#THOSE BOOTS THOSE FUCKING BOOTS HOW DOES HE STILL LOOK GOOD IN THOSE STUPID FUCKING BOOTS
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bro looks good in anything
#i will draw this guy in any outfit just try me#ryuunosuke akutagawa#akutagawa ryuunosuke#bsd#bungou stray dogs#atsushi nakajima#shin soukoku#sskk#akuatsu#akutagawa x atsushi#bsd fanart#fanart#my art#THOSE BOOTS THOSE FUCKING BOOTS HOW DOES HE STILL LOOK GOOD IN THOSE STUPID FUCKING BOOTS#HOW COULD THE TANIZAKI SIBLINGS GIVE HIM THOSE BOOTS#everyone shut up hes beatboxing
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Lads and Pads
TF141 x fem!reader
wc: i ain’t gotta clue pal (tumblr lemme copy n paste all the words plz on mobile)
genre: fluff, does comedy count if it’s kind of funny
warnings: men
“I dinnae understand.”
Gaz shakes his head and sighed. “She’s on her period and needs pads, what is there not to understand, Soap?”
Exasperated and confused, Soap picked up two random boxes of pads. “Aye! But I don’t ken what any of this fucking shite means. What’s the difference between a regular one and one tha’ isn’t?” Soap looked back to the shelf. “And why do those ones say 1 or 3??”
Gaz opened his mouth before closing it again. “That’s actually a good question—I don’t understand the numbers either.”
Pushing the shopping cart into the isle Gaz and Soap were in, Price made his way towards them with Ghost following behind. Price frowned when he saw Gaz and Soap with as many boxes as they could hold in their arms. “Surely our lady doesn’t need that many? All from different brands too?”
“Cap, do ye ken the difference between a pad tha’ is 1 and a pad tha’s 3?” Soap asks.
Price blinked. “Fuck you just say?”
Gaz nodded. “Then we’ll be buying everything for our lass.”
Ghost tilted his head at the load of pads that Gaz and Soap dropped into the cart beside all the food and snacks they were buying for you. “Maybe it’s a size thing? How big the pad is? ‘Cause this one has pictures of different sizes shown on its box.”
Soap had his hands on his hips while he glanced at the cart then to Simon. “Sizes for wha’ though? The size of someone’s cun-”
Gaz smacked Soap on the back of his head before he could finish. Simon narrowed his eyes at Soap, questioning the Scot’s thought process while Price shook his head and sighed.
“Kay, lads, let’s pay and get back to our woman.” Price said, pushing the cart out the aisle with the rest of the men following in suit—though Gaz and Ghost annoyed Soap endlessly about his stupid question.
Ghost eyed Soap judgmentally. “Why the fuck would there be sizes for someone’s cunt labeled on the box? A pussy is not a clothing item.”
Soap glared at Gaz who was laughing. “How am I s’pose to ken what the numbers are fer? Everyone’s different, aye? Maybe there’s sizes?? I dinnae fucking know!”
Price stopped walking abruptly and pinched his nose. “Fucking muppets.”
Lying comfortably on your bed with a heating pad resting on your abdomen, your head turns towards the door of your room opening.
“Alright, love?” Price asked with an affectionate smile on his face, carrying grocery bags with the rest of your boys behind him.
Eyes softening, you beckoned them closer. “Yes, though I didn’t hear you guys come in.”
“We bought you some pads. Thought maybe you might need some more.” Gaz said.
Simon sat on the edge closest to you to stroke your face but raised a brow at Gaz’s words. “Not even just ‘some’—Soap and Gaz damn near bought the whole fucking isle of pads. There’s a shit more bags still in the boot.”
“Aye but ain’t it better to be prepared?” Soap crossed his arms.
“Yeah, but prepared for what? Menstruation ain’t a war.” Simon drawled.
Soap shook his head grimly. “But the bloodshed.”
Looking back and forth at Soap and Simon bickering, you laughed quietly at their antics before yawning. Gaz, who lied beside you, reached for your hand to kiss it lovingly as Price on the other hand interrogated Soap about his knowledge.
Closing your eyes, you start to fall asleep to the sounds of bickering and the occasional touches from Simon and Gaz.
“Ye think our bonnie needs backup?”
“Shut it.”
a/n: VWRY NOT EDIFED! heuheuehehueh
#— 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon riley x reader#soap mactavish x reader#john price x reader#gaz x reader#call of duty#call of duty x reader#mw2#mw3#soap x reader#ghost x reader#captain price x reader#kyle garrick x reader#tf141 x reader#tf141 x you
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So I'm stuck on this shithole Island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 7)
Derek Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 3.6k
Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, HEAVY angst, fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating!!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Derek wakes up long before you do the next morning.
Except, not really. Is it really "waking up" if he never fell asleep in the first place?
He'd insisted on going to bed early, skipping dinner. For once, you hadn't pushed him to reconsider, and he wasn't sure whether to be angry about that or not.
He has plenty of other things to be angry about, anyway.
Derek flings himself onto the couch in a huff, fumbling for the T.V remote. Maybe he could drown out his thoughts with some bullshit movie.
It doesn't really work. His mind keeps wandering back to you. How could you dismiss his feelings so easily? Sure, maybe it's too early to drop to his knees and make a declaration of love... but he's sure there's something between the two of you.
Seriously. You'd given him not one, but TWO kisses yesterday. If you don't like him, you're just being cruel.
Around midmorning, you stumble downstairs, and Derek purposefully ignores your greeting. He doesn't have any especially nice words for you at the moment.
"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" You call out, heading through a doorway and into the adjacent kitchen.
"M'not hungry." He grumbles back, determined to show his displeasure.
There's no response, so he just sighs and curls up on the couch, tucking his face into the cushions and hiding away. He can still feel a bit of lingering embarrassment from yesterday's rejection.
Well, sort-of rejection. Secretly, he was still holding onto some level of hope that you like him. Technically you never told him how YOU feel. You just brushed him off and ran away.
Coward.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
"Sit up. I'm not letting you skip two meals in a row." You gently shake Derek's shoulder and place a plate of food on the coffee table. A simple breakfast, toast and some fruit. Hardly a good offering considering he made you pancakes yesterday, but damnit, you weren't sure he was going to eat at all.
Derek rolls over and stares blankly at the meager breakfast, mumbling some kind of thanks. He doesn't make any effort to sit up and offer you room on the couch... so you make due and perch on the armrest, near his head.
"So... what do you wanna do today?" You ask, trying to remain casual after yesterday's uncomfortable conversation.
Actually, "uncomfortable" might be an understatement. Damn him. Couldn't he see that anything romantic between the two of you is ABSOLUTELY out of the question?
Even ignoring the whole son-of-your-boss thing, (which is disgustingly cliché), he's still a fucking Danforth. Son of the goddamn president. And a billionaire, to boot.
Okay, those qualities were probably attractive to some people. Or most people. But not you.
You look down at the man who is pointedly ignoring your question and poking at his food. No, his wealth and influence were not his best qualities. You much preferred his dorky charm. Hell, even his bratty side could be cute. Sometimes.
"It's toast, Derek. Not poison." You scoff and take a bite of your own food just to prove a point.
He glares at you for a moment, and you finally get a good look at him. Are those... eye bags? Suddenly, you feel guilty for not offering to let him sleep in your bed again. Maybe he really does need it.
Eventually, he grumbles something under his breath and grabs for his plate, beginning to nibble a piece of fruit.
Damn. He's so cold this morning. Usually you'd be sitting properly on the couch with him, his head in your lap, and your hand in his hair... not just precariously balanced on the stupid armrest.
Is he really that upset about last night? You'd tried to let him down as gently as possible. And there was no way he was serious about you, anyway. He's the kind of rich asshole who could snap a finger and have the perfect trophy wife delivered to his door in a heartbeat.
You have to be honest with yourself here, and the truth is that Derek Danforth would drop you as soon as you two got back home. Better to save yourself the heartbreak.
"If I have to watch T.V all day I think I'll die of boredom." Derek breaks your contemplative silence after a few minutes, whining and dramatically draping an arm over his eyes.
Ah, right. Gotta keep the brat entertained so he stays out of trouble.
"I'll see what I have for us to do." You respond calmly, hopping down from the armrest and heading upstairs.
Damnit. You need to diffuse the situation, fast. Everything feels so tense between the two of you, like he's pulling back into his shell. Normally you'd suggest going down to the beach again, but considering he nearly drowned yesterday? That's off the table.
After poking around in your closet for a few minutes, you return with an armload of various boxes. A few board games, a pack of cards, puzzles, books, and even some paper and colored pencils. Hey, with no internet, you'd have to make due.
"Any of this look interesting?" You huff, dumping it all on the coffee table.
Derek sits up and raises an eyebrow at the pile of less-than-adequate activities. "What is this, a summer camp? Do I look five?"
"Hey, you're the one that called me a glorified babysitter."
He just rolls his eyes in return, standing up and muttering something about a headache.
"Where are you going?" You ask, watching him trudge upstairs.
"To rest."
You're left alone on the living room floor, watching him disappear as a couple of the various precariously-stacked boxes tip off the coffee table and spill their contents across the rug.
This is not going well.
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Derek lies back on the mound of pillows piled against his headboard, a sleepy haze clouding his mind as he tries to stay awake.
He rubs his eyes, blinking at the flat screen TV mounted to the wall opposite him. The bright flashing colors are probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.
Just as he's about to drift off, a knock at the door pulls him back into reality.
"Derek? I brought you some Tylenol."
Before he can tell you to go away, you throw the door open and waltz in. Apparently, you've forgotten what happened the first time you did that.
"Here, take this. And something to wash it down with."
He sighs and accepts the medicine, swallowing the little pill and downing half the glass of water before setting it aside.
"Oh, so watching TV wasn't the issue, you just didn't want to watch it with me, huh?" You ask, taking a seat at the foot of his bed and turning your attention to the television.
He can tell you're just being playful, but the question still makes him squirm slightly. Damnit. He's torn between wanting to joke back, and wanting to chew you out for acting so normal. You made his whole world fall apart last night, and now you're going to sit on his bed and crack jokes?
"You're blocking the screen." Derek grumbles, trying to show his annoyance.
Unfortunately, you take that to mean "crawl further into my bed", and end up taking a seat next to him, with your back to the headboard.
He begrudgingly allows it, silently watching as the stupid movie he picked out plays. At least you're not touching him.
...
Fuck. Not even a minute passes before you lace your fingers into his hair, a gesture he'd usually appreciate. Now? It just serves as a reminder that you aren't his.
He finally loses it when you tug on his hair in that oh-so-familiar way that makes him whine involuntarily.
"Can you stop?"
"Stop what?" You blink down at him with a blank expression, clearly confused. God, can't you see what you're doing to him? How is he supposed to just sit back and let you touch him like this after being rejected?
"Acting like everything can just go back to normal."
"Can't it?"
"No."
You take in a sharp breath, but before you can respond Derek pushes your hand away and sits up. He isn't done with last night's conversation, and he's not letting you worm your way out of his questions this time around.
"If you don't like me, that's fine. But stop fucking pretending like you do."
That statement seems to hit you hard, because you wince at his words and harsh tone.
Derek doesn't care, continuing his rant. "Always touching me... playing with my hair, hugging me, kissing me, hell... we fucking slept together..."
"Don't say it like that, please." You visibly grimace, slinking back against the bed.
That just agitates him further.
"Yeah, well, even if we didn't fuck it was still EXTREMELY intimate."
"YOU'RE the one who begged to sleep in my bed."
"Yeah, after you KISSED me!"
"On the cheek!"
Derek is just fuming. He wants to argue back, but the truth is, he's not even sure you're wrong.
Yes, the two of you have gotten... closer, over the past week or so. But is he reading too far into things? Are you really just... this nice?
Fuck. He has no idea. Maybe he's not special. Maybe you treat everyone this way. Or everyone you're close with, at least.
He slumps down face first into his pillows, having completely lost the will to argue. Something tugs at his chest, but it's not the same pain he felt last night.
He just feels... defeated.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
You stare down at Derek, and you can't help but feel bad for the man, even if he's sort of pissing you off as well.
Yeah, you've been getting closer with him... so what? He's not some innocent bystander in all this. He literally BEGS to be touched, whether he realizes it or not.
Like right now. God, you can't just leave him like that. If he starts crying again, you'll probably cry with him.
"C'mere, love. Can I hold you?"
It's probably best to ask permission before grabbing for him, just in case he tries to use this as further evidence you're leading him on. You don't exactly give him a chance to say no, though, tugging him up towards you.
He resists slightly at first, but gives in completely when he looks up into your eyes.
You pull him tightly against your chest, his cheek pressed just above your heart. If you weren't wearing the simple cotton t-shirt, you could probably feel his stubble.
One of your hands finds its way into his hair, lacing your fingers in his soft curls. The other rubs soothing circles into his back, pulling him as close as possible.
His arms wrap around your waist in return, and he shifts to lie between your legs, melting into your embrace.
You lean back against the headboard and just hold him for a while, doing your best to comfort him. He can act angry and standoffish all he wants, but you know deep down he still craves your touch.
"This sucks."
"I'm trying my best here, Derek. I'd like to think I'm a pretty good hugger..."
"Not you. Well... not ALL you. This whole things sucks. Being stuck here, I mean."
Derek sighs and tilts his head up to look at you, his chin resting right between your breasts as he slumps lower.
"Well, you only have..." You pause briefly to do the math. "...11 days left?"
"I was only SUPPOSED to be here for two," he grumbles.
"I know... just, your mother thought-"
"My MOTHER is part of the fucking problem." His face turns sour and he squeezes you a little tighter as he rants.
"I thought- FINALLY - she was going to make time for me. Of fucking course not. She just wanted to get rid of me for three weeks."
Ah, great. So drug issues AND mommy issues. This man really has it all, huh?
"It's not exactly a good look for the president to have a druggie as a son." You say the words in a lightly teasing tone, but he seems to take them as accusing.
"I didn't ASK her to be the fucking president, okay? And regardless, she never would have made it this far in her political career if it weren't for me. Before I stepped in, she was behind in 15 of 20 counties she needed to win."
You just watch helplessly as he rants, biting your lip as to not say anything that could provoke him further.
"15 of 20!" He repeats, scoffing. "I fund her entire fucking campaign... and how does she repay me? By shipping me off to some shithole island."
It's wrong, but... you can't help but wistfully smile at his little comments.
"You know, Danforth... most people don't have the luxury of an all-expenses-paid vacation on a private island while they're getting through an addiction... they just continue working their shitty dead-end jobs."
"Spare me, please. When has the 'It could be worse' sentiment ever helped anyone, EVER?" He responds sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Honestly? He has a point. Even if he's still relatively spoiled when compared to the general public... well, this is probably the toughest thing he's ever gone through in his sheltered life. And it IS your job to help him though it.
You tug at his hair a little more in an attempt to soothe him, which just makes him wine. He tries to cover it up by burying his face into you, but accidentally ends up with a faceful of titty.
He seems to immediately realize his mistake, because he mumbles a lame-ass apology and starts to pull away from you.
You pull him right back against you, probably a little too eagerly.
"I don't mind."
It's a struggle to get the words out without sounding giddy. You absolutely love having him there, so close to your heart.
Your chest swells with warmth as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, the lower half of his face sinking between your breasts.
“This is cruel.” He grumbles and looks down, burying his face in your chest.
“What? Letting you shove your face in my tits is cruel?”
“When I know you're just going to write it off as platonic behavior later, yes.”
Ouch. Okay, he had a point with that one, too. Damnit. Can he really blame you, though? Getting involved with Derek Danforth of all people… can’t he see just how MESSY that could be for you?
But looking down at him, it’s really hard to see him as your boss’s son, or the president's son, or a billionaire, or whatever-the-fuck else. He just looks… needy.
You continue to stroke his hair and rub his back simultaneously, and a few whimpers escape him as he nestles his face between your breasts.
It’s honestly shocking just how natural the whole thing feels. God, if only you were bare-chested…
"Okay, maybe this isn't a purely platonic relationship." You slump back against the headboard as you admit this, groaning internally.
This piques his interest, but you don't give him the chance to look up at you, shoving his face back down into your chest. Looking him in the eyes is just too much right now.
Hell, all of this is too much. Derek seems to share the sentiment, because he lets out a low groan. Or was that a moan?
"You're killing me." He whines, shifting his hips almost imperceptibly and slowly grinding them against the mattress.
"Oh? What's wrong, love?" You hum in response, tugging at his hair with one hand and tracing your nails across his back with the other. Like you even need to ask. It's obvious how he's feeling. Horny bastard.
He groans in response, tipping his head back to stare up at you. Fuck. Those eyes. He looks completely lovesick. Or lust-sick, maybe? He's still not-so-subtly grinding against the bed.
"You're so fucking pretty. It's not fair." You cup his face in your hands, lifting him from your chest slightly to better examine his face. His dark eyelashes flutter as he blinks up at you, a look of pure disbelief on his face.
Yeah. Pretty. You can't think of any other word to describe him in this moment. His cheeks, lightly dusted with freckles, turn pinker by the second as you lean in for a kiss. Then another kiss. And another.
He squirms in your grasp as you pepper soft kisses from one side of his face to the other, following the pattern of his freckles. His eyes flutter shut and he squeezes you tighter, eager to feel your touch.
You pull back to look at him again, still cradling his face in your hands. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be kissing him like this. You shouldn't be kissing him at all, actually. What happened to stomping out your feelings and hoping for the best? Protecting yourself from the man who would just inevitably break your heart?
"You're prettier." He mumbles, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he stares up at you with blissful admiration.
Those words penetrate straight to your core. Damnit... as much as you hate to admit it, this man is no heartbreaker.
"Oh, love..." You pull him back against your chest as you trail off, the words getting lost on their way from your heart to your lips.
He whines again as you absentmindedly tug at his curls, something that's become nearly as comforting for you as it is for him.
"Please... I'm... mnnghh..." He mumbles, the words coming out muffled as he nuzzles further into your chest.
You're not even completely sure what he's asking for, but damn, hearing him beg is addictive.
"What do you want, love?" You coo at him, voice soft and low as you hold him tightly against your chest.
He just pants in response, occasionally letting a whimper slip free as you continue to play with his hair. His breathing gets more and more shallow as he continues to shamelessly jut his hips into the mattress.
For the hundredth time, you remind yourself just how wrong this is. Those thoughts are immediately drowned out by his soft noises of pleasure, and you can't help but wonder just how much he can even feel through those sweatpants, anyways. Maybe if you took them off for him...?
No. Fuck. That's too far. Right now, you're not doing anything wrong. How could you be? You aren't even touching him. Well... not touching him there.
"Please." He repeats, crying the word out a little louder this time.
Guilt and lust battle in your stomach, and you can tell which has won when you clench around nothing. God, something about him begging is just so... ugh.
"What? You wanna cum?"
Derek lets out a high pitched whine, nodding into your chest.
"Can you wait for me?" You whisper the words, barely audible as one of your hands makes it's way down to the waistband of your shorts.
Another nod. More panting. The bed starts to shake slightly with the intensity of his grinding, and your brain goes fuzzy as thoughts of him overwhelm your senses.
Your had dips into your shorts, and you begin to play with yourself as Derek does the same. Well, something similar enough.
"Faster." The word comes out as a moan, and you aren't sure if you're talking to Derek or yourself.
He takes the order seriously, jutting his hips into the bed more rapidly.
Fuck. The noises he's making are almost pathetic, and somehow it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. Soon your own moans join his, creating a lustful symphony as you both lose yourselves in the other's touch.
All thoughts of this being inappropriate are long gone. All thoughts in general are long gone. You see, taste, smell, hear, feel, and breathe Derek Danforth.
He must feel the same way, because he starts to mumble your name over and over, his hips stuttering as he grips you tighter, like he's afraid you'll slip away.
"I'm here, love." You coo at him, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head.
"Cum for me. Can you do that for me, pretty boy? Hm?"
Apparently he can, because he gasps, and with a few more thrusts... he's reduced to a sweaty, writhing mess in your lap.
You aren't much better off, finishing immediately after him. Shit... are your legs trembling? Is that normal? Fucking Danforth.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Derek finally pries himself from your chest, staring up into your eyes and breathing heavily from the exertion.
Two days in a row... that's got to be a personal record. He shudders at the uncomfortable, yet familiar, feeling of hot cum in his sweatpants.
"S-sorry... Did you...?" He stumbles over his own words, face flushing as you stare down at him. This is so fucking embarrassing. He shouldn't let himself get so damn desperate.
"Yeah... I did." You respond, blinking at him with a dazed expression.
Derek knows that feeling. He's half convinced this is all some kind of sick hallucination induced by his severe sleep depravity.
His worries are washed away as you lean down and plant another kiss on his forehead. He wants nothing more than to stay here with you, but fuck... the mess.
"I'm gonna go clean up." He mumbles, pulling away from you and discreetly covering the wet spot on his sweats... like you don't already know what happened.
"Please, just... stay." Derek looks back at you one last time before disappearing into his bathroom, and all he can do is pray you'll still be there when he returns.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Author's note: Okay this took WAY too long and I have no excuse I'm sorry. I hope it was worth the wait! It's currently 3am, stayed up all night writing this because I'll be out of town then next few days. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out in a reasonable amount of time... but I do plan to write a one-off smut piece first, so... who knows. I'll try.
Also I REALLY want to write about Derek teaching the reader to play poker but I do not know how to play poker. Someone help. Can two people play poker together? Or does one have to be the dealer? How does that work? DM me or send an ask or a comment or something I need help!!!
LOVE Y'ALL thanks so much for being patient <3
#josh hutcherson#jhutch#derek danforth#josh hutcherson x reader#derek danforth x reader#the beekeeper#josh hutcherson x you#derek danforth x you#josh hutcherson smut#josh hutcherson fanfic#derek danforth smut#no use of y/n#x reader fic#x fem reader#angst fic#slowburn fic#slowburn romance
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Eddie’s casually leaning against the rails on the edge of the dance floor, savoring his second whiskey on the rocks and scanning the crowd for fresh meat when suddenly there’s a face he’s never seen before taking up his entire field of view.
The guy sways drunkenly into his space, grabbing the lapels of his vest for balance, and before Eddie can even get the ‘what the fuck?’ out of his mouth, pretty brown eyes are blinking up at him and the guy is slurring, “Hey. Hey, um. You’re really cute, do you wanna kiss?”
And Eddie laughs softly, blinks back at him, lazy and syrupy and shrugs, “Yeah, okay, cutie.”
The kiss is like, surprisingly fucking excellent coming from a guy who seems two sips of beer away from stumbling headfirst into a toilet. Eddie sighs into his mouth as their tongues touch, and it’s messy and wet and he tastes like rum and coconut and maraschino cherries.
Drunken Cutie pulls back after a moment, licks his lips with his eyes still closed, a sated little smile lighting up his face. Then he pats Eddie’s chest and hums and says, “That was… mmmm, really great, thank you.”
And then he’s gone.
He’s just…
Like, okay. It’s not like Eddie expected the guy to come back up to him that night and ask him out or give him his number or anything (he’d pinched Eddie’s cheek like a doting grandmother after he finished shoving his tongue down Eddie’s throat, so. Ya know. Hardly seemed capable of conversation), but he does expect to at least see him again. Run into him in the crowd the next weekend or something.
And nothing.
Zip. Nada.
Eddie’s starting to wonder if the good whiskey he sprang for that night made him conjure some blond twink hallucination as a panacea for his pathetic gay dry spell. Whoever Blondie is, he’s a fucking ghost. A sexy, sexy ghost, and Jesus, how is Eddie down this bad for a boy who may or may not exist?
Three weeks later, Eddie spots that swoop of caramel candy hair and goes marching across the bar like he’s about to pick a fight, grabs the poor, startled guy by the wrist and drags him out to the smoker’s patio without so much as a hello, and yeah, he’s like, maybe being a bit of a psycho right now, but whatever. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about those gorgeous eyelashes or that stupid pink pretty mouth for almost a month now and he still doesn’t even know the guy’s name.
“Alright, what the fuck?” Eddie demands as he whirls around and frowns with his arms folded over his chest.
“Me ‘what the fuck?’ What the fuck yourself!” the guy shouts, hands gesturing all over the place before landing on his cocked hips in a sassy little mom pose that screams explain yourself.
“Do you seriously not remember making out with me last time you were here? And then, like, vanishing into thin air?”
And Blondie goes adorably red at that statement for a moment before he clears his throat and collects himself. “Gonna be honest with you, babe, I don’t even remember seeing you last time I was here. I was pretty wasted that night.”
He pauses, eyes raking down Eddie’s face, his chest, his thighs, all the way to his heavy black boots and back up. “Having said that…”
He licks his lips, catches the bottom one between his teeth as he grins. Leers. Looks like he wants to eat Eddie alive. “Hmm. Yeah, I’m— I’m not mad about it,” and he takes a step forward, getting into Eddie’s space, just like before only sober and sure-footed this time around, and he practically purrs when he sweeps a lock of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and asks, “Think I could get a do-over?”
Jesus Christ.
Eddie’s not that easy, is he? Is he?
He totally is.
#steddie#steddie drabble#steddie au#is it still a meetcute if you don’t remember meeting?#steve harrington#eddie munson#my writing#my fics#steddie fic
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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 16
Not the Love Actually India footage! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40600110/chapters/101720886 by @inspiteallthedanger is a favorite I should revisit after this painful day.
“Yes, what Were we doing?” Literally, why did you start this conversation, Paul? What did you think John and George were going to do? Just let you have your little casual chat about the footage? Come on, you know them better than that. “In your room?” “Yeah, right. I remember, yeah.” You set yourself up for this, babe.
I would LOVE to know the real context for John’s mic-job. Because yes, that is real. He really did do that while staring like That at Paul. But it wasn’t after he said, “I don’t regret anything. Ever.” What was the real moment where John decided that was his move? And did Paul really just keep talking right over all of that? Beatles tumblr deserves access to all that footage just for all the obsessing we do.
It is noteworthy, certainly, that we know for a fact that a good chunk of John’s India footage is just Paul, but in how much of that footage, I wonder, is Paul also focused on John?
We all know Paul approves, but why did we have to use valuable time to show monkey sex? I did not need to see that.
“I have all the tapes, too.” Those laughs. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are. Also, @ Lennon estate you won't release the tapes. Chickens.
George is just SO sick of their shit. “Because that was the purpose of going there was to try and find who yourself is.” AKA ‘I took your dumb asses on this beautiful spiritual retreat and you had to make it about your stupid psychosexual obsession just like you do with everything else.’ “And if you were really yourself, you wouldn’t be any of who we are now.” AKA ‘if you two would stop fucking hiding, we – me and Ringo too, you’ve dragged us down with you – wouldn’t be in this hellish mess.’ And here’s the thing. He’s pissed off. And rightly so. But he’s still going along with their veils and secrecy. A callback to his strumming over Paul ranting at him. He’ll still protect them even when he fundamentally disagrees. George is such a beautiful person and so underrated by people like me.
Paul’s appreciative little look as John finally ends the difficult conversation.
"Bye, Bye Love” is DEFINITELY *meaningful*
John calling Two of Us “Four of Us” is so sweet. Like saying to George and Ringo, “You are important too. Just because we don’t have weird thoughts about your physical adjacency to Elvis Presley, doesn't mean we don’t love you.”
I think John’s willingness to be taught is also an underrated leadership quality of his. All the old men obsessed with Leader Lennon won’t acknowledge it, but that’s what it is. It’s humility and a recognition of other’s strength and it’s leadership.
Literally everyone else: Just don’t look and it’ll go away. John: what? Don’t look at Paul? I don’t know how to do that.
George and Ringo honestly had the patience of saints to just sit there and play through Two of Us eight million times so John and Paul could do their little accents and silly voices.
And then John can also do the traditional leadership, too. “Start again, ey. Shh, don’t talk when he’s playing there, gang.” And really, he’s the best of the four for that job by far.But it’s far from acerbic or cutting. Get Back John is certainly almost undiluted Lovely John.
Quick reminder to anyone who may have forgotten: those boots George is wearing are literally Paul’s hand-me-downs. Earlier on the nagra reels, George was describing a kind of boots he’d like a pair of and Paul was like “I’ve got some you could have.” Permanent baby brother status.
“That’s a good idea, John.” “Yeah, well I’m full of ideas like that, I’m famous for ‘em. Literary Beatle, you know.” Puhlease. I know fics with more realistic dialogue.
“The things that’ve worked out best for us haven’t really been planned any more than this has, it’s just. You know, you just go into something and it just does it itself.” Yeah, George. Because of Brian.
Paul really wants to do a big Thing at the end, because he loves performing, yeah. But what’s this about John and Yoko’s black bag? Does he think that performing together will remind John that being a Beatle with Paul is what he loves? Or does he just want closure before everything falls apart?
He really does hate to see him upset, doesn’t he. Like, I think he does a lot of things purposely to get a reaction out of Paul. And sometimes he needs to see him hurt to know he even cares. But from the way he’s watching Paul chewing his nails and rocking, you’d think Paul’s worries affected John physically. And then he breaks into “I Lost My Little Girl” almost as a sort of knee-jerk comfort instinct.
These two shots are comedic gold.
My cabaret boys again. Heck, maybe I’ll write it just for myself. Honestly though I love that the two Beatles who loved performing and who would’ve been performers in any life (would’ve been performing circus elephants if they’d been reincarnated as animals) got to continue doing it into their eighties. One of the few happinesses in the end of the Beatles.
Get Back really is such a great character study, though. George hands John a drink. John takes it without looking at George, let alone the drink, and gulps. George hands Paul a drink. Paul smiles at him, then proceeds to sniff it and swirl it and inspect it like it might be poison before he gives it a taste.
John chewing the mic. I hope you didn’t do That to Paul’s dick in India. What if that’s all that happened?
Bitching and gossiping: top requirements in the job description for John Lennon’s Codependent Special Person.
In these last few minutes of the day, I’m relating more and more to George. I’m sick of John and Paul and all their drama and stupidity. John suggests they write another verse of Let it Be together, and Paul looks frankly horrified at the idea.
So John lays his head in Yoko’s lap, reminding me painfully of that “ . . . except you can go to bed with it and it can pet your head without . . .” quote.
And then a few minutes later, Paul’s spiraling again and asks to go home to which John responds with a tease. “I’m just tryna get the group working, you know,” and “You’re gonna have to be strict, Paul.” And it’s just dizzying and frustrating at this point. Where are they possibly going to go at this rate?
#sorry that this one was late#And probably less coherent or insightful#Two jobs and a teething baby and a depressed husband today so it is what it is#paul mccartney#the beatles#john lennon#mclennon#ringo starr#george harrison#get back
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a drabble i wrote inspired by casey’s prince henry ama!!
“I can’t believe this does it for you,” Henry says matter-of-factly.
Alex can’t quite believe it either. Alas, he is only a man, weak to the impossible charm of his boyfriend. Especially when said boyfriend is wearing cowboy boots, jeans so tight they may as well be painted on, a flannel shirt and a stetson.
“Fuck,” Alex mutters, making Henry’s smile grow wider. “Baby, you look incredible.”
“I feel a bit silly, if i’m honest,” Henry says.
“You look like sex on legs, hen,” Alex says with a frown, fisting a hand through his hair. Henry is still standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest with his eyes firmly fixed on alex, who is laid back on soft bedsheets already palming himself through his sweatpants. “Fuck, c’mere.”
Henry obeys happily. He crosses the room with an almost unnoticeable skip on his step, falling on to the bed and crawling until he sits near alex‘s legs. Unable to take a moment longer apart, Alex pulls him forward by the hips until Henry’s legs straddle him - and if this wasn’t already one of the hottest sights he’s seen, he may have crumbled then and there. He lets his thumbs draw circles on Henry’s hips for a moment as his eyes greedily take in the sight, and he feels Henry’s arms wrap around his shoulders sweetly.
"I can’t explain it," Alex says, almost to himself. “You’re just… so fucking sexy, sweetheart. I can’t get enough.”
“If I'd have known you'd react like this, I'd have worn this a lot sooner," Henry says with a soft smile and blush rising on his cheeks.
“And I'd have had a heart attack,” Alex shoots back. “Do you want to kill me?”
“I suppose not,” henry says with a thoughtful look in his eyes, before leaning forward and letting their lips brush together gently. It's soft, teasing, intimate: slow because they both know they're not in a rush. They have all the time in the world. They can be vulnerable with each other, sweet, movements aching and belaboured as they kiss over and over, with neither of them ever getting sick of it. Their kiss becomes more heated - hands roaming freely, tongues dancing, Alex's teeth biting softly at Henry's lips - but there's still a tenderness to it that makes Alex's heart burst.
Henry pulls back for a moment, throughouly flushed and already half-hard, "How the hell will you survive moving back to Austin? You know I'll have to wear stuff like all the time."
Alex smirks, "I'm counting on it, baby."
"We are never going to finish renovating the house if you're as horny as this," Henry says, his stupid, posh accent making the words sound even more scandalous than they are.
Alex groans, pinching Henry's hips, "You complaining?"
Henry scoffs, "Of course not, love. I'm just worried for you're productivity."
"There's bigger things to worry about right now."
Henry leans forward to press a few kisses against Alex's mouth, smiling into it before raising an eyebrow at him, "Was that a dick joke, Alexander?"
"Why yes it was, Your Majesty," Alex mocks with a frankly terrible impression of Henry's accent. After all these years of living together, sharing a home and a life, he is still no better at it. "Now, are you going to put those riding boots to good use?"
#rwrb#red white and royal blue#alex x henry#alex claremont diaz#prince henry rwrb#henry fox mountchristen windsor#alex and henry#fluff#allusions to smut but no actual smut#they’re gay and in love
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professional help, c1. 'The Pilgrimage'.
simon riley x original character.
trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.
song to listen to when reading this: I think, Tyler, The Creator.
abstract: this is Simon, this chapter is about the time Jude crashed a meeting and started talking about a book or some shit, no one really knows who she is or what she does for a living, she is annoying as hell. don't have anything more to add, honestly. bye.
A year later she appeared on the door of the briefing room. He almost didn't recognise her. First of all, she wasn't what he was expecting when Laswell said someone named 'Jude' was going to drop by cause they had 'something to say'. Fucking weird introduction as well… The captain already knew about Jude, apparently. Had they worked together before, he didn't know. She opened the door and the world stopped. Her eyes scanned the room, she was attentive. She looked smart. No one said a word. She looked exactly like she belonged in every room she had ever been in. She looked like fire. A dark fire, a smoky fire. She was dressed in black, she was stoic. Like someone who works in an office or a law firm. She stood as he remembered her, with her back straight. Between the eight men in the room, no one dared to speak. Yet, she was calm. 'Captain' she was the first to speak. Her voice was low. She had an accent. 'I think Laswell told you I was coming' she continued.
Her accent, where are you from? Southern England? Are you Australian? No, you're way too good looking. Definitely not American English, she sounded posh. She looked like she had just been on vacation in a sunny place. She looked like caramel. She blinked slowly, while the captain approached her, saying that they were in the middle of a briefing and she could wait in his office. No don't go just yet, he thought, I haven't finished. He watched as her lips gently curled into a smile. Not a good smile though, a 'poor man, you really are stupid' smile. She relaxed her shoulders and shifted her balance. She wore high boots. She was tall and slender, she was swallowing the room like a black hole. 'I don't think I made myself clear.' She said. The air was cold around them, like someone opened a window in the back to let in a cold, silent winter breeze. 'I think you want to ear about this now.' She finished. She was still smiling, she looked like reality was whatever she wanted it to be. The captain stood speechless but complied, made her have a seat in front of him. Now that she was sitting closer to him, he had access to more details. She had earrings, lots of them. She was right-handed. She had a tattoo on her left wrist. An arrow?
'I found out something that I believe you could use for your… ', she was trying to find the right word ' …investigation.' Her hair was long and shiny. How can you work in a world of cruelty and death and war? What is your business here? His colleague in the seat next to him glared in his direction, as to say, why is this stranger talking to our captain like she owns the building. At this point, did she own the building? And why is everyone calling you Jude… The captain stood captivated by the presence of the woman sitting in front to him, calm and collected.
'Yes, Laswell mentioned you recently had a session with Amir…' Price was trying to collect his papers on the desk, but she was faster. 'Arash, sir' she corrected him, leaning closer to the table. 'Arash Tehrani'. She slid a folder on the desk in the direction of the captain. A folder with his details? How did Jude have access to those. From where he was sitting, he could see the curve of her nose, and part of her rosy cheek. She looked European. Russian? Swedish? 'There we go, Tehrani. What's his deal?' asked Price crossing his arms on his chest. 'Well, we had a session on Monday, we normally do two sessions per week. He recently requested to see me only once every seven days', she started, but the captain interrupted her, with a look around the room. As he forgot there were 7 other soldiers in the room with them. 'Jude does therapy', he informed them, 'Military counsellor. It's a programme for soldiers who require some… some extra help. Professional help. Please go on.'
So that's what you are, a therapist. You're a psychologist, were you a psychologist when he gave you that ride to your house a year back? Why were you scared back then, why aren't you scared now? 'Yes’, she continued talking, 'we started to have one session only, I didn't think much of it, I thought it was a bit strange considering he really needs therapeutic help, and he knows it.' She paused for a second. She talked like she learned English as a second language by the choice of her vocabulary, she talked like an Harvard professor. Her eyelashes were long, painted with black makeup. She looked down for a second, lost in thought. 'He was stressed. Something was bothering him. He was fidgeting with a pillow in my office, he was stuttering.' She was talking with her hands a lot, making gestures. Her nails were very long, black and pointy. Her fingers were slender and bony. 'I asked him what was bothering him but he brushed off my question, and he usually doesn't do that, he takes therapy very seriously'. Everyone in the room was captivated by her little tale. 'I tried to get him to talk about his situation with his promotion, but that wasn't it. I tried to ask him about his night terrors but he wouldn't speak. He told me…', she reached for her bag, ' he told me he had found this book. To read it, that it would inspire me.' Her voice was solemn. She was worried, she was getting everyone on this little secret of hers. He saw some of his teammates approach the table to see the book. He stood up as well, and so did she. She wanted to remain in charge. She was still very short compared to the rest of the people in the room, yet she had an aura around her. Of power. Of knowledge. She let everyone get a good look of the cover before opening the first page.
''The Pilgrimage' is a fictional and religious novel about revolution and freedom.' All eyes were on her. 'It's about this young soldier who fights for his country, loses his family… betrays his friends…' she said that last part with particular distress. 'He begins his journey in the River Jordan, he says it's the first challenge of the journey… Then he goes all the way through the desert, walks some more and he prays and he ends up in the Persian Gulf. The whole story is basically about him walking and praying until he finds his truth' she concluded, having a look around the men's confused faces. She even looked at him for a second. Does she remember? Her face showed no emotion. 'What stood out to me is that you were recently there, in a town called Al-Jareena if I'm not mistaken.' She stated, the captain nodding. 'You were there to find and kill Mahdi Khorram. The dictator?' she said. Price was nodding, conscious that the recent mission didn't exactly go as planned. Ambushed. His eyes are fixated on the girl. She probably already knew this, since she knew so much. How did she know so much? 'You didn't find him. He got away because he knew you were coming. Am I correct?' She didn't wait for any of them to respond. I hate you, he thought. 'As if someone told him you were coming. You know,' she shifted her balance again on her high boots, she bent over the table to reach the book and open it, 'During his journey the young soldier meets many friends, it's a Little Prince kinda thing.' She quickly looked up to realise none of the present soldiers knew the Little Prince. She resumed, 'He meets friends, but always leaves them behind or kills them in the name of God. All of his friends have English names. All of them don't support his journey. He knows what he's supposed to do, he hears a calling. So you were in the exact same part of the world where the first part of this book is set.' The pieces of her puzzle started to take form into his head, and he could see his companions reacting to her words. 'Your mission goes to shit and you think there's a mole in your base, because all your attacks failed. My patient is just now changing his behaviour and letting me know he recently found this book that tells a tale about revolution and…' One of the men stopped her, 'Are you saying he could be the mole? That he is in contact with the troops in Al-Jareena and he's…' she stopped him again, regaining control of the room. 'He's protecting the leader of his country, yes.'
She was looking at Gaz. 'Yes I think he disagreed with your plan of execution, if you remember correctly he left the briefing room months back when the mission was announced. You told me some of your soldiers weren't happy with the attacks, you were talking about him.' They looked at the captain, she was referring to him. So they had worked together, they knew each other. He nodded. 'He's attached to his country and wanted to find a way to protect it. His family is there. I think he read the book and found the strength to go against the army. I did a little research on Arash…' she started speaking again, he was surprised she was still talking. How much did she know, why was she telling them this, why hadn't they figured it out before her?
He watched her take out of her bag another folder, put it on the desk and open it. By then, the group of soldiers were gathered around her. It was printed CCTV footage, what she had in the folder. 'Your first attack was October 5th. This is my patient on the day before, exiting the base to go to a doctors appointment. You know, the reason he's not deployed is because of a hand injury.' She moved the first picture to show the second and third. 'All the days before your failed attacks, Arash would exit and come back in the span of an hour. October 11th and 23rd. So I drove from here to the hospital, to check the timings' she raised her eyes for a second. Now that she was closer he could see them better, they were green. Light green. 'It doesn't add up, he couldn't have made it no matter how fast he was going. Even got reports back from the doctors, had to pretend I was his girlfriend', she let out an embarrassed chuckle, 'he was never there'. She finished. Price breathed out, a breath he was probably holding in from the moment she started talking. 'It's a pretty bad accusation you're making Jude'. He uncrossed his arms, keeping his gaze on the pictures.
'I know, captain. That's why I did some more research.' She was serious again. She was trying to prove her point. How much proof did she have? Christ, who is she? 'This is his bank statement, now,' she stopped briefly to make sure everyone was seeing the printed page in front of them. How the hell… 'I am not gonna share how I got this. I would like to direct your attention to the three amounts that I highlighted.' She did, in fact, highlight in yellow three recurring payments of 5.000 dollars to a foreign account. She pointed at the paper with her fingers, with her pointy nails. She was a witch. 'He has been transferring the same amounts every month since the mission was announced… When was it announced, do you remember?' she asked, but no one spoke. They did that thing when no one really knows the answer and no one will admit it. 'I'm gonna remind you, it was August 27. Guess when he made the first transfer.' She waited for them to have a look. It was August 28. 'He did it every month since, same day. Same bank account.'
'He's transferring his founds at home for his family or…?' The Scottish man to his left spoke and she finished his sentence, 'or for himself. Cause he's planning to go back and fight for his country.' She was done. It sure made sense, straight out of a movie. Jude had just turned around their mission, with her little earrings and shiny nails. Jude, the therapist. Why was she aware of all this stuff and not them? What the fuck was going on, it felt like the most surreal experience of his life. 'Thanks Jude, I'll make a call, would you mind waiting here a moment?' said the captain before quickly turning away.
She still looked calm. She gathered her things, the folders and the book and put them in her bag. He wanted to approach her and ask her about what had happened a year back. He could, if he wanted to. Make it look like he was asking about her findings. He was Lieutenant, he could ask her. He moved slightly close to her, checking his companions were chatting amongst each other before speaking. 'Do we know each other?' he said. She had to remember him, his mask at least. She looked up at him for a millisecond. It was enough. She had beautiful eyes, beautiful green big bright eyes. She looked at him and she looked like a fox. He could see her makeup on her cheeks he could see her hair brushing off her shoulders, the skin around her nose slightly red, like when you blow your nose too many times. 'We got drunk together in Ibiza and got matching tattoos, I'm surprised you don't remember.' She answered. What? Who the fuck are you, what are you doing here? What kind of answer is that, you can't speak to me like this. He stood silent next to her, she was finishing up packing her bag. She put a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up again. It was his turn to say something. Should he say something funny? Was she expecting a joke? 'No seriously' he said, he spoke gently, like she was going to fly away if he raised his voice, 'I remember you. I gave you a ride to your house in June I think.' She smiled a little, but she wasn't looking at him anymore. 'Yeah, I know. I remember.' she said. 'What happened back then?' he continued, but his time ran out, the captain was done speaking on the phone. 'That's classified' she murmured. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised to find out she killed somebody. 'Alright Jude, thanks again ehh…' Price stared speaking, regaining the attention of the group. 'We're gonna keep an eye on Arash and try to find out more… Thanks again' She offered him a little smile and put her bag on her shoulder. Price was opening the door for her. She was gone just like that. A mirage.
'That was intense'.
notes: I did it, there you go chapter one!! so, what’s the deal with this bitch? what happened last year? i feel like a LOT of this fic is just Jude’s life and Ghost is a part of it. she has a lot going on all the time, she's cool as fuck and Ghost just manages to squeeze into her world. ideally, this is set before mwii, we will get to those events in about 30 chapters...a reminder, everything about this story is fictional! everything is invented, none of this is real. if a book named the pilgrimage with the same plot exists then it's a weird coincidence. let me know what you think!!
love, mare.
@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess
@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut
@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight
@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi
#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#ghost headcanons#ghost fanfiction#simon ghost x reader#call of duty#cod fic#cod modern warfare#john soap mactavish#john price#gaz cod#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley#ghost call of duty#ghost mw2#cod ghost#soap cod#cod x you#cod x oc#cod x y/n#cod mwii#cod mw x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#cod simon riley#cod simon ghost riley
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On The Clock
Gif by pedro-pedrito-pascalito <3
Pairing: bottom Javier Peña x top agent M!Reader, reader is publicly out
Word Count: 4.2k+
Warnings: SMUT! mistaken homophobia (quickly rectified), slutshaming (both the kinky and non-kinky kind), humiliation/degradation kink, crude language, fighting for dominance, work place relationship, semi?public sex, oral sex, fingering, spit as lube, protected anal sex, aftercare
Summary: A few words spoken out of jealousy lead Peña to confront you... "What?" He cuts you off with a growl. "Now you're sorry? You wanna show me how sorry you are?" Javier asks, a soft tilt of his head
A/N: Listen I don't think slutshaming was technically a word in the 80's but you get the vibe. Someone had to put this man in his place!!! This one was alot of fun to write :))
"There he goes again." One of the two male agents before you says with a sigh.
You look up from your desk, eyes following the two other agents' to see Javier Peña hitting on the newest transfer. He's got her closed in by the water dispenser, an arm propped up on the wall behind her. The opposite hand is tied into the belt loops on his waist as he pops his hip out, doing all to make his small behind seem more prominent. Those stupid sunglasses still perched on his nose despite being indoors.
"Jesus, does that man ever take a break?" The senior agent to your left remarks, rolling his eyes at the interaction.
"Wasn't he just seeing the receptionist? The blonde one?" You chime in.
"Nah, Peña gave her the boot last week. He was taking that CIA girl out last I knew."
The older agent clicks his tongue, “Keeping track of all of his girls is damn near impossible.”
You resign back to your work with a sigh. “Well you know Peña,” you say unoticing of the DEA agent quickly approaching your desk, “he’ll fuck anything that moves.” A sharp nudge to your shoulder pulls your eyes back up from your paperwork. Catching the dark haired agent breaching earshot.
“Hey Agent Peña,” the senior agent says smoothly, silently praying Javier didn’t hear your comment, “What can we do for you?”
“Yeah…actually I was wondering...” He lingers, pulling the pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and hitting one out into the palm of his hand. The thin cigarette is placed between his plush lips, as his eyes glare up into yours through the amber aviators, “Any of you got a light?”
A collective exhale is let out between you and your colleagues. Thankful that there would be no fights breaking out in the office today.
“I uh think I got one.” The younger agent pats his pockets, finally finding one in his back pocket. “Gotcha.” he says, offering the lit lighter to Peña.
“Thanks.” the DEA agent mumbles, leaning in close to catch the light on the end of his cigarette. He takes a deep inhale, blowing out the puff of smoke down onto your desk with a sly smile. “Think I dropped mine out in the field, you know how it goes.” Javier drops your gaze to look off to the far side of the room, taking another deep inhale of the cigarette.
As annoying as you find him, it’s useless to deny the pure unadulterated sex appeal of the man. It’s easy to understand how he gets so many women in his bed. He even makes smoking look good. Hip popped to his left, hand sitting right above his tight ass. Right hand holding the cigarette to his lips. Broad shoulders squared off facing you. Making it easy to oogle at his physic. His strong chest, practically pulling against the half undone button up shirt. A small waist, cinched in by his tight belt and painted on jeans. His turned neck pulls focus on his strong neck, and mesmorizing side profile.
“Anyways-” He cuts off your wandering gaze snapping you back to the moment, “I gotta go see what Murphy is up to. See you guys around.” Is all he says, before whisking away to the DEA sector of the floor.
“Whatta weirdo.” The man to your right announces with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t get what all the ladies see in him.”
To that the senior agent laughs, “You’re just jealous!”
“Am not!” he defends. “I bet I could get the new transfer’s number if I wanted.”
“Yeah right!” The agent to your left chuckles, but the conversation is lost on you. Your mind muddled with the tantalizing image of Javier Peña. “Hey!” He snaps, bringing you back to reality. “You there?”
“Y-yeah” you stutter, suddenly aware of the semi you were sporting under your desk. “Sorry guys, I really gotta get going on this paperwork.” Not exactly a lie, but not the real reason for your wandering mind.
They sigh, but get up off your desk. “See ya tomorrow!” They each wave goodbye.
The day drags, the pile of paperwork not much smaller than when you’d first began. Your brain appartently fixated on one Javier Peña. Your cock twitching with every intrusive thought about the DEA agent’s tempting figure. Before you know it, the floor is cleared. The office growing darker and darker as the lights go off one by one. The receptionist makes her final round, always staying far later than neccesary. She bounds around the corner, shooting you a kind smile.
“You’re still here?” She asks, with a soft tilt of her head.
You huff out a chuckle, “Paperwork won’t do itself.” you say with a shrug.
The receptionist smiles at you in the dim room, “Well have a goodnight Agent.” She says with a nod of her head, about to turn towards the exit. “Oh and goodnight Peña!” She waves to an unseen figure behind you.
“Night Sweetheart.” He calls back from the shadows, stepping forward and resting a heavy hand on your shoulder.
Fuck. You think to yourself, your breath catching in your throat. Silently hoping the kind receptionist will find a reason to stay. Much to your dismay, she promptly shuts the door behind her. Leaving you alone with the DEA agent.
“You know she likes you?” He says from behind you.
“She’s not really my type...” You bite your tongue to keep from saying anything more. The girl was kind. Pretty. But you only had eyes for a certain one person in this office. The one currently leering over your shoulder.
“What is your type then?” Peña leans in close to your ear, the huff of his breath blowing over the side of your face.
“I uhh” you gulp, trying to keep your composure. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you liked men, a small fact that slipped during an undercover job with the Cali cartel, but you far from appreciated the condescending tone in Peña’s voice “like dark hair…dark eyes.”
Javier chuckles at your side, a smug smile on his face. “Sounds alot like me.” He teases.
“Fuck you Peña!” You get up from your desk, pushing his hand off of you. “I’m not gonna take this shit from yo-”
He stops you, hands quickly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him. Wordlessly catching you in a heated kiss. Plush lips pressing against yours, a low groan escaping the other man as he grinds his hard cock on your hip. Thick hands find their way into your back pocket, cupping your ass. He pulls back, barely separating himself from your lips. “Didn’t mean it like that, Hermoso.” He whispers, dark brown eyes blown out with lust.
"Peña you…” Your hands brace themselves on Javi’s chest, as your mind still reeling from the turn of events, “You like men?"
He scoffs at you, offering a half hearted smirk, "As you said. I fuck anything that moves, right?"
A wave of guilt comes over you, face going hot with embarassment. "Fuck Peña I-"
"What?" He cuts you off with a growl. "Now you're sorry? You wanna show me how sorry you are?" Javier asks, a soft tilt of his head. Hands freeing themselves from your back pocket; sliding up to your face. His thumb gliding over your bottom lip. "Get on your knees." He commands, hands dropping to pull at his belt.
Part of you wants to hit him for having the audacity to fuck with you like this. But all the blood rushing to your cock makes it difficult to care. You drop down onto your knees, looking up at him expectantly. Watching eagerly as he tears those way too tight jeans off his thick bulge. Your eyes go wide as you realize, the motherfucker doesn’t even wear underwear. His beautiful cock springing out proudly, damn near jumping in front of your face. It's long and girthy with a weeping uncut head. A perfect patch of dark brown curls coating the base.
"Too much, Baby?" Javi teases with a cocked smile. Obviously pleased with your assessment of him.
You shoot a glare up at him, "I can take it."
With that you down his cock as best you can in one go, pushing the tip down to the back of your throat. Swallowing around the sensitive head. One hand working the bit of him you can't take all the way down.
Javi hisses as you take him down your throat. "Ohh you're good at that." He exclaims, head thrown back in pleasure. Hands bracing on the desk behind him as his hips thrust up to meet your bobbing head.
Precum spills from the uncut head, languishing your tongue in his taste. He tastes salty and just a tad bitter. Taking him down to the base, you catch the scent of his clothes. He smells like cigarettes and gunpowder, but there’s more. A remnant of sweat heavy on him, filling your nose with Peña’s own delicious scent. It’s earthy yet bright. His thick pheromones go straight to your already hard cock, making it throb in your pants. Uncaring of what Peña thinks, you reach down to grind against your hand. Moaning around his cock at the sweet relief of friction.
"Fuck" Javi groans, watching as you touch yourself. "Is this what you wanted, Guapo? My cock? Got jealous of all those pretty girls, hmm?” He asks, snapping his hips down your throat. “I bet you just wanted me all to yourself." The DEA agent says with a self assured smirk. He lets you continue on, enjoying the sight of you on your knees. Before pulling you off, “Don’t wanna cum down your throat, wanna cum in your cute ass.”
You get up off the floor with a smirk of your own. “No way, Peña.” You push up close against him, grinding your cock against his hip, taking his hard member in your hand. “Who knows where that thing has been.”
Javier winces as your hand squeezes around him. An indisputable throb running up his cock at your cruel words. A warm blush creeping up his cheeks. “D-didn’t mind it in your mouth.” He half-heartedly retorts, obviously affected by your words.
“Keep mouthwash at my desk for a reason, Peña.” You tease, though that was not the reason, you knew that Javi’s lust filled mind wouldn’t be able to reason against it.
His heavy cock jumps in your hand, as he lets out a soft whine. “Y-yeah okay” he says with a groan.
“You want me to fuck you?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, surprised with how quickly he changed his mind.
He nods swiftly, a squirt of precum leaking over your hand. “I want it.”
"Fuck okay. I'll take care of you, Baby." You assure him, moving to rub your hands soothingly along his sides. Hands sliding up his shirt. "You got a condom?"
Javier nods, sliding one from his pocket into your hand. "H-how do you want me?" He asks shyly, obviously nervous.
God, he looks so cute like this. All shy and flustered. You deliver a soft kiss to his lips, which he melts into, relaxing in your hands. "Can you bend over for me?" You ask in a hushed voice, needing to walk him through it.
"Y-yeah." He squeaks out, pulling away from you and bending over the desk, elbows resting on the smooth oak. Another soft whine escapes him as you shuck his pants down. Though you'd never be able to tell by the tight pants the DEA agent sports, he is actually just slightly self conscious of his backside.
"Fuck that's pretty." You moan, hands gliding over the petite globes of his ass. His tight hole flinches at your touch."Peña, have you ever?"
"Once…or twice." The man admits with a hot blush, almost unbelieving he's about to let you fuck him like this.
"I'll go slow." You assure him. You take your thumb in your mouth, wetting it to the best of your ability before slowly pushing it in. "Relax. Let me in." The small digit slowly sinks into him. Earning you a loud moan from him.
"Fucking christ-" He cusses beneath you, leaving a quiet reminder to himself to start keeping some lube on him.
Your thumb rocks slowly in and out. Opening him up for you. "Doing so good, Peña-"
"Javi." He cuts you off abruptly. "Call me Javi."
You can't help the smile that comes over your face, "Okay…Javi. Can you handle more?"
He nods, head falling between his hands. "Yeah. I can take it."
With that, you retract your thumb. Bringing your index and middle finger to your mouth to wet them. You lean in close to his hole, and spit on it. Javi's mouth drops at the feeling of your warm spit against his ass. You work your two fingers into him. Sliding them in slowly. You bite your lip as he encompasses your fingers in his warmth; imagining how good he'll feel around your cock. After a few moments, he begins rocking back against you fucking himself open on your fingers.
"M-more." Peña moans. "Your cock-."
"Shit, Javi are you sure?" He was still so tight around just your two fingers.
Peña reaches back, pushing you off of him. He turns around standing up right and grabs you by the back of the neck. Pulling you into a sloppy kiss. His tongue finds solace in the confines of your mouth; the taste of himself still heavy on your tongue. That neat mustache rubs abrasively against your upper lip. You eagerly swallow down every greedy moan he releases into you. Thick hands find your hips and push you down into the desk chair.
"You wanna fuck me, Agent?" Javier leans in, looming over you, breathing hard. "Get to it then." He says, a hand grinding down on your throbbing bulge.
"Fuck. I got you." You groan, sitting Javier back on the desk. "Needy thing."
You both work to remove your clothes. Javi pulling off his pants and unbuttoning the remainder of his top. You rip your shirt off, throwing it back behind you. Pulling at your pants, desperate to relieve some tension. Finally, freeing your cock from its constraints. Making quick work of the condom and rushing to roll it down over yourself. A pair of legs wrap themselves up around your waist, pulling you closer.
"Hermoso…" Peña pleads, big puppy dog eyes staring up at you. His cock throbs heavy against his stomach. His pretty body is on perfect display beneath you. Just the edges of his broad shoulders were still covered, that pink shirt he wore barely clinging to him.
"I know, I know." You say softly. Spitting into your hand, trying to make everything as slick as possible for him. You lean in close, pressing your forehead to his. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?"
A small quiver in his voice comes through at the softness of your words, "Y-yeah I will…" a tinge of red evident on his cheeks.
"Good boy." You say as you slowly push into him, hands on his hips. Sinking deeper and deeper into Javi's tight hole. Enveloping you in his warmth. Every inch of your cock getting squeezed by his insides. He feels like heaven around you.
Javi is just as enraptured in you. The weight of you pressing against him makes him throb. Your slow breach of him has stars bursting behind his eyes. The stretch stings just slightly, but the pleasure is too overbearing for him to care. He doesn't miss the softness of your words and actions. The sweetness makes his ears go red, and heightens the delinquency of the situation; that is you fucking him on your work desk. A matching moan spilling from both your lips as you bottom out.
"Fuck Javi-" you hiss, rolling your hips out slowly. "You're so tight."
"Mierda." Peña groans out, eyebrows pinched and head thrown back in pleasure.
Another tentative roll of your hips has him loosening up around you. His body eagerly accepts the intrusion. His slender hips hesitantly rocking to meet yours. Bottoming out with each long slow thrust. He feels so fucking good, a desperate need to rut into Javier builds in you. And apparently in Javi too.
"More." He grits out between clenched teeth. "I need more." He repeats pulling you in closer by the back of your neck.
A small smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. Javier Peña likes it rough and you were happy to oblige. On the next roll of your hips, you slam back into him. The corners of the old metal desk Javi is sat upon creaks. He rewards you with a loud whine, cutting himself off with the bite of his lip. You continue. Fucking into him with quick sharp thrusts. Though slightly looser, his tight hole is still gripping you like a vice. It took a lot of work to move yourself in him, having to carve room for your cock from his insides.
The words escape your lips before you even have time to think. "You really don't bottom a lot, huh?" Though a fact, one he'd shared himself earlier, it comes out much more teasing than intended.
He whines in response, ears going red "N-no…"
You don't miss the way his dick jumps. That's when you realize, he's not just putting up with your teasing, Peña likes being degraded. "Fuck- but you like that dick don't you? Needed some cock, Baby?"
"Mierda- yes!" He huffs, eyes rolling back as you grind into him particularly deep.
"Being so good for me. Letting me fuck you on my desk- such a good whore."
That catches his attention. Ears going red. No one had ever called him that before- least not to his face. Sure, he was known as a womanizer but to be called a whore by the man bottomed out inside him? Felt downright humiliating. Javi loved it.
"Gave up that pretty ass so fucking easy." You whisper low into his ear.
Peña's face burns bright with embarrassment. But his cock is throbbing with arousal. A flood of precum running down his throbbing member. A whine coming up from his throat.
You eat up every second of it. Every word spilling from your lips, turning Javi's usual golden skin, flushed red. Even spreading across his beautiful chest. The usually over confident cock DEA agent reduced down to this shy man beneath you. "What? Dirty slut too cock drunk to say anything?"
Javi bites his lips, struggling to maintain your harsh gaze. "S-shut up an-and fuck me." He manages to get out between clenched teeth. Fighting to stave off his orgasm.
"Thought I already was. Or do you want more?" Your eyes glide over his body. Down his broad chest, filling the line of his stomach, and finally to his hard cock. The head is purple and throbbing with need. "Want me to touch you?"
"Fuck yes-" he says with an eager grin. Hips rolling up in anticipation. Needing some relief.
"Beg." You demand with a terrible smile.
"W-what?" He whimpers. Big brown eyes staring up at you, a soft pout on his plush lips.
"Beg me to touch you."
Peña bites his lip to stop the words from coming out; not wanting to give you the satisfaction. Javier Peña has never begged for sex in his life. But with the way his cock is practically pleading for you, he supposed now is as good of a time to start as any. "Please…" He begs, his hand wrapping around your bicep. "Please touch me."
"Good slut." You reward him by taking his cock in hand. Which causes him to grow tighter around you. There's sufficient precum to jerk him in time with your thrusts. With the way he throbs in your hand, you can tell he's close.
"G-good…so perfect- fuck" Javi mumbles incoherently. Rocking his hips below you. Moving himself back and forth between your hand on his dick and your cock in his ass. Letting you get even deeper inside him. Pushing the head of your cock against that perfect spot inside him, that has him seeing stars.
"Fuck Javi-" you moan at the way he clenches around you. Tight and hot. "Want you to cum for me." You say, snapping your hips harder into him. Your own body tightening as your orgasm builds.
Javier's mouth drops open. Legs closing around your hips, pushing you deep inside him. His cries echoing through the empty office. Fingers digging into your back, pulling you close. Javier cries out your name with a choked moan as his hips jerk beneath you. Cum splatters up over his stomach and chest. Head thrown back in ecstasy.
The delicious sight below you has you teetering on the edge of your own climax. You can't help but lean in to take a taste. Dipping your head down to Javier's golden chest, lapping at the warm cum splattered upon him. Another breathy moan escaping the DEA agent as he watches you taste him. His warm brown eyes glued to you.
It's too much. Those eyes on you. His arms and legs wrapped around you. The way his body pulses around you. The salty taste of him on your tongue. And with another half dozen harsh thrusts you finish inside him, filling the condom.
"Javi- Javi!" You moan against his shoulder. Slumping down against him, arms braced on either side to keep some of your weight off of him.
"Fuck…" he breathes out between pants, coming down from his orgasmic haze. Nudging his arched nose against your cheek, leaning in for a soft kiss. Uncaring that he can still taste himself on you.
You happily accept his soft kisses. Enjoying the fuzzy post orgasm feeling. Smiling at the feeling of his fluffy mustache on your lip. Large hands find their way to your face, cupping your cheeks. Reluctantly, you pull off him.
"Javi, I need to slip out, okay?"
He affirms with a nod.
"Relax for me." You say softly, leaning back off of him. Taking one last look at the mess you two made; you grip the condom and pull out. Quickly tying off the end and tossing it in the waste bin.
You look across your desk for the box of tissues, sighing as you survey the damage done to your work space. Your paperwork was scattered. Folders disorganized. Pen holder tipped over. Not to mention the stench of sweat and sex hanging heavy in the air. But all that could wait.
Taking a handful of tissues, you begin cleaning up Javi. Running the paper over his exposed body, gathering the remnant of his orgasm. A soft hiss leaving him as you clean up his softening cock. Another as you gently wipe his slightly gaped hole.
As you turn to clean yourself up you ask, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Y-yeah." He answered simply, slowly rebuttoning his pink shirt. "I'm good."
"Good…here!" You call, tossing him his pants that he'd thrown to the side.
"Thanks." He says, finally unseating himself from your desk.
In a comfortable silence, you each get dressed. Just the soft sound of fabric filling the air between you two. The rustle of pants. The familiar sound of a zipper being pulled. The clink of a belt. It continues until you're both back in your clothes. If it weren't for the mess around you, and the taste of Javi still on your tongue; you'd almost think you'd imagined the whole thing. When you look over at him, he's already staring back. Lit cigarette in hand. Warm brown eyes on you. He's the first to speak up.
"So uhh …round two?" He asks with a lift of his eyebrow, taking another puff of his cigarette. "My place?"
"Fuck yeah." You answer with a smile. Swiping your jacket from the back of your desk chair. Half heartedly reorganizing your desk. Just enough that it wouldn't be so suspicious come Monday morning.
Peña is just as eager. Dipping away momentarily to snatch his leather jacket from his desk across the office. He jogs back over to you, "Ready to go, Hermoso?"
"Yeah, all good." You confirm, letting him guide you out of the shared office building.
You can't help but notice the other agent's usual swagger seems impeded. His typically confident strides were replaced with a shuffle. Each step falling short and heavy. He'd definitely be feeling the events of tonight for the next couple days. Peña brings you to his car, holding the door open for you. Quickly sauntering over to his side of the vehicle.
Once seated, Javier pauses "Listen…that slut shaming shit. Keep it between us? Not on the clock. Deal?"
"Fuck…yeah. I am sorry...really. I was just jealous."
Javier smirks, taking the final huff off his cigarette. "Guess you don't have to be jealous anymore."
"Guess not…" you return his mischievous smile, plucking the end of his cigarette from his lips. Burying the glowing end into the ashtray. "You know, if you need something to suck on I've got something for you."
Javi scoffs, "Only if I'm topping this time." He responds, shifting the car into drive.
"We'll see about that Peña." You roll your eyes, wondering just how many of his buttons you can press before you arrive at his apartment.
#am writes#javier pena x m!reader#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfic#m!reader#javier pena fanfiction
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The Story of Minglan
Oh, fuck all the way off.
If there is a bloodbath before she is put down, I will rage.
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LMFAO.
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If you are not careful, he will have your head removed from your body 🙄
I need to watch this man in a role that is not completely infuriating. He's stupid beautiful and so talented to boot. I can't bring myself to brave Guardian but there must be something I can sink my teeth into.
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LOL, how did they think this was going to end?
I love how it was only Sheng Hong and Changbai who remained standing in the end with maybe one or two others. They are not getting themselves involved in this circle wank. I do wonder, though, how that will work out for them in the long run, because people are generally not fond of those who did nothing to support them in hard times even if they did not directly oppose them.
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LMAO, Minglan is done with poetry and calligraphy and has started teaching them practical things 🤣🤣
Future concubines and stepmothers-in-law, beware!
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Smh. It must be done so she does not become an idiot like you who's easily led by the nose by people with bad intentions.
Seriously, Minlgan is doing this kid a massive favour. With a ridiculous mother like this, things could only go badly for her in the future.
***
Good girl.
I don't know who she inherited her healthy brain cells from, but it certainly wasn't from her parents.
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LMAO, there is nobody I love on this drama more than Shitou 🤣
He's so smart yet so dumb at the same time 🤣🤣
And to think Qi Heng had a Shitou of his own and got him beaten to death for his loyalty. I'm still so fucking pissed about that and nobody even mentions it anymore. Duchess Qi is going on happily with her privileged and illustrious life as if she didn't horribly murder at least two gorgeous young people for the funsies. There is no justice.
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Fucking finally!
I was wondering how long it would take him to appoint the single most competent person he has on staff for this important task. Qi Heng can continue to rot, stewing on the issue of how the Emperor addresses his dead parents.
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LMAO, of course they did and of course Prince Shen is the idiot who let them.
Also, who is the nephew? Prince Shen's son? With which wife?
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I still don't understand who borrowed money from whom here.
How old is this son? I was imagining a child but it seems like we are talking about an adult here?
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He's a goddamn self-serving idiot.
Honestly, fuck Prince Shen and his idiotic sister making excuses for him. And fuck anyone running a high-interest loan operations. Yes, debts must be repaid, but usury is a crime for a reason.
I am so not on their side here. I hate this whole family with the exception of Madam Zhang who had the misfortune to marry into this hell.
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Oh, shut up, you are fooling no one 🙄
I am also getting tired of him looking for trouble where there is none.
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I feel so sorry for these courtesans who have to deal with idiotic men and their marital problems every day.
She is smarter than every man in this hall combined.
Also, Gu Tingye is not subtle. I hope he compensates her well for listening to this drivel.
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Of course he did 🙄
Also, why do I care? Let's go back to Minglan and Madam Zhang! 😭 The men can all rot for all I care.
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Oh my god.
Who the hell are these people and why the fuck do I care?
Why can't we just go investigate the salt trade with Changbai and maybe bring down all of Gu Tingye's evil maternal relatives along the way? I have zero fucks to give about Xiao Duan.
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PUPARIA
Chapter 5 - Kute
prev - chapter 1
God, what the fuck did he drink last night. Hosah's head throbbed as he strained open his eyes. Laying there for a second, hand covering his face to block the light coming in from the un-closed curtains, the still very much tiny man recalled having the ridiculous dream last night. I mean, why would he ever ask Teddy to stay the night, that was so unbelievably unlike him, he didn't think his brain could even make that sort of shit up. Turning to his side, Hosah rubbed his eyes open completely in preparation for the day.
Definitely not a dream.
The shifter had to hold down a scream when his assistant had rolled to his side, the two now facing eachother. Both of them were still fully dressed, shoes and all. Embarrassingly, the only thing on Hosah's mind was what did they do last night.
"Good morning. I was wondering when you'd wake up." Teddy sat up, leant looming over the tiny form sprawled out on the bed.
Hosah could barely gather his words; "I- We, what happened last night?" the surprise left him out of breath.
The giant looked confused for a second before turning to laughter, "Oh, god, nothing. You fell straight asleep right after asking me to stay."
Eugh. Embarrassing. So embarrassing in fact, he'd almost forgotten entirely about the previous day.
"God, we've got fifteen dead bodies to chase up. I swear these serial killers are doing it on purpose just to make my life miserable." the tiny man took a break to rub the sleep from his drowsy doe eyes, "I mean, fifteen is way too much. It's not classy, it's overkill.. Literally." Hosah wasn't so used to talking right after waking up it seemed, as his usually internal stream of thoughts came pouring out of his mouth at an uncontrollable pace.
"Mm. Are you.. Okay, by the way?" Ah, how sweet, Teddy remembered his little accidental breakdown.
"Oh, god yeah. No, I'm okay. It's just, I don't know. You wouldn't get it, but shifters, we stick together, you know? That's like seeing my brothers and sisters dead in front of me. Those are my brothers and sisters." Hosah's eyes drifted off onto his feet, which were still in his boots, "If we don't look out for each other, who will?"
His assistant layed back down beside him, face in his folded arms at eye level with the shrunken man, he had that same, stupid soft expression he always pulled whenever Hosah said anything particularly nice. "That's- Ah, that's very beautiful. I didn't realise you were so sentimental."
The detective had never really thought of himself in such a way. "Psh, tell me about it, you know what Jeanne said to me yesterday? I've got a little body and a big bleeding heart. Come on. That's cheesy. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that, I don't wanna imagine that visual." He fell back, now facing the ceiling, which was so unimaginably far away when he was like this.
"Aw, no that's cute. I hadn't seen that side of you before. Big feelings, little guy." Teddy instantly regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth.
"Stop. I'll throw up, seriously." neither of the two wanted to push the statement further. Besides, it was time to think about heading into the office. "What time is it?"
Hosah's room was unimaginably bare, a futon on the floor, a window with curtains, and a pair of bedside tables. This wasn't including his dresser of shrunken clothes or the clutter of painting materials that sat in the corner, but that was the gist of it. He'd been meaning to do some furniture shopping for what, five years now?
As there was no clock to turn to, Teddy leant over to check his phone.
"Seven thirty, just about." That was a relief. At least now, he'd be able to get his morning bath, he was sure he reeked of dead body after yesterday.
The tiny detective stood to his full height, barely able to keep balance on the spongy mattress, "You can use the shower if you want. I'm gonna take a bath."
The visual Teddy pictured in his head made his face subconsciously curl up into a smile. It seemed that their life really had turned into the tropes you'd find in your average, cheesy romance drama. At least with a little help, running the bath would be a much easier process.
Over the years of independence, Hosah had thought a lot about assisted living. Moving into one of those residential houses where he could be looked after, it seemed like the dream end goal for any shifter with no prospects of falling in-love. He'd decided to put the idea on the back-burner until he was in his mid thirties, he had all the time in the world to get around and find someone to love and look after him.
As he sat in the wooden bowl, half his body submerged under water, Hosah continued to ponder about his life thus far- although it was awkward to ignore the fact his assistant was sitting on the closed toilet seat to the back on him. It were times like these, when he'd seen lives be cut so short, that he thought a lot about his parents. When they were his age, Hosah was already five years old, and his brother would've been seven. He lowered himself deeper into the bath, wondering what exactly he'd achieved in the five years spent out all on his own in the big city.
Sometimes, Hosah thought it was too late for him. He'd spent so much of his twenties either hunched over a desk or barely tall enough to get around his apartment. Years of looking over missing person after missing person's cases made him wish it to have been him instead. These people had goals, prospects, promising futures, they were going to ivy league schools, they had babies on the way, they had an important job to fulfil, all things Hosah thought to be worth living for. It wasn't right to think in such a way, especially when it was down to him to bring these people justice, but it was getting increasingly hard not to with age.
Honestly, he wasn't sure if getting worked up over this- or the fact Teddy stayed the night upon his own request, was really all that worth it. There were bigger things to be worrying about, like, maybe the literal serial killer his team had stumbled upon.
"You're gonna prune up if you stay in there any longer, you know." The voice scared the shit out of him, but it was just Teddy, sitting with his feet up on the seat, patterned socks on display.
He was right, Hosah had been sitting and soaking for a while by now. Waiting until his assistant had turned to face the wall, the shifter quickly stumbled out and covered himself up. He'd embarrassed himself enough by now, flashing Teddy would be the final straw.
When the giant turned back around, the shift in his expression said all it needed to. That stupid tilt of his eyebrows, the way that everyone seemed to look at Hosah when they'd see just how terrible his condition had gotten.
"I know it's a Tuesday and all," Teddy's eyes adverted towards the ground, "But, we should hang out tonight. Get dinner or something. Do you like the movies? 'd only have to pay for one ticket."
Eh. Whatever. It wasn't like Hosah had anything productive to do once he got home. "Uh, sure, yeah sounds good. Just take whatever you need from my wallet before we leave." although it was nice to get a break from paying for his food the last week, Hosah had begun to feel increasingly bad about not paying his way. Hosah had actually been feeling bad about most things lately.
"No- no need, we share anyway, and it's not like, a fifty fifty split," Teddy's pitiful laugh as he said it was all that needed to be heard. The shifter knew he'd get nowhere by trying to argue.
Hosah was aware of how difficult it was to dance around the topic of his shifting, especially when he was, well, shifted, but it was still a bummer to hear the stark differences between him and Teddy be so loudly pointed out, even when not being addressed directly. Whenever something even slightly in reference to himself and his obvious lack of height came up, a feeling similar to that of being pelted with rocks came over him. Any sort of pleasant mood would be instantly squashed under the landslide of self awareness.
He wouldn't really peg himself as all that insecure of a person, but it were times like these when Hosah wished to have not been born this way. He wanted to argue about who payed the bill, and have it be a fair argument at that. The saying about not being able to 'have your cake and eat it too' always flew over his head when he was younger, but Hosah seemed to be applying it to his own life more than he'd like to admit.
Returning to the bedroom, draped in a towel that extended from his shoulders all the way down to his feet, the tiny detective now had the responsibility of getting ready to leave for work once more. The daily grind had gotten extremely, painfully repetitive by now, after five years of constantly being at it, rarely ever even getting weekends off, even the thought of having to wake up, get ready, take the tube, walk to the office, et cetera, had begun to wear Hosah down. He felt like a balding tire, one harsh turn away from skidding, crashing, and bursting into flames.
It barely took him half a second to decide what to wear. Despite being freshly cleaned, Hosah still looked pretty emaciated. If he could go back ten years, but remain in his current physical condition, they'd call him 'heroin chic'. The shifter laughed to himself at that thought, buttoning up the same old plain shirt he'd had for years by now. To be honest, his look would be totally in fashion if 'Victorian era chimney sweep' was a current trend. Hosah's Mom always told him that laughing at, seemingly, nothing was a sign of insanity, but he found his own thoughts too amusing to keep a straight face.
Using the little mirror in the jewellery box, the doll-sized man made an attempt to fix his hair and got a good look at his face. Seems he slept better than he thought, as his eye-bags were uncharacteristically small and light, although the prominent fat under his eye gave the illusion of having them either way. This was actually a feature Hosah had always liked about himself, mainly because he was told by the Korean side of his family about how it was a desired trait back home, if you could call a place you'd never even been home.
Looking at himself in the mirror, the shifter's thoughts lingered on Teddy once again. He thought about earlier in the morning, seeing his face so up close, the assistant's cheek pressed against the mattress, able to feel his breath brush over himself, feel his voice send vibrations to his core. Before he'd realised it, Hosah's face was flushing red again, just as it was when he first realised he wasn't alone in his room. His hand brushed over the surface of his own face, imagining what it'd be like to have Teddy's moles, or his straight nose, or his shaped jaw, or even his singular crooked fang that stuck out as he smiled.
Maybe Teddy wasn't the weird one of the two after-all, as the realisation of what exactly the shrunken blond was thinking about hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to stop, he was being weird, what if Teddy was actually just like Edward from Twilight as he'd initially suspected and was reading his mind right now. All of these aspects forced his brain to quiet down for at least a second, giving him the time to take in his surroundings, and take them in he did.
The taller of the two could not startle Hosah this time around with his spontaneous appearance, as the shifter turned on his heels to face the approaching giant before he'd even got the chance to make himself known by his own hand.
Hosah craned his neck up, staring into the incomprehensible abyss that was six foot above him. Teddy had to be at least 6'3, probably an inch or two more if he was being honest. The shifter barely just reached ankle height, leaving way for the perfect opportunity to pull the good old 'tug on trouser leg and demand to be lifted up' trick. Just being reminded of such an action gave Hosah a blast of nostalgia, as he recalled doing the same thing to his Dad when he was a kid.
Without Teddy having realised he'd been noticed, the detective took half a dozen quick leaps forward before grabbing onto the fabric and pulling with all the upper body strength he had, "Come on, let's go,"
-~-
Having a new person around the office seemed to be doing some good for Hosah. Being assisted without feeling as though he should just find a way to do said things himself was refreshing, but old habits were hard to break, as he still found himself making attempts at tasks that, for him, would be extremely difficult to pull off, but for Teddy, would take barely the movement of his non-dominant hand. In some ways, it pissed Hosah off, making him wonder if the rookie had any cocky thoughts as he helped with ease, but it also proved to be extremely useful in speeding up just about everything he had to get done at the same time.
Maybe constantly isolating himself and refusing any aid was actually bad for his mental and physical health after all.
Ehhh, probably not.
The two actually made quite the good team, as in just two hours, they'd managed to get a missing person's family out to the office, back where all the evidence was being held. Now all that had to be done was to wait and see if they could confirm or deny the identity of body number seven.
Neither Hosah or Teddy were all that involved in these kinds of processes, honestly, their jobs were quite minor in the bulk of it all. Look for patterns in the cases, things that could link back to anything recent, or even anything that had occurred years ago, just dwindle down the possibilities of a culprit into a manageable size, that was just about it. At least, that was it on big cases such as this one. Usually, Hosah's job would be to go out to a much less severe and complex scene, usually a domestic case that had ended in a dangerous situation, and act as a mediator sort of figure, one that would provide a sense of security and trust, one that would be able to get a straight story out of someone, especially another shifter.
Being a shifter did actually have quite a few perks in those regards. A lot of people find the tiny folk to be very cute and endearing, the amount of late night talk hosts that would hang around on a random celebrity's shoulder for an interview was incomprehensible. You might think 2% of the population was an extremely small number of individuals, but it also meant there were just about 136,000,000 shifters currently living globally in the year 2009, which seemed like a lot more when put in that way.
There was just something so undeniably sweet about a person no taller than about four or five inches that the non-shifter population seemed to love, which made Hosah's job undeniably more painful that it had to be. He never minded speaking to other shifters, in fact, he'd much preferred his title of victim advocate over looking at pictures of dead bodies, it was just the giants that gave him a sickly feeling in his stomach.
More specifically, the giants on the police force. Cross communication wasn't typically the role Hosah would have to take, but on the rare occasion it was, he'd leave the station with a large chunk of his will to live having being chipped off over the course of the entire process. He felt as though he had to prove himself every time he spoke to a different officer, the shifter didn't understand what gave them the right to think so highly of themselves when they weren't even doing the hard work. Hosah felt the way they looked at him, especially in his shrunken state, like he was nothing but an object kept around to be a piece of entertainment. Psh. Whatever.
The small, disheveled man pulled at his hair to snap out of his thoughts, feeling his body get progressively more tense the more he remembered things that had pissed him off in the past.
An opening and closing of the door grabbed Hosah's attention. It was Teddy, except he had a particularly sad look on his face, one the detective had never seen before.
"Yeah, you can go ahead and put the missing persons report in number seven's file. That's him." Teddy didn't even look at the shrunken figure on his desk, he just took a seat on his chair and slumped down a little, causing it to spin to the left, facing away from the table entirely.
It took a few moments of sorrowful sighs before the assistant noticed Hosah's increasing struggles to do as he'd asked, letting out a quiet 'Right, sorry' as Teddy rushed to take over from the activity.
This field of work sucked. No matter how depressed, pessimistic or nihilistic it made him, Hosah still felt some kind of obligation to stay. Whether that be his underlying messiah complex, or the weight of his and Jules' shared history, it kept him at this desk, looking over files, and overall becoming the worst version of himself he could possibly be.
He'd never actually seen Teddy look so sad, which made sense, they'd only been working together for the past week, but it was still concerning either way. Hosah had just assumed his assistant was much better than him at the 'keep work and feelings separate' thing, but clearly they had another thing in common.
Augh. The silence was killing him. Trying not to raise any suspicions about the fact that, despite acting like he didn’t, Hosah was fond of his assistant, the tiny detective shifted his position until he sat, kneeled next to Teddy’s resting knuckles against the desk.
“So.. You okay?” Ehhh, that’ll do. Hosah had never been all that good with using words and addressing feelings.
The unsuspected close contact surprised his assistant a little as his chair wheeled back toward the table, “Me? Yeah, of course, yeah. Do I not seem okay?”
“..No, not really. You look sad.”
Teddy laughed, his eyebrows still tilted down, “Ahh, well,” he paused for a moment, taking a breath in and twirling his hands by his face, as if that meant anything, “This stuff just happens. I thought I’d be more thick skinned by now.”
Hosah knew all too well about this subject. “Ugh, tell me about it.” the tiny man shifted his position, his side leant against the giant, resting fist.
“I definitely thought, after the lesson my grandparents taught me about becoming too emotionally involved in work, I wouldn’t end up like this,” Even though he was smiling, it was obvious that Teddy wasn’t all that happy talking about it.
Hosah’s curiosity got the best of him, inquiring further with a little ‘Mm?’.
“Well, it’s a funny story actually,” From the way Teddy had mentioned it previously, the shifter could tell it was not in fact going to be a funny story. “I was like, maybe eleven, spending the summer at my grandparent’s farm, and it was really boring down there. Once I’d finished my work for the day, there was nothing to do except read or wander around, even the closest village was like, a three mile bike ride away.”
Teddy paused to run a hand through his hair, spinning on his chair so that him and the shifter weren’t face to face. “Anyway, I ended up spending a lot of time just hanging out with the animals, and this one hen was super attached to me, followed me around where she could, sat on my lap, like a real pet, you know? Well, since she was a hen and all, I didn’t think there’d be any consequence to it, I mean, we needed the eggs right? But my grandma was really annoyed, she took me out back to the shed where.. You know. I- You can probably guess what happened , after..”
“Oh, oh shit. What? That’s horrible. What the fuck.” Hosah could barely get his words out. Damn, and he thought he had some pretty brutal childhood stories.
His assistant had that same bittersweet look on his face. “After that, I thought I was hard as nails, but I guess not so much. Ah, c’est la vie, right?”
“Hmm, I guess,” what a nonchalant take. As he watched Teddy swivel back around on his seat to face him again, the shrunken detective decided not to question him further on the story. “You never told me what happened, with the family of that missing person. That’s body seven?” Hosah could infer exactly what happened, but decided to change the subject anyway.
“Right, yeah. That’s him. I don’t know. Having seen the body itself, I thought I’d take it all a lot better but.. Speaking to his parents, watching them learn their kid is really seriously dead. It just breaks my heart, you know? If I was in their position, I don’t know if I’d ever recover.”
If he could’ve, the tiny man sat beside Teddy’s hand would’ve held it in his own. “Mm. That’s how I feel towards just about every case I’ve ever worked on. Hah, we’re really not tough enough for this job, huh?”
And tough enough they weren’t. It felt as though the two detectives left on the office floor had just encountered some supernatural activity, as Hosah swore he felt the temperature drop by a few degrees in a split second. It was Jules, the head of the entire agency. The shifter didn’t know whether to give her the cold shoulder, or to thank her, regarding the situation she’d put both him and Teddy in not so long ago.
God, she may be terrifying, but she’s drop dead gorgeous. He’d always thought Jules had the looks, the height, and the body to go into runway modelling, but it seemed she preferred to surround herself with death’s imminent presence, and a few guys she can psychologically torture. It always perplexed the shifter, how someone so evil could look so angelic.
“What are you two still doing here? You could’ve gone home an hour ago, you know that right? Is he forcing you to stay back late with him, Edward?” Jules took a seat on the desk at which the two detectives sat both at and on.
No matter how much she pissed him off, Hosah always fell back on the ‘but she’s so beautiful though’ excuse. Despite the fact her jaw and cheekbones were as sharp as ever, her features were all still so soft, as her eyelashes and eyebrows were the same almost white blonde colour as her long, slicked back hair. He had no idea how anyone could make a pencil skirt and ill-fitting blouse look so high fashion, but Jules just had that kind of look to her.
“No, no, just got busy with chasing up missing persons reports. We got one, number seven isss..” Teddy’s hands were shaking a little as he grabbed the file from Hosah’s side, where the giant’s hand once rested. “Here, Charlie Laurent. Reported three months ago today.”
Her hand wrapped around the rookie’s wrist as she tilted the file toward herself, “Hmm, oh, right. Alice told me he’s guessing the bodies were ordered in a particular way, by when they’d been killed, based on decomposition stages. Still waiting on all the autopsies to get back to us to confirm that theory though.”
Alice was Jeanne’s last name, honestly, most people around the agency referred to him as such, sometimes Hosah felt like the only person who actually knew his first name.
Just as quickly as she came, the slender woman hopped up off the desk, giving Teddy a ruffle of the hair on her way out. How she could do that in heels, no one knew.
Once the coast was clear, the assistant leant in, “God, I’m shaking.” Teddy whispered as if he didn’t want her to hear him, despite the fact she had long left the room. She always did this kind of thing, start a conversation, then leave whenever she got sick of talking. There was really no rhyme or reason to her behaviour, that’s just the type of person she was. The type of person that made no sense at all, which is what made her so enticing and so scary at the same time. Unpredictable, that’s what she was.
“She’s not really all that scary. Then again, I’ve known her for like, ten years by now.” The tiny man shrugged, standing up preparing to leave himself. “Anyway. That doesn’t matter. What’s on at the theatres tonight?”
#Another Meh#But next chapter is date night so hopefully less Misery and more Will they.. Won’t they……#g/t#giant tiny#g/t ocs#sfw g/t#gianttiny#g/t writing#Puparia_tag#oc hosah#oc teddy
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May I have headcannons for more Alpha! Grimsley? Like sfw stuff for his omega? And what about nsfw when his omega is in heat? I cant stop thinking about alpha grimsley non-stop since reading ur post.
Finally, I can pop off. I love you for giving me an excuse to be like this.
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- Grimsley is loving in his own way, he’s like a black car boyfriend, he wants affection on his own terms, but wants you drowning in his scent.
- Speaking of scent, once you get passed his expensive cologne, his scent is deep and rich, like a deep red wine, a spice of ginger, and amber, it’s a thick scent, one that lures you in.
- He’s very slow getting into a relationship with you, he’s not what most think when they hear ‘alpha’ but he doesn’t really care. At first he thinks your interest in him is purely for mating, which he isn’t totally again, but he’s more surprised when you actually want to get to know him.
- Grimsley isn’t aggressive, or entirely protective, but he can be, and can be very possessive. He doesn’t like it when other’s ignore the scent coating you, and try to shoot their shot anyway.
- He’s always touching you, with an arm around your waist or hips, even letting you wear his scarf. He sasses those who try to get to you, and if that doesn’t work, he’s not afraid to snarl and show why he’s your mate.
- He’s still very much a menace to you, holding thing out of your reach, just so he can ask for a kiss.
- No matter how long you two are together he still flirts with you, like laying it on THICK.
- New people will confuse him for an omega, just because of how much you two are on each other and your scent rubs off on him. He can’t help that he loves his mate so much!
- Very attentive, especially during your heats, he will stock up in nesting material, food, snacks, water bottles, he gets a mini fridge and puts it in your shared bedroom, just for easier access to it.
- Blanket thief, especially if it smells like you, and he often sleeps on your side of the bed too, just to have more of your scent, so you may have to boot him from it. He can’t help it, your scent is so soothing and comforting to him.
- Acts like you’re the clingy affectionate one, when in reality this man falls into your lap, demanding your constant attention and love.
-🔞
- 🔞NSFW! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞
-🔞 18+ ONLY!🔞 (blood mentioned, but not at all described.)
- massive tease, he loves edging you, mostly so he can taste you longer, but he will overstimulate you if you cum before he allows it. It’s a win win in his book either.
- He’s not lying when he says your scent is intoxicating, as he offers to do laundry a lot, just to take deep sniffs of your dirty underwear. He also does this when he’s between your legs, going down on you. He will take the deepest inhale of your sex before slowly dragging his tongue over it.
- Your heats are his favorite things to deal with, just the smell of it has him losing his mind. And Grimsley loves taking care of you during them, fucking you stupid and full, just to watch his spent drip out of your quivering hole.
- Even when he fucks his knot into you, he will still grind deep inside you, just to make you cum and milk him more.
- You will not be leaving your nest without every inch of your skin covered in his mating marks. Your neck, chest, thighs, especially your inner thighs, will be covered in hickies and bite marks.
- Loves it when you mark him back, he’s scratch him! Bite him! Draw blood! He wants more, he wants all of it.
- He’s your mate as much as you’re his.
- Degrades you, but always calls you ‘his’ first.
“Fuck…mmm, look at my slutty mate, all spread for me.”
Grimsley smirks, cooing at your blissed out form, as you try to grind back against him. His blue eyes nearly glowing with desire.
“My good little whore! Such a good mate I have.”
Your loud whines go right to his cock. He’s sure this is exactly how both of you were suppose to be.
“You were made for me, made to take my knot- fuck!” Grimsley growls, tossing his head back as your hole clenches around him.
“P-pleease! Fuck me, want- want your cock, fill me! C-can’t take it anymore!” Tears roll down your cheeks, feeling your mate push his cock deeper into your already cumfilled hole.
“So greedy, but who am I to deny?”
Your heat is certainly one of his favorite things.
Next to you smothering him with your kisses, but that will be for later.
#smut#spicy#🔞🔞🔞#mdni#pokemon smut#pokemon x reader smut#omegaverse#omegaverse smut#pokemon grimsley smut#pokemon grimsley x reader smut#pokemon omegaverse
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♞Pairing: Steo
♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken
♞Tags: kidnapping, secret relationship
♞Words: 3319
♞Prompt: inspired by "Rude" - Magic! (for @amatchinwater )
ao3
---
with heart in my hand
“Theo?” Stiles hovers his hand over his gun, heart hammering in his chest as the door falls closes with a soft click. Thanks to his job, he’s walked into too many homes that look like a crime scene — he just didn’t expect to walk into his own apartment looking the same. His clothes and other belongings are everywhere, bookshelves completely empty. There are drawers yanked out of dressers. His kitchen cupboards are opened. Someone even went through his pots and pans. The pillows on his couch have been sliced open. His mattress, Stiles realizes, has suffered the same fate as it leans against the railing of his loft, threatening to topple over. His TV is gone, but his laptop is still sitting on the desk on the corner of the room — the only place seemingly untouched.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Stiles pulls his gun out. “Theo?” He calls again, gaze darting from the closed bathroom door to the loft area. The mattress is blocking his view. Just today he was called to two break-ins, and as high as his adrenaline was during those times, his hands weren’t sweaty, and they certainly weren’t shaking. But this is different. This is his home, his life, and his boyfriend on the line. “Theo!” Even his voice is shaking, and Stiles wants to kick himself for it. Panicking doesn’t help, especially not when the intruders can tell he is.
Stiles carefully steps over a pair of shoes and a lonely boot, gaze darting back and forth between the mattress and the closed bathroom door. He’s not about to get jumped; not by hunters, supernatural assholes, or mundane criminals.
When he can finally see his bedroom area, it’s empty. The drawers have been ripped out of his nightstands. His lamps are on the ground, light bulbs most likely broken. Someone came into this place looking for something, and they were very determined to finding it.
But what?
Stiles doesn’t have anything valuable in his apartment. He’s not stupid enough to keep his supernatural artifact in a place where his colleagues from work are hanging out, sometimes with their nosy toddlers — and no one besides Theo know he’s rented a storage room for it. Unless someone figured it out? But how? And how did they learn where Stiles lives? He’s careful, and he went the extra mile to secure this place with magic.
Witches?
“Theo?” Stiles asks, his heart pumping fear through his body with every beat. Fuck his apartment. He can move. He can replace shit, but if someone dared to touch Theo— Stiles shakes his head. No. Absolutely not. Theo is going to be fine. Maybe he just stepped out to grab some food. He didn’t seem too thrilled about cooking earlier today.
Stepping over books and shoes and a bunch of apples, Stiles slowly makes his way towards his bathroom. The main reason he rented this place is that there are no spaces to hide besides the bathroom. He could shoot first and ask questions later, that is always an option, but if they’re not crouching behind the door like an idiot, all he does is alert everyone on his floor and waste bullets he may later need.
When he passes his desk, his gaze catches on things that are very clearly not his belongings. “What the fuck?” he breathes, his voice eerily loud in the heavy silence of the apartment. Handcuffs — not the fun kind — a gag, and an empty vial of… something. Stiles reaches for it, panic chocking him slowly. He brushes his thumb over the blue letters. Diazepam.
Great.
He’s been running out of nightmare fuel anyway.
The good news is, however, that it wouldn’t do anything to Theo. If someone did inject him with this shit, all they did was make him very angry. Bad news? An overdose will knock him on his ass very quickly.
Stiles drops the vial and aims the gun at his bathroom door again. He should shoot. Waltzing in there is an unnecessary risk. Stiles licks his lips, finger itching to pull the trigger. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he mutters, more to himself than whoever is waiting to jump him behind that door.
Without warning, his apartment is plunged into darkness. Stiles whips around, aiming his gun to where he knows his light switch is. Before he’s even got the chance to shoot, someone crashes into him. The back of his head bounces off the hard wooden flooring. Stiles groans as pain explodes in his skull. The impact sends his gun flying, and by sheer fucking luck, there’s no shot going off.
A cool leather glove his covering his mouth as a needle sinks into his neck.
The pain barely registers, but the panic snaps him out of his haze. One minute. Stiles remembers everything he read on Diazepam during a case he worked two months ago. This shit is going to work in one to three minutes. Barely enough time to fight them off and get away. But Stiles isn’t going to give up.
He moves his left hand, inch by inch, feeling for anything he can use to hit their head — and luck is on his side. His little finger bumps into the fruit bowl. It’s made out of glass and sturdy enough to do some damage. He curls his fingers around it and slams it against their head with as much might as he can.
Stiles hears a pained groan mere heartbeats before the grip on him loosens. Gathering all his strength, he shoves the person off him and rolls onto his stomach. His world tips around him, even in the dark. A wave of nausea rolls over him as he struggles to his feet. The ground is unsteady underneath him, and Stiles stumbles, flailing his arms to fight for balance. His ears are ringing.
He’s not going to make it out of here.
No.
Stiles shakes his head. The movement makes him nearly throw up and lose his balance. All his attention is zeroed in on the sheen of light coming from the ajar front door. That’s his way out. If he manages to get there— but the first step makes him loose his balance again. His concussion makes it impossible to walk. Or maybe it’s the drug. How much time has passed?
Or maybe it’s both.
He just needs to—
--- --- ---
Consciousness creeps up on him, slow, sluggish, a snail on its way to an unknown goal. It’s hard to stay awake, even harder to figure out if he’s passed out again. The room is dark all the time. At least, he thinks it is. Maybe he hasn’t opened his eyes yet. What time is it? What day is it?
Stiles blinks his eyes open.
Soft rays of sunshine are painting the ceiling with peaceful strokes, yet something about them makes dread pool in Stiles’ stomach. Unease pushes into his veins, taking over every inch of his body and quenches the exhaustion. With every tick of a clock somewhere close by, Stiles becomes more and more awake – and more and more aware.
This isn’t his home.
Because someone kidnapped him.
His heart lurches in his chest as panic takes hold of him. It’s not just the presence of a window that’s wrong. The mattress is too soft, the blankets too thick. It’s too warm.
There is someone lying right next to him. Asleep, judging by the sound of their soft breathing. What the fuck is going on? Who- Stiles doesn’t have a stalker. Right? Theo would’ve surely noticed if someone were following him. He did last time.
And what happened to Theo?
Okay, one step at a time.
Stiles turns his head to the side. There’s an alarm clock on his side of the nightstand, bright red numbers informing him that it’s 7:23 am. Next to the alarm clock is a lamp. That’s going to be helpful. Stiles reaches for it, curling his fingers around the cool metal, and slowly inches closer and closer to the edge of the mattress. It’s best to just take the lamp with him. Maybe he can get out of here without waking the freak that kidnapped him in the first place. But- but who is it?
His fear is stifled by reason. If he leaves, and he doesn’t get a face of a name, what’s stopping them from doing it again? The address won’t be enough. They might be long gone when the police arrive, and Stiles isn’t planning on waiting around. The more he wakes up, the worse the pain gets in his head. That’s a concussion. Someone gave him a fucking concussion and then drugged him... only to do what? Play happy family?
Stiles grinds his teeth and turns around again. The person is mostly blanketed by the darkness of the room and facing away from him. Should he turn on the light? Sneak around the bed? Should he-
“I can feel you staring at me.”
Light floods the room, and Stiles covers his eyes with a groan. His grip tightens around the lamp. He yanks it off the nightstand. For a second, there’s resistance but the then cable gives and Stiles is willing to swing it at everything that moves.
A hand clasps around his arm before the lamp connects with anything, however. “I still have a headache from the fruit bowl.”
Stiles freezes. His whole world stops, zeroing in on the sound of the all too familiar voice despite his head screaming at him. “What the-” Stiles open his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as his gaze falls upon none other than Theo “-fuck?” he finishes, yanking his arm back. The lamp hovers above his head, knuckles turning white as he debates to hit his boyfriend over the head with it anyway. “What the fuck?” he repeats because saying it once doesn’t put nearly enough emphasis on how much he wants to whack him with this lamp.
“Okay.” Theo gets onto his knees, hands raised almost defensively. “Before you get mad-”
“Before I get mad? Theo, I am mad.” Stiles slams the lamp back onto the nightstand and crosses his arms. At this point, he’s ready to do worse than hit him with a goddamn lamp. Strangling him sounds like a wonderful alternative. “What the fuck were you thinking? Are you insane?”
Theo scoots closer to his side of the bed. “I thought you like that about me.” The guy actually has the nerve to look amused after scaring the living hell out of Stiles, give him a concussion and drug him. Neither his smile, not his body – beautifully on display and only wearing boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination – can get him out of this easily. He knew Theo’s ideas are usually a little different, but this is taking the cake.
Sucking in a breath, Stiles glares at him. “If this is your idea of a practical joke-” Because he is not in the mood, not with his head feeling as if someone’s using at as a fucking trampoline. He needs pain meds, or a doctor; actually, a visit to the ER sounds great after a fucking overdose and a concussion. That’s going to be fun to explain.
“In my defense, it was your dad’s idea.”
Stiles stares at him. That is a joke. Theo cannot be serious. “Dad told you to turn my apartment into a crime scene and kidnap me?” While his dad’s humor can be quite questionable at times, this does not at all sound like him. Never, in a million years, has any of this been his dad’s idea.
Theo runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Well...”
Closing his eyes, Stiles sinks back into the pillows. “You better have a very good explanation for this.” Although what could explain kidnapping him? Sure, they’ve role-played before, and it’s not like they’re kinks are necessarily something a lot of people are into — probably, it’s not like he knows. But using actual drugs? Giving him a concussion? That’s not like Theo.
“If you let me talk.” Theo flicks something against his chest.
Stiles squints down at his lap. Tylenol. Good.
Offering him a bottle of water, Theo watches him with his brows raised expectantly. “As I was saying—”
Snatching the bottle of water from him, Stiles shoots him a look. As he was saying, yeah, right.
“I wanted to make it official.” Theo visibly deflates, shoulders hunching slightly as his gaze drag from Stiles’ face to the Tylenol between his fingers. His face darkens, eyes narrowing slightly. For a few seconds, it seems that he’s far away, somewhere deep in the corners of a memory that refuses to let go of him. “I’m not going to hide us any longer.” Without warning, he gets off the bed and starts pacing the room, his shoulders a tense line.
Stiles cannot tell if it’s the concussion, or if Theo is just not making any sense. It’s true that not everyone knew about their relationship. His dad does, so do Kira and Lydia, but for the sake of keeping the piece within their packs, Stiles and Theo decided that it’s easier to pretend they’re merely getting along. They’re both good enough actors that nobody noticed anything or over a year. “So, you kidnapped me to…” he trails off, hoping Theo would fill in the gap.
“He threatened to kick me off his territory,” Theo snaps, eyes flashing yellow as he struggles to control his anger. There aren’t many people who could piss him off like that, and there is only one person who would have the ability to essentially exile Theo.
“And instead of talking to me about it…” Stiles shakes his head, instantly regretting the movement, and decides to take the Tylenol at last.
Theo lets out a long breath. “I was scared.”
Stiles snaps his head up, staring at Theo in bewilderment. Those three words aren’t something his boyfriend would throw around lightly. “Babe-”
But Theo doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s standing still, looking strangely lost as he continues talking, “I had it planned out. I talked to your dad. I talked to Lydia about the ring. I bought a ring.”
“A ring?” Stiles echoes before he can stop himself. They’ve been dating a year, why would Theo- his heart leaps into his throat. I wanted to make it official. Theo wasn’t just talking about telling everyone about their relationship. Stiles swallows and sits up straighter. “Theo, why didn’t you come talk to me?” he asks, patting the bed. They’re usually pretty good when it comes to communication, which honestly surprised Stiles more than anyone else. They work, perfectly, and it’s not even mad that Theo staged a very real kidnapping, it’s that he didn’t talk to him about it beforehand.
Which probably says more about him than he’d like to admit.
“I wanted it to be perfect!” Theo throws his hands in the air, frustration returning in full force. “I asked your dad for your hand first, of course.” Of course. Theo acts like it’s normal. Sure, there are still a lot of traditional people out there, and it is a sweet gesture, Stiles can’t deny that. He still didn’t expect it. Not from Theo. “Then I went to Scott. I tried to bury the hatched for you. Lydia helped me talk to him. We told him about our plans, but he said ‘no’.” Their eyes met, and Stiles can see the same fury burn that must have enveloped Theo when he decided to take what he considers his and make a run for it. “And that it’s time for me to leave his territory.” His hands are curled into tight fists, but his shoulders slump, and he bows his head, staring at the ground with a suddenly unreadable expression.
Stiles lets out a breath. His concussion doesn’t exactly make it easy to think. “Well,” he says slowly, drawing his brows together, “I’m glad to hear a kidnapping wasn’t in the original proposal plans.” He massages his temple, waiting for the Tylenol to set in quickly so he can focus on Theo alone instead of having to deal with this pounding headache on top of everything else. “Or giving me a concussion for that matter.”
“You broke a fruit bowl over my head.”
“Because you gave me a concussion!” Stiles raises his hands in defensive. They’re going to go in circles. Theo isn’t any less stubborn than he is. The only reason for Stiles’ winning most of the time is that Theo is insanely easily distracted by the prospect of sex. Not that Stiles is much better, but he does have the edge – at least for a little while. “Still… why didn’t you just talk to me?” The one thing Theo might love almost as much as Stiles is complaining about Scott’s incompetence. So, it doesn’t make any sense that he’d keep this to himself. None whatsoever.
Theo runs a hand over his face and pulls his shoulders up for the slowest shrug this side of the universe. “I panicked,” he says, having the nerve to sound mad about it.
“Because Scott told you to get lost?” Stiles squints at his boyfriend. It’s hard to tell if Theo doesn’t make any sense, or if his concussion makes his fail to see it. “He does that twice a week, and you laugh in his face. I don’t get-“
Theo shoots him a look, cutting Stiles off mid-sentence. It’s impossible who he’s angry at – himself for overreacting, Stiles for not getting it, or Scott for having the audacity to try and order him around. Not a single possibility makes a lick of sense. “He told me to leave you!” Theo snaps, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
Stiles blinks, staring at his boyfriend in bewilderment. “You think I care?” If he weren’t so utterly baffled by Theo’s words, he’d point out that Scott and he haven’t been the same since long before Theo returned to Beacon Hills. It doesn’t matter to him what Scott thinks. He certainly wouldn’t be dating Theo if that were the case. Plus, as a human, no alpha can boss him around. “Last time I checked, I decide who I’m going to marry.”
For a few heartbeats, Theo doesn’t say anything. His wide blue eyes are fixed on him, almost contemplating. What’s going on in his head is anybody’s guess, but the smile tugging on the corner of his mouth is almost sheepish. Theo releases a breath and crosses the room. “I panicked,” he repeats. An explanation, not an apology. He might not apologize at all.
Stiles doesn’t expect one. Sighing, he lifts his blanket and shakes his head as Theo crawls on top of him. “You’re an idiot,” Stiles tells him. “Talk to me before you kidnap me next time.”
A chuckle ripple through Theo’s body. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist. “Fine,” he whispers, leaning his head against his chest. It's probably not the most comfortable position, but Stiles isn’t about to argue. “Next time I’ll make sure to get your consent before I kidnap you.”
“That’s not-“ Stiles lets out a breath. There’s not really any point in arguing. “You’re impossible.”
Theo laughs again, it’s soft and gentle, and a sound to fall in love with. “But you’re going to marry me anyway.”
Rolling his eyes, Stiles bends down to kiss the top of Theo’s head softly. “Yeah,” he breathes, almost a little surprised how sure he felt about his answer. They might not have dated for long, but he’s not doubting his decision at all. “But only if I get the proposal you planned with Lydia.”
Theo tightens his embrace for all but a second. “And a ring.”
“I love you.” Stiles runs his fingers through Theo’s hair.
“I love you too.”
#steo#stiles stilinski#theo raeken#teen wolf#stiles x theo#theo x stiles#*tv:teen wolf#*w:complete#*s:steo
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When Harrington finally snaps at Billy's pigtail pulling and puts hands on him a few inches too far from appropriate, Billy's kind of still on the assumption that the spark will only go so far. Like a lighter flame before you crack the choke.
Contained.
Fucking is just another form of fighting in Billy's world, and Harrington fights like a small-town kid who's never had more than a school yard brawl. Starts off hot and heavy, a one-punch wonder, crumbles after a few hits.
Harrington's soft, too. He's lost a good chunk of the preppy chip on his shoulder, but he'd only traded in the pastel sweaters and starched polos so far. He doesn't wear the grit and knowing the way Billy does, more like Nancy Wheeler just took his spark when she took his balls, too, but.
Point is; Billy's expecting soft. Harrington's the kind of guy who looks like he thinks reverse cowgirl is experimenting, and so he's fucking delighted when Harrington finds the strength in those noodle arms of his to flip him over, grinding his face into the Camaro's hood like he's imagining its the dirt and he's a boot heel.
Barks a laugh, kicks him in the shin just to hear him swear, because its kind of like finding out that pampered little poodle down the street can still bite. "Not gonna say a hail Mary first, King?" he taunts, and Steve says shut the fuck up and decides in the same breath that Billy's not all that known for following orders, and so he shoves two fingers down Billy's throat in prompt subsequence.
Its pretty fucking stupid. Its also a steady anchor of familiarity amongst this ocean of surprising turns of events. Harrington being smart enough to put him face down but also stupid enough to still stick his fingers between Billy's teeth anyway.
And Billy. Billy's not the kind to sit-and-stay unless there's a juicy slab of steak as motivation, but part of him wants to see how Harrington handles slapping a bridle on a bronco and part of him whispers finally into the corners of his mind. This is kind of hunger no amount of boring backend bitches could sate. The kind of rough handling Billy bites down on, rides out, goes halfway to easy for.
He nips Harrington's fingers and bucks like a wild horse when Harrington reprimands him by shoving a hand into his jeans, bypassing where he wants it to go completely to pinch and twist the soft crease of his thigh. He bites down harder and is a mixture of aroused and startled when Harrington responds in kind, sliding down his body, teeth sharp and stinging his asscheek through a layer of denim and cotton.
Soft never comes. Harrington doesn't flag, doesn't need to ride a too-short wave of adrenaline for this. He tells Billy to shut up, Barbie and calls him the warmest hole in Hawkins. Gives his cheek a pat that's two steps into a slap when he shoves the tip in, and Billy's halfway to seeing God and halfway to incensed because of course it fucking figures that Harrington is the one with what he needs.
Doesn't help he's fucking drooling for it, feels like Harrington's nudging at his teeth, tips cunt up like he's in heat when Harrington laughs at him, snide and mean. "There we go," he coos, gets a fistful of his hair, twists the curls around his fingers like a bronc rigging. "Knew all it took to put a muzzle on you was feeding your pussy."
And.
Harrington's got an arm around his throat, jugular in the curve of his elbow, just enough pressure to make him feel the air on every breath, might also actually have just up and carved Billy's guts out to make room for himself, and he's teetering on the edge as it is when Harrington pulls his hand free of his hair, rears his arm back, says, tighten it up for me, babygirl at the same time as slapping Billy's ass so hard it hits bone.
Billy cums so hard he sees the pearly gates for a hot minute. Hears holy harps and all as he ruins the Camaro's paintjob clawing at it, grinding his dick into the unforgiving hold of the metal, has enough of a braincell left to scrape together and hope to god one of them has a napkin somewhere.
Harrington leaves him that way, bent over the hood like a broken doll, puts himself back together dispassionately and fixes his hair in the Camaro's wingmiror and gives Billy a reproachful once over.
"Don't go crawling to anyone else for a fix," he says, bored, like he's telling Billy to be home for dinner. "Its sloppy enough as it is. Won't even be able to feel it if you go offering yourself around."
He has the audacity to blast Blondie as the Beemer lopes away.
This is so
MEAN STEVE SO TRUE SO TRUE 🥵 the cheek pat really did me in personally I gotta say…
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prompt: i am BEGGING on my knees for more recom!paz, maybe the moment that she and spider met? does he recognise her? he was only a baby when she died, but he kept her picture
(tw past csa, past torture, trauma, violent thoughts)
ao3
It's the hair that grabs his attention first--most recoms don't have curly hair, or if they do they don't grow it out long enough to see. She's got it pulled back, though, not like in the--
in the--
but the sight makes his guts twist anyway. He recognizes the outline of those curls, the same ways he sees in the mirror whenever he takes his braids out. He doesn't take his braids out a whole lot.
She steps into the clearing, gun hanging loosely at her side (shouldn't she be in the sky? is he wrong? let him be wrong). The grass crinkles under her boots the way Quaritch's used to and Spider flinches, pressing his back against the tree.
He tries to tell himself, firmly, that history isn't repeating--he's got a gun now, he's fought in battles, he's faced torture and worse, he's dangerous. He tries to tell himself that, but his hands still hang limp at his sides and he can't breathe right.
Another step, eyes flicking over him--once, a threat assessment, second, a look of confusion. Third, and she stops dead, eyes going wide.
You got your mama's eyes, Quaritch used to pant over and over again as he fucked Spider senseless. That's how I knew you. And...and he's not quite right, not anymore. The pupils are different, the irises, dark brown switched out for searing yellow.
But the shape is the same. And every time he's glimpsed himself shocked, stunned, thrown off his axes and spinning in the dark--he sees it again, in her.
She stumbles forward, like she's about to collapse, a lock of hair swaying from her ponytail, and Eywa, she looks even more like that stupid photo now. Propping herself on a tree, jaw working, more stunned than Quaritch had been, maybe.
"Miles?" she gasps.
And--and. Miles knows what she is, he knows (even if he took her name, even if he got her picture, and learned Spanish along with English to speak her first language, even if he spent his whole fucking childhood telling himself that she hadn't been at Kelutral, that it wasn't anyone's fault she got caught in the Soul Tree crossfire but that doesn't mean she would have done anything, fantasizing about her turning her guns on the enemy and going down a hero like Trudy Chacon had just to trick himself into thinking his family tree wasn't completely fucking rotten).
But he can't go for his gun. Not even now, with her off balance like this. And he can't snarl nobody calls me that, like he had with Quaritch in the woods, when it was so easy to reject his father, before Quaritch sunk his hands so deep into Spider's brain and body it might never come out.
She could do that, Spider knows. She could do worse, if he let her, if he stands in this burning fucking house and refuses to listen to his instincts, refuses to run or fight.
He knows this, and his hands still twitch at his sides, desperate to reach up. Like he's a little kid who's broken his arm again, screaming for his mommy the way the Sully kids always did when they were hurt or scared, even though he's over that, he is, he--
"Mom," he chokes out, like a good son. Like a good boy, his daddy's good boy, his mama's.
"Oh--" Paz Socorro crashes to her knees in the dirt, throws her arms around him before he has a chance to react. "Oh, dios mio." Pulling him close, muscled arms digging into his back, she smells like Quaritch had in the woods, blood and polish, sweat and dirt, gunmetal and smoke--but instead of Quaritch's sharp cologne there's a softer smell of conditioner, shampoo.
"Baby." She pulls him back to look him over and tears well in her eyes--because of the scar or the tewng, he can't be sure. "Oh, baby. My baby.” Pulling close again as she sobs in his ear, her tears dampening his hair and washing down his back like rain.
"It's okay," Spider says, arms wrapped around her sides instead of going for a knife or a gun like he should. "It's okay, Mom." It's a lie, and it's the only truth left in his fucked-up world. "I'm here."
#avatar#avatar au#mutuals#avatar series#avatar the way of water#spider socorro#trauma#noncon mention#paz socorro#reunion#recom paz#past noncon#csa mention#past csa#darkfic#miles socorro#miles spider socorro#avatar spider#mommy issues#daddy issues#dysfunctional family#violent thoughts#post canon#atwow#avatar twow#avatar movies#spideritch#we're nothing to each other#recom squad#I wish you would write a fic where
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Stuckony and space cruise ship AU for the 5 headcanons?
A space CRUISE SHIP!? :0 You are all so creative and here I am like "lol how can I make these men as stupid as possible." Anyway we have the return of feline-based alien Tony.
Steve and Bucky get hired on the cruise ship so they can travel. They know they'll never be able to afford it otherwise, and because the cruises can last for up to five years, there is a cycling crew; they get two days off a week, along with a full month off after six months working. They're feeling kind of lost after their military service and this seems like a good time to explore while they're trying to figure out what to do with their lives, so they sign up for a five-year cycle.
Technically they're both supposed to be waiters, but the manager watches Steve get super flustered with just one (1) alien flirting with him and he gets booted to bartender instead. Steve considers this a godsend even though it's technically a demotion--he doesn't get the tips he would have as a waiter. That being said, Bucky leans into being flirty and more than makes up for it. It's not like they're looking for dates, since they're pretty happy with what they have. Still, sometimes Bucky tells him about an interesting (and interested *wink-wink*) customer who's willing to wait for their day off to... 'meet up.'
Steve contends the girl with the tentacles was the most fun, but Bucky is very passionate about it having been the genderless alien who could fuck them both at once was better.
Tony Stark is infamous for taking long cruises. Many people say it's because his species will just randomly drop dead if they're too stressed, but mostly it's because he's actually the head designer on most of the engineering for the cruise ships. He's there because he's checking out how things are running. He's working. It's not a vacation.
Or. Well. Sometimes it is. There's only so much he can do when he's waiting for the ship to shift into different gear. Also Pepper and Happy have threatened him with making him take a different cruise ship to make him fucking take his vacation time if he doesn't. So sometimes he lounges around and pretends he's not anxious to get back to work. (His species does not randomly drop dead, but he's not gonna tell anyone that. It's great for when his board of directors start getting annoying and he can just rub his chest and they all get nervous he's about to die and shut up.)
Pepper had made noises about Tony needing to take some vacation time again, and it's been a while since he's gone on a long-term cruise, so he signs up to do a three-year cruise to check on things and drink margaritas while sailing through stardust.
Bucky sees Tony first. He's at one of the nice tables, for people who are especially important. He's never heard of the name Tony Carbonell, and searching him on his tablet doesn't bring up much. He's not high enough in the pecking order to serve at those tables (maybe next year, when the next wave of one-year contracts come on). Tony is incredibly attractive. Bucky has seen him lounging on the deck during the warmer parts of the trip, booty shorts slung low on his hips, crop top baring a muscular stomach, and he wants to lick it so badly. So he takes note of the things Tony orders by peeking in the kitchen. He knows Tony likes to have margaritas, and martinis, and the occasional mojito or gin fizz.
So he tells Steve the next time Tony orders something, send him a 'complimentary' espresso martini. (It won't be free you idiot it's coming out of my tips oh my god.) Steve has seen Tony working out in the gym. The ship has a massive rock climbing wall, and Tony scales it as if it was as easy as scaling a fucking ladder. He is impressed not only by Tony's physical skill, but also how quick-minded he is. Some of the paths on the rock climbing wall are difficult, and Tony has scaled them all, even one where he had to leap five feet to the next hand-hold. So, the next time he gets an order for Tony, he adds an espresso martini, because Bucky says it'll catch Tony's interest, and Bucky's always been better at this thing than him.
Tony raises an eyebrow at the espresso martini, but he does enjoy it, and when he turns to peer at the bartender, he gets a shy wave. That's pretty cute, honestly. He waves back, smitten. He's gonna eat the bartender alive. Except apparently the bartender has a boyfriend. Tony is not technically opposed, but the boyfriend looks a little more... outgoing? Experienced? And he was kind of looking forward to debauching the bartender. Then again, he's never actually had sex with a terran before. It might be nice to tick that box. Two of them even!
The pair don't get off until nine, so he has plenty of time to think about it. He takes a the couple hours to wander the ship from stem to stern, observing the go-kart track, the Ferris wheel, the mini golf course. This ship has a lot more amenities than the ones he usually travels on. He'll have to check on the energy pull for everything, do some research. He's been feeling kind of antsy, doing nothing. (Being done by no one too.) Maybe, after he's rocked these Terrans' worlds, he can get some work on the reactors done.
Tony pauses by the pool and wrinkles his nose. Water. He's seen the Terrans in it, swimming laps, and then moving over to the hot tub. He doesn't see the point of just sitting in wet. Maybe it's a Terran thing. Maybe he can ask, if the Terrans are in any condition after sex.
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME," Tony yowls once he comes back into his body.
"I don't see what I've done wrong," Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. "You were enjoying yourself. Bucky said your eyes crossed."
"I'm on this stupid cruise for THREE YEARS and now all I'm gonna be able to think about is getting railed by Terrans," Tony wails. "I have work!"
"Oh," Steve says, looking smug.
Tony points in his face, scowling. "Don't fucking get smug. You knocked over a bottle of wine when you waved at me. You were supposed to be shy. I was supposed to ruin you!"
Steve squints at him in confusion. "Bucky had you sit on his face for an hour, how are you supposed to ruin me when he's my boyfriend?"
Tony is absolutely incensed that Steve has a point. "Shut up."
"No," Steve says, reaching out to idly scratch around the base of Tony's tail. "Bucky will be back with snacks soon and he'll take your whining at a challenge, so get it all out now."
"I can't believe I'm gonna ask you guys to fuck me again," Tony mutters, fuming.
Steve raises an eyebrow. "You don't have to."
"No, I'm gonna," Tony sighs in frustration, and then is too distracted by the smell of fried piscosos as Bucky shoulders his way into the room to notice or care when Steve bursts out laughing.
Bonus: Steve and Bucky show him the beauty of the hot tub because somehow even with his superior spine he is sore. He still doesn't like sitting in wet but he has to admit the heat and the jets do wonders for his aching body.
"Don't fucking touch me," he snaps when they try to get handsy. If they do, he will surely lose the battle to his instincts and thump them, maybe even show claws. All he can do is sit and sulk.
It's the funniest thing Steve and Bucky have ever seen but they can't possibly tell him so.
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Okay so: Izuku as Inquisitor.
We keep everything from the last post. Izuku is actually the child of Solas and fake Mythal, the gods are actually not the Evanuris who pretend to be, Solas worshiped as Fen’Harel is a god now as unlike the fakes he is the only one. Izuku and his friends leave their world because society has just kept going and nothing changed.
But this time they get to Thedas before the explosion, and Izuku makes it his mission to bug his father about not going through with it. He ignores it, and argues back. It ends up coming to be Izuku runs to try and stop the Temple from blowing up but can't.
No instead he's now the Herald of Andraste and like… Izuku has ALREADY pulled together a country and fought in a war. Sure he came to Thedas knowing he might need to kill his birth father, but for the LOVE of THE GODS, are you joking?
His friends laugh at him and he is Problem Child Forever.
Now he's got to run this stupid organization.
He hates it so much.
Izuku does his best though. He tries to be a fair person while also shoving his father’s face into the changes of the world.
I do think he'd be slower to confess the truth of him being from another world here. He would eventually do so because he has to. (he would not continue to lie to those who have bled for him).
Solas instantly runs with the narrative he was trying to find his son since he went missing, and Izuku just is angry he's not doing anything but he won't rat out his dad. Not unless he has to.
I think there would be a lot of confusion and a lot of eye opening but everyone accepts it. They even accept Nezu who is thrilled he gets to walk around like normal without the cloak. They figure out someway to make it acceptable to others (AKA Cole messes with their minds to make them accept it).
Izuku would just be the kindest Herald/Inquisitor to those in need while also RIPPING apart Orlais and Ferelden and everything he can.
“This is BULLSHIT,” he says at the Winter Ball before he goes off and blackmails Celene and Gaspard while handing over everything he has to Briala so she can rule through them.
“I fucking HATE this,” he grumbles when he's dealing with Nobles. Ugh.
(Aizawa hates dealing with Fereldens and their dogs)
I'm also gonna talk about the others to:
Yaomomo is a fucking Goddess who helps Josie. I also am saying she ends up with Dagna and when Sera joins in (encouraged by Ochako) chaos reigns. When the secrets are out, Dagna and Harrit basically beg for all the help. Sadly she can't make the more fantastical elements but steel? Wood? She can. Silks to.
(she takes over the entire winter ball cause those are ugly as hell uniforms)
Aizawa works as an advisor and helps spread rumours when he can. He'll slip out and lurk in corners being a ‘drunk’ while picking up info. Also he's trans and upon learning Krem is goes: same.
They then proceed to spread rumours Solas and Aizawa are Eri’s parents for the hilarity.
But yeah Aizawa is his grumpy self.
Midnight I am 100% pairing with Blackwall and she susses out the truth early. Convinces him to confess but work to rebuild. He regrets what he's done it's obvious. And frankly, look at the Templars and their abuses. Yes what he did is horrific but he does better training people to fight back and defending the weak. She and Blackwall now run a minor training boot camp for the ambush fighters.
Nezu is Nezu and happily plots with Leliana who delights in her new friend. Perhaps he is the one to help her back into the light to.
Hitoshi works with Josie as an assistant and she finds he is just as good as her at reading people. I already mentioned how she gets him losing her voice differently then the others. Hitoshi isn't just his Quirk and his ability to speak and manipulate are things she gets. It's very adorable.
Tenya and Shouto work as inner circle folks and help Izuku. They also run around as his messengers and as intimidation because Izuku is still damn short and knows it's cause he's an elf.
Ochako? Ochako is inner circle and causing CHAOS as much as she can. Her quirk is so good with bombs and weapons and getting into position on a roof. She is the ‘DEATH FROM ABOVE’ Queen. Sera loves her so much.
Eri of course is being cute but she's also being portrayed as Izuku’s sister which gets attention. Luckily she has Cole around who will stab. She also works with the doctors and when her secret comes out uses her powers. Carefully, oh so carefully with Cole right by her side. Just in case.
I think romances would stay the same. Bull/Aizawa, Tenya/Shouto, Izuku/Dorian, Ochako/Sera and all that to. It's just like… as Inquisitor Izuku is more involved and more willing to dig down roots. He doesn't get a choice. It's not just murder your dad and fuck off. No it's serious. He has to build firm bonds with these people.
Here he sits down and listens to Vivienne more, tries to understand Cassandra’s faith. He sits with Cullen and they work through the bullshit he has internalized (I run with an AU Cullen in my head because otherwise I could not get through the game and my head version actually admits his faults). He talks with Sera and learns of Pride Cookies. He sits with Bull who fears madness (but will never regret saving his men). He holds Blackwall’s hands and say he is a good man. He stands by Dorian, facing down a monster who hid behind kindness. He helps Cole learn who he is. He sits with Varric as he tells stories and tells his own, eventually being hugged by a man who thought he'd lose his friend. (Izuku wouldn't let it happen. No, not when Iida can run faster then anyone else, can cause a distraction so that they all get free. No never. Hawke and Alistair live, both of them)
Izuku is himself and shines so brightly. And the others want to shine to. Vivienne still believes in the circles but now thinks of a school system like the ones from their world. Cassandra believes but also knows that the ashes of corruption can linger so it is best to be careful. Cullen begins making amends more and more (a letter sent to a mage who makes her partner read it, the Antivan elf carefully speaking the apology from within, the mages harmed in Kirkwall, Templars so scared of him dropping to their knees in shock). Sera who learns to bake. Bull who figures out he is not a monster. Dorian, who does not speak well of slavery but speaks against it, plotting to tear down Tevinter with his bare hands. Cole who stays both human and spirit and is all the better. Varric who laughs and smiles like he once had.
And what of Izuku’s friends?
Tenya and Shouto who lost everything (Tensei choking on his own blood after refusing to give up valuable intel. Fuyumi blowing herself up with Dabi to beat him. Natsuo dying trying to protect Rei who died to. Endeavour still around with NOTHING changing) being happy again. Laughing and getting married with everyone they love there.
Ochako who lost an arm and refused to back down, who lost Tsu and mourns her so badly. Who nearly was killed because her naivety over Toga’s manipulation almost cost her life.
Hitoshi who lost his voice and only got pity, no help. Now he's regained it in a way, working with his wife who loves him dearly to be able to be the diplomat he was born to be. (and who makes it stylish to learn sign language)
Momo who is burned and hurt. Whose girlfriend left because they could not keep up, she's to much. Who was taught to keep her head down. She's creating things again. Laughing and smiling. Is kissing someone oh so sweet who has the same mind.
Midnight who lost her sex appeal and caused people to toss her aside. Acting like she's not human anymore. She's now happy with a man who ADORES her and all she is. She's smiling again.
Nezu who has tried over and over again to change the world. He now has in his paws the chance to help and make a difference. Who joins the Chantry when Leliana is Divine and helps shake things up. He's happy.
Aizawa who lost his husband and mourned so deeply. Who felt useless and broken. He has a purpose. He's working to help others, has a man who helps with aches and pains, who loves and accepts him.
Eri who was a lab rat and who had to learn to smile. Her smiles are bigger and wider here, her laugh echoing in her joy.
Izuku did this. He brought about change and happiness. He feels good.
He still hates Orlais.
@dark-elf-writes the second option if you want!
#bnha#bnha au#dragon age#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#listen#orlais sucks#it does#izuku hates it#Izuku in this Au is WAY more likely to be involved with everyone as inquisitor#otherwise it's Lavellan’s circus and monkeys#here it's his#he hates it#least Dorian is fun to smooch#Look Cullen is good idea bad execution if we want to talk about the corruption#of Templars by the chantry#Samson is better#but we’ll keep him for now
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