - humans are not made for mostly aquatic living. So you can stay at your house, but you better visit him every day or there WILL be a tantrum and his tantrums get bloody

Also his eyes do that reflecty/glowy thing, so if he finds out where you live and you wake up in the middle of the night to see glowing blue eyes by your bed looking at you, don’t worry it’s just Elvis, checking on you.

He may try and eat your pets but if you really reiterate to him that you don’t want him to do that he’ll concede and leave them alone.

However, don’t tell him of anyone you’re getting close to that he may consider a rival. The next day you’ll hear about a nasty, mangled, half-eaten corpse found floating down the river 😬

On the flip side, probably don’t tell him about people who are upsetting you. Unless you’re cool with a pile of bones being left on your porch. Cause like, you know how cats bring you dead animals as a gift? Yeah Elvis will do that. And will get extremely huffy if you throw them away or get rid of them; they were a gift! So what if it’s a liability and if someone finds out you could get arrested on suspicion of murder? He’ll eat the cops, don’t worry!

Fair warning, he will eat you if you try to break up with him or cheat on him. So if you’re starting a relationship with him, it’s gonna be your last one. One way or another. So proceed with caution.

He can also do that scary ass hiss/growl that gators do. Because it’s cool and I say so.

Now if you wanna hear him damn near purr, gently scratch the scales along his spine when you cuddle him. He’ll practically melt.

Now, mans got some sharp teefs. And unfortunately, biting is a love language for him. He’s not being mean or trying to hurt you, he just has to mark you up so people know you’re taken 🙂

Now when it comes to sexy time, you deadass may want to get him a muzzle because hoo lord you may end up in a hospital. He can’t always control his chompers when his hormones get high. He’ll feel bad afterwards and try to help you with the bleeding 🥺

Like most gators, Elvis will eat anything, especially if it’s something you made. Because he can’t fathom that you would take time out of your day to cook something to and bring it to him, when he’s perfectly fine eating raw meat. So it’s super special to him when you bring him food you made. It could be a deep fried boot and he’d eat it happily as long as you made it for him.

Eventually he learns (via siren magic because again, this is fantasy and I can do what I want) how to mask his reptilian features and look human, so he can spend even more time with you! Ain’t that great? :) He’s watched the humans around him for quite a while, so he knows how to behave like one when he needs to. You just need to buy him some clothes.

This will be updated, but this is what I got for now. He’s basically a big ol puppy with some less than safe eating habits and a unique way of lovin’

He is a g8er boi he said see you l8er boi

#elvis #elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #elvis presley #elvis 2022 #siren!elvis #menace babbles #this is my boy and I love him so much #I hope y’all like him too #yandere elvis #Yandere elvis x reader

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fatgumsurpremacy-remastered · 1 year

Note

Have you watched Emesis Blue? What did you think of it?

(I LOVED IT)

I have! I’ve also written some stuff about it!

Cw: spoilers, obvious dark subject matter

Okay, I wanna talk about the beginning and how well they portrayed true relationship between Jeremy and Fritz. It’s clear they’ve got a mutual trust in one another and it hurts all the more when Fritz finds him dead. I’m still 100% devastated by the ugly ass smile Medic gives in the respawn. That hurts me so bad man. The way they portray Fritz’s mental state decaying is chilling but it sheds him in a light that this was bred from necessity. He clearly cares about Jeremy, there would be no reason for him to go to the slaughterhouse otherwise. And while plagued with these visions he doesn’t want to worry Jeremy with trivial detail.

The setup of all of it was amazing and the amount of Kubrick references absolutely had be absorbed. It’s nice to feel a story flesh out certain properties to something entirely it’s own. The looping sequences sent chills down my spine but my favorite mindfuck were the conaghers.

Zed has to be one of my favorite renditions of Engie because of how they portray him as an active threat rather than passive danger. While he appears cool and sadistic, that coolness is out the window the second he gets a chance to play with someone he deems a threat (ie) Fritz. The moment he said “I’da got you.” and starts giggling showed me just how fucked up he was if he wasn’t already. He’s got a childish ass outlook on this, and him stuck inside a place like Teufort is absolutely NOT GOOD. (Love Teufort but it’s the shittiest map. Also my favorite though.)

Maynards design had me frothing at the mouth, I’m just gonna say that straight up. He didn’t even do nothin outwardly he just kind of went along, which- yeah I guess let your creepy younger brother tourture that poor twink. He really does give off the vibe of a man disconnected, Medics whole bit about strangling him was out of left field but necessity. That scene in particular made me feral.

It showed us what I imagine to be an anomaly in the loop correcting itself, but therefore making the entity more aggressive, the entity in question Fritz. That whole scenes cinematography is brilliant.

Now I get on to my absolute favorite character ever.

Fucking soldier.

Never thought that someone could do such a damn good job emulating Rick may but FUCK did they. The lower, and more stark tone to the character made his wacky lines way funnier: it shows someone who seems incompetent being truly skilled at what they do. Surviving. While his methods are ridiculous it’s his leaps of faith that save him.

With bat out of fucking hell sniper he showed that he doesn’t like to give mercy. He shows a side that would make him antagonistic. But throughout the whole film he shows nothing aside from compassion, even towards the people he barley knows. That elevator scene says it all to me. He has reason to be suspicious but through that he chooses to be kind. It sunk my heart seeing the warfeild scene, it was quiet in a way. It was bleak and chaotic but he seemed perfectly fine to be there for just a moment.

Jane lost… a lot. In this film. He lost his coworker to the pits of an evil fucking loop. He lost a friend in Demo when Demo froze. (That scene broke me btw.) He lost dignity and connection and hope. And afterwards he looked so… dead? He won.

He escaped but what was the cost in the end? The loop continued on. His blank stare shared with medic and the attempt to blow him and the venue itself up over spies inaccurate details really shows his need for the truth. This film helped me out a lot with characterizing Solly in the future he’s honestly a darling.

On the topic of the loop and the way they constructed it holy shit. Those beginning shots were so so affective at building the atmosphere. I thought it’d be found footage till the end but NO, it just set up the mood and shit RAGGH

#I’m rabid over the film sorry about my rant

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usermischief · 2 years

Text

♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Lori Rohr, Donovan Donati ♜Tags/Warnings: attempted rape, violence, drug use, blood, mentions of self-harm, canon compliant up until 3b, canon divergence, Stiles goes to Devenford, ♜Words: 7037 ♜Bad Things Happen Bingo - Attempted Rape ♜Ao3

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broken innocence

Stiles has concluded that he does not like his worlds to mingle. But Beacon Hills is a small town. Keeping everything separated is like trying to keep your toys to yourself in kindergarten. Things become even more complicated when lacrosse is involved. Suddenly, even Beacon County looks like becomes a rural village where everyone knows everyone. He has absolutely no desire to be here tonight, watching his new school wipe the floor with his old one. He doesn’t have any interest in running into his old pack either.

But Brett wanted him to come to tonight’s scrimmage, and Stiles learned rather quickly that it’s all but impossible to say no to Brett Talbot; for a variety of reasons, Stiles doesn’t want to dissect any time soon.

Stiles twists the Twizzlers between his fingers, scanning the bleachers for Lori. Since most of his friends are on the field tonight, and he does not want to join the girlfriend league, his only options are sitting with Lori or sitting alone. He enjoys Lori’s company, so the other option has never really been one.

“Stilinski.” Donovan cuts into his path, easily snatching the Twizzlers out of his grasp, and grins in a way that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. “Just the man I was looking for.” Raising his brows, and clearly trying to bait a reaction, he opens the treat and bites onto it.

Well, there goes his dinner.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, straightening his spine and shoulders almost instinctively. Donovan Donati is not supposed to be a part of his everyday life. Stiles made just enough room for his presence that didn’t interfere with anything or anyone else. That’s how his second shot at a normal life is supposed to work. It needs three pieces; the past he avoids, the present he tries to enjoy, and Donovan for when the darkness makes him feel too much or nothing at all.

Donovan’s grin is uncomfortably sharp. Then again, everything about him is, almost like he designed himself to hurt whoever comes too close. It’s enviable and pathetic. “You wanna come to a party later tonight?” It seems like all those unanswered text messages aren’t doing it for him any longer.

Stiles didn’t expect him to care. “I hate parties.” Because joining Donovan and his gang has never been about socializing. It’s always been about feeling better. He couldn’t care less about it being Donovan. If he had a better option, he’d go for that.

“Do it for me?”

Stiles scoffs. “I hate you too.” But Stiles doesn’t need to like someone to spend time with them — as long as they prove to be useful.

Donovan’s lips twist.

“Hey.” Brett appears at Stiles’ side, one hand protectively curled around his shoulder. “What’s up?” Brett is polite. Brett is also the only person Donovan won’t cross. They are polar opposites, yet not impossibly different. Brett simply knows better than to go down the wrong path, probably because he has people who care about him. Donovan is surrounded by his little puppets.

Stiles shakes his head.

Donovan sneers. “See you at school.” Without regarding Brett, he turns away, pointing the Twizzlers at Stiles like he would a loaded gun. Not even the most feral werewolf manages to make every single gesture look like a threat. Staying away should be easier, but Stiles keeps crawling back in desperate need to feel something — even if it hurts.

Brett doesn’t look satisfied with the end of the conversation. “What did he want?”

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugs his hand off, knowing full well he’s being a dick. “His usual bullshit.”

“What’s his usual bullshit?”

“Fuck, Talbot.” Stiles pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Talking shit. Acting tough. The fuck do I know.” His connection to Donovan is not supposed to leave the shadows. They don’t have this type of relationship. Nobody hangs out with their dealer.

Brett does not look like he believes him, but he drops the topic. “The girls are—“

“I’m sitting with Lori.” The girls are nice enough, but Stiles doesn’t have the energy for them. He also feels a little weird about joining them. He’s not part of the girlfriend group, and he doesn’t want people to dwell on his and Brett’s relationship too much. It’s enough that Stiles overanalyses absolutely everything.

Brett smiles, features getting unbearably soft. “I’m glad you came,” he says, and for a moment, he looks almost sheepish. “It means a lot.”

Stiles smiles, hating the way his heart grows three sizes. This is not going to end well. Not at all.

— — —

“You look like you haven’t slept a second,” Brett comments, sitting down opposite him. His backpack hits the ground like a ton of bricks. “Nightmares again?”

If by nightmares he meant the questionable decision to join Donovan’s even more questionable party, then yes. Stiles should’ve known better, really, but it is what it is — and his bruised ribs are going to heal eventually. Stiles simply did not expect Donovan’s fucking minion to hit that hard. Sighing, he pokes his milkshake cup with his middle finger and shrugs. “It’s easier to tell you when I don’t have nightmares.”

Brett sighs, crossing his arms on the table. “Stiles.” His name sounds as if Brett wanted to say something entirely different, only to lose his courage before opening his mouth. It’s an odd sensation. Brett Talbot doesn’t usually lose his courage. He shifts in his chair, long legs bumping into Stiles’. A warm breeze rushes down the street, rustling the menu and Brett’s hair. He fixes it, frowning at himself in the reflection of the ice cream parlor’s large windows.

Two girls sitting inside watch him transfixed — Stiles stops himself from doing the same. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he taps the menu. “I heard the banana split is great here.”

Tugging on a strand one last time, Brett turns to look at him. “I don’t like whipped cream.”

“Tell them you don’t want it.”

Their legs are still pressed together.

Brett raises his brows. “Tell them…” he trails off, lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Such an easy solution.” His gaze darts over Stiles’ face while the wind is messing with his hair again. He’s not talking about the whipped cream any longer. Maybe he never has. Sometimes, he is as hard to read as Parrish. On other days, it’s easy to see more on his face than there really is.

Usually, Stiles doesn’t have issues reading people, yet Brett still feels elusive. He’s never been able to look at Brett and feel like he knows him — unlike Brett is doing right now. And that’s the scary part. Although Stiles is not afraid of being known, he fears someone knowing him and leaving anyway. It’s not unreasonable. It happened before. It might just happen again. Perhaps that’s why being with Brett makes him anxious despite being unable to stay away. Losing Brett would break him all over again.

Stiles licks his lips. “I died tonight,” he says then, knowing Brett would not drop the topic, “strangely enough, it helps feeling more alive in the morning.” It’s as close to the truth as he can get without telling Brett he spent the night at one of Donovan’s underground parties. It’s not the type of party someone like Brett Talbot would attend. It’s the type of party Jordan Parrish would shut down if he knew it happened right under his nose. It’s filled with drugs, with teenagers doing everything they aren’t allowed to, with people betting on others fighting in a cage, and with Donovan being the king of it all.

“How often does that happen?”

“I think it’s easier to tell you how often I get a normal amount of sleep.”

Brett shakes his head with a humorless chuckle. “I get it.” He stands up, now fixing his hair again. “You don’t wanna talk about it.”

Stiles hums in agreement and sips on his milkshake, watching the other boy out of the corner of his eyes. He’d rather be open about everything he does. It would probably help to talk to someone about it — someone who isn’t Donovan, who deals in violence, or his therapist, who deals in prescription drugs. Neither is particularly interested in talking to him, much less listening. Maybe Brett would if he gave him the chance, or Stiles might ruin a perfectly good thing.

“Banana split?”

“Banana split.”

Brett nods, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans. “You want something else?”

“I’m good,” Stiles says around his straw and watches as Brett walks into the ice cream parlor. There are six people in front of him, all of them wanting to enjoy the last days of summer. He scrunches up his face when the cold shake touches his teeth and bites down on the straw for good measure before leaning back in his chair with a grunt. A dull ache echoes in his ribs. Touching the sore spot carefully, he shifts in his chair. As much as he loves this place, they need to upgrade their furniture. If it weren’t so crammed inside, Stiles would’ve chosen the more comfortable benches.

Stiles closes his eyes, trying to enjoy the warm rays of sunshine. He’s not felt at ease like this ever since he learned about the scrimmage. Stiles was aware that he would have to confront his old friends eventually. It still messed him up. Seeing them. Watching how their world simply kept turning without him being there. They looked like he never belonged anyway, as if his absence doesn’t leave the same hole Stiles is so desperately trying to fill right now. It’s pathetic, really. If they can move on as if it’s nothing, Stiles should be able to do the same.

Yet he finds himself at Donovan’s fucking parties more often than he can count.

The chair next to him scrapes over the asphalt.

“That was quick.” Stiles blinks his eyes open, but it’s not Brett who settled into the chair. It’s Donovan. His blood runs cold. This happens entirely too often for his liking. “What are you doing here?”

Donovan tosses a small bag at him. “You won a bunch of money last night.” His leg shifts, pressing against Stiles’.

“Why the fuck,” Stiles snaps, snatching the money from the table, “are you giving this to me here?” It’s not like the next party will be months away. Donovan never makes it longer than a few days, and even if Stiles didn’t appear, there could have been a more subtle way. But it seems like Donovan is done with being subtle. He wants something else. Something Stiles won’t be able to give him. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” He pulls his leg away, hating the sensation of their bodies touching more than Donovan being here. There is something poisonous about the other boy, and Stiles doesn’t want to get it all over him.

The response doesn’t seem to bother Donovan. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t want your boyfriend to know about us.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Because that’s the important part about everything Donovan said. But at least it’s the truth. Brett isn’t his boyfriend, and he most likely won’t be — not as long as Stiles doesn’t bother to get any better, and especially not as long as Stiles keeps a company like Donovan Donati. “And there is no us.”

Donovan grins. It’s cold and calculating, and in a strange way, comforting. Because that is the Donovan Stiles is familiar with. “If it wasn’t totally unethical, I’d blackmail you with this.” That’s rich coming from the guy who makes sure to include a fight club in every single one of his parties.

Stiles grinds his teeth before he forces himself to relax. “Because you’re a shining beacon of ethics, right?” Everything was fine for four months. Why does Donovan have to go out of his way to fucking ruin everything? “Just go away.”

“Aw, Stilinski, you’re hurting my feelings.”

“Good.”

Something dark flicks over Donovan’s expression. His lips pull away from his teeth, and he leans closer. “I know what you want,” he says in a low voice. “Talbot can’t give it to you. Not the way I can.” His fingers creep towards Stiles’ hand and before he can pull it away, Donovan grabs it tight, squeezing it until his bones hurt.

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide, heart hammering against his ribs, but he doesn’t struggle. It would only cause a scene. Donovan might be violent, however, he’s not stupid enough to pull a stunt on a crowded street.

“I’ve let this slide for long enough,” he says through his teeth. His eyes narrow as he spits out his next words, “there is only with or against me. Make a fucking decision.” Without warning, Donovan lets go of his hand and gets to his feet. The chair clatters to the ground. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t put it back up again and isn’t particularly bothered by the surrounding people staring at him. Some are shaking their heads, others look like they want to make sure Donovan doesn’t spot them. It’s how you can tell who knows him and who has never heard his name.

Stiles wishes he could disappear. His chest tightens. He should stop. He should fucking stop. There are other ways to get through this. Maybe he should find a new therapist, or maybe he should toss his principles in the bin and take the shit he prescribes him. But Stiles doesn’t want to take drugs. He doesn’t want to drink. Donovan isn’t that kind of dealer for him. Stiles goes to Donovan to get rid of his rage. He goes to Donovan so his body hurts whenever he moves, to make sure he knows his body belongs to him.

To feel something. To claim this body as his own.

Winning money is just the cherry on top.

Stiles ducks his head and bends down to pick up the chair, but somebody else is faster than him.

“Talbot,” Donovan sings entirely too happy, “fancy meeting you here.”

Brett sets the chair down with more force than necessary. “Donati.” His wallet hits the table. There’s no banana split in his hand. “I suppose you’re leaving.”

“Don’t know, man. A milkshake does sound good, doesn’t it?”

Brett does not reciprocate the grin that’s plastered on Donovan’s lips. Usually, he is too calm to look dangerous, but right now, Brett looks every bit like the predator he is. “Then I suggest you get something to go.”

Despite himself, Stiles reaches for Brett. His fingers find his wrist, pulse hammering under his skin, and curls his hand around his arm. The touch is soft. Brett barely would have to move a muscle to break free, but he relaxes instead, turning to look at him. Not everyone knows Donovan, but people know Beacon Hills’ rising lacrosse star. The last thing Stiles wants is for Brett to get a dent in his reputation because of someone like Donovan. He’s not worth it. Neither is Stiles.

“Fuck, Talbot.” Donovan’s dark eyes are locked onto the spot where Stiles touches Brett. It takes a long moment for him to look up again. When he does, his almost feral smile does not reach his eyes. Maybe Donovan knows because he flicks his sunglasses down. “You gotta lean to share your toys.”

Brett’s muscles go taut under his hand, and Stiles squeezes his arm in warning. “Ignore him,” he says under his breath, staring at his milkshake. He can’t bring himself to look up, not while everyone is still looking at them.

“Leave.” Brett pulls his arm free and crosses them in front of his chest instead. “Or I’m going to share something with you, you won’t enjoy.”

Donovan barks out a laugh, sudden and cold, like nails on a chalkboard. “Damn, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit.” Or maybe he simply didn’t look close enough. Then again, why should Donovan pay someone like Brett any attention? He doesn’t need popularity because he already has a crowd following him around like lost puppies. After all, Donovan can provide them with whatever they want.

Even Stiles fell for it.

“Is there something you want?” Brett inquires icily.

Donovan tilts his head just enough to give the impression that he’s looking at Stiles. It’s not a great feeling. “There’s always something I want.”

“Then get it somewhere else.” Brett sits down, turning his back partially towards Donovan. The conversation is over. So when he grabs Stiles’ milkshake and takes a sip, it’s more than obvious that he is very much trying to prove a point. It’s kind of sexy.

If Donovan is in any way bothered by it, he certainly knows how to hide it. Which is unusual. He’s not exactly known to mask his emotions very well. Without another word, he pulls his phone out and turns away, blending into the crowd without much of a problem.

A few seconds later, Stiles’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores the itch to grab it. He doesn’t need to read it to know Donovan repeated his threat. There’s only with or against me. The decision should be easy. “You gonna finish that?” Turns out it’s a lot harder than he could have ever expected.

“You gonna keep hanging out with him?”

Stiles lets out a breath. “I’m not—“

“It’s never,” Brett interrupts him, putting the milkshake down to grab Stiles’ hand instead, “a good idea to hang out with Donovan.” That’s not exactly a big secret. The guy comes with his very own warning brighter than any neon sign Las Vegas has to offer. It’s just that warning signs aren’t for everyone; some are blind to them, and others love to ignore them. Stiles belongs to the second category. “Donovan is… he is the opposite of friendly. As in, he is unfriendly. As in, don’t be friends with him!”

Stiles blinks. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Brett huffs out a breath, sounding not unlike a laugh. His thumb brushes over the back of Stiles’ hand, causing a rush of goosebumps up and down his body.

Stiles shouldn’t crave his touch so much. It shouldn’t make him feel like he’s wrapped up in a cloud of cotton candy. There is absolutely no reason for Brett to grab his hand either. There is even less reason for Stiles not to pull it away. “Donovan isn’t all that scary,” he says softly, trying his best not to intertwine their fingers when Brett starts playing with them absentmindedly. “I’ve seen worse.”

Brett nods. “I know.”

“I promise I’ll be careful.” It’s an admission. Stiles is aware of that, and so is Brett judging by the grimace on his features. “But, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be the first person I’ll call if I ever need help.” He’d probably be the only person he’d call for help. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Jordan, but having a werewolf on speed dial is still the safest bet. Besides, Stiles knows Brett would drop everything to come and help him.

Humming in what can only be agreement, Brett slides his fingers in-between Stiles’. He looks up and smiles. “Cocky bastard.”

— — —

Stiles watches Donovan argue with two of his friends about what food to get, lips pressed into a thin line. He shouldn’t be here. The second he saw that tonight’s location was a hotel instead of an empty warehouse, Stiles should have turned around and left. Donovan’s parties don’t happen inside expensive hotel suites. This feels more intimate. It feels like he shouldn’t be here. But he can’t be home alone either. Meeting everyone again fucked with his head much more than it should have.

He eyes the cocaine residue on the glass table. His phone screen flashes, catching his attention. Stiles snatches his phone as Donovan moves next to him, almost as if to grab his phone as well. Pulling a leg onto the couch, he unlocks his phone. To his surprise, it’s a message from Brett.

> Want me to pick you up tomorrow?

Stiles’ heart does a very complicated thing, and he has to take a very deep breath before replying.

I’d like that <

> How about we grab some breakfast before school too?

Why does this sound so much more like a date than meeting up at the ice cream parlor does? Stiles bites his bottom lip.

Surprise me. <

> Believe me. I will.

> Sleep well

Stiles twists his lips into a pitiful grin. Yeah, sleeping probably isn’t going to happen. Not that he’d get a second of sleep by staying home. The darkness is a lot darker than since the scrimmage against his old school. As much as he hates being around Donovan, it helps. He swipes his thumb to stop the screen from going dark. Sleep well. His chest grows warm.

He’s so fucked.

You too <

Stiles bites his cheek, thumb hovering over his keyboard. Just yesterday, Brett held his hand, played with his fingers, and protected him from Donovan. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles should take the leap and stop seeing Donovan.

Can’t wait to see you again <

The message is being read almost immediately. Stiles’ throat closes up. Part of him wants to throw his phone to the other side of the hotel room, but his grip around it tightens instead. He doesn’t have the money to replace it anyway.

Brett sends him a heart.

He sends him a fucking heart.

Stiles grins, pressing his phone to his chest. Maybe he isn’t quite as fucked as he thought he might be. Maybe this is his cue to finally stop destroying himself. Not for Brett but because of this. This feeling. This giddy stupid sensation wraps around him like a safety blanket. The nogitsune didn’t win. It didn’t break him. Not entirely. He isn’t too broken to be liked — maybe even loved.

His dad would be proud of him.

All he has to do is end this. For good. And that’s why he came in the first place, right? Stiles isn’t entirely stupid. He noticed the changes. He noticed Donovan changing his approach. Stiles would have put his foot down if he were a better person. Still, part of him needs this outlet. If he really wants to change this — if he wants to change himself — tonight will be the last night.

Donovan isn’t going to like that.

But Stiles doesn’t care. He’s going break this fucking habits once and for all. He is going to quit tonight. If he’s got a chance with Brett, he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“Stilinski,” Donovan drawls, his pupils are blown as wide as he’s high, “you shitting me?”

Stiles glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. The guy really had the fucking nerve to lean close enough to read his messages. “Privacy, fuckface.” He elbows Donovan away, who bares his teeth in a terrible copy of a grin. Sometimes he wonders if Donovan is ever sober and if he’s being perfectly honest. Seeing that he had to repeat his senior year twice because his attendance was abysmal, Stiles very much doubts that. He’s probably failing the year again — not that Donovan is actively trying to change that. But why would he? If he can rent a suite like this—

The door clicks shut.

Stiles whips his head around.

The suite is empty. Donovan’s friends left the room without saying anything. Unless maybe they’re grabbing food and drinks? Maybe they said something, and Stiles simply didn’t catch it. That’s entirely possible… right? “So,” Stiles says, trying to stifle the panic swelling in his chest, “where’s the rest?”

Donovan lets out a huff. “What rest?”

Licking his dry lips, Stiles turns around. Something about the way Donovan leans towards him makes him feel highly uneasy. He should have never come here, and he shouldn’t have acted like Brett’s worry was exaggerated. It wasn’t. Stiles knows something is wrong with Donovan. That’s why he attends his parties. Still, a person who gets drugs as easily as Donovan and offers people a violent outlet is dangerous. Or maybe, just maybe, Donovan simply likes to watch other people ruining themselves. That still makes him dangerous, just not actively so.

He’s being stupid.

How the fuck could he risk ending up alone with Donovan Donati?

“Well,” Stiles says, tightening the grip on his phone — Brett is just a message away. One single message. “The rest of the party.” His eyes dart around the room. He can’t help it. Keeping track of ways of escape is a necessity when running with wolves and other creatures of the night. It’s probably smart to treat Donovan similarly.

Donovan merely scoffs and crosses the room, leaving the entrance unguarded. That’s good. That’s good. “You think I’d pay that much money for the room to be trashed?” He grabs a bottle of water, tossing it at him without warning.

Stiles catches it awkwardly. “So… what’s this then?” He gestures a little, still not entirely sure what to make of this situation. He doesn’t get it. Who rents a huge ass suite to pre-party with their friends? It doesn’t make any sense.

“To chill,” Donovan says and reaches for his glass of whiskey. “To have fun.” Despite everything Stiles knows about him, he manages to look like a sleazy politician who only cares about his pleasure.

Stiles twists his lips. What does that make him?

“Nobody needs to rent something like this for fun.” He makes air quotes with one hand before opening the bottle. It’s almost entirely silent. This bottle has been opened before. It has been tampered with, his paranoid mind suggests. Stiles twists the cap back and forth. Donovan’s eyes are on him. He can feel his gaze like a spider crawling up his spine. This is wrong. Something is wrong. Everything is wrong.

Donovan sets his glass down. His posture is relaxed, yet there is something off about him. “Not thirsty?”

“Not really, no.” Stiles shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to figure out what to say without giving Donovan a reason to fly off the handle. “I should… I think I should probably… go.” Stiles puts the bottle down, ignoring the rise of Donovan’s brow. Every second he stays here is a second too long. Why has he come here? Why didn’t he just ignore Donovan like he usually does? He could have called Brett.

Fucking dammit. He’s so fucking stupid.

“No?” Donovan turns on the couch, now fully facing him. There’s no humor left in his tone. “You go on a date with Talbot, and suddenly — poof — your innocence is restored?”

Stiles glances in the direction of the door. If his gut feeling is right about Donovan, he won’t make it to the door. “I never said I’m innocent.” But that seems to have been the wrong thing to say… which he probably should have expected.

And yet—

Donovan’s grin remains a grimace, but he reaches his hand and places it on Stiles’ thigh. His touch is strangely soft, his thumb dragging a small circle over the inside of his jeans. “I can give you everything you want. I can give you everything Brett Talbot can’t.”

But that’s not the point. The point isn’t about getting what he wants. Not all the time, at least. Stiles isn’t fucking stupid. Sometimes, he’s gotta keep in mind what he needs. And Brett? Brett is capable to give him both. Brett is who he wants, but Stiles is aware that he’s not the person to let him get away with his bullshit. That’s not who Brett Talbot is, and that’s what Stiles loves about him.

Loves.

Shaking his head, Stiles pushes his hand off. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

But Donovan merely reaches for him again, moving closer in the process. His hand returns to his thigh — and this time, it’s a lot closer to his crotch.

Stiles shoves it away again. “Stop.”

“I think you owe it to me.”

When Donovan reaches out this time, Stiles slaps his hand away. “I said stop.” He pushes his phone into the pocket of his jacket and gets to his feet. “I’m leaving.” Nothing in their relationship ever indicated that Donovan is interested in fucking him, and Stiles surely never gave him any reason to believe otherwise.

“No.” Donovan jolts to his feet. “You’re not fucking leaving.”

“Oh, but I am.” Stiles takes a step back, mindful of the table and the couch. If he stumbles, he’s— he doesn’t want to think about it. The last thing he wants is to get into a position of weakness in front of a pissed-off Donovan. “I don’t want y— this.”

Without any warning, Donovan lurches forward. His grip is tight and painful, and so is Stiles’ back connecting with the wall. “I don’t care.” Sneering, Donovan forces a leg between his thighs, “it’s time to pay up.”

Panic explodes in his chest when Donovan leans closer. He’s trying to kiss him. He’s trying to kiss him.

No.

It’s so much worse.

“Stop.” His voice isn’t half as assertive as he wants it to be. It cracks as he turns his head away, merely avoiding Donovan’s lips on his. “Please, stop.” As if begging is going to lead to the desired result if struggling doesn’t do anything. As if Donovan fucking cares because he doesn’t. It’s like he doesn’t even notice Stiles trying to push him off. Maybe that’s why Donovan didn’t bother to grab his hands. He knew he was stronger. He knew he could easily overpower him.

Fuck.

Stiles wants to scream, but he can’t. It’s like the sound catches in the back of his throat, refusing to come out. He should have listened to Brett, but no. No. Stiles thought he knew better, and now this is what he gets; Donovan’s mouth on his neck. It’s a touch that makes Stiles’ stomach heave. “I said stop.” There. That came out a bit more assertive.

But Donovan doesn’t back off. He doesn’t even flinch. He does, however, adjust his grip and places his hand at Stiles’ hip instead of his upper arm.

And that gives Stiles enough room for a punch.

So he does just that.

The second his fist connects with Donovan’s cheek, a sharp pain jolts from his knuckles up to his shoulder. It feels like he’s punched a brick wall with full force. It’s a way too familiar feeling, and the shock freezes him for a moment. There is blood on his knuckles and blood on Donovan’s face. Stiles is pretty sure both belong to him. But that means…

Donovan whips his head around, baring unnatural sharp teeth. Those aren’t what pushes Stiles to sprint to the bathroom. It’s Donovan’s silver eyes.

Stiles rushes through the open door, almost sliding on the expensive tiles. His heart slams against his chest, panic making it hard to breathe. There’s no way out of this bathroom, but there is time to be found here. Stiles slams the door shut and locks the door. Nothing else but a small cabinet could offer any additional safety. It might only give him seconds, but maybe that’s everything he needs.

With trembling fingers, Stiles pulls his phone out of his jacket. He doesn’t even think about calling the police or Jordan. He calls Brett.

The doorknob rattles.

“Hey, Stiles!” Lori answers in a singsong. There is soft music in the background and something that could be the soft rumble of an engine.

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. “Is Brett there?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m driving.”

There’s a thump on the door, and Stiles covers his mouth to stop the panicked sound. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. He swallows, lowers his hand, and scratches his neck. “I fucked up,” he whispers, voice cracking all over again. There’s no way Lori and Brett haven’t heard that. “I need your help.”

“Where are you?”

“The hotel downtown.” Stiles licks his lips, watching the doorknob wriggle again. “Brett, I’m sorry, I—“

“Stiles!” By the sound of it, Donovan slams his hand against the door multiple times, every punch feels angrier than the one before. “Open the fucking door.”

“Is that Donovan?” Brett asks over the sound of his engine howling as he seemingly puts off changing gears in favor of gaining speed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers again, backing away until he bumps against the sink. “I thought—“

“Stiles, don’t apologize.” The engine quiets. Besides the music, Stiles can hear Lori talking to someone. Her voice is muffled enough that he cannot make out what she says, but she sounds hectic. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” Although Brett can’t see it, Stiles nods. Brett breathes in and out audibly. “Listen to me. I need you to find a weapon. Whatever you can get your hands on, you hear me?”

Again, Stiles nods, frantically looking around the bathroom, while Donovan is trying his best to get through the door. But there is nothing in this bathroom. What did he expect? This is a hotel. There are no personal items. There is nothing he could use — and it’s not like it matters. Donovan isn’t human. “I can’t—“ Stiles cuts off, feeling his throat close up. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. “I can’t find anything. There’s nothing here.”

“Where are you right now?” Brett’s voice sounds unbelievably soft given the current circumstances.

Stiles can’t tell if this is relaxing or stressing him more. All he knows is that there is nothing in this room that is going to help him against whatever Donovan is — or what he’s got planned. There is only Brett, but Brett is not here. Not yet anyway. “The bathroom.” Stiles swallows, grabbing the sink to stay upright even though every part of his body wants to drop to the floor and hide in the corner. “Please, Brett…” he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking him to do. He’s on the phone with him. He’s on his way here. What more does he want? To get out of here. Stiles digs his blunt nails into the skin of his neck. To get out of here with his bodily autonomy still mostly untouched.

He’s worked for months to remember that his body belonged to him. Every day, Stiles is still struggling with it. That’s why he goes to those parties. Because the bruises and the pain are his choices. They are a reminder that this is his body, and he can do with it whatever the fuck he wants. He can destroy himself. He can rebuild himself.

The door shudders.

“Stiles?” Brett calling his name drags him out of his head. “Talk to me, Gorgeous. What’s happening?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “He’s about to get in. Brett, please.”

“I’m almost there. Just a little longer. I need to you—“

The door finally gives way to Donovan’s violence, and the small cabinet does nothing to protect Stiles any longer.

“Please, come quick,” is the last thing Stiles allows himself to say before he drops two phones. If he wants to have at least a fleeting chance to fight, he will need both hands. “Donovan, I— let’s talk about this.” ‘Let’s talk about this’? Stiles wants to bang his head against the wall. He can’t believe that’s the first and only thing he came up with.

Donovan rolls his shoulders. There’s still blood on his cheek. “You should know how this goes, Stilinski,” he says in a low voice, advancing on him slowly — like he has all the time in the world. Perhaps he didn’t hear his conversation with Brett. Maybe, just maybe, Donovan does not have super-hearing. “The more you struggle, the more it’s gonna hurt.”

The bathroom is in no way big enough to rush past him, Stiles well and truly cornered himself coming here, but he’s trying anyway. That way, he at least goes down fighting.

Donovan doesn’t even have to put any effort into catching him. He simply grabs him around the waist. For a brief second, he lifts him off his feet like Stiles is nothing more to him than a little unruly child that needs to be put into a timeout. “We could have had fun, you know?” Donovan snaps, clearly nearing the end of his patience as he curls his free hand into Stiles’ hair. “But you had to make it difficult.”

And just like that, Donovan smashes Stiles’ head against the sink.

The pain doesn’t come immediately. For a little while, there is nothing. That’s what it feels like at least. There is no light. There is no pain. There isn’t even any sound. All of that only returns when he opens his eyes.

Stiles groans, pressing his eyes shut again. Light explodes behind his lids. The pain makes him sick. There are hands on his body, cold and rough, dragging him over hard tiles. He should open his eyes. He has to open his eyes. But he can’t. His lids feel too heavy. His whole body feels so fucking heavy. But someone moves it. Someone moves him. His elbow connects with the hard ground. The pain shooting up his arm startles his brain into action again.

He’s inside the bathroom.

Those hands touching him belong to Donovan.

He’s not wearing any pants.

“No,” Stiles mumbles, trying to move as a cold finger hooks into his boxer briefs. “Stop. Please. Stop.” He twists his hips, but Donovan’s grip is vice-like. There’s no getting away. There’s nothing he can do. Stiles forces his eyes open. The lashes of his left eye stick to his skin. There’s blood on the floor. Blood on his skin. Blood on the rug in front of the bathtub. What happens here tonight will leave a stain. Eventually, the hotel will throw it out. Because it doesn’t matter. They might never know what happened here. If they do, they’ll hide it. Nobody wants to rent a room where somebody was raped.

He sobs.

His stomach heaves violently when Donovan raises his hips off the floor. There’s a tug on his boxer briefs.

Then his body collapses onto the floor.

Something crashes behind him.

“Stiles!” Feet appear in his vision. The tip of white sneakers dips into his blood. “Stiles. It’s me. It’s Lori.” She crouches down next to him, offering him a hand. His blood drenches her jeans. She doesn’t seem bothered.

Stiles takes her hand.

“Careful,” she whispers. Her touch is gentle as she helps him sit up. “Careful, your head.” She places a hand on his cheek, tipping his head just enough to study the damage better. “You should get that checked out.”

Nodding turns out to be a terrible idea. He closes his eyes, collapsing against the girl next to him. Another sob claws its way out his throat. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Lori curls her arms around him, pulling him as close as their awkward position allows. “It’s going to be okay.”

It’s easy to say, and right now, it’s almost easier to believe. Stiles opens his eyes. His pants are lying in a heap next to the cabinet. His shoes have been tossed in the direction of the hallway. One has tumbled through the door. It’s now sitting next to Donovan and Brett’s legs.

Donovan doesn’t move, pinned underneath Brett, who can’t seem to stop moving. He brings his bloody fists down and down again. There are no other sounds than Donovan’s near maniacal laughter and a fist connecting with somebody’s face. Over and over and over again. It’s a sound Stiles is more than familiar with. He’s caused it more nights than he cares to count.

And it was all for nothing. All those fights didn’t mean shit in the end. All those nights he spent running with wolves, and he still couldn’t fight off a single supernatural creature.

Stiles closes his eyes.

“Hey, hey.” Lori jostles him. “Stay with us.”

Slowly, Stiles blinks his eyes open again. His view is obstructed by a pair of legs. There is more blood on clothes, but this time, it doesn’t belong to him.

Donovan isn’t laughing any longer.

“You gotta stay awake, Gorgeous.” Brett crouches down, smiling a little. If not for his busted knuckles and Donovan’s blood sticking to his skin, it would be easy to believe nothing at all happened. “Can you stand?” He holds out both hands.

Stiles doubts he’ll be able to get to his feet without help, but he wants to get out of here. He needs to get away from Donovan. Swallowing dryly, he grabs Brett’s hands. They feel so different from Donovan’s. They’re so much safer, so much softer. His eyes burn at the thought of it. His throat closes up again, making it almost impossible to breathe. But he pushes through it and nods very carefully when he realizes Brett waits for his sign.

Getting his feet under him is a slow process. Frustrating almost. His legs don’t feel like his own. The pressure in his head is sheer agony. When he stands, the world tips and turns. Stiles is pretty sure any movement might cause him to throw up. Concussion, the rational part of his brain suggests.

“Look at that,” Brett says, the smile audible in his voice, “steady as a newborn fawn.”

Despite himself, Stiles laughs. “Fuck you.” But the short feeling of happiness doesn’t last long. The second he takes a step forward, is the moment his legs give way, is the moment he starts sobbing again. “I’m sorry.” Stiles lets go of Brett’s hands and wraps his arms around the wolf instead, hiding his face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened. I should have—“

“Hey, hey. Don’t.” Brett hugs him to his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, and kisses the top of his head once. “There is nothing you have to apologize for. This isn’t your fault.”

Stiles curls his fingers into Brett’s shirt, holding onto the other boy for dear life.

“It’s okay,” Brett whispers. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

---

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:briles #*w:bthb

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

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The Power of Storytelling: A Dangerous Mistake

listen nonny i wanna put the full ask here but it's so long so i'm just gonna link it here

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: presumed drowning, invoq is ‘trapped’ in a trick box but the other character doesn’t know it’s a trick box.

Pairings: anxceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2769

The next time Tobias walks through town, he’s careful to avoid any conversations about Conras. It’s more difficult than anticipated, even with the allure of Invoq’s show and the buzz about the upcoming ball. Because Conras is such a phenomenon, it seems that everyone can’t get enough of talking about him. He manages to dodge most of them by looking standoffish and walking faster than most people can keep up with, but when he has to go visit Merk, he can’t avoid it.

“You don’t look very happy,” Merk says as he measures Tobias’s chest again, “did you and that magician have a fight?”

“No, we—wait, what the hell does that mean?”

Merk rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, just because I spend most of my life staring into a glowing forge doesn’t mean I’m blind. The whole town’s been talking about it.”

“What?”

“Wait, have you really not noticed?” He sets the tape measure aside. “It’s a wonder to see you with the same person all day, let alone for this long.”

Tobias hunches his shoulders. “I wasn’t aware that my choice of company was such a source of entertainment.”

Merk glances at him as he fiddles with a piece of metal. “It’s not, Tobias, not really. It’s just, well…”

Tobias glances at him. “What?”

“It’s just I’ve had complaints of other people who want to spend time with the elusive magician before he vanishes, and someone is hogging all of his time.”

Ah. Tobias grins. “That’s hardly my fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merk grumbles, “you laugh it up over there.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You may as well be.” He holds the piece of metal up. “Now let’s get you fitted so you can get out of my shop.”

“Shouldn’t I take my shirt off? So you can fit it better?”

“If you wear my armor over your bare skin you’re an even bigger idiot than Agnes gives you credit for.”

“Listen, if you want to keep me in here longer so other people can have more time with Invoq…”

“Keep your shirt on!”

Tobias laughs as Mark flicks water at him. He behaves, letting the blacksmith take his measurements without complaint. Still, his mind begins to wander back to Invoq and Conras. Two entertainers, so different, and yet they both had such an impact.

“Seriously,” Merk asks when he doesn’t say anything for a while, “are you okay? I’ve only ever seen you so quiet when Agnes is yelling at me for not making your armor properly. Which I do, by the way.”

Tobias sighs. “I went to Conras’s storytelling last night.”

“Ah.” Merk picks up another tool. “Something sticking with you?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Something like that.”

“Mm. That’s why I don’t go to those all the time.”

“No? Even when they’re so rare?”

“Nah. Conras is, uh, too good at his job sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Tobias mutters, “I know what you mean.”

“Well, anyway, I think you’re done.”

“Thanks.” He shrugs his bag back on. “Should I come see you in a bit?”

“Yeah, gimme a while to get this together.”

Tobias tips him a lazy salute as he walks out the door. The townspeople aren’t too busy at this time of night so it’s pretty easy to amble his way across the way to where Invoq’s tent is. There isn’t a show tonight, but it is the easiest place to find him.

His stomach twists a little as he thinks about what it means that he knows exactly where to find Invoq.

Is he being drawn in by the man? Yes, absolutely. He’s been more enthralled with Invoq than he has with anyone in a long time. And maybe that’s because the rest of the townspeople are…well, townspeople. Invoq is different. Invoq isn’t from here, he’s—well, he may be temporary. Seize the moment and all that, right?

But there’s a niggling at the back of his mind that won’t go away. Something that says Invoq is familiar, in a way that sends little shivers down the back of his spine. Something that says he shouldn’t be falling so fast for what is so obviously a performance.

He does his best to push it away as he nears the tent grounds. The fabric flaps in the breeze, the gold seal dulled by the lack of candlelight. He knocks on the wooden post and parts the flap.

“Invoq? You here?”

No answer. He walks inside, pushing more fabric apart. No sign of him.

“Invoq, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not funny.”

Still nothing. Maybe he’s stepped out for a moment. Tobias heads back out of the tent, walking down to the path that leads to the river. It’s a lovely walk this time of night, it wouldn’t surprise him if he came out this way to enjoy it. He wanders down to the riverbank, ready to take a seat, when something catches his eye.

A box.

Floating in the river.

He frowns, getting closer.

It’s not just any box.

It’s Invoq’s box.

The one he locks himself in.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Tobias leaps forward, splashing into the water, uncaring about his boots or bag, and wrapping his hands around the box. The wood and metal dig into his fingers as he grits his teeth and pulls.

The current yanks against him, determined to drag the box down the river. Tobias sets his jaw and pulls harder, a guttural roar emerging from his throat as he heaves the box onto the river bank. It lodges in the mud. A corner digs in and it stops.

“Invoq,” he bellows, searching for a way to unlock the box, “Invoq, can you hear me?”

No response. He bites back a curse and scrabbles along the edge, looking for a seam, something, anything. He finds a latch and heaves.

It clicks. Jammed.

“Shit,” he snarls and reaches for his sword. He slams it against the latch. The metal tings and gives. “Hold on, Invoq.”

The wood splinters and groans as he throws the lid open. He reaches inside and fists Invoq’s shirt, pulling him out and laying him on the grass.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters, checking to see if he’s breathing, if he has a pulse, if he’s alright, “come on!”

Invoq splutters. Coughs. Water comes out of his throat.

“Okay, okay,” Tobias manages, rolling him onto his side and patting his back, “come on, get it out. River water tastes awful, trust me, I know.”

Invoq spasms and heaves and he winces, wondering if Agnes would be terribly pissed at him if he ran to get her help.

“It’s going to be okay, I—“

“What did you do?”

The sudden shout startles him into silence.

Invoq sits up, wiping the back of his mouth. Without waiting for Tobias to help him, without even looking at Tobias, he scrabbles up and over to his box. He looks at the damage—Tobias did have to mess it up quite a bit to get him out.

When he looks back, the force of his glare makes Tobias’s knees go right back to the ground.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to make this?” He points a dagger-like finger at the box. “Do you know how hard it was to get everything right? And you, you great brute, you’ve ruined it!”

Irritation bubbles up in Tobias’s chest. “I was trying to save your life!”

“No one asked you to! I was fine!” Invoq looks back at the box. “And now look at my poor box! I ought to charge you for the price of fixing it!”

Invoq…Invoq is actually mad at him for saving his life. That’s what’s happening right now. Invoq is pissed that Tobias saved him and broke a wooden box to do it.

And he’s threatening to make Tobias pay for it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Invoq whips around. “What?”

Tobias gets up, glaring right back. “You were drowning and I pulled you out, and all you can think about is the fucking box?”

Invoq’s eyes flare. “This ‘fucking box,’ as you so eloquently put it, is part of my livelihood. This isn’t like someone breaking your silly little sword, I can’t just go into any place and say ‘oh, can you fix this one-of-a-kind box for me?”

“My sword actually saves lives, Invoq,” Tobias growls, “unlike your box, which seems determined to end yours. It just saved your life as well, unless you very much missed that.”

“I was never in any danger! I—“

“You locked yourself in a box with no one else around and submerged it, you were coughing up water—“

“—and if you had just trusted me,” Invoq says, ignoring him, “then you wouldn’t have barged in like this!”

“How am I supposed to trust you when I don’t even know what’s going on?” Tobias throws his hands up. “I just stumbled across your box, locked, in a river, and you weren’t anywhere! How was I supposed to know someone hadn’t thrown you in there?”

“I was practicing, for your information.”

“You were—wait, practicing?”

“Yes, you brute,” Invoq snorts, folding his arms, “I have other acts I want to put on, you know. I needed to know—“

“So you did it by yourself with no one around to help you?”

“What part of magic shows is unclear to you? No one is supposed to know how it works! If I tell someone, it ruins the whole thing!”

“Oh, and heavens forbid you tell someone something that might save your life,” Tobias snarls, “because if you’d gotten stuck or something had gone wrong out here, you know what would’ve happened?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me what you think would happen.”

“You could’ve died! You could’ve died, Invoq, is that what you want? And for what? Some magic show that most people aren’t even going to see?”

Tobias winces. Oops.

Invoq draws himself up. He stalks over to Tobias. “Is that all you think of me? Some dancing monkey to entertain you until you grow bored? I’ve heard talk of you in town, I know your type. You use people up until they bore you and move on.”

He should apologize. He should say he’s just worried. He should say he doesn’t think of Invoq like that.

He doesn’t.

“You’re one to talk,” he spits, “hopping from town to town like that? Dazzling people until they get bored of you or you get bored of them and move on? Is that why you take such risks all the time, because you don’t want people to be bored of you?”

Invoq’s face contorts into a snarl and he stalks away, standing over the box. Tobias takes a deep breath.

“Because it’s not worth it, Invoq, it’s not worth you getting hurt.”

Invoq scoffs. “You’re all the same, you people. You want the results without the hard work it takes to get there. You want to ooh and ahh at something spectacular but the minute you understand how it happens you pull yourself into a little ball and rock and whine about how it’s wrong. Pathetic.”

“Says the man who has to risk his own life just to prove he’s worth looking at,” Tobias snarls, stalking forward, “even if it’s only to himself.”

“Yeah, I’m really getting the ‘care’ right now,” Invoq spits, turning back to him, “thanks.”

“You just scared me half to death, Invoq, of course I—“

“No one asked you!” Invoq jabs a finger into his chest. “No one asked you to come here, no one asked you to save me, no one asked you to care about me!”

“Well, I do anyway!”

“Oh, for the love of—“

“Of course I care if you get hurt, if you die, and I don’t know if someone with as little self-preservation as you would’ve cared, but you would be dead. I have to—“

“Why?” Invoq shoves him back. “Go on, tell me why.”

“Invoq—“

“Because you’re a sellsword? Because that’s the only part of your personality that makes you worth looking at? Because you think pretending to be the good guy is interesting enough to make up for the fact that without it, there’s nothing else to you?”

He advances, smirking as Tobias takes a step back.

“Go on, sellsword,” he sneers, “tell me how important you are. Tell me how good it is of you to care so much. Tell me. Tell me how useful you are.”

Tobias stands his ground as Invoq comes up to him. He looks up, mouth hardening.

“You would’ve panicked. Your throat would’ve filled with water. It would’ve closed off to prevent water from getting into your lungs but you would’ve drowned. Your body would’ve bloated underwater in that river and some poor child would be the one to find you!”

Invoq leans closer.

“Or maybe you’re just paranoid.”

There is a ringing in his ears, he realizes distantly. The world grinds to a halt. Everything is silent, and as he turns his focus inwards, he realizes his mind is completely silent too. The anger, the worry, everything churning inside him is gone, pushed so far away they might as well not be his anymore.

Tobias has never felt this kind of disconnect before.

He stands up straight. His expression smooths out. The hand that had been going for his sword drops away. When he speaks, his voice is cool and calm.

“Good night, magician.”

He watches Invoq jerk back in shock, clearly unnerved by how stark the difference is, before he turns and walks away. He leaves them both by the riverside.

He doesn’t remember the walk to the tavern, only sitting down as Evelyn waves the other patrons away. She brings him a tankard and asks no questions. He picks it up and drains it in one go. She brings him another.

He drinks alone that night, and he doesn’t leave when the drunks start to get loud.

They don’t get too loud. They know what it’s like when Tobias gets quiet.

Virgil growls, shoving the pillow under his head. Then he shoves another one under there. Then another. Then he snarls and throws all three of them away. No matter what he tries, he can’t get comfortable.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s supposed to be an escape, goddamnit, not whatever the fuck it’s turned into.

He punches the pillow closest to him

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said some of that stuff to Invoq. But the idiot had almost fucking died and couldn’t even acknowledge it! Did he have no self-preservation?

Virgil scoffs, turning on his back.

Why did Invoq have such a strong reaction to being told he had no self-preservation? It wasn’t like it was any worse than some of the other stuff he said to him. And if he’s being honest…it wasn’t the worst thing he said either. But then that really didn’t explain things, why would he act like having no self-preservation was the worst insult in the world?

The niggling feeling comes back. Something about trust, something about honesty, something about—

Virgil sits upright.

Invoq hadn’t been wearing his gloves. When he was in the box, he hadn’t been wearing his gloves.

Suddenly the self-preservation thing starts to make a little more sense.

Janus curls himself tighter around a pillow, huddled under his blankets. Even with the heat lamp on, he’s still shivering.

Fucking Tobias. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to try and make him into some damsel in distress, and then when that didn’t work, into some sort of villain? He hadn’t done anything wrong, he was minding his own business, and here comes some big hunk to ruin everything.

He huddles tighter.

…maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to yell at him like that. He was only trying to help. Even if he didn’t ask for it. And he did seem genuinely scared for his safety, even if he then went off on some self-righteous speech about how he wanted to make sure he was safe and all that.

The memory of Tobias suddenly freezing, then the light behind his eyes dying as he bid him a calm and cold ‘good night’ makes him shiver.

He pushed too far, obviously, but…but what was it? Was it poking fun at his intelligence? Mocking him for talking about being a sellsword again? Janus frowns, thinking. No, he’d only reacted like that when…

…when he’d called him ‘paranoid.’

He takes a while to get to sleep that night.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori @mavenmush @justablah65

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #fic

15 notes · View notes

5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 3 days

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Bad Flirting Masterlist

a change of heart and a silver lining (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 18k

Summary: Calum’s not obsessed with routine or anything, but he does become accustomed to certain constants in life. Michael is always about eight minutes late. Ashton always records vocals barefoot. Calum always knows the person behind the register at Bake Station.

Except today. Today it’s a stranger, though admittedly a stranger who looks enough like Jack that Calum can easily connect the dots.

“Hi there,” says the bloke in Jack’s place, giving Calum a bright smile. “What can I get for you today?”

If this is Luke Hemmings, Calum’s fucked.

(OR: wrong number AU and strangers to lovers bakery AU battled and this was the outcome.)

Attachment - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) ot4 E, 3k

Summary: Michael has created a group with Luke and Calum called I Hate It Here Michael (3:23): Be honest are either of you paying attention rn

Daydreams - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) michael/luke, luke/calum T, 6k

Summary: It’s not Michael’s fault the owner of Fletcher’s Flowers is so good-looking. And no one—Luke—should be able to blame him for wanting to come to the shop and admire the pretty buff man with large delicate hands as he assembles bouquets or pets his cat.

For Ransom - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) calum/ashton E, 8k

Summary: Kidnapping Ashton Irwin is not nearly as hard as Calum thought it would be.

Got My Heartbeat Skipping (ao3) - galacticsugar calum/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Calum still remembers the first time he came in, probably six months ago. He showed up two minutes after Calum unlocked the door and had greeted Calum with an enthusiastic "good morning!" as he stepped into the shop. It was confusing to Calum that anyone could be that alert at 6am without having had their coffee yet.

home is wherever you are tonight (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton M, 72k

Summary: Life has become so mundane in the past few years that there’s very little that sends a thrill up Luke’s spine anymore. It’s that idea that had him saying yes to the idea of moving out here for a few weeks anyways: the knowledge that this was a completely new place where no one knew his name. He could be anyone he wanted to be here, within reason. He wouldn’t be seeing any of these people again after May, so what’s the harm in becoming a new person for a bit? Someone not so bogged down by the shit in their head that they can’t get out of bed some mornings. Maybe this is a step in the direction of the person Luke wants to be in the future anyways.

Or, Luke inherits a beach house on a tiny coastal island that needs some work. He didn't plan on falling in love with the guy at the hardware store.

i feel the wind in my hair, chasing after you (ao3) - hideforalifetime luke/ashton G, 18k

Summary: Luke works more than he should, is paid less than he should be for the amount of hours he works, goofs off at lunch with Calum, goes home to his dog Petunia in the evening and watches whatever’s on HBO. Then he does it all over again. And he’s sick of it. He wants a change. He wants to be the guy he was in college, free of all worries like rent and bills and all that bullshit. Just walking from class to the dorm to the bar, and every weekend, he’d go off on his own, just him and his motorbike.

Or, the one where workaholic, control freak biker Luke Hemmings meets the most laid back guy he's ever seen. And he's hot, which is a plus.

I just wanna feel your body right next to mine (ao3) - lifeinecstasy ot4, multi T, 1k

Summary: Luke gets wasted and Ash drags him home

John Dough - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/calum/ashton E, 15k

Summary:The one where Luke is an erotica writer pining after Calum the mailman but, also, the small-town baker is pretty hot too.

just dance (gonna be okay) (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember michael/luke T, 1k

Summary: Michael doesn’t have the fear of elevators falling that so many of his fellow college students have. He understands why the fear comes from; elevators are small and there is the possibility of getting trapped in one, even though it would most likely be for a very short amount of time. But Michael’s done his research and knows that it’s practically impossible for modern elevators to go into free-fall, and he’s pretty sure that considering how many people an elevator is designed to hold, it’d be very hard for anything he does while alone to have an effect. So, whenever he finds himself alone in an elevator while listening to music, he’s more than happy to use the opportunity to have a mini dance party.

No.0001 (ao3) - MyMy michael/ashton G, 533

Summary: College mashton's first kiss in Michael's apartment.

Rockstar - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) T, 5k

Summary: “I’m gonna buy you a drink.”

Ashton mumbles, his cheeks feeling hot and his body feeling lost, “Just one.”

And it really is just the one.

It’s just one drink.

Sick - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) ot4 E, 3k

Summary: Luke (5:06 pm): calum wont fuck me 🥺

you say you didn't know, i wonder why you didn't ask? (ao3) - hideforalifetime michael/luke T, 14k

Summary: Luke and Michael have been best friends since elementary school, moving out of the country all alone, but together for college, getting through all the highs and lows of adulting together. There’s never been a person who knows them that doesn’t refer to them as “Luke and Michael”. Always paired, and if one’s without the other, questions are immediately asked. Hell, some people automatically assume they’re dating, and he hurriedly corrects them. But deep down, Luke doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know when his brain made the transition of looking at Michael as a friend to someone he’d want as more than a friend, but it’s true. Sometimes, when he stares at Michael’s choppy, often dishevelled blue hair, he feels like-

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #masterlists #badflirting #badflirting masterlist

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bucksfucks · 3 years

Text

𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙮 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but.

pairing┃roommate!steve x f!reader

word count┃2,382 words

warnings┃hangover, drinking, tipsy sex, pining, teasing, makeout session, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, steve doesn’t think he’ll fit but he makes it, use of toys (vibrator), mocking, edging, hair pulling kink, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, steve finishes on readers back, steve is lowkey a fuckboy — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃presidential alert 🚨 the girls, gays, and the they’s are horny

The shower was already running when you had walked out of your room and into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

It was Saturday morning and despite your best efforts, your body never let you sleep in last nine in the morning.

You may as well start your day at 8:48 am.

Steve had gone out last night, but you remember the door shutting at three in the morning and a faint shhh falling from his lips as he spoke to whatever inanimate object was making noise.

In your sleepy daze, you didn’t really mind. Instead, turning your pillow onto the cool side and drifting back to sleep.

The kettle was boiling and the bread was getting warmed in the toaster when the shower finally stopped running.

It was a little unusual for Steve to shower for so long, even after his morning runs or workouts, he’d never need more than 10 minutes.

When the door opened, and a groaning Steve emerged, you knew exactly what the problem was.

“Mornin’, Golden Boy,” he didn’t even have the energy to grimace at the sound of his nickname.

His bare feel pattered against the wooden floor until he dropped his large body in one of the bar stools.

“Someone had a fun night.” You mumbled with a small smirk as you slid him a cup of coffee which is took between his fingers.

“I don’t know how Sam and Bucky roped me into shots,” he said into the cup of coffee as he took a cautious sip.

You just rolled your eyes playfully and plated the toast that had popped out a few seconds earlier, slabbing a large helping of butter before adding honey and sliding the plate over to him.

“Eat.”

He groaned again, but put the coffee down in place for the sweet honey toast.

“I can’t drink like I used to, I think I’m dying,” he was being dramatic, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took a bite and hummed.

“You’re 27, Rogers. I think someone’s being a little dramatic,” you teased with a smile.

You are your breakfasts in silence for the most part, the painkiller Steve had taken not yet kicking in until both of your plates were cleared.

“Did you get lucky last night?” You asked with raised eyebrows as you both placed your plates in the sink.

Steve just laughed, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

You had to admit that your heart dropped, the same twinge of jealously starting to bloom in your chest as you imagined him with someone else.

“Proud of you, Golden Boy.” You fake cheered, biting your tongue and swallowing your pride.

Above everything, Steve was your friend and he deserved to get laid.

He laughed, “you should’ve come, Bucky couldn’t stop asking about you.”

You rolled your eyes again, slightly in annoyance.

“He knows I’ll never sleep with him,” you sang song, helping Steve dry the dishes as the sink stopped running.

“You never told me why, you know that?” You scoffed, “and for good reason.”

The reason was simple; you didn’t want Bucky, but instead his best friend and your roommate, Steve.

“I’ll get it out of ya one day, sweetheart.” Steve chuckled and you felt your heart sink a little further, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The rest of the day was uneventful, nothing to do on a rainy New York day other than read as Steve fiddled with his sketchbook while an old sitcom played on the television.

Steve’s hangover either disappeared or he was great at hiding it, whatever it was, he was humming along to the show tune.

“Pizza and beers for dinner?” Steve asked as he was putting the final touches on his sketch making you laugh.

“What happened to I can’t drink like I used to?” You said, echoing his words from the morning as he shrugged.

“It’s a lazy day essential, now what toppings, and don’t say pineapple.” You acted shocked, mouth twitching into a smile.

“You don’t know anything about good pizza,” you huffed as he tore his eye away from his sketchbook to look at you.

“Pineapple on pizza is a crime, sweetheart. Now if that’s who you are I can’t judge, but I’m jus’ sayin’,” he said raising his hands in mock defeat.

“Whatever Golden Boy, just say you’re a vanilla type of guy,” you winked, standing up to put your book on the shelf as the sun began setting to cast yellow and orange hues over the apartment.

Steve snickered, “whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

The low timbre of his voice, your own words echoed from this morning sends a shudder down your spine as he grabs his phone.

“The usual?” You manage to nod your head, smiling as you try to distract yourself from the sudden and very evident ache between your thighs.

30 minutes later and the pizza was here, still hot and greasy as Steve set it on the wooden coffee table as you grabbed two beers, scratch that, four beers.

“Cheers, Golden Boy,” you offered with a soft smile as you both clinked your bottle necks against each other before pizza was being devoured.

You didn’t know what it was, but cheap greasy pizza and a cold beer always soothed the soul. No matter how heartbroken you had ever been, or upset at the universe, beer and pizza were always there for you.

As the hours went by, the bottles emptied and the pizza slices disappeared before you and Steve were sat on the couch laughing and giggling at the time Steve locked himself out in nothing but his underwear.

“And where were you to rescue me!” He bellowed, throwing his head back at the memory.

“I was in the shower, you know I blare music. I’m sorry Stevie, I promise the next time you’re locked out and naked I’ll rescue you.”

He shook his head, “well I wasn’t naked.”

You felt a little dizzy, body lighter as you finished off the second beer. You weren’t drunk, but loose enough to rest your head against Steve’s shoulder.

His phone buzzed then, grabbing it off the table as Bucky’s name lit up across the screen.

Steve ignored it.

“He’s jus’ gonna ask me to go out again,” he said before you could ask, seemingly reading your mind.

“Plus, I’m perfectly content right here,” he smiled, finishing off his second beer as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“You’re such a sap,” you teased, “that a bad thing?” He asked and you felt the air around you grow more tense.

“‘Course not, you’re just Stevie,” you tried to explain as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Stevie?” He asked as you sat up and crossed your legs under your body.

“Yeah, you know,” you tried to find the words, “Golden Boy.”

He hums in response, “golden as in pure?”

You nod your head, “pure, sweet, innocent.”

You weren’t sure if you had struck a nerve, but Steve smirked as he leaned into you.

“‘M not so innocent, sweetheart. Not everything is as it seems.” His voice was much lower, raspier as you could smell the beer on his breath.

“Is that so?” Your voice was just a little above a whisper, heart racing in your chest.

“I could even show you, sweetheart, but you gotta answer one question first. Sound fair?” He asked.

You nodded your head slowly, eagerly awaiting his question.

His hands fell to your knees, sliding up until he pulled you into his lap.

You looked up at him, craning your head only slightly as he craned his at you. He was warm, and broad.

“Why,” his voice was low, “won’t you hookup with Bucky, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you ran your hands up his chest until they rested on his shoulders.

“I think you know,” you whispered as he shook his head and chuckled.

“Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you smelt his oaky, but sweet body wash. Something like bergamot and oranges.

He squeezed your hips, a soft moan falling from your lips at the sensation.

“It’s because,” you swallowed thickly, “because I want you, Stevie.”

He hummed, hand on the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours.

You kissed back, the realization hitting you it became hotter and more desperate as you slid your tongue past Steve’s lips.

“All you needed to do was say those words and you could’ve had me all to yourself.” He smirks against your lips making you whimper.

His fingers are digging into your ass, rocking your hips over his. It’s the right amount of friction to have you melting into his touch.

When he picks you up, carrying you into his room to toss you onto his bed, you know you’ve made the wrong assumption about him.

“Now there’s nothin’ wrong with a man who likes vanilla,” he hums, hands exploring your body.

“But I’m a man who prefers a little more,” he meets your eyes, a devilish smirk and twinkle in his eyes, “flavour.”

He’s hovering over you, lips on your neck and jaw as his hips rut over yours.

“Go get that goddamn vibrator of yours,” he breathes as you look at him bewildered.

“You know that one, you like the third setting the most on it.” He winks standing up as your eyes trace along his body and to where his cock is straining.

“Go on, don’t sit there actin’ all dumb,” you spring to your feet, tripping over them as you quickly fetch it from your room.

“Good girl, lie back down on the bed, but get naked first.” He instructs you sternly.

You’d never had anyone tell you to strip, let alone have someone eyes so focused on you as you place the vibrator in his larger hand.

Starting with your sweater, you tear it off—chest exposed as Steve licks his lips.

“Go on, don’t be shy. You’re makin’ him real happy,” he smirks, squeezing his dick through his pants.

You tug your leggings down until you’re in your panties and Steve is giving you a look that tells you to continue.

It’s a thrill, stripping for him and watching his cock twitch at the sight of your curves, dips, and the marks you hate.

“Look at you,” he groans, “perfect little thing aren’t ya? Now I gotta be honest,” you swallow thickly.

“‘M not sure if he’ll fit like I planned, but we’ll make sure to get you warmed up,” he says before placing your hand over his dick.

It causes goosebumps to prickle your skin as he pushes you down onto the bed fully naked now.

“Now this,” he says, holding your vibrator, “isn’t even gonna compare to me by the time I’m done with you.”

It’s a promise that you know Steve will keep as he kneels between your legs.

“I expect you to keep these open, okay? Unless of course,” his cocky attitude breaks through, “you’re squeezin’ my head when you cum.”

You can’t even chide back, all thoughts gone at the sound of the click of your vibrator.

Steve wastes no time, spreading your folds and exploring you with his tongue before he connects the silicone tip to your clit.

It causes your body to jolt and Steve has to keep your legs open.

“What did I say, sweetheart. Keep ‘em open,” he reminds you as he slips a single fingers in you.

It’s already ten times better than your own, longer and thicker as they curl against your sweet spot.

Your walls squeeze him, fluttering as you grip onto his unmade bed sheets.

He teased you, edging you until you’re begging him to let you come with a dry throat.

“Steve, c’mon. ‘S’not fair,” you whine, tugging at his hair. He groans, hips rutting into the bed and you know you’ve found his weakness.

Two can play at this game.

You tug at his hair again, “please, Stevie? Wanna cum so fuckin’ bad—all over your face.”

He groans vibrator tossed on the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit, “fuck, baby.”

It’s a lewd sound, your wetness against his fingers and mouth, but it’s enough to send you over the edge.

“Make a mess, sweetheart. Gotta taste ya,” he groans against your core as you’re nearly suffocating him.

It’s intense, washing over you like a wave followed by a series of smaller ones until he’s flipping you over and your ass is in the air.

“Not so fuckin’ vanilla anymore, huh?” He slaps your ass, a squeak leaving your lips.

“Gonna have the taste of you on my mind for days now, practically have me pussy whipped already.”

His clothes are gone, all necessary ones before he’s bending his body over yours, “grip onto the headboard baby, you’ll need all the support you can get.”

And he’s not wrong, sliding into you and stretching you out as you wrap yourself fingers around the wood until he’s fully seated inside of you.

It’s a new fullness, one that you’ve never experienced and something you never want to forget.

“Bounce, baby.” He then says, as you look over your shoulder.

“Ride me, use the headboard and make yourself cum.” He smirks, slick coating both of your thighs.

Everything is new to you as Steve lets you take control, yet, you’re never truly in control.

“That’s it baby, such a good girl. Look how desperate you are to cum,” he taunts making you whimper.

He joins in soon, meeting your thrusts with his own until you’re both grunting and he can’t hold back.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum.” He hissed, quickly pulling out to paint your back as he rubs your clit with his free hand and you feel the white hot explosion of pleasure for the second time that night.

You’ve both made a mess by the time you’re done, Steve cleaning you up with his boxers as you’re collapsing beside him still trying to catch your breath.

“You’ve ruined my vibrator for me,” you chuckled breathlessly as he turns to you with a smirk, “well it’s a good thing I’m your roommate then.”

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