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cartierdreamx · 1 year

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Hacked into you (AU)

Hi! This is my first story that I’ve written in years, so sorry if it’s bad and also my first x reader. This is based on the gameplay of Watchdogs 2, my all-time favourite videogame!! Not everything will be 100% accurate, as I haven’t played in a while and the real game is so detailed and complex, and it’s so worth it to get! Anyways if any parts of the story is confusing because it is apart of the gameplay, like characters and organisations, search up Watchdogs 2 and whatever confuses you and the web should clarify it :), but I am also more than happy to help you out with it. The mapping of San Francisco and it’s other details in this story is also based on the Watchdogs 2 map that I played on, this can also be searched up!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, light violence, slightly suggestive

*I plan to write smut in this story and it does have some dark themes like violence involved, the game itself was rated MA15+ where I am from (might be different depending which country you are in) so my fic will be 18+ because I am involving more adult themes, if you do choose to proceed, please keep that in mind*

Birthright – 1

Initiation time. Dedsec, notorious hacker group taking over the world, the world in your hands is a metaphorical saying but for them, it’s literal. One single camera gave access to you, us, the world. At first thought, they’re menacing, however, Dedsec takes on the Robin Hood cliché, take from the rich, give to the poor, except it was exposing big, major companies running with corruption like the blood in my veins. I never knew what I wanted, but this was so certain, almost as if my stars was aligned with their coding. But back to initiation, my face, my life, it’s still out there, but after tonight, my name is the past, just letters. My mission tonight, as the initiation ritual is to erase myself from the world, from databases, as if I’m a myth.

Blume, they’re always watching. Blume’s home system CTOS rules the world, it rules San Francisco, Dedsec’s mission is to take them down, take down Dusan Nemec. Ironically, I’m breaking in, well hacking into their security quarter, one button and I’m gone. My breathing is shallow, nervousness doesn’t know my name, it was never my weakness, any normal person would be shitting their pants right now, me? well, just hunger, hunger for everything, both physically and mentally, hunger to get this mission done successfully, hunger to join the group, hunger for food, the juices of a burger, although other juices linger my mind, hmph. They’re watching me, no, not Blume, but Dedsec, if Blume were watching me, which ironically, they’re watching everyone but me right now, I’d be serving time. Dedsec’s running basepoints, making sure I don’t die, of course, I’m only armed with a taser.

I run my scout on my quad crasher, 4 blume guards, armed with pistols, my mind sculps a route like it’s my second nature to see the future. I jump over the ledge onto the metal platform below, I’m lucky my feet don’t attract the loud banging sound. The guard closest to me scouts the area I’m hidden in. One. Gone, not fatal but unconscious, my taser is wired to control their body where paralysis is their only control. The other guards run their area before alternating onto the next, I knew I had to take down all 4, or else it’ll raise alarm bells. Two. This time, my mele and my hands take over, my taser isn’t the only thing that can control, one blow to the head rendered him unconscious. I swiftly move around to the next area, closer to my area of entry, jumping any barricades that restrict me. Three. This time proved a bit harder, he let out a ‘HEY,’ and after a blow to the face, not enough to knock me down though, my heart beating proves I’m stronger than that, though a few loose baby hairs detach and fly loosely as my head knocks back. I manage to slick back my h/c into place, away from my face, the sweat helps to keep it in place. Intuition places the thought that the last guard is around the corner of the wall in a position where his knees are bent, gun in hand, safety off, ready to shoot, shoot me that is, threat eliminated. Four. Of course, I don’t let him, the ability of agility and flexibility allows me to slide across from him and tase his body to the ground before he could even blink.

“She’s good” Sitara scoffs, she means this in a positive way, her smirk is seen visible by the other members, watching from the van, but in true Dedsec fashion, the van’s location is unknown.

“I like her already” Wrench exclaims, whilst his mask displays a digital smiley face lit by from the white LEDs wired in his mask.

“Jenna?” Sitara leers at her.

Jenna’s doe eyes analyses the sight of y/n taking down 4 armed guards with ease, she tilts her head a few degrees to the right and smirks whilst letting out a soft huff from her nose.

“Mesmerised, she is, Tara”. Marcus says as he lets out a slight laugh.

“Evidently, Marcus.”

I bring out my phone, smartphone doesn’t do her justice, she’s engineered with certain abilities that allow me to hack through systems, coded with endless possibilities, my biggest accomplishment was creating her, she was a bitch to make though, nearly gave up. But I knew she wasn’t perfect, getting into Dedsec though, God she’ll be the holy grail, Dedsec’s apps and coding system is pristine, I could get into anywhere, anytime, no problem, but only when I’m successful, I’ll get the upgrade. Nevertheless, I was able to hack the door open, ironic, the biggest tech company but easy to hack doors, once I’m in, I wave to the cameras, I knew they’d be watching me, they as in Dedsec. But every camera I come across I knew I had to discard off. This stops Blume from seeing me but it also lets Dedsec know what stage of the mission I’m in, indicated by the room, or if I failed, indicated by a lack of heartbeat. I know not to rush, but I know how to be swift and still get the job done. However, this mission is time sensitive, there’s more guards than I can count limbs on my body, I knew it’d be a matter of time before they found out I’m in here, and that time? It’s now. Funny enough, it's when I’m in the stronghold, rows and levels of technology wired with intelligence and information so strong only corruption could hold it, though corruption is holding it. So, I could just find the big screen with everyone’s data and erase myself, but where’s the fun in that?

“SPREAD OUT AND SEARCH”

“SHE’S IN HERE SOMEWHERE, WHOEVER FINDS HER HER GETS A WEEK OFF, PAID”

“Shit” I whisper out, now that’s a problem, it’s one thing having countless guards come after me, but guards with a need to get the reward? I’m fucked, but I’m stronger, I’ve trained myself enough to get myself out of this situation. I place a virus into one part of the mainframe, causing lights in this section to turn off.

“SHE’S THERE”

I fight off three shooting guards, I won’t lie, this raises the hair on the back of my neck, the new section I’m in is begging for a virus, so in true Dedsec fashion, I let another one loose, which only causes more shooting, but that was a given, I find myself hiding instead of fighting. Now, I could easily pick up a gun and shoot too, but first mission, no fatalities, my taser, my hands, my mele, which consists of two billiard 8balls connected by a short rope. My destination is in my peripheral, one floor higher than me the door on the right, by now I’m sure backup has been called from other branches along with the cops, so now speed is a necessity. More guards come, but their bodies drop to the ground, they don’t learn. After placing another virus in another section, I’m finally in the room, I turn the screen on, and so many options floods the screen, it’s overwhelming, I plug in my phone to transfer data for Dedsec but then I find it, I find me, my profile, my data.

“y/n l/n.” Delete, hmph, I never liked that picture of me anyway, I laugh at the data they have on me, it’s all bullshit, they have me for petty crimes I didn’t commit, but I know they wont have me on crimes I did commit, this mission being one of them, a crime, but crime with moralities.

Now to find a way out, but first, one last virus. But unfortunately, this one does it for the system, alarms blaring, I’m sure the entire San Francisco heard it, and that’s saying something, considering we’re on a small island, treasure island under the bay bridge, now that’s going to attract more guards. “Fuck.”

“Watch her, she’s going to get caught” Marcus exclaims

“Jenna bring up the site blueprint for me, let’s see if we can meet her somewhere, if she makes it out” Sitara says

Jenna pulls up the map and they analyse it closely.

“Wrench drive here” Marcus tells him

He does.

Fuck, okay, I can do this, it’s lightwork, I say a little prayer, though I need a miracle to get out, I quickly scout the area so see my exit point. My luck increases and my survival percentage increases if I take the highest point out to the roof and climb my way down. Lucky for me, my planted virus took the lights.

“I WANT HER CAUGHT”

“Y/N, WE KNOW YOU ARE HERE, COME OUT AND YOU WON’T GET HURT”

Yes, yes, I will get hurt, if Dusan Nemec, the CTO of Blume even has five minutes with me, death will be a mercy. Lucky for me, their smartest guards are sleeping on the floor, courtesy of me, so I find it easy climbing my way to the top where I can kick down a vent. It’s hot, so hot I can see heat lines, to be fair the mainframe has a shit load of wires and energy and electricity surges through them, so heat is expected to radiate. Once I reach the top of the vent, I break this one down too, the fresh cool San Francisco breeze, accompanied by a crisp ocean scent, overruled by sea salt. I creep away to the side of the building where Blume’s guards doesn’t have their cars in a blockade, once my feet touch the floor, the recoil is enough to make me trip a little, I giggle a bit over it. Mission over, mission successful.

“Bag her.” Sitara says

Next thing I know, my eyesight is black, not pitch black, but enough darkness with hues of grains from the material of what they bagged me with.

About 20 minutes of driving later and muffled voices, filled with conversations and laughter, the van comes to a stop. The bag is still on my head, and as easy as it sounds, standing up was a challenge, the unfamiliar flooring and noises threw me off but two hands were helping me up, the feel and build felt masculine so I immediately assume it’s Wrench and Marcus. As I step out the voices, laughter and cheer illuminates the room and a piercing light shoots through the bag my head is in, the adrenaline is rushing in and my heart beat races, my breathing slows to calm myself down before they remove my bag, the calm before the storm.

“5”

Loud cheers.

“4”

More loud cheers.

“3”

Louder cheers

“2”

Here it goes.

“1”

My bag gets taken off and the lights blinds my eyes, I slowly open them, and blow my lose strands of hair out of my face, the screams and cheers pitch in and now are clear unlike the muffles I was hearing under the bag, and then when my eyes focus, that’s when I see her.

Beauty.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #wednsday addams #wednesday #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday x reader

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twinktosterone · 3 months

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the name’s kayn/cain pick a spelling i like both =(^.^)=

faggot tboy he/it 20 in korea except that’s not an official thing anymore ｡｡｡ more under the cut cause i ramble and it got long

trans guy… bunny-boy..thing 。gender is a joke to me and i’m not a binary trans guy but i also don’t like being called nonbinary or anything else also i didn’t get top surgery cause T zapped away what was there so like im totally cis unless you’re trying to get in my pants (joke) all my selfies are tagged #me or should be at least and also nsfw is on @twink-tosterone

im so much of a faggot that i circled back around to being a girl (actually not a girl in any sense but slang and Gay Best Friend) — i love men i have a huge thing for when they’re bigger than me in some way. any way. this does Not need to be physical i’m 169cm by the way

hype up my own attractiveness a ton because fake it til you make it is real and true but i also genuinely do not know what other people’s opinion on this are due to autism and i will fall in love with you if you agree with me

metallic emo boy if it’s not apparent from the selfies (is it? idk) … some fav bands: motionless in white, scene queen, sleep token, pierce the veil, sleeping with sirens, also idkhow and half-alive are bouncing around in there

exceedingly normal about gore and needles and body mods — the selfie w all the green dots is my planned facial piercing setup and i’d like to be a cosmetic plastic surgeon to perform shit like subdermal implants and tongue splits as a trained professional in an actual doctor’s office with a sterile field not a guy with experience but little medical background in a hotel room (although it’ll probably be someone like that if/when i get mine split) also vore but the metaphor of it more than the eating/being eaten

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lovelikethemovies13 · 3 months

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Hi there!! Words cannot describe how excited I got when I saw you we’re doing matchups. So fingers crossed that you’re taking requests for that. I’d be delighted to receive an outer banks or tsitp matchup <33 (If you have the motivation and energy for it of course!!)

Starting off, i’m an ENTP with a sun sign of taurus. I’m a straight (BUT 110% SUPPORTING) woman who goes by she/her. My hogwarts house is Slytherin. I’m 5’4 with chest length blonde hair, green bright eyes (with a brown line in the left one?) w a slim yet curvy body. I should wear glasses, but I don’t. Never. Not doin that. It doesn’t feel like me.

Describing my style will always be a touch cookie. One thing i know for sure is JEWELRY ALWAYS. Typically golden hoops. I dress in long skirts, dresses, sweaters, turtlenecks, blouses etc. Going for comfort but making it look somewhat chic. I wear pants on rare occasions (they are so uncomfortable for what?) I really don’t have a color palette - varies every day, multiple shades.. I’m not very into fashion, but I do enjoy an outfit. I used to sew, but I always fucked up five minutes into the project - so I dropped it. I dress for my own sense of pleasure and liking. Now obviously, one has constant desires to appear stylish to the public. But I do my very best to brush it off.

People tend to describe me as intelligent and observant, which I do agree on partly. The thing is that i hate bragging about myself, but secretly I consider myself better than anyone else. Talking to strangers and improving their day brings me life, but I’m also insecure about their judgemental thoughts on me. Got a special love for talking both on a shallow level, and a deep, philosophical therapy session looking ish convo. However, I do crave some solitude as a relief from the eyes of others. I’m such a fantastic friend once you’ve got to know me. I think about the small things and adore giving thoughtful gifts as well as letters. Ambition is my first name, but only if I find passion in the subject, and this is also probably the grounding sources for my anxiety ejdjsksb. My humor is definitively worth questioning. It’s just awfully dry and sarcastic (and yes, I do die laughing at my own jokes. THEY ARE FUNNY?). I assume I got this stone face frame before you crack me open as a way of not getting judged by fellow college students.. I cannot tolerate people talking shit about others. Obviously, I’m no picture perfect prize - but I have morals, respect and understanding. A lot of the times I speak & write in metaphors that are worth digging into to understand through and through.

In my free time i sometimes tend to read. Mostly classics and psychology inspired ones at the moment. Don’t worry, no collen hoover for me thank you. I have a huge interest in true crime and scary themes, and it has always been fascinating to me. Horror enthusiasts forever and always. Currently i take humanities courses, which is a lot of philosophy, history and culture. My way of handling emotions are probably by scream singing to emotional music, crying or just yelling out of the blue. I love shopping (my wallet does not agree) I play the guitar which has grown into becoming a huge part of my life!! When the environment allows it, I also sing. And write poetry. Other things I enjoy are researching stupid, unnecessary things. TAYLOR SWIFT (Folklore girly), kisses, physical letters, iced coffee, pretty nicknames, rain, people smiling at me, feeling loved and needed, thunderstorms, flowers (alive preferably, not dying)

About the things i dislike thennnn. Being excluded, people invalidating my feelings, car noises HAHA, slow walkers, not doing something perfectly at the first time, people who make fun of others, rude people who mocks others for no reason, maths… I have a strong disliking for schedules and having to be somewhere at a certain time. I cannot function properly w that on my mind.

My love language is most likely words of affirmation. There’s just something about a beautifully put together love declaration that makes me melt. Also, physical touch. This was something I used to feel awkward about but now I live for those gestures and touches. Something about the skin to skin, human to human connection. OH AND ALSO, acts of service. An act tells so much more than any word. With that said, those acts easily creates a red line with physical touch, such as making time for laying down with me. (I just realized what I just said is the polar opposite of word of affection. BUT HELLO?! I LOVE EVERYTHING HAHA)

I assume that’s pretty much it! Have a wonderful continuing day, or night - whatever time it is. Thank you dearly in advance <33

Your OBX Match Is: Pope Heyward!

he would definitely save up to buy you flowers or a book that you've been considering

when pope sees you reading a true crime book he'll give you some random fact about rigor mortis or how the autopsy could have been preformed

you'll spend days laying out at the beach together. sometimes he'll bring a book and read to you

pope listened to folklore for you because he knows how much you like it

he tried to write a poem about you when he confessed his feelings but it didn't turn out well so the two of you ended up laughing together as he tried to read it out

pope automatically defends you whenever someone says anything remotely negative about you

Your TSITP Match Is: Cam Cameron!

cam takes you out on the whale watching boat with him whenever he goes. he spends the entire time pointing out different sea creatures to you and telling you about them

he's a great listener and he'll listen to you talk about anything. he always gives you the best advice

he loves your sense of humor and he always laughs at your jokes

cam loves folklore too. he bought you the vinyl of it for your birthday one year (or the cd if you prefer that)

whenever you're away from each other for a longer amount of time he writes you letters at least twice a week

#thank you for sending me my first request!#lizzie's writing #obx #outer banks #pope heyward #obx matchup #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #cam cameron #tsitp matchup #matchups

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frogtanii · 3 years

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“hi everyone,” you gave your webcam a half hearted wave, noting the flood of inquisitive comments at your demeanor.

ynismymommy: omg queen r u ok??????

emilia.95: Have you been sleeping?

atsumus-leftballsack: bestie imma need you to invest in some concealer

a giggle pried it’s way up your throat, despite your attempts to stop it as you read the comments. yes, you were fully aware that you looked like shit however, you just weren’t expecting the viewers of your stream to be so... observant.

“holy shit guys, i’m okay,” you attempted to placate your vicious audience by giving them a (forced) smile and a small chuckle. “let’s just play, okay?”

you loaded up your game of choice (call of duty — you had a lot of aggression to work off) while making idle chatter with your fanbase. they seemed to have dropped conversation about your heavy eye bags and low enthusiasm in favor of more lighthearted topics.

just as you were starting to get into it, a knock sounded at your door. at first, you were tempted to ignore it but after a few moments of silence, the knocking started up again, more incessantly. your comments started to go wild, wondering who exactly was banging on your door at like 11p.

bokutos.bahamamommamilkers: tell whoever is @ the door to fuck off

shartyba3_420: damn slam me yn like [redacted] is slamming on that door

Greg_72: Hey, you can go answer that! We’ll wait <3

you apologize quickly before removing your headphones and scurrying over to the door. swinging it wide open, you’re met with bokuto.

and what a sight he is.

once bright, golden eyes were now dull and void, accompanied by dark circles that rivaled your own while his usually sunny visage was dampened by this metaphorical dark cloud that was hanging above him.

in other words, he looked like shit.

the both of you must look like quite a pair — you in your ratty, oversized hoodie and red sweats and him in his white t shirt and flannel pajama pants. after giving him another glance over, you repressed the urge to pull him into your room and into a hug, instead choosing to wrap your arms around yourself tightly.

“um, hey bo,” you started, unable to keep your eyes on his face. “i’m really sorry but i’m streaming right now. maybe we can hang out later?”

bokuto shook his head no, and your heart began to sink. you were just so tired and you didn’t have the energy to entertain or comfort the man at the moment without letting another piece of yourself crumble but you knew you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

resigning yourself to your fate, you stepped to the side to let him into your room, making a mental note to shield him from your webcam while you brought him to lie on your bed.

to your complete and utter surprise, bokuto did not move, shaking his head no again before moving to grab something just out of your sight behind your doorway.

you were now thoroughly intrigued, shuffling closer to peek into the hallway, only to be stopped by a box being thrusted into your hands. you looked over the colorfully painted cardboard but it gave you no indication as to what was on the inside and glancing at kotarou gave you no help whatsoever.

“what’s this?” you voiced your confusion while weighing the box in your hands, the confusion only amplifying when you discover the box is suspiciously light. you’re shaken from your investigation when bokuto throws another object in your hands, this one significantly heavier.

looking up at him, you’re taken aback by the emotion swirling in his irises, his mouth finally parting to speak. “i’m so sorry,” kotarou’s voice, while gravelly from disuse, was sincere, a slight quiver being found underlying his words. “i- i know i never said it but i just want you to know that i-i care about you and that i am so sorry for ever hurting you and making you feel like you were less than. y-you’ve helped me become myself again a-and i can never thank you enough.”

a shuddering breath left his chest as he trained his eyes on the ceiling before looking back at you with watery eyes. “you don’t have to forgive me. i-i’d understand.” you opened your mouth to respond, to rebut, but you were cut off by his strong arms, wrapping you up in a tight hug.

you couldn’t keep yourself from melting into his hold, a small ounce of stress leaving your body at his words but the bulk of it remaining. he’s just apologizing because you’re the only girl who’s shown him an ounce of kindness, the voice in the back of your head whispered.

as bokuto pulled you in tighter, you stiffened, the voice getting louder and more constant. the man holding you didn’t miss the way you tensed and hesitantly removed himself from you, his hurt written plain all over his face.

kotarou gave you a weak smile and another gentle apology before turning and leaving for his room. you already felt guilt creeping up your spine for not holding him the way you thought you should but you quickly pushed the feeling down, knowing that you wouldn’t have gotten the rest you deserved if you’d done so.

letting out a deep sigh, you shut your door and moved back to continue your stream, not before gently setting down the 2 colorfully decorated boxes on the bed, a small smile creeping across your face at the sight of the gifts.

your stream ended pretty shortly after, your mind unable to focus on the game — it was getting borderline embarrassing how often you were dying to the point you were worried your sponsors would pull out of supporting you.

with a soft smile and goodbye, you collapsed on your bed, mindful not to crush the boxes. while you were extremely exhausted, you knew you wouldn’t be able to go to sleep without examining your gifts’ contents.

you decided to open the heavier box first which yielded bag after bag of your favorite chips, candies, and drinks. you knew your mouth was gaping unattractively but you couldn’t help it. this was... way too much.

at the bottom of the box was a small note, written in bokuto’s somehow endearing chicken scratch. it read, “hi yn!!!! this is for when you get hungry :) i know i didn’t let you eat any of my snacks for a long time so i thought it would be nice if i bought some for you!!!!! i hope i got these all right :( i asked atsumu for help!!!”

a choked chuckle escaped your lips and it only amplified as you continued to the end of the note. “p.s. don’t worry about not finishing it all!!! i can always help you ;) p.p.s. also you’re so pretty!!!! don’t not eat it because you don’t think so too <3”

wiping your eyes that had become suspiciously misty, you set down the slip of paper and reached for the second box.

you couldn’t keep the gasp from coming from you as the cardboard overflowed with tiny slips of paper. with shaky hands, you unfolded the first paper, the tears overflowing over your lashline before you could stop them.

you are loved :) - akaashi

“fuck,” you whispered, swiping at your face before clumsily reaching for another, and then another, each note making you cry harder than the last.

you are beautiful!!!!! never change!! - bokuto!!!

you’re really cool - kenma

you are so kind and i owe you the world - sugawara :)

you’re sympathetic, observant, and intelligent. - sakusa.

you are patient (even when we don’t deserve it) - kuroo

yer my angel <3 - tsum tsum

there were a ton more but you promised yourself you’d read them all later, your emotions getting the better of you. you’d rather not wake up with puffy, swollen eyes and a headache so you decided it would be best to close the box and finish it all later.

laying back on your bed, you expelled a deep breath of air, not realizing just how tense you were. you’d been living on edge with the guys for at least a month now and it was really starting to wear on you.

without being able to fully trust them, you knew it wouldn’t be long until you crumbled under the pressure.

you glanced at your phone before sighing again (it really was that kind of day, wasn’t it). maybe it was about time to give dr yamada a long awaited call.

℗ poker face

you are loved :)

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - ooweee first single apology down, 4 more to go!!! also the box of papers came from everyone (obv) but they still gotta give their individual apologies hehe which shall come in the future <33 sorry this took so long KSJD i hope u enjoy!!! don’t forget to feed me <333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @sazunari • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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2goth2moth · 3 years

Note

Hey, can I request a blind date with a monster but they end up going home 👀 things get steamy

But then the monster's like "oh no, umm I gtg cuz I'm not human and they'll definitely find out now" kinda vibes?

(so it's basically human reader x shapeshifter in a universe where monsters are hidden)

You can come up with your own reasons for whatever ✌️ (any gender is fine) (I like were/minotaur monsters but you can pick any that you see fit)

Oof, ouch, this got a little more angsty than I wanted it to. I'm sorry! And I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you still enjoy ;-;

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pleasant Surprises (M!Werebear x GN!Reader, NSFW)

Fun fact about me: Picking the xenomorph from Alien in a game of Fuck-Marry-Kill with @xo-philia when we were younger was my monsterfucker awakening! So I couldn't resist putting that in when I had to think of a movie.

Word count: 3430

Includes: Mild angst, mild hurt/comfort, size kink, fur, frottage, minor scent kink, blowjobs with copious amounts of cum, very minor (blink and you'll miss it) pain kink, less-than-ideal communication in sexual situations

Going on blind dates is a little like rolling dice. They always started in the same place, everyone had their little superstitions and rituals to try to make them come out right, but more often than not they ended with uncomfy kisses, awkward goodbyes, and an unspoken hope that you never had to see each other again (okay, the metaphor isn’t perfect, but the foundation holds true). Sometimes, however, blind dates turned out great, a perfect six (or whatever it is you needed to roll), and you ended up really liking the person.

Sometimes blind dates ended with you making out with a massive cutie on your couch after dinner.

The two of you had been introduced by a mutual friend, and had hit it off the minute you met. Characteristically uncomfortable small talk over mid-afternoon coffee smoothly turned into raucous laughter and flirtatious touching between bites of cheap greasy pizza on the hood of his car. You had no idea how the very attractive mountain of a man- Arthur, he’d said in a voice that seemed far too sweet for his intimidating figure- would react when you’d purred a suggestive (but not explicit) invitation to him, but his ears flushed and he stammered out a “yes” before taking your hand and following you inside. You wasted no time leading Arthur to your couch and sitting down next to him.

“So,” you said, “what kind of movie do you want to watch?”

“I like horror.” His voice was a rumbly baritone that distinctly reminded you of brown sugar. “And anything science-y.”

You wracked your brain for any good scary science movies that you had already watched and wouldn’t get distracted while watching again.

“How does Alien sound?”

It was a safe option, as far as you were concerned. It was a good film, a classic in both scary and science-y departments, and you’d seen it enough times that staying focused on the task of “seduce the hot guy on your couch” wouldn’t be too hard.

“I’ve seen it before…” Shit, maybe he wanted to watch something new. “But I always like rewatching it.”

You cheered internally, but kept a calm exterior as you went through the motions of setting up your TV. As soon as you did, you stood up to turn off the lights. “Anything I can get for you?” You asked, running a very flirtatious hand over his shoulders as you passed behind him.

A tiny shiver went through him at your touch, and you relished in it. “N-no, I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Your heart squeezed a little at his very pink ears and the blush staining the back of his neck.

God, he’s so cute.

It was impossible to deny yourself a longer-than-entirely-appropriate moment to take in the very pretty flush before flicking the lights off. With the room now dark, you made your way back to the couch. You sit down as close to Arthur as you dared. Warmth soaked through the inches between your bodies, and you had to physically resist the urge to move closer to him. Trying not to jump him right then and there was taking up so much of your brain-power that you didn’t notice his hand creeping towards you until a warm pinky brushed up against your thigh. You stifled a jump and turned to see his handsome, bearded face staring at you, bathed in the light from the TV.

“Is this okay?” He asked, just barely moving his fingers against your clothed leg.

You excitedly shifted in your seat so that you were facing him, kneecaps touching. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been actively holding back from kissing you for hours!”

“Oh.” His eyes went wide. “You can, if you want. I, um. I’d like you to.”

That was all the invitation you needed to dart forward and press your lips to his. It was quick and chaste, and you pulled back almost immediately. Arthur was frozen, awestruck, for several seconds before he shook himself slightly. He moved towards you cautiously, eyes darting nervously around your face, before cupping your jaw in his free hand and kissing you. His lips started moving against yours almost as soon as they touched, the motion a sweet push and pull between you, his beard just scratching against your face. The warm pinky against your leg became a large hand that rested on top of it, squeezing in time with the kiss. You hummed, pleased, and teased the seam of his lips with the tip of your tongue. Arthur’s hand tightened on your thigh and he opened his mouth to you. The kiss turned sloppy, tongues slipping together with slick, filthy sounds.

Arthur’s hand traced a firm path from your thigh to your hip, where it held tighter and stayed for several heated seconds. You pulled away from the kiss, your lips separating with a wet smack. He chased after you with a little whine, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and lowering his other hand from your jaw to your hip. With another little noise deep the back of his throat, he began nosing against your neck and along your collar. You had to stifle a giggle at the feeling of his facial hair tickling your skin.

Stilling him with a hand to the back of his head, you carefully threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him back. His eyes stuttered shut and he let out a barely-audible groan, hands twitching on your hips. You grinned and tightened your grip experimentally, very pleased with the strangled moan that he let out.

“You’re so hot,” you cooed to him

“You are too,” he panted, eyelashes fluttering with each pull of your fingers, which hadn’t let up yet.

The sight was too much for you. With a murmured “come here” you pulled him back to you, kissing him fiercely. It was rough, messy, all clacking teeth and noses bumping into each other. The sounds of your mouths moving together was obscene, and you could feel saliva slipping out where your lips met. You kept your hold on his hair, pulling his head this way and back to control the kiss, little spark of arousal went through you with each breathless moan that fell from Arthur’s mouth to yours. His hands kept gripping into your hips, growing tighter with each second that passed.

“Do you want me in your lap?” You asked, backing off just long enough to get the question out.

Arthur didn’t even bother doing that, nodding without breaking the kiss. Before you could even start to move, his hands slipped under your ass and he bodily moved you until you were straddling him. He was so warm beneath you, and you couldn’t help but grind down against him. The feeling of his cock, hot and impossibly hard beneath you, was intoxicating, and you rocked against him, groaning into his mouth with each motion. You could feel his bulge swell even more where it lay against the inside of your thigh. Somewhere in the back of your mind you distantly thought that getting him any harder should have been impossible, but you were too caught up in the feeling of wet, messy kisses being pressed to your jaw and neck to care. His body was moving under you, slight little shifts that you could feel echoing everywhere that he was pressed flush against you. The collar of your shirt was pulled down and away from your shoulder, the tip of his nail dragging against your skin, and he bit down on the newly-exposed skin, biting and sucking until you were whimpering in his lap, grinding down over and over again until you could feel your climax approach all too fast. Both of his hands had returned to their places on your waist, and they bit in as he pulled you to him, his own hips bucking up to meet yours every time. He had stopped his assault on your neck, no doubt leaving a dark, tender bruise behind, and his mouth lay slack and open against you, desperate moans and hot saliva spilling out. All of a sudden, ten pin pricks of sharp, impossible pain bloomed where his hands lay, and you came with a wail, hips stuttering to a stop against his.

Your eyes were closed tightly, chest heaving as you slumped over onto Arthur’s chest. He continued to grind his hard cock upwards, but it was much gentler now, slow rolls of his hips as one of his hands stroked your back. As you came down from your orgasm, you distantly noticed that the TV had stopped (stupid old piece of shit, never worked properly). You also realized just how uncomfortable the wetness of your pants was becoming, and you went to pull back. The hand that was caressing your back locked around your body. You shifted around, testing the give of his arms. Fully immobilized, but not necessarily complaining, you kissed his neck indulgently and wriggled your hips a little.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” you purred into Arthur’s ear, “I really fucking want to suck you off.”

“Shit.”

You startled back as far as you could at the sound of his voice. The sweet brown-sugar baritone was shredded, gruff and way raspier than it had been.

Way raspier than it should have been, you thought.

You tried to pull back again. His arms didn’t budge. “Arthur, what’s up?” You asked gently.

A deep, quiet whine was his only response. “Did I do something wrong?” He tightened his grip on you, and your ribs groaned in protest. Your heartbeat began to climb as you squirmed again. “Arthur, let me go, you’re hurting me.”

The vice-like arms around you flew away from your body, a deep sigh of relief escaping your lungs. You went to pull back again, to look in his face and ask what was wrong, but his strangled voice stopped you in your tracks. “I’m sorry! I just… I didn’t want you to look at me.”

“Why? I’ve already seen you.”

“Not really. You wouldn’t be here if you had.” He sounded like he was about to cry.

Your heart squeezed painfully at the sound. Without a second thought, you leaned your face into the heated skin of his neck. You could feel hair there, thick and soft, that hadn’t been there before. “Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to not freak out. Or I can close my eyes and you can go, or calm down, or whatever you need to do. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want...I want to tell you,” he said, in that shy near-whisper of a shared secret. “You can look at me.”

Slowly, slow enough for him to tell you to stop, you shifted back to look at Arthur in the face. Whatever it was that you had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Thick, dark hair- no, now that you saw it up close it was very clearly fur- covered his face and neck, darkened his temples, sprung from his arms and hands. His jaw had broadened and lengthened, forming a sort of muzzle, and his canines had grown, pushing insistently at black-edged lips. Large claws tipped his furry hands. His gaze was dropped to his lap in what was clearly some combination of fear and shame, but…

You were undeniably intrigued by what you saw. Intrigued, confused, and more than a little aroused.

“You’re…”

“I’m a werebear.” Despite the new gruffness, his voice sounded fragile. “I’m a monster.”

You shook your head emphatically and leaned forward to put your arms around his shoulders. “I was going to say that you’re gorgeous, but sure, let’s go with that.”

Arthur blinked at you in confusion. “You’re not scared. Or disgusted.”

“Why should I be?” You asked. “You backed off when I told you to, you clearly don’t want to hurt me…”

“But I’m a monster!” He cut you off, heedless of how his hands moved to rest on your thighs. “I’m not normal, I’m not human.”

You silenced him with a finger to his lips. “And I don’t care. I like you quite a bit, if you couldn’t tell. This is just something fun and extra. I’m not going to run screaming for the hills, although I would like to know more about it, at some point..”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you said, all playfulness abandoning your face and voice, letting every ounce of sincerity you had in you spill over. “Really.”

Those large, furry arms wrapped around you, cradling your body against his in a warm embrace. You leaned into it, your hand rubbing the back of his neck. Hiccupping breaths stuttered through his chest and into you.

“Thank you,” his voice rumbled where it was tucked against your neck.

You shifted your weight in the hug, trying to ease the pressure on your knees, and felt his cock against the inside of your thigh. “Still hard?” You teased.

Arthur’s eyes shot open and he pulled away, face stained red under the fur. “Oh damn, I didn’t… shit, I’m sorry.!”

“Don’t apologize,” you cooed, careful not to brush his heated length. “Do you want me to help you with it? I did tell you how much I want to blow you.”

Seconds passed and you questioned whether you had crossed a line, staying stock-still until he nodded his head. “Yes, please.”

He sounded shy when he asked, and you couldn’t help but kiss the tip of his nose before slipping backwards off his lap to the floor. Now that you were level with his crotch, you could really take in just how big he was. The bulge in his pants had seemed large when he was under you, but in front of you it was massive. His thighs were thicker than they had been before, robust muscle and fat dwarfing your hands as you slid them up to his straining zipper. His body heat seared your palms through the fabric. You couldn’t help but wonder how you hadn’t noticed him shift beneath you. Without arousal clouding your brain, you could properly marvel at just how significant- how beautiful- his newly monstrous form was. Your hands paused over his fly and you looked up at him, staring through your lashes, silently waiting for permission to continue.

“Please touch me,” Arthur begged, his hips bucking up slightly.

You smiled at him, scooting forward and turning your head to kiss the inside of his knee, before slowly undoing his fly. Letting your fingers graze over him with maddening softness every time you could, you slid your hands up through the soft fur on his abdomen to push the bottom of his shirt out of the way. A groan escaped his mouth as you scratched over his stomach, into the warm, musky fur on his pelvis, and pulled the waistband of his boxers down just far enough for his dick to spring free, almost hitting you in the face.

The way he had pressed against the zipper of his pants had not done him justice. His shaft was easily the length of your forearm, the head flushed red and glistening with pre-cum. It bobbed and twitched with each minute movement of his body, a lewd display that you thought you could watch for hours. The base was surrounded by a nest of curly fur that you desperately wanted to bury your fingers- or your nose, dear Lord- into. A moment later, the euphoric realization came over you that you could.

You wasted no more time before ducking your head in and pressing an open, messy kiss to the underside of his length. Trailing your mouth along the thin skin, you happily made your way to that gorgeous dark fur. The feeling of nuzzling into it was unbelievable, the strands silky and thick on your skin, that lovely musk filling your senses and making your head go a little fuzzy. With a little moan, you pressed in closer, licking and kissing constantly, letting saliva slip out of your mouth to wet the base of Arthur’s shaft. You carefully tucked your fingers under the waist of his underwear to pull his balls free. They were covered in a dusting of that same fur, heavy and hot where you cupped them in your hands. You made your way back up his shaft, pausing indulgently to suck on the skin of his balls, relishing in the way that Arthur’s thighs quivered where they bracketed your shoulders. Clear, slick fluid dribbled from the head of his dick when you ran the tip of your tongue around its base. A drop fell to your face and you wiped it clean with the back of your hand.

“Oh shit.” His voice came out rumbly and strangled when you delicately lapped pre-cum from the prettily flushed head.

A quick glance upwards showed his bottom lip caught between wickedly sharp teeth, face reddened and eyes shut tight. You mentally promised yourself that one day, if Arthur gave you the chance, you would edge him until he cried with just your mouth.

This was not that day.

In a single swift motion, you stretched your mouth as far around his cock as it would go. You could barely take a quarter of the length and your jaw began aching in seconds, but all you could think was how damn good his heated flesh felt against the inside of your mouth. A moan broke free of your throat, sending vibrations down his massive cock. More pre-cum squirted directly into the back of your mouth and he bucked his hips up, only slightly, but still enough to make you choke around him and draw tears to your eyes.

His balls tightened where they were still cupped in your hands, and you could tell he was close. As disappointed as you were that you couldn’t keep going longer, you knew that he had already been close to his climax when you were dry-humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Besides, your jaw was really starting to hurt from where it was gaped around his huge girth. Pulling back far enough that his cockhead just barely rested against your lips, you paused for several seconds, never letting the slick tip leave your skin, smearing a combination of spit and pre-cum onto your mouth and cheeks. You panted, catching your breath for a few moments before you took him back in. Suckling delicately at his tip, you relished in the bursts of pre-cum that shot into you before steeling yourself, relaxing your throat, and swallowing his shaft as far as it would go.

Arthur cried out, the sound deliciously caught between a growl and a wail. His breaths turned ragged, control fraying from arousal and the effort it took him not to fuck upwards into your mouth. You desperately wanted him to feel good, and began working him over aggressively. You bobbed your head up and down, copious amounts of spit sliding down his shaft, gagging as you took him down as far as physically possible. Swallowing around him when his cock hit the back of your throat, your mouth rippled around him and you rolled his balls in your hands.

“I’m...fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

With a great deal of effort, you pulled your tongue back and probed it into the slit at the end of his head. Clearly the intrusion, coupled with the slick pressure of your mouth and loving caress of your hands, was too much, and it pushed him over the edge of his climax.

Salty, bitter cum shot down your throat in thick ropes, making you choke again. You swallowed as much as you could, but it was just too much, and you pulled off, coughing. His orgasm kept going, longer than any you had ever seen before, covering your face and torso with sticky cum. It dripped from your body onto the tile beneath you, spilled from the corners of your mouth, hung in creamy drops from your eyelashes.

A huge, clawed hand carefully wiped the spend from your eyes, moving to cup the back of your head. “Are you okay?” Arthur’s voice was gentle and concerned under the animalistic rasp.

You nodded tiredly, leaning into one of his thick thighs. Exhausted from the excitement, your eyes began to slip closed, your breath evening out into the shallow rhythm of sleep. The last thing you felt was a sweet kiss on your forehead and Arthur’s deep rumbly baritone.

“We’ll talk when you wake up. I promise.”

#shoutout to Teeth for corrupting me!#also you guys should 100% check out his blog if you haven't #it's good shit #monster fucker #monster lover #exophilia #terato #monster x human #monster boyfriend #smut #nsft #enthusiastic consent #minors do not interact #terfs dont fucking touch #bigots dni

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kar-krashew · 3 years

Text

my someplace is here [AO3]

Five times Alec gay panics at a bus stop (ft. umbrellas, jackets, and a bus driver who really isn't paid enough for this).

rated: T

for @rainyhuman and @peachygos (ily!)

This is so cliché and over the top and I have absolutely no regrets <3. Sometimes (always) Alec is a himbo who is in love and his actions reflect this entirely. I don't control these things.

One.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man across the bus stop is absolutely gorgeous, and he’s twirling in the rain like a goddamn movie cliché, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood is an idiot, and love at first sight is definitely a Thing.

Alec’s second thought is that the man is an absolute maniac— because really, the dude doesn’t even have a coat on— but Alec’s the one with an insane urge to kiss a stranger in the middle of the street, so, whatever; They’re probably both maniacs.

Alec’s third thought is that he’s about to miss his bus. Shit.

—

Two.

For the record, Alec does not usually walk into bus stop poles while staring at his phone, nor does he usually yell out “Ow, shit — !” if the aforementioned event does happen to occur. He does, however, end up doing both of these things at once a week later, and the stifled laughter behind him informs him that someone at the stop has definitely seen him, and he’s never going to live this down, ever.

“I’ve personally found that walking around an obstacle tends to be much more effective, darling,” the someone says, and Alec supposes that was called for, but hey, rude. He looks up to face the speaker, preparing himself to be offended, and—

Oh.

It’s the beautiful stranger from last time.

The man smirks at him from the bench, drenched again, and God, he’s even prettier up close. Brown eyes, smudged eyeliner, water trickling down his neck, with a tunic open down to his navel and pants that look painted on— Alec’s brain is short-circuiting.

“Hit your head a little hard there? Or do you just see something you like?”

“Huh?” Alec glances up from where he’s been staring at the man’s collarbones.

“I asked if you saw something you liked, pretty boy,” the man repeats.

Alec opens his mouth, presumably to say something that would be considered appropriate and normal in this situation, but he somehow misses his own memo and instead stammers out: “I, uh, I have an umbrella.”

He prays the rain will have mercy and just drown him on the spot.

The man’s brow quirks upwards in amusement. “Excuse me?”

Alec, unfortunately, is still alive, so he must now suffer the embarrassment he’s managed to cause himself and find a way to explain whatever has just come out of his mouth. He ducks his head, trying to avoid eye contact as he speaks. “If you want it,” he elaborates, “I have an umbrella I can give you.”

The stranger just looks at him for a moment. Alec’s sure he’s going to be told to fuck off (which would be a perfectly understandable reaction and probably have been his own in this situation) but after another second, the man defies all of his expectations and grins, so wide that it steals a little of Alec’s breath away.

“Handsome and chivalrous, I see. Do you make a habit of offering your belongings to strangers?” the guy asks. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll need it later. Perhaps you should rescind your offer, I promise I won’t harbor any grudges.”

“I have a coat,” Alec insists, “and you’re. . .” —incredibly attractive, doing things to my brain function— “more in need of its services.”

He’s not really sure why he’s so adamant about this, especially since the man is right: he will be needing the umbrella later, but his pride’s involved now, and he hasn’t really been thinking things through for the past ten minutes anyway. He might as well argue about his dumb umbrella with a beautiful man at a bus stop.

“I suppose you’re right,” comes the man’s response. He taps painted nails against his chin as he hums. “I’m not in much of a position to refuse, now, am I? Though, I doubt I’d refuse any position with you involved,” he winks. “But, yes, if you’re being serious, I shall gladly accept your umbrella.”

Alec blinks. He honestly did not think that argument would’ve worked. (He chooses to ignore the blatant innuendo to preserve his sanity for now.)

“Well?” the man prompts.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Really, the whole zoning-out-while-staring-at-the-hot-guy thing is going to become a problem very fast if Alec keeps doing it every two minutes. He gathers his thoughts enough to fumble with the umbrella in his hand and give it to the man, who accepts it with a graceful flourish.

“I’m Magnus Bane, by the way,” the man offers. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“I’m Alec. Lightwood. My name’s Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus holds out a ring-covered hand from where he’s sitting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alec. Short for Alexander, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Alec nods. He reaches out to shake Magnus’s hand, adding, “but no one really calls me that.”

Magnus’s smile turns into something incredibly flirty, and Alec can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like to be special, Alexander,” the other says, “and it suits you far better.”

Alec’s not really sure how to respond to that, because the way Magnus says his name is doing things to him, and that, combined with the fact that he’s still clutching Magnus’s soft hand in his own, is probably going to give him a heart attack. He’s about to say something decidedly stupid about Magnus already being special and perfect and amazing when the bus saves him from humiliation and pulls up next to them.

Alec releases Magnus’s grip to awkwardly gesture at the vehicle. “I should really. . . you know,” he trails off, and Magnus blinks at him for a second, surprised.

“Oh, right! You should get going, places to be and all that.” He waves his hand through the air dismissively. “I’ll return your umbrella to you next week, same time?”

Alec smiles dopily as he nods. “That sounds great.” He takes a step back. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Of course.” Magnus gives him a little wave. “It was lovely to meet you, Alexander. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, uh, you too.”

Having to walk home in the rain is so worth it.

—

Three.

Izzy laughs at Alec for the entire week when she finds out why his umbrella’s been missing, then makes it worse by telling Jace, who gives Alec an incredibly long-winded speech about umbrellas as metaphors for protection during sex or something. He also deigns to throw a condom at Alec’s face when he leaves to get the bus, which sends Izzy into another bout of cackling laughter.

They’re both assholes, and Alec is never going to cover for them at family dinners ever again.

So he’s scrolling through his phone at the bus stop, trying his best to ignore the increasingly obscene texts his siblings are sending him, when Magnus shows up, bright and beaming and decidedly dry this time, though he’s still not wearing a jacket despite the cold.

And dear lord. If Alec thought Magnus looked gorgeous while soaked in rainwater, this is something else entirely. Gold-streaked hair, unbuttoned shirt, immaculate matching eyeshadow— fuck.

“Alexander!” Magnus greets. He sits down beside Alec on the bench, and grins as he hands over Alec’s umbrella. “Finally a little dry, hm? Though I might’ve underestimated the cold and left my coat back home.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Not that you were wearing one when it was raining.” He’s trying his best not to stare at Magnus’s mouth, but the man is very close to Alec’s face right now, and he cannot be blamed if his gaze slips a few times, okay? He’s only human.

Magnus shrugs, drawing Alec’s sight to his shoulders instead. “Coats are irrelevant, anyway. I haven’t worn mine all week, so I might as well continue the trend,” he remarks, and Alec snorts.

“I don’t think that’s as impressive as you think it is. You sound like a petulant toddler. How have you not had, like, five colds by now?” he says. Magnus feigns a pout in response, and Alec stifles a laugh.

“Such cruelty, Alexander!” Magnus replies, “Ah, I suppose I’ll just have to suffer the elements until I’m finally back home again, since no one seems to harbor any sympathy for me. Woe is me, and all that.” He tightens his hands around his biceps, rubbing up and down to warm himself up while sighing dramatically, and Alec, well,

Alec gets a really stupid idea.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asks. “I won’t be out in the cold for that long, and I’m wearing a much warmer shirt than you are.”

Magnus’s lips part in surprise as something conflicted flashes behind his eyes. “I—” he starts, then clears his throat. “I wasn’t being serious, darling. That’s your jacket.”

“Is that a no?”

There’s a moment of silence before Magnus shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I, uh, I’d love that.”

Alec beams, and Magnus clears his throat again. “You’re horribly trusting of someone you’ve only met twice,” he says, voice a little strangled, but Alec just shrugs as he begins to wrestle the black fabric off of his shoulders.

“It’s just a jacket,” he explains, leaning closer to drape it over Magnus, “Even if I never got it back, at least you wouldn’t freeze to death on your way to wherever you’re headed.” He fixes the lapels dutifully, and smiles to himself. “Besides, you’ve already given me my umbrella. I trust you.”

“Is that so,” Magnus answers weakly, which prompts Alec to look up from his fiddling, and oh wow, their mouths are so close to each other’s.

If Magnus inches in just a little bit closer, then they’d—

They’d—

“Um!” Alec jerks backwards, face flushing, “Yes, uh,” he stammers, trying not to look overwhelmed. It’s not going great, because moving back means that he’s now being treated to the sight of Magnus in Alec’s jacket, and he’s having some issues thinking properly right now. It swallows Magnus’s wrists almost entirely and looks far too plain for his expensive printed shirt, but fuck. It’s possible that Alec didn’t think this through.

Magnus opens his mouth, hopefully to tell Alec to kiss him but also probably to tell him to fuck completely off for whatever move they almost pulled, but the bus suddenly turns the corner and pulls into view, cutting him off.

Alec’s not sure whether he’s relieved or furious about this.

“Next week, then,” he ventures. Magnus blinks at him slowly, then nods.

“Yes, of course,” he smiles softly. “Next week.”

—

Four.

“Remind me again, why your presence is necessary today?” Alec grits through his teeth, tightly gripping his umbrella as the rain pours down on them. Izzy punches his arm, not even looking up from her phone as she does so, where she is no doubt giving Jace a play-by-play of Alec’s every action as they walk towards the bus stop.

“Because I’m never one to miss out on good blackmail content,” she replies, which is true. She’s got about four folder’s worth of content of “embarrassing shit Alec has done” on her phone, most of it consisting of his painful attempts at being straight in high school, and Alec’s pretty sure she’s started a fifth, probably titled “Alec’s horrible attempts at flirting with men,” which isn’t that much better than the straight one. Alec is debating turning around and just walking to his destination so that his sister won’t be able to gain more content for her virtual blackmail folders, which is exactly when Magnus comes into Alec’s field of vision.

Alec freezes in his tracks. Holy shit.

Magnus is standing in the center of the street again, drenched from head to toe with his head thrown back . The streetlights illuminate him from above, highlighting the curve of his neck and the colored streaks in his hair as he laughs to himself, staring up at the stars.

He looks ethereal. Alec’s never been one for the romantics, but he’s pretty sure this is what poets mean when they talk about true love and angels and immortal moments in time.

“Oh, he’s hot,” Izzy whispers approvingly. Alec agrees, because, obviously, but he pretends he’s unaffected and straightens his face.

“He’s probably freezing,” he says instead. Izzy rolls her eyes— she gets that from him, he really should stop doing that— and then, before Alec can stop her, calls out.

“Hey! Hot Umbrella Guy!”

What the fuck.

“Are you insane?” Alec hisses. He was trying to look nonchalant and not like the totally lovestruck idiot he is, but now Izzy is waving at Magnus like a maniac and Magnus has noticed them and is walking towards them and Alec is going to die. He’s going to write Izzy out of his will and then he is going to collapse into a heap of embarrassment and gay panic right here, and it’s going to be his sister’s fault.

“Relax a little, hermano,” Izzy replies, and before Alec can provide her with an alphabetized list for every reason he cannot relax, Magnus is already standing before them, smiling as water trickles from his hair.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hello, hello!” he greets. Alec suddenly notices that Magnus is wearing Alec’s jacket, which is, well. Something. (Izzy is never going to let him live this down, and also Alec is having a very hard time thinking any thoughts.)

Magnus seems to notice Alec’s wandering line of sight, following it and glancing down, eyes widening. “Oh my god, I was fully intending to return this to you, I’m so sorry. I got a little distracted. I’ll have it cleaned and returned to you next time, I promise,” he explains. Alec shakes his head.

“No worries,” he manages, cutting himself off before he says something even stupider like “it’s yours forever” or “marry me” or something, and Izzy snorts from beside him. Alec hates her.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, then turns to face Izzy, “And what may I call you, dear?”

“I like him,” Izzy declares, in what Alec assumes is meant to be a reassuring whisper but instead ends up being incredibly loud, “I’m Izzy, Alec’s sister. And I assume you’re the elusive Magnus I’ve heard so much about?”

“Izzy,” Alec warns. Magnus smirks and shakes her hand.

“The one and only,” he confirms. There’s a mischievous sort of glint in his eye as he glances back up at Alec, and Alec’s not sure how he feels about Magnus and his sister already getting along so well, but he’s sure it can’t lead anywhere good.

“Well, Isabelle,” Magnus says, “If I asked him, do you think your brother would join me for a dance?”

Alec chokes. “What?” he splutters. Magnus turns his grin to face him.

“If I asked, Alexander, would you join me for a dance?”

“I—” Alec starts, staring down at the hand Magnus has outstretched in front of him. There are so many reasons he should say no, and so many reasons this is a bad idea, but also the most beautiful man Alec has ever seen is holding his hand out for him to take, and what else is he supposed to do? “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

The first thing Alec notices is how soft Magnus’s hand is in his as he pulls him out into the rain, laughing as it hits his face again, and Alec can’t help but laugh along even as water soaks into his shoes and drenches into his socks. There’s something so childish about it; giggling and spinning in an empty street without any music, holding hands like toddlers, and Alec wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re thinking too much,” Magnus murmurs, then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’s about being in the moment.”

Alec smiles. If only he knew, all he’s thinking about is this moment: how the water catches in Magnus’s lashes, how he’s humming something entirely off-key under his breath, the way he presses against Alec’s chest. Fuck. Alec’s known this man for three days, and he’s halfway in love already.

He closes his eyes against the rain, too, and smiles at the thought: loving a man like Magnus Bane.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

—

Five.

When Alec reaches the bus stop today, Magnus is nowhere to be seen and Alec’s jacket is sitting in a bag at the bus stop with a little post it signed with the letter “M.”

It’s fine, Alec tells himself. Magnus is probably just busy with something else, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Alec froze up awkwardly when Magnus kissed him on the cheek last week, to the point where Magnus had to nervously laugh it off because Alec was too busy panicking.

It’s a flimsy argument, but it keeps Alec from losing his mind for about fifteen minutes until the bus pulls up early and Alec realizes that this is it. He’s not going to see Magnus this week— maybe not ever again, if Magnus has decided that Alec’s gay panic is not worth his time, and Alec wouldn’t even blame him.

God, he feels so stupid. If he hadn’t acted like a complete idiot last time, then he would’ve at least had some closure.

“Sir, are you getting on or are you waiting for another bus?”

Alec blinks, glancing up to see the bus driver raising her eyebrow at him. “Right, sorry, give me just a mo—”

“Alec!”

It can’t be.

“Alexander!”

Alec spins on his heel, turning to face whoever called his name, and oh my god, it’s Magnus. He’s running up to the bus stop, waving frantically, and Alec is overcome with such a large wave of relief that he forgets that the bus driver’s been waiting for him for like five minutes now and he climbs off and runs towards Magnus, only vaguely registering the sound of the bus leaving without him. He doesn’t even care; Magnus is standing right in front of him, panting heavily but still so beautiful and perfect, and Alec would walk home everyday if he got to see Magnus because of it.

“Alexander,” Magnus huffs, gathering his breath. He absentmindedly reaches out to grab Alec’s shoulder, and Alec immediately wraps his arms around his waist to stabilize him. “Oh lord, one second, I ran all the way here.”

“I thought you were gone,” Alec says, still holding onto him. “You left the jacket and I thought—” he trails off.

Magnus frowns. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable last week and didn’t want to make it worse, but I didn’t realize how rude not showing up would be. I know you probably don’t feel the same way but perhaps we can still be friends? I can be completely professional about it, though you seem to have just missed your bus—”

Alec grabs Magnus’s tunic (because he’s still not wearing a jacket, Jesus Christ) and kisses him.

Magnus blinks at him when they pull away. “Oh,” he says, a little breathless, and Alec smiles.

“I don’t want to be professional about it,” he admits.

“Oh. . .”

Magnus still seems shell-shocked, so Alec makes a move to let go of him, shifting his arm away from Magnus’s waist, but then Magnus leans back in and presses his mouth back to Alec’s and oh, nevermind then.

Alec’s not sure how long they spend there, kissing like handsy teenagers under the roof of the bus stop, but he’s aware of a few cars passing (and possibly another bus), so he’s not ignorant of the fact that it’s definitely been a while when they finally pull away for more than a second. Magnus is staring at his mouth when they part, though, which is not helping Alec’s resolve to actually have a conversation about this.

“We should talk,” he manages, and Magnus nods, still staring at his mouth.

“Right,” he agrees. “That would be a wise course of action.” His eyes flick upwards for just a moment, and something flickers behind them before he beams. “My place is two stops away, if you’d like to talk there. Perhaps we can wait for the next bus together, since we seemed to have missed the one I usually take? It might take a while, though.”

Ah. Alec swallows back a grin of his own. “Of course,” he replies, “I don’t suppose you know any way to keep us busy till then?”

“I’m sure I could think of something.”

(The bus comes late, and they still somehow almost miss it. Alec refuses to take any blame for this.)

—

+ One.

Alec Lightwood didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man standing at the bus stop is smiling softly at him as he approaches, twirling an umbrella between his hands as he waits, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood was an idiot, because what else could it have been?

“Hello, stranger,” the man says when Alec finally reaches the stop. He glances down, taking in Alec’s rain-soaked button down and slacks, and grins. “Forget your umbrella back home?”

Alec laughs. “My coat, too,” he agrees. “I got distracted this morning.”

Magnus hums, leaning in to kiss the rain off of Alec’s mouth, and Alec smiles into it, tasting the faint wax of lipstick and the salt of the rain. “Must’ve been a pretty good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. He leans in again, because he can. They have time. “He is.”

Magnus’s lips have got a lovely little tilt to them by the time they pull away, tint slightly smudged from Alec’s attention, and he’s never looked more beautiful, even with the dingy lighting of the shitty bus stop they’re standing under.

God, Alec loves him. He feels a little stupid with the feeling, and he can’t help but step back out onto the rain, holding out his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Magnus’s eyes light up with understanding. “Care to join me for a dance?” And sure, Alec’s shit at dancing, and sure, they have to get on the bus sopping wet minutes later, but they’re both giggling like idiots and clutching the umbrella together between their intertwined hands and Alec’s got a little ring box in his pocket just waiting for the right moment, so what else matters?

They’ll probably have to invite the bus driver to the wedding, though. It’s only fair.

#my writing #malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #i totally forgot to post this here but its fineeeee #also if ur that anon that @'d me ab the phrase gay panic im literally gay <3 thank u

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drakenology · 3 years

Text

Vapors - Bakugo Katsuki

warnings!: use of drugs (weed), smut, a lil comedy, fluff (cause im a cancer and we love romance in this house.) swearing because bakugo, Bakugo aged up (cause we don’t fuck children ‘round here), and sex under the influence of drugs. i also sprinkled some daddy kink up in here so...

author’s note: THANK YOU GUYS SOOOO MUCH FOR 100 NOTES ON MY RECENT POSTS!!! I really appreciate all the love, it makes me so happy to see that you guys like my work. Remember I’m taking requests and asks so please don’t be shy! here’s yet another bakugo smut because.. well, i’m obsessed with this man ok?? AND we need more stoner Bakugo idc idc idc. enjoy!

summary: Bakugo is a stoner and you’ve been kind of a goody two shoes for most of your life until the night you smoked with your boyfriend for the first time.

It was a calm evening at home. You had just finished cleaning the home you shared with Bakugo as he helped by washing the dishes. You sigh, putting away the vacuum as you go and hop in the shower. You loved when he took days off of being a hero to spend some time with you at home. As you take your shower, you hear your boyfriend singing along to his favorite song; you smile as you hear him carelessly belt the notes off key. You loved his stupid ass so much. If you had ever told anyone he was a softie for you he’d probably kill you himself, but you still cherish the moments when he’s at his sweetest. You step out of the shower, drying yourself off as you dress yourself in a t-shirt and fleece pajama pants to keep warm and cozy. You walk out to the living room to a strong stench that completely caught you off guard. Bakugo was sitting on the couch, singing his song in his own little world; rolling a joint for him to smoke.

“Katsuki! I told you no smoking in the house!” You nag, walking over to him. He smirked up at you, continuing to roll. He was in a really good mood today. He spent the day smoking weed and fucking his hot girlfriend. Even if she was a little uptight, she was fucking gorgeous and she had a good heart. Though he really wished you’d loosen your corset a bit.

“Relax, shitty woman. I’m taking this outside. Just rollin’ up as all.” He said, concentrating on sealing his joint. He licked the seams of the paper, looking you in the eyes as he did so. He chuckled as he watched your face turn red.

“You’ve never smoked before, huh?” Kastuki asked you, raising a brow at you as you watched him carefully roll his joint. You sat next to him, folding your arms as you shake your head no. Katsuki smoked, not a lot but whenever he had time to himself and you knew that. You never had a problem with it, you just never smoked yourself.

“I’d never. I used to think weed was so bad for you. But you smoke it and you seem fine.” You admit, watching him hold a lighter over his joint to seal the edges.

“Did you wanna try it with me? If not that’s fine, I’m not pressuring you to do anything you don’t want to, princess.” He said, cupping your chin in his hand as he gave you a small peck on your nose. You smile and think briefly. Katsuki knows that you’ve always been a goody two shoes. Ever since you two were kids, you were always so afraid to get into trouble for anything. He remembers when you cried all the way through detention for bickering with him in middle school. It was your first and only detention. You were so hysterical, it was as if someone died. You were just always so sweet and innocent. You never cussed or got too angry and that’s what Katsuki loved about you. You were such a calming spirit. Even though he was the complete opposite, it worked as you balanced each other out.

“Okay. But just this one night.” You giggle, hopping up out of your seat. He stands up and walks to the balcony of your apartment, smacking your ass as you walk through the sliding door. You two were sat next to each other, watching the sun set over the clouds as he lights up the joint for you both to share.

“Now I just wanna warn you, please don’t feel like you gotta keep up with me. You can stop when you feel like you’ve had enough. Okay?” He said, taking a drag. You nod, watching him closely to see how to properly smoke a joint. It had to be a science right? He takes another slow drag and blew out the smoke, passing it to you so you can have a hit. You take it and hold it like a cigarette, making Katsuki laugh as he watched his goody goody smoke weed for the first time. You take a puff, one that was a little too big for you to start off and immediately you cough up the smoke. Katsuki pats your back as he handed you some water to help your throat.

“Idiot.” He shakes his head, laughing slightly. You lightly hit his chest, trying to take another drag.

“Just inhale. You’re overthinking it.” He said watching you slowly take a drag. Sure enough after following Bakugo’s instruction, you blow out the smoke. You felt your body instantly relax, your eyes hazy and low as you watch Katsuki smoke some more. God, he was so attractive. You’ve never sat and watched him smoke before, he’d always leave the room out of respect for you not liking the smoke in the house. But with the way your body feels right now, you think you’d been missing out for sure. You take in his form, he was slouched in his chair with his legs spread out as he smoked. You felt yourself blush as you watched him, in awe of his stature. He passed you the joint once more and you happily took another drag. You loved the high you were feeling, the stars in the sky twinkling much more pristine as then usual. You become a little giggly, your first time being high just seemed so hilarious.

“What’re you laughin’ at?” Bakugo says looking at you with hazy eyes, your laughter roaring through his ears.

“I-I’m sorry I just- AHAHAHAHA!” You burst, hunching over laughing at practically nothing. Being high was kinda fun. Bakugo laughs with you, putting out the joint when he was done.

“That’s enough for you, shitty woman.” He said standing up from his chair. You slowly stand up from your seat as you wobble a little, feeling your balance being thrown off by the influence of weed. He helps you inside, opening the door for you letting you walk in first. As a tradition, he smacks you ass as you walk through the door. You looked especially delicious when he was high, his pants feeling a little tight just looking at you. He plops down on the couch and turned on the T.V, flipping through Netflix as you walked into the kitchen.

“I’m fucking HUNGRY.” You blurt out, looking through the cabinets for something to snack on. Katsuki froze, unsure that he heard what he just heard.

“D-Did you just fucking cuss?” He asked, completely shocked. Never in his years of knowing you has he ever heard you utter a swear word. He tried to get you to at least say “Damn.” and that never worked.

“Oh shit... I did just cuss. Oh shit I just cussed again! FUCK!” You laugh, not being able to contain your foul language. It felt as if a huge burden had been lifted off your shoulders, finally loosening your metaphorical corset. Katsuki laughed.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asked sarcastically, standing up from his seat on the couch. He walked towards you to see you stuffing you face with every snack from your pantry. You had a seriously bad case of the munchies, crunching away at some potato chips.

“We gotta go food shopping tomorrow. Ain’t shit in here to eat. UGH why does food taste so fucking good right now!?” You said, cussing with ease at this point. Bakugo inched closer to you shaking his head, snatching the bag of chips away from you as he started to eat them. You frown, grabbing some cookies instead.

“Gimme one.” Bakugo said, grabbing the cookie out of your mouth with his, taking a bite from it. You blush as you chew your own cookie, watching him look down at you. You never really realized how much taller Bakugo was compared to you. You took your hand and wiped some crumbs from the corner of his mouth, kissing him deeply as you pulled him closer to you. Katsuki kissed you back, picking you up and sitting you on the kitchen counter. The kiss under the influence felt amazing. It was like time froze while you kissed, your lips combined feeling like electricity as you melt into him. You feel yourself getting wetter by the second, immensely turned on by this man. You tug at the hem of his shirt for him to take it off, earning a chuckle from Katsuki.

“You’re horny as fuck right now, aren’t you?” He asked, leaning in to kiss your neck. “I can tell you’re probably soaked right now.” You moan as he left open mouth kisses down your neck, reaching under your shirt to grab and squeeze at your bare breasts. You feel absolutely blissful, your panties soaking at this point. Why did everything feel so fucking good right now?

“Kachan~” You whine, trying to grind against him as he licked and sucked on your neck, pinching your nipples lightly. You feel as if you’re about to cum just from him playing with your boobs and kissing your neck, your pussy pulsating as you grab onto him for dear life. All the pleasure was becoming so blinding you never wanted this feeling to go away. Katsuki lifts you up again to walk back into the living room with you in his arms, sitting on the couch with you on his lap.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He said, nibbling on your ear. You moan, grinding against his growing bulge, taking off your shirt to reveal your nude breasts to him.

“You, daddy.” You purr. Katsuki freezes a little, shocked by what you just called him. You were pretty vanilla so hearing you call him daddy turned him feral.

“Say it again.” He demanded, taking a nipple into his mouth. You moan, still grinding your pussy against the tent he was pitching in his pants, running your hands through his hair.

“I want you, daddyy. Please fuck me.” You whine, getting off his lap as he stood. Your obedience was turning him on so much he just had to have you, not caring where in the house he took you at this point. He slid off your pants and panties in one go, kneeling down to get a closer looks at your wetness.

“Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me, baby.” he hissed, kissing your inner thighs. “I would eat you out for being such a good girl but I need to be inside you. Now.” He said, standing up to take off his pants and his boxers, his thick length springing out as he pulled them down. You almost drool at the sight, spreading your legs and rubbing your pussy as you imagined his length stretching you out. You were never this sultry in the bedroom, always having Katsuki initiate. But tonight, you had a hunger you needed to be fulfilled.

“You’re so fucking sexy..” Katsuki moaned, pumping his dick a few times before grabbing your face to kiss you with tongue. He pulled away to grab you by your neck, the dominating look in his eyes making your pussy gush.

“Bend your sexy ass over.” He growled, letting you go as you obliged. He crouched behind you and gave your pussy a few taps with his dick before sliding inside your slick folds. You have never felt this good. Sex with Katsuki had always been amazing but tonight this was different. You moan sinfully as you felt him stretch you out, his thrusts progressing as he fucked you good.

“D-Daddyy.” You moan, gripping the arm of the couch for dear life. He smacks your ass a few times, quickening his pace as he grabbed you hair to pull it. You lean into the couch, one leg on the seat and one planted onto the floor, hardly being able to keep you stable as your legs shake. You feel your release come quicker than expected, you reaching back to rub your clit in harsh circles.

“You make me feel so good daddy. Fuck, I love you!” You scream, pushing your face into your hands as Katsuki continued the assault on your g-spot. You start clenching around him, the sound of your moans and skin slapping together filled the living room as Katsuki starts to sweat, a caramel scent filling your nose.

“So fucking sexy, baby. You gonna cum for me?” He asked, his hard thrusts causing you to see stars. Your moans are the only thing Katsuki can hear, unsatified as he pulled you up to him by your hair.

“I can’t hear you, baby.” He said, fucking you even harder, you not knowing that was even possible. You can hardly form a sentence, you responding with frantic yeses and moans and I love yous. He smirked, throwing you back onto the couch as he feels you clench around him once more. If he knew you were gonna be this frisky he would have gotten you high a long time ago.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy! I- oh!” You shriek, cumming around his dick to Katsuki’s delight. He smacks you ass hard as he helps you ride out your orgasm only to quicken his pace again, chasing his own release.

“Yeah.. ‘M gonna cum, baby. You ready?” He asked sweetly, kissing your back as he pounds you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, gasping for air to try and answer him.

“C-Cum inside me, daddy. Oh god yes!” You moan, biting your lip. He did just that, a strong grunt leaving his mouth as he slowed down his movements, his cum painting your womb white. You sigh, almost missing his dick inside you as he pulled out of you. He picked you up and carried you to your shared room.

“Can we smoke again later?” You ask innocently. He laughed and walked into the bathroom to start you both a bath.

“Sure baby.” He said, giving you a sweet kiss. He pulled out the joint you both hadn’t finished as he led you into the bath. He goes to light it before looking to you to see if it was okay to smoke in the bathroom.

“Fuck it.” You say, laughing as he lights up the joint for you to relax in your bath.

#bnha smut #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha imagines #bnha todoroki x reader #bnha midoriya x reader #bnha #bnha headcanons #bnha kirishima #bnha izuku

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taeescript · 3 years

Text

29 + 1 (Part Two)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (squint harder than before for taehyung x reader)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin; a dash of enemies to lovers au

𝔴𝔠: 7.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: language; a plethora of drunk people, maybe a sext, and a ton of lying (possible implication of impending smut?!)

𝔞/𝔫: this part came out longer than i thought it would be but *shrugs* feedback and thoughts always welcomed. enjoy (: 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: DailyHive is real; this is not associated with it

part one || part three

The bright pop music that is blaring from the speakers does little to slow your animated talking. Bodies are packed into the small local bar, and students on summer break fill booths and form a snake of impatient, drunk (and horny) people. A slow trickle of the brazen has started to fill the dance floor as the evening morphs into the night.

You whip your hair into a ponytail and dab at the sweat that is beading your forehead. You definitely should have worn that sleeveless top rather than this thicker t-shirt dress.

“So, is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Taehyung asks, “Also drink.”

Friday nights were usually spent at home, snuggled under the blankets in your pjs binging another rewatch of Friends. After work today, you could no longer hold onto your secret and invited Taehyung out for drinks. His girlfriend, Fei, was supposed to join but had been held back for overtime.

You tip the shot back with no chase.

“You’re a monster,” he comments as he bites into his lemon piece.

The two of you had made a bet at the beginning of the evening: you each chose a pop song and each time it played, the nominee had to take a shot. That was your fourth of the night, and to say there was a bit of a buzz is an understatement.

“It’s all throat technique, Tae,” you say with a bit of a slur, “Hit the back and swallow. No innuendo intended. Also, why the hell haven’t you had any to drink?”

“You picked ‘Peaches’ for fuck’s sake.”

“I told you I don’t listen to pop music. It was the first one playing.”

“And shouldn’t that have told you something? Justin Bieber of all people?”

“Shut up. It’s your song.” You nod at the pink-faced barista for another round. She slaps your order in front of the two of you without so much a glance.

You don’t even know what song is playing, but you feel quite satisfied watching Taehyung make a face as he downs it in one go.

He clears his throat after the liquor has burned its way down to his stomach. “Back to my question: is he your sugar daddy?”

You bark out a laugh. Was he? Perhaps the fact that he paid for fancy meals at lunch? Those have been his one o’clock meetings for the past two months.

“I don’t know. I’d rather he buy me a car or pay my rent if anything. A casual 1k a week wouldn’t be so bad either. We just sit in his office and eat in secret, Tae. He’s ‘training me in the art of culinary cuisine’. I think it’s just so I don’t embarrass him by stuffing a shrimp cocktail up my nose.”

“You do know – ”

“Yes, I know. And I would never. It’s a metaphor. It’s just that the position ‘intern’ is quite loosely defined at DailyHive, don’t you think?”

Taehyung rinses his mouth with water before speaking. “So let me get this right. Mr. Kim calls you into his office, says he’s going to take you as his guest to the biggest tech event of the year, treats you to lunches and doesn’t ask for anything in return? No secret midnight meetups or shady business deals…”

You shake your head.

“Damn,” Taehyung says, resting his arm on the bar table, “Forget sugar daddy. He’s just daddy.”

Sticking your tongue out, you gag visibly at his comment. “Do not ever call him that again, Tae; ev-er.”

He laughs and watches you pensively. After a moment’s thought, he says, “Nobody has ever called me Tae.”

“What do they call you then?” you reply, wrinkling your brows together. A cute brunette across the room catches your eyes and for the briefest of seconds, you wonder what a one-night-stand would feel like.

He shrugs. “Just Taehyung.”

The brunette waves in your direction. You are about to return his wave when an equally cute brunette runs up to him. He promptly kisses her before swivelling her around to join his group of friends.

“Sorry. Do you want me to stop? I just assumed since we were out of the office…”

Oh Fate, how cruel you are. Life of twenty cats and solidarity, here you come. Maybe dogs. You feel like you could be more of a dog person.

“No,” he stops you, “You can call me Tae. Whatever you want.”

You turn your attention back on the also cute brunette in front of you. In all honestly, despite his youthful god-like countenance, he looks slightly out of place at this college bar with you in his upstanding business attire and dorkishly adorable thick-framed glasses.

“Sure. How about Tee-Tee? Or Hyungie? The TaeMan?” You wiggle your brows with the suggestion.

“God help me.”

The two of you clink your shot glasses together even though neither of your songs are being played.

His Apple watch lights up to indicate an incoming message. He relays the text to you, “Fei’s done work. She’s on her way now.” You can’t help but notice a shift in his previously excited demeanor.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited? She’ll need a glass of wine or two to destress after work. I might be projecting onto you for this part, but you’re buzzed. So after we get her to unwind I’m sure the overwhelming power of pheromones will get you lucky tonight.” You wink at him to emphasize your point.

“She’s not a big drinker. She’s probably just going to come and ask to leave in five minutes. Bars like this aren’t really her thing either,” he states. He then unbuckles his watch and tucks it away into the pocket of his pants. Undoing the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves and continues to regard you solemnly. “Okay, next round is one me. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to switch songs?”

You notice how nice, long, and slender his fingers are. Plus the thing of girls liking when men have visible veins on their forearm? That had never really caught your attention until now.

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” you say and immediately regret, “Shit, sorry. That just slipped out. Alcohol.”

He offers you his water to drink.

“I mean, she’s a little…uptight at times? But people can be completely different in and out of work. I can only imagine how stressful it is in her position. Working overtime until 9pm on a Saturday night seriously sucks,” you say to try and mend your wrongdoing.

“Fei in the office is basically Fei at home,” he says softly, “It’s always work with her.”

“We support career-driven women, yeah?” A smile is offered from you to him.

He finally lets out a small one and nods. Out of the blue, he reaches over and covers your hand with his. Staring intently into your eyes, he says, “I know she makes you do her reports and occupies your time to do her coffee runs as well. You can say no to her. She may be my girlfriend, but you’re technically my intern, and I will stand on your side no matter what.”

“Um, okay. Thanks, Tae,” you say. His sincerity has caught you off guard.

At that moment, the sound of clicking heels pierce its way into your eardrums through the noise of the even busier bar. Taehyung quickly retracts his hand.

Fei arrives, not a hair out of place in her tightly pulled bun. Her lips are painted a striking red against the paleness of her skin, and her manicured nails dig into the forearm of Taehyung when she reaches them. Even though she is wearing an otherwise drab office business suit, the curvature of her body draws quite a few glances from the younger men in the crowd.

“It’s like a zoo here,” she sneers, turning away from a sacrificial lamb who had been bold enough step out of his circle of friends to greet her with a sleezy “hey”.

“Hi, Fei. Busy night?” you greet her first.

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I don’t know why you weren’t there. Isn’t it the intern’s job to complete reports?”

Again, a loosely defined use of “intern” at DailyHive.

You return her smile with a crisp one of your own.

She turns away from you and regards Taehyung, who looks as if he had been the sacrificial lamb instead. “Teddybear, let’s go home. You know this type of place isn’t my vibe. I’m getting a headache already.”

You raise an eyebrow at his pet name.

He turns a little bit pinker, if that is possible under the current alcohol-induced glow of his cheeks, and says, “Um, sure. Y/N, are you going to be okay getting home?”

Waving him off, you show him your phone. “30% left. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag and enough booze in me to not run from a fight. I’ll call an Uber home soon, don’t worry.”

Fei has already begun to fight her way through the squirming, dancing bodies. Taehyung glances quickly at her and turns back to you once last time. “Text me that you’re home safe.”

“Will do, boss,” you smile at him warmly.

He lingers for just a moment more before running after his impatiently waiting girlfriend.

You turn back to the bar and order another beer for yourself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is perhaps the biggest perk of being single.

...

On the opposite side of town, sinking deeply into a soft lounge chair is Seokjin enjoying a rare evening out with his best friend. He has swapped his usual attire for a more relaxed fit of a white oversized crewneck and techwear bottoms. A heavy, exorbitant fur-lined long leather coat hangs on the coat rack beside the door to their private VVIP room. He swirls his glass of Chateau Lafite before sipping delicately.

Outside, only a handful of patrons sit quietly engrossed in their own conversations. It is a relatively empty night at the high-end lounge. A lady sings sultrily on stage with the smooth background of a saxophone as accompaniment.

Junho has poured himself another glass while he is talking to Seokjin. Seokjin had since slightly tuned out his friend’s rather elongated rendition of another celebrity sighting to occupy his mind with another individual.

“Earth to Jin? When did you get so lightweight since I’ve been gone?” Junho waves a hand in front of Seokjin’s nose.

Seokjin blinks to refocus.

“The mansion I bought last year or the one I bought last month?” he reiterates. Sensing that Seokjin truly had no idea what the topic at hand had been, he tries again.

“Where should I do my birthday party this year, man? I thought the mansion from last year since it’s closer to the city, but I feel like it’s been reused too many times. It’s not completely furnished yet, but the property I got last month is significantly bigger and I can probably host more people.”

“The new place then,” Seokjin answers half-heartedly.

Junho grumbles something intelligible.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Junho sighs, “Tell me what’s new with you. How’s that little project of yours going? I still can’t believe you won’t let me know who you’re planning to take to the Gala.”

Seokjin had refused to release even the slightest detail about you to Junho. Letting him know that Seokjin had agreed to one of his plans would be enough to inflate Junho’s ego for at least a little while.

“It’s been going...”

Junho waits for more of Seokjin’s answer, but his friend’s attention has been turned to a received text.

10:17pm “Safe and sound, Teddy Bear.”

10:17pm “Or should I say Taeddybear? 🥴”

10:18pm “That last beer done me rael godo.”

10:18pm “Real good**”

Seokjin raises a brow at the unknown number. He responds back.

10:18pm “Who is this? I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

Junho crosses his legs and sits back with a sigh. He presses the button to request for an attendant.

10:19pm “You know who… Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you for saying you’ve got my back. It’s definitely appreciated.”

The response doesn’t do much except to further pique Seokjin’s curiosity.

“Sorry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “Rogue text I think.”

Junho shrugs. “Is that right? Seems to have caught your attention.” There is now a manner of indifference to his voice.

“It’s going well, by the way – answering your question. I mean, all things considered. It’s not like I have to teach her how not to stuff a cocktail shrimp up your nose.”

His friend snorts. “I’d be concerned and against this person if it’s who you’re planning to bring.”

Seokjin’s phone buzzes again.

10:21pm “Pray for me when I wake up with the worst hangover of my life. I’m going to bed now.”

A moment of silence.

10:21pm “I hope I didn’t piss off Fei tonight for stealing you for the evening.”

10:22pm “Okay I’ll shut up now. Please don’t tell me you’re reading this. You should be getting some 😼💦.”

The emoji makes Seokjin choke, liquid sputtering from his lips.

Junho cusses. He angrily dabs at the speckle of red wine that has landed on his pearly white top.

10:23pm Download attached image. “Just in case, here’s a little something to get the night started 😉”

“What the hell man?” Junho gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the previously called attendant had arrived in time to escort him.

Seokjin barely notices that he is alone in room as he taps the download button. It isn’t until he has returned home and is looking at the picture one last time before bed that he realizes who his mysterious texter is.

The employee nametag clipped to the collar of your workday shirt hanging on the arm of a chair can only be found when zoomed in past your painted toes and naked feet.

...

You cannot hide your nervousness when you arrive at your “lunch meeting” the following Monday morning. All weekend, you had cursed yourself for not better checking who the recipient of your texts were before pressing send. Never had you thought that in your drunken stupor you would mix up “The Devil” in your contact list with “Taehyung Kim.” Curse you and your lack of friends beginning with the letter “T”.

You balk before, a hand poised in perfect position for a knock. Maybe he didn’t download it? And even if he did, it was just a troll feet pic. You had made sure that it was as pg-13 as possible before you had sent it.

“Hi,” you greet sheepishly when he has given you the go to enter.

In a smart plain blue button-up and round frames that are almost certainly for the aesthetics, the CEO of the company and your boss sizes you up and down.

“I know we’ve gotten to know each other better these past few weeks. But you’d think it’s still common courtesy to at least make eye contact,” he says. You look at him wide eyed without a word.

He rolls his eyes but does not gesture to your usual seat. In fact, you don’t spy a take-out container in sight. He instead stands up and picks up his phone, walking to the door. He notices you have yet to move.

“Let’s get moving. You’ve only got a 45 minute lunch.”

You scramble to match his speed and catch Taehyung’s eye as you grab your jacket at your desk. Taehyung’s gaze follows you as you hurry to leave in pursuit of Seokjin’s coattail.

...

The restaurant is a popular vegan establishment with a plethora of greenery crawling up its high ceilings and a window-framed overview of the city’s skyline. Waiters and waitresses who may just as well be walking New York Fashion Week serve you brunch mimosas on a golden plate; they attentively wait to the side in case you ever run out of water.

Common topics are rare between the two of you. Initially, you respectfully kept quiet and only answered questions when asked, but you have never been one for awkward silence. Yes, it’s awkward only if you make it awkward; there is just no denying the hanging suspense that curls your toes each time. Recently, you have started with simple inquiries regarding the company, who they might meet at the Gala and everyday mundane topics.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re out of the office,” Seokjin says. He continues shortly after taking a bite of his meal and ignores the look of your surprise at his initiation of a conversation. “My office has been getting stuffy with the warmer weather so I thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. How’s the food?”

You nod, making small sounds of contentment as you chew on the Avocado Lime Tartare. Mmm… tart-y.

He takes a deep breath in, stalling the incoming conversation. “It’s my friend’s birthday this next weekend.”

“Oh,” you say, “Happy early birthday to him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Well… An extra happy early birthday to him.”

A sigh. “Are you free next weekend?”

Your chewing comes to a halt and you blink once at his question. Next weekend is the weekend before the Silver Gala. It is also the sole weekend before your birthday the following Friday after the Gala. You had hoped to spend it with Taehyung and maybe even Jimin who had promised to be in town on a long overdue vacation despite your chastising to visit your parents first.

He senses your trepidation. Quickly, he explains himself,

“He’s having a birthday party Saturday night. He has a place about an hour north of here. I can have somebody pick you up if that’s more convenient. I don’t have a birthday present for him and thought it’d be nice for you to meet him.”

“You’re giving him me for a present?” you ask, incredulously.

He bites his tongue. He never anticipated how awkward this conversation could go.

“You’re going as my plus one. He really wants to meet you; in fact, he insisted that you be there. He’ll be at the gala too. I have something else planned for his birthday present,” he adds hastily, “Besides, you’re less than qualified as a present.”

Musing silently to yourself, you wonder if in any situation should a human be qualified as a present. Despite that, you hate yourself as you agree on the spot.

The rest of the lunch passes by quickly in dull silence. As Seokjin pays for the meal on the company card (and hands you the receipt for reimbursement), you note that there has been no comment made on any strange photos texted to him over the weekend.

Perhaps being nonchalantly implied as a human birthday gift to a stranger is your karma for sending weird texts to your boss.

Seokjin stays inside the car as he drops you off at the office after lunch, already preparing for his next business meeting. You nod your goodbye and step onto the pavement through the courteously held open door of the limousine.

“Y/N, try a soft pink. Fuchsia is not your colour,” he tells you as the door is closed.

He then leaves you standing in front of the large office doors, staring at your chipped, week-old purple toenails.

...

“I’m not exactly expecting a package in the mail or a dress laid out on the hotel bed – ”

“You guys are staying at a hotel?” Taehyung says over the phone.

You are standing in your bedroom, an hour before when Seokjin is supposed to pick you up as an offering to his best friend. There are two dresses laid out on your Hello Kitty bed covers: a simple black dress you had worn once when you were a little bit more in shape and your prom dress.

“No, I’m at home. But I mean, let me play into this movie metaphor.”

“You suck at metaphors.”

You have your phone propped up on some pillows so that you can see Taehyung as you debate your fashion decision. He is in a relaxed white tee, hair messily framing his face after a shower and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You watch as a droplet of water runs down his face from his still-wet hair. He nonchalantly licks it off from the side of his mouth.

“As I was saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get me something. He made it seem like it was a big deal. Like doesn’t the male lead usually surprise the female lead with a big bouquet of flowers and this over-the-top expensive dress which she wears and makes the male lead fall head over heels in love with her?”

He chews silently on a kernel then probes, “You want Mr. Kim to fall in love with you?”

“No,” you hastily correct, “It’s a metaphor. I think you’re the one who sucks at metaphors.”

There is a beep on your phone to indicate you have another incoming call.

“Tae, I’m going to have to call you back. My brother’s calling me,” you tell him. The black dress; your old prom dress is way too early 2000s. Black never hurts.

“Okay. Have fun tonight. Pretend that it’s your birthday party. And then I’ll meet you for brunch tomorrow, my treat? You can tell me all about it,” he says. “Also the black. You look cute in that one.”

“My party if I was 30, rich and successful. Oh wait, I’ll have one thing in common soon; that’s a start. Thanks though. I’ll call you tomorrow morning once I get up,” you say, then switch the call over to your brother. You had missed the flush of his cheeks as you busily swipe your phone.

Sticking the prom dress back into your closet, you rummage around the meager display of shoeboxes for a pair of high heels.

“Hey, Jimin,” you greet over the phone.

“Jesus, I do not need to be accosted by my half-naked sister,” he yells over the phone.

You turn rapidly, seeing that you had accidentally continued a video call from when you had hung up on Taehyung. You throw a pillow over the camera in your haste to cover yourself up.

“I was going to ask why you’re dressed like that but on second thought, I think I’ll leave your sexual exploits as your own secret.”

Despite how disturbed you feel about this comment, his cheerful voice makes you smile.

“So little sis, the weekend before the big three-oh!”

“Please stop reminding me.”

“Where do you want to meet tonight? I just got off the plane, but I can be ready to meet in about an hour. I booked a hotel close to the airport.”

Shit. You forgot to tell Jimin. These heels will have to do.

“Um… I, uh…”

“What?”

You clear your throat and begin to undress in front of the mirror. You have a sudden conscious thought that the dusty treadmill in your living room seems to be staring daggers at your back.

“I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Plans? I wasn’t even aware you had friends here.”

“Ouch, Jimin. But yes, I have friends. In fact, I am meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow if you want to join. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

“He?” Jimin repeats, “Should I put on my big brother boxing gloves? Give him a good talking to in case he’s interested in my baby sister?” Pause. “Was that who you were calling before?”

You bite your answer back, not feeling the need to go down that rabbit hole.

“He’s just a friend; A co-worker really,” you say, “He’s also unavailable. And before you suggest anything, his goalkeeper is technically one of my bosses so I do not want to try and shoot past her thank you very much.”

Jimin laughs. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Well if you’re busy tonight, tomorrow morning works for me. Give me a call. I’ll spend the night in watching some good ol’ Netflix and enjoy this vacation time.”

“Sorry again,” you apologize.

“Go out and have fun,” he says, “You deserve it.”

The two of you finish off the call with the usual goodbyes. You have forty-five minutes to dress the part of a sparkly birthday surprise for the co-founder of the company you work for. Throwing on your favourite throwback music, you get to work.

Once satisfied, you snap a picture and sending it to Taehyung making special care that you have picked the right individual this time.

...

The mansion is bigger than you could have ever imagined, and the amount of people present are…

“You’re telling me I can do whatever I want tonight,” you ask Seokjin in the car.

There is no denying that Seokjin knows how to dress for an event. In a velvety black and white suit, contrasted by his blonde hair which he has elected to temporarily dye for the evening, he looks very much the posh CEO magazines brand him out to be. You are glad you elected for the simple black dress as standing beside this Renaissance statue in a floral pastel yellow dress would be like planting dandelions in Kanye’s sculpture garden (if he ever wanted one).

“The majority of people won’t recognize you after tonight. They’ll also be too drunk to even register anything you tell them,” Seokjin says.

He cannot believe that you chose a simple black dress. Did you really not own anything remotely feminine besides the most generic clubbing outfit? Even if you had wanted to make an appearance as a hooker, at least make it an expensive-looking one. Maybe he should have bought you that Versace dress he spotted in the window the other day. Instead…

“Take this. Your earrings are too gaudy for this event.”

You touch the sparkly black cats you have put into your ears. Their eyes are made of crystal, and you thought it looked quite fetching in the light. Opening up the box, you see a dainty elegant pair of teardrop earrings that may or may not be of real diamonds.

“Only Junho will know who you really are and then you can enjoy the rest of your night. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held here against your will.”

Putting them on, you note that even this simple change in attire has elevated the entirety of your presence. You felt as luxurious as this gift.

“Thanks, Seokjin,” you try the first name basis he had insisted upon for this evening, “Not going to lie, I had imagined that maybe you’d send me a dress in the mail or something, but this is still very nice.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Like in the movies? Please, I run a start-up company. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t think you would appreciate my handouts.”

You don’t respond, making your second note of the night on the Prada label on the cuff of his suit. “To clarify, I don’t introduce myself as your plus-one tonight.”

“No. I don’t want you associated with me,” he curtly states. He watches as your smirk twitches and he hits himself mentally in the head again. “It’s to protect you. There are bound to be tons of paparazzi tonight at a party as big as this. I don’t want you to find yourself in the tabloids tomorrow morning. Just be smart.”

The car pulls to a stop after inching its way up to the front door. People mill about outside in extravagant brands, holding glasses of champagne. The man of the hour is somewhere inside the building, charming his way into new business deals as well as making new friends.

“Stay close to me. You can leave after we meet Junho. It is his birthday after all,” Seokjin offers a hand as you step out of the car.

You take it, looping yourself into him so that your hand rests on his forearm. You are only 13 days younger than Junho, and yet this striking contrast in lifestyle hits you like a landslide while the two of you walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

Inside, it is dim with disco lights flashing to the beat of amped party music. Upon entrance, the two of you are offered glasses of liquor (you take a swirling iridescent drink) to which you are then ushered to where the birthday boy lounges.

Junho has an even more youthful face than Seokjin does. Where Seokjin’s features exude class and charm, Junho appears mischievous and looks to have stepped out of every girl’s bad boy dream.

You stop Seokjin with a tug and make him look at you. “Tell me: do I look like a passable birthday offering?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and pulls you along with him.

“Jin!” Junho hollers loudly across the room when spotting his oldest friend. There is a doll-like female magnetized to his side. “This is Clara, my date for the evening.”

Seokjin shakes her hand and greets them. The female cannot seem to pry her eyes away from this handsome new stranger. He introduces himself chivalrously to her as Junho sides up to you and grips your hands in his. His breath smells strongly of mixed drinks, and you know that in about fifteen minutes the entire night will be a blur for him.

“You must be Y/N!” he says excitedly, “Jin didn’t tell me that you were coming! What a surprise!”

“I am,” you greet back with a large smile. “Although I’m also surprised. Seokjin told me that you had insisted I came.”

Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed at Junho. Would he ever learn when to keep his big mouth closed?

Laughing loudly, Junho grabs two drinks just as a waiter passes by and hands them to you. “Insist might be a strong word,” he says, drilling another hole unknowingly, “I honestly thought I’d have to play part-time wingman tonight. But I’m glad he’s got someone by his side.” He jabs you a little too hard in the ribs. “Next week’s gala is going to be fun! Okay, now there’s only one rule tonight: there are no rules!”

The four of you clink your glasses together, while you do your best to hide an embarrassed smile on behalf of the birthday boy.

“You bet I’m going around as your trophy wife tonight,” you whisper in Seokjin’s ear when Junho looks away.

He whirls around to look at you, the tip of both your noses impossibly close together. He can taste the acidity of the wine when you breath out with a wicked smile. He barely has time to stop you as you peel yourself away to mingle with the crowds.

Seokjin is about to follow you but Junho pulls him away, flamboyantly introducing his handsome best friend to a group of international models. He turns on his brightest smile, but his heart thunders in his chest at you calling yourself his wife.

...

You twirl around in your dress, nobody noticing the small splash of champagne on the front of it in the quickly changing lights.

“He bought this for me last week. Says it reminds him of the first night we met. Our eyes met across the waters in Tuscany where he was on a business trip. I’ll let you on a little secret, but I was his mistress for a little while.”

Seokjin cannot make out the words you are saying to a small but growing group of people around you. He stands across from Junho, but looks over the latter’s shoulders to watch as you do another spin.

“A little while, Charlotte? Are you still his mistress?” an older lady with an exuberant amount of jewels hanging off her body whispers with a keen interest in your expertly spun story.

Charlotte Dior Laurent, an identity you are pretty sure is an amalgamation of French brands from the top of your mind. You continue to personify this character however.

“Don’t worry. He’s left her since. I know I know, my friends all say the same. ‘He’s already been divorced three times. How can you be sure he won’t leave you?’”

At this point, you are in way over your head at having told this story to at least two other groups and a multitude of other renditions to whomever you have met tonight. But there is something powerful about liquid courage as it courses through your body.

The lady lays a hand on your arm. “I don’t want your heart to break. You are still young.”

Looking up between the heads of your audience, you catch Seokjin’s eyes. They are fiery and it sends a strange sensation up your toes to your abdomen. You give a titillating wave at him in which he does not return.

“He says I’m special and different. How can you say no to that?” you exclaim with exasperation, fully committing to the poor damsel just oh-so in love.

There is a look of genuine concern on the lady’s face at your statement.

Before you can dig yourself a deeper hole, you place your empty glass on the table and excuse yourself. You do not know if it’s the drinking on a relatively empty stomach or if the room is really much warmer due to the multitude of bodies, but you head out to the balcony.

On your way out, you notice that the clock reads twenty minutes past midnight. This gives you a shock at how fast time has passed. Perhaps you should go find Seokjin if you are to get a decent amount of sleep before meeting with Taehyung and Jimin tomorrow. Speaking of Taehyung…

You pull out your phone and see that there are two unread messages. The first is from Jimin, confirming that he is indeed invited to brunch tomorrow morning. The second is a response from Taehyung.

11:09pm “Wow. You have me a little lost for words. I had imagined you’d look nice in the dress but… You really are beautiful.”

Smiling, you type in your response.

12:21am “Thanks, Tae. You’re up late.” You take a picture of the earrings Seokjin had gifted you and attach it to the message. “What do you think of these?”

Barely have you returned your phone into your bag when it buzzes again. This time you receive an attached image. Taehyung seems to be sitting in front of a monitor, as his face glows with a blue light and contorted into a pensive furrow of his brows.

12:21am “A little different from your usual style. Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear those.”

12:21am “Fei’s out with some friends tonight. She likes when I wait for her to come back before I sleep. To make sure she’s safe, I guess.”

12:22am “Pooey. I should’ve brought you as my plus-one 😩. Also, Seokjin bought them for me for tonight. He says my other earrings are too gaudy.”

12:24am “First name basis 🙃”

12:25am “How is your night going? Having fun?”

You are about give Taehyung a call for a detailed recounting of tonight’s escapades when someone speaks out from within the shadows.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He walks into the moonlight. You flush, meeting the eyes of this particularly dashing gentleman, the phonecall immediately forgotten.

Oh, Alcohol, you make even the smartest of people do dumb shit. And right now, your effects are even worse on this idiot.

Your mouth hangs slightly open as you watch him puff out smoke from his cigar and offer it to you. He brushes up beside you, his fingers trailing up your hand which grips the balcony. You cannot seem to break away from his gaze.

“Lung cancer has an increasing incidence rate particularly for females due to smoking. Are you sure you want to be condoning this type of behaviour?” Seokjin interjects himself between you and your Tuxedo Mask, pushing the outstretched cigar back towards its owner.

There is a small stare down amongst the two men before the latter quietly exits the stage. Your eyes continue to linger on him even as he walks towards another female alone in the night enjoying the outdoor breeze.

“You’ve just ruined by chance. I could have seduced then blackmailed him with the story of his illegitimate child to play Black Widow,” you whine.

Seokjin takes the glass that had somehow magically appeared in your hand during the short walk from inside to outside on the balcony.

“How many have you had since we came?” he asks.

You sigh wistfully, still in your dangerous daydream. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” You turn your attention back to him eventually. “What are you doing here? Did you see me with him and get all jealous, hubby?” you tease.

He scoffs, drinking from your glass and pulling a face. Once again, there is that twist and jump within his chest, but he attributes it to whatever nasty concoction he had just ingested. He pours its contents over the railing and into whatever shrubbery lies below. “You seriously went with being my trophy wife?”

You shrug. “Of sorts. You’d better be right about people being too drunk slash not caring about me enough after tonight to remember the things I’ve said. ‘Cuz you’ve been divorced three times, had me along with another as your mistress, I think you’ve sired a few illegitimate children and all in all, a Games of Throne life. Damn, maybe I made you a little too badass.”

“You’re having water for the rest of the night,” he says.

You glare at him, contemplating on making a remark about his equally flushed face but decide against it. Instead, you lean onto the balcony and give a cat stretch. A large sigh escapes from you.

Wordlessly, he shakes off his jacket and places it around your shoulder all the while averting his gaze on the unblemished skin of your upper thighs that had been exposed from your previous movement.

Your blood feels like liquid fire coursing through your veins. Feeling overheated even in the evening breeze, you give him back his jacket. You note his reluctance to meet you even as you throw what could be a thousand dollar jacket in the air to him. “So what’s it like to live like this every day?” you say in wonder. You feel said breeze return and lean over the balcony to catch its chill.

“Like what?” he asks. The warm summer night’s breeze blows through, settling his hair in a childish tousle.

“Like rich,” you say. You sigh again. “Believe it or not, I’m the same age as your birthday boy best friend.

And everything feels absolutely unreal right now. If I hadn’t agreed to come here tonight with you, I’d probably be at another dingy bar knocking back shots with my brother and friend.”

“Are you a secret alcoholic?”

You glare at him. “No,” you state matter-of-factly. “As I was trying to share, this type of lifestyle is something I could ever only imagine. I’m not ungrateful about spending time with them, but at the end of the night I’d go home, sweaty, drunk and gross, and then simply pass out. My bank account might be a couple hundred bucks lighter. Come Monday I’ll be working my ass off just to earn back what I had spent. Then cue the repeating cycle.”

Resting your chin on your palm, your other hand sweeps your hair back behind your ear.

“It’s amazing the difference a few life choices can have.”

Seokjin remains silent beside you. Truthfully, he is at a loss of words. The moonlight plays across your face and caresses your nose down to your lips. You are arching your back once again to pull away the soreness that comes with wearing high heel the entire night. It is just a simple black dress but on you it made you look –

“Well, you’re Mrs. Kim tonight,” he starts.

“Charlotte Dior Laurent,” you correct him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Ms. Charlotte Dior Laurent. Tonight you get to live like the rich, as you’ve put it. As a rich person, what would you like to do?”

You ponder his question a few moments for the answer. “Hmm…I think I’d like to play golf. It’s a rich person’s sport. I want to play it on a private golf course, wearing cute golfing outfits and talk about million-dollar deals with a client without a care in the world. I want to order sangria by the gallon.”

He laughs out loud. It takes a while for him to be able to speak again, but when he does you feel as if the night has been illuminated a few degrees brighter. “I personally don’t have a private golf course, but Junho does here in his backyard if you’re up for it. I can’t promise cute golfing outfits so you’ll have to do with your wine stained dress. And if you’re really up for it I can pretend to make business deals with you, that’s my job anyways.”

You grin, taking the hand he has offered you. “Call.” The two of you shake upon his suggestion.

As he is leads you by the hand towards the dim gates of said golf course, you tug at him gently. “There’s something missing…” you say.

He shakes his head and pulls you back in towards the party room.

“I’ll see what they have at the bar.”

...

As the hands of the clock continue to spin past another hour, the summer night takes a chilly turn. Seokjin has lent you his jacket but even that cannot stop your fingers from becoming numb. Your hands shake even as they tightly hold the golf club. Seokjin watches you in silence as you prepare to hit the golf ball, a beer in one hand and a few opened bottles littered on the grass beside him. The club hits the ball with a resounding “cling” but does little in propelling it a few centimeters.

“This one doesn’t count,” you announce, “It’s too dark to see anything here.”

Seokjin takes a swig as you readjust your position. You sway in the wind and the last tendrils of your hair come undone in its half up half down hairdo. Your hair now whips wildly around your face when another gust blows through.

“Shit!” you exclaim, missing the ball again. “Why is golfing so hard?!”

You throw your club down and trudge to Seokjin. The six pack the two of you had been sharing has officially been depleted. Seokjin offers you his half empty bottle. This time, you are the one watching as he goes to your spot and effortlessly swings his target into the darkness.

He smirks from the spot.

You grumble. “You’ve had years of practice. Not fair.”

“You’ve got to do better than that, Mrs. Johnson,” he says, teasing you.

Your grumble becomes more audible. You place the now empty bottle on the ground and cross your arms against your chest. Since telling him of your other American alias from tonight, he has not ceased to remind you of your strange choice of name.

“Just so you know, Mrs. Johnson can afford both an affair and the consequential prenup,” you huff.

“It’s still a stupid last name.”

“It’s an American multinational corporation with an income in the billions, okay?”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. Now come on, I’ve got one last ball. Take a swing.”

Groaning, you shuffle over. You wish you had not suggested golf. You had never been good at sports anyways – bad hand-eye coordination.

He stands beside you this time, scrutinizing your every movement with hawk-like eyes. “No, not like that,” he says, “Have a wider stance and bend your knees. Better centre of gravity gives you a better swing. Also hold it with a neutral grip.”

You readjust your positioning following his instructions.

“Index finger down the center. Good. And three knuckles on each hand. No, that’s two. Okay your hands are just weird now. Three. I said three.”

“Stop standing there and show me then, Mr. Know-It-All,” you say, your patience in this makeshift lesson also coming to an end.

He walks closer to you, reaching out for the golf club. He retracts his hands in seeing that you have yet to let go. “You got to – ”

“You can touch me. I did tell you that Mrs. Johnson can afford an affair and prenup. Besides, I’m not going to be able to learn anything if I can’t even see you in this dark.”

He comes behind you and puts a foot between yours to guide your stance. Wrapping his arms around you, he fixes the placement of your hands to grip the shaft of the club in the way he had previously instructed.

Perhaps it is the mixture of wine, champagne and beer offered tonight, but being enveloped in the warmth of this embrace intoxicates you. The tingles that are sent down from his soft breathing on the base of your neck, make you shake like a leaf in the wind.

He inhales the sweet undertones of your perfume. The tendrils of your hair brush against his collarbone, sending a sensual kiss onto his skin. Unconsciously, he draws you closer to him, shielding you from another gust.

“Now you just want to swing,” he says, the words a mixture of a whisper and guttural grunt. His chest rumbles with it, passing the vibration through to your back.

You remain as still as a statue and lean ever so slightly back into him until your entire backside is pressed upon him.

You can’t stop yourself as you ask him, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

...

156 notes · View notes

cactus-joke · 3 years

Note

the thing i will never wrap my head around is introducing sylvie as a frankenloki & then giving her absolutely no depth despite her being the key protagonist of season 1... like mike must hate women for the fact that

1) all the tva women of color are sidelined immediately (at least the two w the most prominent & interesting roles/backgrounds) for a white ladies development

2) you can count all the tva lady agents we see onscreen w one hand

3) frankenloki aka sylvie has a bunch of gaps for a character like where’d she get blonde hair dye. if ure hellbent on revenge why are u making stops at wallmart 2 get a box of hair bleach. where’d she get asgardian leather but SPECIFICALLY for her top (she’s wearing baggy pants & combat boots w that ensemble??? which as i say it also sounds like those corny wattpad “put my hair in a messy bun, wore my combat boots” fanfic outfits 😭), why and how did she get the AoA loki horns, she didn’t have them when she was taken. if she hates the loki association why’s she wearing the horns & the color green which is... the biggest target to be perceived as loki

4) if she’s an important part of the self love metaphor romance why does she always make this face “😐🤨🤢😐🤨😐” when loki talks (berating him & betraying him in the end aside ofc!)

5) why do we not know her nexus event? why do we not know why she chose the name sylvie? why does she have no prominent character traits outside of having a vagina? why is she cis? why did she get taken at the tender age of an elementary schooler but not when she was born if her crime was being born a girl?

6) has mike waldron ever met, spoken to, or seen a woman? has he engaged in critical, intelligent conversation with anyone, really?

7) can i be emotionally compensated by disney for simultaneously the most BORING (how do you make.. the god of mischief & tricks... boring is beyond me) and convoluted overstuffed show for wasting my time?

I don't know that Mike hates women, but I do think, based on his interviews and the resulting product he made, that:

1) It was certainly a choice to make the two prominent black female characters slaves to a fascist organization and one essentially a leader of it. A choice I don't think anyone involved in creating this show spent a second to think about.

I don't think they were necessarily sidelined on purpose, however. I just think it's an inevitable by-product of the show's terrible pacing and even worse writing. That scene one between B-15 and Renslayer, a scene I think was ultimately a waste of time, made me think that they probably did want to highlight at least those two characters on their own merit. They failed, of course, in the end, and with the set-up I think the intention or lack of intention doesn't really matter since we get what we get, you know?

It's not really a shinning example of giving your characters of color time and care, either, but I do have to highlight B-15's moment of doubt, a scene I think Wunmi Mosaku absolutely killed (seriously, everyone needs to check out her other work, she is effort and talent personified.).

Besides that, if you ask me, no character in this show has any real development anyway, including Sylvie. It is an uneven display of screen-time because obviously she's a main over everyone else but, like, can it even be said that Sylvie particularly benefited from it? I don't really think so. As you said, she has no depth, she is just an empty girlboss fantasy, and the diversity in general in this show feels empty to me.

2) I didn't really even want more TVA foot soldiers to be women. It wouldn't be a diversity win so much as just more empty pandering and Marvel's typical (military) propaganda fuel.

Anyway, I'd like to highlight some youtube creators of color who make great in-depth videos on this issue:

Khadija Mbowe: Color-blind vs. Identity-conscious casting and examining Hamilton and Malcom & Marie

Town of Tawiah: Performative Diversity and Colorism in Film | Dear White People Review, My Wife & Kids,HTGAWM & More

Cheyenne Lin: GOOD Representation Matters | Colorism and Casting

There's obviously way more, but these videos are a good starting point to expand on this topic from people who know what they're talking about. I put a link to their videos while the link on their names will lead you to their respective channels.

3) Sylvie's whole appearance is bullshit from the get-go. They deliberately used comic book references on her to confuse us and make their dumbshit twist of: oh, see, she actually is a Loki variant!

I remember seeing a post essentially saying whoever thinks Sylvie is a Loki variant with 100% certainty is media illiterate lmao, so I guess it worked on some people.

So, you know, IMO, it doesn't matter that it doesn't make sense for her to wear Loki's signature colors and the iconic AoA head-wear, she just does because fuck you.

Also, "if ure hellbent on revenge why are u making stops at wallmart 2 get a box of hair bleach." lmaooo - she just wanted to be her own person, you know, visually, but only with her hair and nothing else :)

4) Sylvie so very clearly doesn't even like Loki all that much, certainly not as much as he likes her (she is a girlboss after all, "she's got shit to do!"). It would be funny if it wasn't tragic. I do feel bad for Larry from accounting :(

5) I'm guessing we don't know her nexus event because they kinda never bothered to define what it was and they don't care. Maybe Renslayer saying she doesn't remember her nexus event was supposed to be this moment of like cold truth, or an attempt to hurt Sylvie because she knows but won't tell her, or, you know... actually, who cares.

6) I think Mike has spoken to women and I think he's had plenty of intelligent and critical conversations at his level. Which is a relative zero to a generous one. Perhaps two on a good day.

Idk though, jokes aside, his writing on this series is childish and lazy, his view of Loki is boring and reductive, his original script he used for this show is absolute shit, and that's all I can really say for sure.

7) I wish. The show really is boring when it isn't actively infuriating. It still boggles my mind how this mess even happened. Like, I knew the show would be bad, but this bad? Man oh man.

#reply #goddamn shitshow #loki series critical #loki series negativity #loki series criticism

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bi-bi-buckleydiaz · 3 years

Text

dare night | owen joyner

requested; no, i got inspired while watching OTH for the hundredth time. but please request jatp or tom / peter things !!

words; 3.3K was not expecting it to be this long. kinda got away from me. also unedited I just wanted to get it out ;)

a/n; not me writing an OTH inspired fic for my new beau owen joyner...oop. anyway, hope ya like it. it is unedited because i just finished it and i really wanted to just get it out for y’all.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

“C’mon Owen it’ll be fun,” Charlie says, excitement pouring from him like a golden retriever puppy. Owen sighs at his best friend before looking at the rest of his friends behind Charlie.

“Yeah, Owen, we’re only young once. And y’all only get Jadah and I unsupervised once in a blue moon, we have to appreciate that time.” The cast laughs as Madi smiles wide, probably more excited about this proclaimed ‘dare night’ than it’s creator. Speaking of...

“Listen, I already have the dare’s written up and I know you hate to waste paper.” Charlie’s practically pouting now, so Owen really can’t say no to that.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.” Everyone cheers as the final member takes his place around the kitchen island. The cast, minus Cheyenne of course because he’s “too old to partake in this. It’s a teens only event.” “We’re in our twenties Charlie.” “SEMANTICS!”, are gathered in Owen and Charlie’s apartment around their kitchen island, all waiting for their teams and dare card.

“The rules are simple, boys versus girls. Then you each split into teams of two -”

“But there’s an uneven amount on each team. Five against five.” Jadah points out, smiling at Charlie's small ‘shit’ and long sigh. He thinks for a minute before a metaphorical light bulb goes off above his head and he’s smiling again.

“Then a boy and girl will have to be together. Just split the points at the end.” Satisfied with the idea, everyone nods. No one misses the way Jeremy and Carolynn smile at each other.

“Now, you all have phones, you have to document one of you completing the dares either with a photo or a video. After the first dare is complete, you’ll get the second one. I’ve asked strangers around where your dare takes place to give you the next ones. They were very accommodating and are very excited to see y’all. We’ll all meet back here at midnight. Team that gets the most points, wins.” Charlie is practically vibrating by the time he’s finished, proud of his little game he put together and that everyone is just as excited as he is, well, minus Owen of course. But that’s because he’s nervous about doing unknown dares in public. Sure he puts on this face of being quirky and cool and fun, doesn’t mean some things don’t scare him.

“So everyone, pick your partners, pick your card, and let the dares begin!” Madison and Jadah immediately jump for each other, Carolynn and Jeremy grabbing hands before Charlie is even done speaking. Savannah and Tori high give, Sacha and BooBoo look at each other and shrug, assuming the wonder twins will want to stick together. Everyone is shocked though when Charlie bounces over to Sacha and slings his arm around his shoulders, shooting Owen an apologetic look in the process.

“Sorry bro, but I think we both know if we go at this together we’ll get nothing done and, I’d kinda like the boys to win.” Madi covers her mouth and the confession while the rest laugh. Owen groans and then goes red when BooBoo shoots him a look.

“That was rude! I’m glad to be your partner BooBoo don’t get me wrong. Seriously, so excited.” Owen begins to panic and is set to keep babbling before BooBoo laughs and lightly punches Owen’s shoulder.

“Relax dude, let’s go kick some dare ass!” Everyone cheers and grabs a card off the table before rushing out the door to their respective vehicles, Madi managing to borrow her dad’s car for the night, thanking God that she passed her road test before season 2 started.

“So, what dare did we get?” Owen asks when he and BooBoo reach the car. He starts it up while BooBoo rips open the envelope.

“We...ooh no.” He starts to giggle before he can even finish. Owen can feel his heart start to race.

“Oh no, what’d we get?”

“Hehe we, ha, we have to return some clothes...” Owen let’s out a sigh of relief.

“That’s not too bad.”

“While wearing them,” BooBoo finishes. Owen freezes.

“Excuse me!?” BooBoo breaks into a loud laugh at Owen’s shock, handing him the card in the process. “No way! Is Charlie insane?” What the hell was he thinking? What if someone recognizes him while he’s taking off a shirt to return it? Wait, why is he the one doing the returning?

“No. Nope. No way, we lose this point. What’s the next one?” BooBoo is still laughing as he shakes his head.

“You heard Charlie, we only get the next one if we complete this one.” Owen groans, accepting his fate.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Believe it drummer boy. Especially since you’re gonna be the one doing it.” Owen whips his head towards BooBoo, almost breaking his neck in the process.

“No way. Dude, no. Way.” Owen is ready to get on his knees and beg.

“Um, well, the sizes are on the card and they match you,” BooBoo says, watching Owen begin to pout and accept his fate. BooBoo would feel bad if he didn’t think this was going to be a hilarious night. “C’mon, get driving.” Owen groans once more before driving away, accepting his fate that this night will be a wreck.

~ ~ ~

Shopping alone is boring.

Y/N asked friends, obviously, but they were all busy doing something or someone, so she was left alone to shop for christmas gifts. Sure it’s early, like, two months early, but she learned a long time ago that when you live alone as a young adult, living paycheck to paycheck, it's best to shop for gifts in increments and not all at once near christmas time. So here she is, shopping alone in a mall near the stores closing times because that’s the only time she can spare.

It’s not all bad, late night shopping means not a lot of people in the mall and those who are here are strung out college kids like here. Sure there have been some creepy guys eyeing her up and down, but when she felt those looks she made it clear to go to a store that had security in front of it, even if that meant staring longingly and things she can’t afford.

Y/N’s about half an hour into shopping for her niece and nephew when she hears a commotion on the other side of the clothing store. She quickly glances over then looks back to the shirt she was admiring, before realizing what she saw couldn’t be quite right. She looks over again, and holy shit, her eyes weren’t deceiving her. There really is a guy at the cash register shirtless and in the middle of taking his pants off.

Y/N takes back her previous statement, shopping alone is so not boring.

It’s then she notices a security guard enter the store, hand on the walkie talkie on his shoulder. There’s no way that’s going to end good. She doesn't know why she does it, but one second she was holding a shirt for her nephew and the next she's pushing the rack of clothes in front of the guard and grabbing the near naked and guy and running. She hears a camera snap behind her and a ‘hey wait up’ but all she’s really focused on is getting the guy out of the mall before he’s arrested for public indecency or something.

The hand in hers tugs her to stop just before the reach the mall doors, making her halt in her running. She looks back and ‘woah, he’s pretty.’

“Hey, not that I’m thankful but, my friend...” Pretty eyes trails off and he takes in a breath and wait, when did she start calling him pretty eyes. No! He’s a stranger.

“Yeah well, your friend isn’t the one half naked in the mall getting chased by security.” He ponders it for a minute then nods. “So let’s go. I promise i’m not gonna murder you, just gonna take you to the parking lot so you don’t get arrested for public indecency and end up on the sex offender registry.” Pretty eyes get’s scared at that and then begins to nod vehemently.

“Yeah, yeah that’s bad. Lets go!” As he says that, security appears behind them. She grabs his hand and they book it out of the mall and into the shockingly cold autumn air. She doesn’t know where this guy’s car is so she leads him to hers, praying she’s not making a mistake.

~ ~ ~

Owen doesn’t know how he ended up here. He remembers putting the clothes that were in the locker on and he remembers going to the first store and returning the shoes, but after that he thinks the adrenaline kicked in and he blacked out from it. One minute he was taking his pants of trying not to die of utter embarrassment and the next, some girl was dragging him out of the mall and to her car in the parking lot. He doesn’t know why he let this stranger drag him out of the mall, but he’s not really complaining as she shoves him into the back of her car, away from prying eyes. He only begins to panic when she climbs in next to him and shuts the door. Once the silence settles around them does reality finally settle in and does he realize what he actually just did.

“Holy shit. Holy shit what did I do! Oh my God that could have ended so bad! Oh my God!” He panics for another minute before a hand settles on his bare shoulder.

“Hey. Hey! You’re fine. They didn’t follow us out, you’re not getting in trouble.” Her voice is soothing, he’ll admit, and he can feel the anxiety begin to ease back. But it doesn’t change the fact that he was just half naked in the mall where anyone could have recognized him and taken pictures. Granted, Charlie did think about that and put a random blue baseball cap and glasses in the bag of clothes too. But still, that’s like, nothing! He goes to grab his phone to check instagram before realizing he’s only in his underwear. In a random girls car. In a Vancouver mall parking lot. She seems to realize this at the same time because she clears her throat and scooches to the other side of the car.

“Um, do you, do you like, have clothes or something I can go retrieve or...” He nods and goes to give her the key to the locker, then remembers, no pants. They chuckle at the same time and looks down at her purse, rummaging through it for her phone. He takes it from her with a small ‘thanks’ hoping his cheeks aren’t showing how flushed he feels. He quickly dials BooBoo’s number, giving him the details of what went down, asking the girl where they are and reporting it back to him, then hangs up.

“Um, thanks. For that. And for saving me from being arrested. That was, thanks.” The girl giggles and nods. “I’m Owen, by the way. I don’t normally run around malls in my underwear.” He sticks his hand out, hoping she’ll take it and give a name in return. He’d really like the pretty girl's name.

“I’m Y/N. I don’t normally take random, half naked strangers to my car.” He laughs at that and they shake hands.

“Well, thanks for making an exception.” They stare at each other for another few seconds before a knock on his window makes them break apart. He looks over and sighs in relief at BooBoo and his clothes in his hand. He opens the door and jumps out, taking the clothes from BooBoo and immediately shoving his legs into his pants. The girl get’s out after him, smiling at him balancing on one foot and trying not to fall over.

“Thanks, for saving him. No hard feelings for leaving me in the dust.” BooBoo smiles as he says it so Owen hopes the girl doesn’t take it too harshly. She laughs though and, woah, that’s a nice laugh. He’s so focused on her smile and the way she says her name that he puts his shirt on backwards. He doesn’t notice until BooBoo points it out, laughing as he does. When Owen is properly dressed again, he takes a deep breath and leans against the car.

“When I see Charlie, I’m gonna murder him. We’ll have to film the rest of the season without him. Kenny can deal.” Owen only realizes what he’s said when BooBoo shoots him a look. Y/N looks at the two in confusion, before looking back at Owen.

“You’re an actor?” He nods and watches as her face goes from confused to angry. “And you got undressed in a mall? How stupid are you?” She punctuates the last sentence with punches to his arm. BooBoo giggles in true BooBoo fashion as Owen rubs his arm. He watches her take out her phone and he looks over her shoulder as she opens twitter. She goes to the search bar, pauses, and then looks up at him.

“Full name?”

“Oh um, Owen Joyner.” He watches her type it in and breathes a sigh of relief as nothing but Alex edits pop up. She tries Instagram next, then TikTok, and gets the same answers as before. Nothing about him being naked in a mall, just fan edits of him and him as Alex.

“You are so lucky no one saw you dude, your career would be over.” She says, closing her phone and putting in her pocket. “What were you thinking?” He can’t help but feel scolded and slightly cowers in response. She notices and immediately softens. “Sorry, I just met you, I shouldn't be so mean.” A pause. “But that was still really stupid.” BooBoo giggles and Owen shoots him a look before nodding and looking back at Y/N.

“Yeah but, it was a dare.”

“And you just accepted it?” Owen feels his cheeks go red and looks at his feet.

“Well, yeah. We wanna win.” Y/N giggles and looks between the two boys.

“Seriously? So what is this? Some sort of dare game night?” The boys nod, then BooBoo lights up and reaches into his pocket for the next dare.

“Speaking of, the cashier at the store gave me the next dare. Are you ready?” Owen groans and BooBoo takes it as an affirmative. He opens the envelope and quickly glances at Y/N before reading it aloud for Owen.

“Take a picture in a photo booth with a stranger.” Y/N glances at the card and sees words on the back too.

“There’s something on the back.” BooBoo flips it and begins to giggle again.

“No way. Oh man Owen.”

“Me! Why me? I just walked naked around a mall!”

“Because it’s asking you to kiss a stranger and my girl would kill me if I did this.” Y/N blanches at that and begins to slowly and hopefully discreetly back away from the two boys. But Owen catches her.

“Hey.” He looks nervous and begins to fiddle with his fingers. “You don’t have to! Obviously! I mean, you already saved me once, but, like I kinda know you now and you’ve already seen me shirtless...” He trails off and flashes puppy dog eyes at the girl. She huffs and groans and finally, “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Y’all better win this stupid game though.” Owen smiles bright and Y/N tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the sight. She just met this boy for god sakes!

The three young adults head back into the mall to one of the strips that has a photo booth. BooBoo giggles as he all but shoves the two into the small area, singsonging a “good luck” before pulling the curtain closed.

Awkward silence falls over the two as they squeeze together on the small seat. They smile nervously at each other as they hear BooBoo drop coins into the slot outside.

“Um, so, do you wanna like -”

SNAP!

They giggle and look at the camera with smiles in time for the next one.

SNAP!

Y/N looks back at Owen and, in a moment of confidence, grabs Owen’s shirt and brings his face closer to his.

SNAP!

He glances at her lips, licks his own, then they’re kissing. His lips are soft and she sinks into him. She feels his tongue lick her bottom lip and almost lets a moan slip as she opens her mouth a bit for him. They don’t even hear the last snap, too caught up in each other. Her hands move to his hair and his hold her hips tight. They break for air eventually, eyes closed as they breathe in and giggle.

“That was um...” Y/N nods. “Yeah. That was, yeah.” She feels him tilt his head towards her again for another kiss, but the curtain opening pulls them apart. They jump apart, as much as they can in the small booth, and stare at BooBoo like they were caught doing something bad. He’s smirking and shaking the photo strip in his hands.

“Oh yeah, we’re definitely winning.” Owen breathes out a laugh and Y/N nods, taking BooBoo’s offered hand to help her out.

“Um, I better, go, yeah, I should go. I hope you guys, uh, win or something.” Y/N hikes her purse up her shoulder and begins to walk away, eyes on her feet and hands shaking as they go into her pockets. She’s almost to the exit when a hand wraps around her upper arm.

“Hey wait up!” Owen. “Um, I just, that was, that was something right? I wasn’t imagining that? That was like, could I have um, number? Could I have your number?” He’s stuttering, face red and hands shaking in his pockets. Y/N has to giggle, feeling a bit calmer knowing she’s not the only one who’s feeling something.

“Yeah, that was number worthy.” They smile while exchanging numbers, then keep smiling as Owen leans and kisses her cheek.

“Thanks for saving my ass twice tonight,” he whispers in her ear before leaning back. Y/N nods and begins to back away.

“Yeah well, it’s a pretty nice ass.” With that she turns and practically runs back to her car, not believing what a night it's been.

~ ~ ~

“And we’re tied! Although, there is one more dare on the table.” Charlie giggles, knowing exactly what it is, saving for last for a reason. Carolynn swipes it off the table before anyone else can, ripping it open and smiling at the words.

“Kiss a member of your team.” She sees Jeremy smile and buff up, getting ready for smooch from his wife since they were partners. Carolynn smiles and leans towards him, before quickly grabbing Tori’s neck and giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. Everyone laughs and cheers, Jeremy pouting at his girl while she grabs his hand.

“Well then, unless any of the boys kissed a stranger in a photo booth, the girls win.” BooBoo goes to raise his hand, but Owen stops him. BooBoo shoots him a look but Owen shakes his head, hoping he gets why. Why he doesn’t want to mention Y/N. Sweet, life-saving Y/N who didn’t even know who he was or hell, who BooBoo was. Who just saw a random guy in need of saving and didn’t think twice about helping him. BooBoo lets it go, and Owen nods a thanks. He cheers for the girls as they accept their win, hand rubbing the picture strip in his pocket, and mind preparing a text to Y/N as soon as he can escape to his room.

Maybe dare night wasn’t such a bad idea.

#owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner imagine #owen joyner fanfiction #owen joyner x reader #owen joyner x fem!reader #owen joyner x y/n #owen patrick joyner imagine #owen patrick joyner x reader #imagine #fanfiction #owen joyner fluff #fluff

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roanniom · 3 years

Note

hi pal can I request the reader showing sackler how to take things a little more slow and sensual in the bedroom (possibly ft some sub!sackler bc yum) dialogue line: 'easy tiger'

Hey buddy, yes – let’s teach our cutie sub!Sackler a lesson. (p.s., sorry to you and everyone else who requested stuff - I’m getting around to all of these, I swear lol)

Sweet

Adam Sackler x Reader

Word Count: 4,291

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, PIV sex, light light light dom/sub, mentions of food, shitty day angst

You love riding Sackler. It’s a fact and you aren’t shy about it. The way he feels beneath you – hard and wound out so tight, just a second from breaking – makes you feel like a goddess. You love messing with him and bossing him around, too. The way his eyes widen and his lip quivers as he thinks up a taunting reply or considers the reward that might come if he is good and acquiesces instead. You love rewarding and punishing him equally.

Sackler takes punishment better than any man you’d ever been with. While most men play along for a while, it’s been your experience that many tire eventually. Not Sackler. Sure, he’s a brat about it, but that’s exactly what you love. How receptive he is. No matter what you do, your Sackler reacts and it makes your heart and pussy clench in equal measure.

But every once in a while, riding Sackler isn’t what you’re in the mood for. Today is one of those days. It’s been a long one, full of meetings and paperwork and all the things that make your teeth set on edge by the time you climb up from the subway, up from the street, and up to your fifth floor walkup. When you reach the knob to open the door, it turns in your hand and moves inward without any effort on your part. The door pulls back to reveal Adam, standing with a huge grin on his face and a steaming mug which is promptly pushed into your free hand.

“Fucking finally! I’ve been waiting for you to get home.” A kiss is pressed hurriedly to your lips and your bags are pulled off of your shoulders. The whirlwind of motion and activity almost make you dizzy and you laugh. Despite your shit day and despite yourself.

“What’s all this?” you ask, gesturing the scene that his wall of a body, now moved aside to stow your bags, has revealed. The table is set for two, with flowers and a fucking lit candle in the center. Two stemmed glasses sit beside a sweating bottle of sparkling grape juice. Adam steps back into view, his grin even wider.

“Ray and I were fucking around at the café and I came across this recipe in a magazine -” he begins, but you cut him off.

“I can’t picture you flipping through a magazine.” He flips you off and continues.

“Well anyway, Ray said it was too delicate and I’d never be able to make it because I’m a fucking ox in a china shop and I was like the saying is ‘bull in a china shop you dickweed’ and then we wrestled a bit and scared his customers away which was pretty fucking hilarious -”

You grab Sackler’s chin to stop his manic rambling.

“The food, Sackler.”

“Well I was getting to that! So I said fuck you, ripped the recipe out, went to the store, and now nine hours and three cut fingers later we have this fucking feast!”

Sackler claps his hands together before gesturing grandly to the table. With the gesticulation you’re able to see the three aforementioned fingers swathed in shoddily placed bandages. You grab his non-damaged hand and lift up on your tiptoes. He gets the message, bending down to press his lips to yours again. He closes his eyes to savor the kiss, but as you back away yours dart over his figure and you let out another laugh.

“Sackler, is that my apron?”

~*~

It turns out bulls in china shops can, indeed, cook delicate dishes. The food is really good. Annoyingly good. Proving again, for the umpteenth time, that your tornado of a boyfriend can be good at things when he focuses all of his boundless energy on one thing.

“You shouldn’t have done this, you know.” You smile at him over the rim of your glass of sparkling juice, the remains of your meal littering the table before you. Sackler watches you, full and self-satisfied, shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m never going to accept a shitty takeout meal again now that you’ve fed me this well.”

Sackler sits up straighter and leans over, reaching his hand between your thighs. Your legs open instinctively, without any effort from your brain, but as you lurch forward and metal scrapes against wood, you realize he’s grabbed your chair and is pulling you closer to him.

“It was really that good, wasn’t it.” His smile is ear to ear. You laugh at his smugness.

“Do I need to lick my plate to convince you? Because I will.” You drag a finger through the last bit of sauce on your plate and move to bring it to your mouth. Before you can, however, Adam grabs your wrist and reroutes it to his mouth. His lips close over your finger, tongue lapping up the sauce before it can drip down into your palm. He maintains direct, blazing eye contact the entire time and your stomach swoops. After a moment a sucking, Adam releases your finger with a pop, biting the tip playfully before dropping your hand back to your lap.

“Fuck I’m talented.”

The chuckle you release is a tad too breathless for your liking. It really has been a hard day, and Adam’s attention is getting to you quicker and more than usual. He can see it in your eyes and in the incremental quickening of the rise and fall of your chest.

“Yep. You’re fucking talented,” is all you’re able to muster, biting your lip.

The large hand that had pulled you closer to him has spent this whole time gripping your chair in the space between your legs. Now it slides to smooth over your thigh. His hand is hot enough you can feel the heat radiating beneath your pants. Despite the warmth you shiver.

Adam notices and pulls back his hand so that only his index finger remains in contact with your leg. His index finger which he drags up your inner thigh only to run it up and down the line of the pants seam at the apex of your thighs.

“A little needy tonight, are we babe?”

This is exactly what you need to loosen up so you grab his wrist. He stiffens immediately, assuming he’s done something wrong. But instead you pull him closer to close his whole hand around your clothed cunt, pushing up and down on his hand to provide a wider surface area of warmth and friction.

“A lot needy tonight…babe,” you correct him.

~*~

When you migrate to the bedroom, Sackler is on you like an animal. This is his usual modus operandi – he does everything he possibly can to trigger your reprimands, your slaps, your warnings. It’s partly to see what he can get away with before you tighten the leash (metaphorical but sometimes literal) and partly because seeing you riled up turns him on so much.

Right now he’s got you bent over the bed, cheek smashed to the mattress, legs spread, ass out, as he grips and pinches and squeezes the curves of your body.

“I’ve been thinking of you all fuuuhhking day, baby.” His voice is gruff to go along with the handfuls he grabs of your ass.

“I thought you were thinking about food all day,” you manage to tease, despite the fact that his hands feel like heaven.

“Yeah but like when I went shopping for example.” He flips you over then and you squeal in surprise. Your back hits the bed but your legs remain dangling off. Adam steps between them and drops the weight of his whole upper body on you, effectively smothering you. “I just kept wishing you were there with me.”

Your stomach flips and your heart flutters, not expecting that sweet a statement. You also register your cunt getting wetter.

Oh.

So that’s the mood you’re in.

“You wished I was there?” you ask quietly.

“Of course,” Adam replies, tucking some of your hair gently behind your ear. “I imagined fucking you up against the inside of the freezer section so we could leave obscene handprints on the doors and freak people out.”

You whack him in the head in response, which is exactly what he’s going for. He picks you up and throws you unceremoniously more fully on the bed before climbing on as well and crawling up the length of your body.

“You’re an asshole, Adam.”

“I thought that was your favorite part about me.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. Out of spite – and lust – you reach between you and grab his dick through his jeans.

“No, this is my favorite part about you.”

Adam throws his body to the side, locking his arms around you in a roll that roughly brings you to rest on his chest while his back hits the bed.

“Now you’re talking, baby.” His mouth latches hungrily to your neck and his hands take forceful hold of your breasts. Beneath you Sackler begins rolling his hips, thrusting his hardening cock up into your pelvic area.

The aggression and the friction feel good, you can’t lie. But you can’t ignore the nagging feeling of disappointment lingering right at the corner of your mind.

“Adam,” you prompt. He doesn’t pause in his ministrations. He’s still playing the game. At this point you’re usually just getting started and, being the brat he is, he never actually listens to you this early. It would ruin his fun. No, instead Adam continues to nibble at your collar bone and untuck your shirt.

“Adam – slow down, please.”

The please comes out muffled because it occurs right as he tries to pull your shirt over your head, effectively covering your face.

“Are you trying to say something?” Adam asks with a chuckle, purposefully keeping the shirt tangled up in your arms and swathed over your head. “I can’t hear you.”

You wrestle your way out of his grip and the shirt straight jacket he’d fashioned, irritated but unable to suppress your own laugh.

“That’s not funny, asshole.”

“Again with the asshole.” Adam rises up to a sitting position with you still straddling him, moving to place soft kisses on your now-exposed chest. “Might I point out that you are laughing. I would argue that means it is funny.”

Adam deftly unhooks your bra and continues to drop open mouth kisses on a path that leads him up your throat. His softer actions cause you to roll your hips lightly, your eyes closing with the mounting satisfaction.

“Mmm haven’t I already taught you that you shouldn’t argue with me? You’ll never win,” you reply quietly, tone of voice matching the softness and heat that’s building between your bodies.

In quite a juxtaposition, Sackler growls and bucks roughly up into you, a motion you’re not prepared for and one which throws you off balance.

“We’ll see who wins, baby.” His mouth descends on you and it’s like he’s trying to suck your very soul between his lips. Like he wants to swallow you whole and usually? Usually this kind of thing would rev your engine and make you want to fight for control. But today your body is craving something different.

And you’re not about to deny it what it wants.

You press your palms down on Sackler’s chest, pushing down and pulling back with enough pressure that he finally releases your lips. His chest heaves up and down and he moves to kiss you elsewhere but you grab his jaw.

“Easy tiger. Easy.” Your fingers curl down and around his throat delicately. You’re not squeezing and you’re not gripping, but his eyes are wide and fixed on you. You hold him down with your gaze as much as your hand and, without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself slowly, slowly, slowly, to press a kiss to his flushed lips.

“We’re going to take things slower tonight.”

“Slower? But why!” Sackler moves to sit up again, but you push him back down, this time more firmly.

“Because I say so,” you answer bluntly. Sackler goes to talk back, defiance dancing in his eyes, but you speak up before he can interject.

“Because I need this.”

Your assertive tone comes out less firm and more genuine this time, allowing some of your vulnerability leak through despite your intentions. You watch Adam react, however, and you’re pleased to see his eyes soften.

“What do you want me to do, baby? Tell me.”

You mull this over from your perch above him, straddling his hips and looking down at his still clothed body. Swinging your leg up and over, you dismount him, much to Adam’s displeasure, as expressed with a groan. You, however, stand resolutely at the side of the bed and fold your arms.

“I’d like you to get up and take every piece of clothing off – slowly.”

“You mean like a strip tease?” he asks with a crooked grin, lumbering off the bed. You hop back on and settle down so that your back is now reclining against the pillows comfortably.

“You don’t have to make it sound so crass but sure. Like a strip tease.”

Adam takes a cheesy bow before pulling his shirt of by the back collar.

“Woah woah woah, I said slowly, mister.”

Adam huffs in agitation but does as you ask, dropping the collar and lifting the front hem of his shirt inch by inch, slowly exposing the abdominal muscles which, let’s face it, make you want to drool. You eye him like a piece of meat and without a trace of shame as he finally discards the garment.

“I hope you’re enjoying this,” he grumbles, but you see the amusement in his eyes.

“Oh I am, baby. Trust me.”

The show continues until his boxers ultimately join the pile that has accumulated at his feet. The slow clap you give him as you eye his stiff cock makes him let out a strained laugh.

“Now you,” he says through gritted teeth. You can tell he wants to stroke his cock, but you haven’t told him he can yet. And since you’ve changed the game on him, he feels less comfortable bending the rules.

“Can you come over and take my clothes off for me?” you ask through hooded eyes. He clambers onto the bed and you touch his shoulder as a reminder. “Slowly.”

Adam nods and reaches to unbutton your pants before pulling them slowly down your legs, hooking his fingers beneath your panties to bring them along, too. Having already been divested of your shirt and bra, the job is short and sweet.

You crook your finger in a come hither motion toward him, ushering him to move up to you, which he does. You settle deeper down into the pillows and he hovers above you, uncertain.

“What now?”

You pull him down by the back of the neck into a kiss. Your tongue encourages his to move, which it does. He takes his cues from you and the kiss morphs from sweet to sensual. When a strangled groan bubbles in the back of his throat you push him to sit up in order to bring things back down to the pace you’d worked so hard to establish.

“Now, I’d like you to drag two fingers through my cunt. Get them nice and wet.”

Adam inhales sharply and moves his arm quickly at first before catching himself and bringing his hand calmly between your legs. You let them fall open and sigh happily at the feeling of his fingers running up and down your dripping slit.

“You’re so wet and we’ve barely done anything,” Adam comments, awed.

“That’s how bad I want you like this.”

“Baby…” Adam practically whines. You can see his muscles tensing as his patience wears thinner.

“I know, honey,” you purr. “Now I want you to take your hand and stroke your big, fat cock for me.”

Adam inhales sharply again, but he doesn’t forget this time. This time his hand drags slowly from your cunt, trailing your slick over your thigh and up onto his in a path to his own cock, which he smears with the remaining juice.

“Oh fuck, I can’t take it slow for much longer.”

“Yes. You can.” You tease your own nipple now as you watch Adam’s hand close around the glistening, throbbing head. His muscles ripple beneath the skin of his abdomen and your cunt clenches.

“I saw that.”

Your wrench your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes.

“Saw what?”

“Saw your little pussy squeeze around nothing.”

“Yes, it did.” You’re not about to deny it. Instead, you move the hand not playing with your nipple so that it comes to rest on your mound, fingers dipping down to feel your own wetness.

“Holy shit.”

His cock twitches in his hand and he comes to lean lower over you, bracing himself with one hand against the mattress next to your body as he picks up the pace on his cock. The shuck shuck shuck sound of his fist passing over his length makes your breath quicken and you push two fingers inside you, placing your thumb on your clit and beginning a rhythm of tight circles.

“Oh god, do you hear that?” Adam moans as your cunt begins making squelching sounds with your efforts. “That’s your little pussy telling me it needs me.”

“Mmm it talks to you?” you ask, trying not to think of how ridiculous this is and lose your concentration too much.

“Yes. It’s saying your fingers are two fucking small. It needs to be stuffed. With my fingers, with my cock -”

“Adam.” You interrupt him abruptly by grabbing the back of his neck and forcing him to look you in the eyes. He zips up and waits for you to say something but you don’t. Instead you maintain the eye contact and continue move your fingers in and out of your cunt. Though you won’t agree with him right now, Adam’s right. Your fingers are too small. But the in and out motion, combined with the pressure you are putting on your clit, combined with the way the bed shakes with the effort Adam is taking to jerk himself slowly but strongly, combined with the way he is now devouring you with his eyes – it all still feels pretty fucking good.

Adam’s breath becomes more ragged and the sound makes you let out an involuntary moan. Fuck you love hearing him react. You decide you might as well let him know. It’s already the tone of the evening.

“I love hearing you.”

“I was just about to say the fucking same about you. You’re the one who just moaned, though,” Adam says, letting out a breathless chuckle.

“Yeah but I like it all. I like when your breathing is all ragged like right now. I love it when you groan and growl. When you moan and it sounds like it’s coming from deep inside of you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, and you laugh.

“I like it when you curse, too. I love that filth spills from your brain and you don’t bother – oh! You don’t bother stopping it from falling out of your mouth.”

��You’re the inspiration for the filth, kid, I can’t take all the credit.”

You feel your heart stutter in your chest then and you drag your finger over your clit slower. Harder.

“I like it when you call me kid. You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, kid,” Adam’s face scrunches and you’re not sure if it’s out of guilt or because of the way his hand his now wringing his cock, twisting at the end of each stroke in a sad rendition of the technique you use when you jerk him off. “I didn’t know you liked it so much.”

“I do.”

“I’ll call you that more often.”

“Good.”

You both are breathing heavily now, a light layer of sweat covering skin that aches to be touched by the other. Your eyelids flutter and you try to keep your sight focused on Adam’s face. You’re feeling your inhibitions leave you as the pressure inside your core mounts, loosened up by the warmth of his breath on your cheeks and the way you’re speaking so openly to him. You decide you might as well continue.

“I also like it when you’re sweet to me.”

Adam falters at that, his hand coming to an abrupt stop on his cock. He blinks down at you.

“I am sweet to you.”

His voice sounds hurt and you bristle, wanting to take the words back.

“You are sweet to me. You are, Adam,” you reassure, grasping his arm. He remains still, watching you. You feel weird continuing to finger yourself, but your so close you are afraid to lose your momentum. “You’re always everything I want. And most times I want to be thrown around and I want to yell and stuff. It’s just sometimes…”

You trail off, but you don’t need to continue because Adam is kissing you. A slow, deep kiss. Lips moving against lips, tongue moving against tongue. His hands find your face and hold you softly, keeping you against him, leaving his cock to bob freely against your stomach. Your fingers abandon your cunt as well and you wrap around Adam, arms and legs both, pulling him down into you.

When Adam finally pulls back, his face no longer looks hurt.

“I can be whatever you want. Let me be what you want.” He kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then the curve of your jaw.

“I want you inside of me,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

When he slides in, you don’t have to remind him to go slow. You moan about your walls stretching and he moans about the way you squeeze so tightly around his cock. Your sounds spur each other on and you rock against him, urging him to move.

He pulls out so far that only the tip remains nestled just inside your entrance. When he pushes back in, it feels like he’s pushing in for the first time of the night again. Your walls stretch to accommodate him and you clench instinctively around his length. The process repeats itself, over, and over, until you’re pretty much completely unraveled beneath him.

All the while Adam rains soft kisses on your face, neck, and breasts. Without a chaotic rhythm of thrusts to keep up with, he has the attention span to shower you with even more affection. The hoarse whispers in your ear are by far your favorite:

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You feel so good, you take me so well it doesn’t make fucking sense.”

“Fuck, did you feel that? How tight you’re gripping my cock baby?”

“That’s it, yes make those fucking gorgeous sounds for me.”

It’s not exactly textbook “sweet,” but it’s Adam and it’s what you need. It’s Adam giving you what you need.

You reach down at some point to rub your clit, working yourself up to the edge, but Adam pulls your hand away so his can replace it.

“Not on my fucking watch,” he mutters gruffly. A laugh bubbles in your throat but it bursts into a moan as the dam breaks and you fall apart, crying out his name over and over in the process.

“Yes, baby, yes. Ride it out – fuck you’re hot when you cum.”

You fight to catch your breath and you gaze back up at Adam through the stars in your eyes. The resulting effect makes him both blurry and sparkly in your vision and your muscles continue to contract around his massive cock, which he’s been kind enough to keep stuffed inside you for you to lock onto.

As your muscles begin to relax you blink away the stars and allow a smile of the deepest, most well-fucked satisfaction to slide across your face. Adam watches and his smile matches, though there is still some tightness in his features due to the fact that he is still achingly hard.

“Adam, that was…” you try to catch your breath. “That was…thanks. I needed that.”

When Adam meets your lips for a kiss, however, you yank tightly on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Now I want you to take what you need,” you say louder. “I want you to cum.”

With your permission, Adam doesn’t need more than a second to switch gears. He lifts your legs straight into the air against his shoulders, bending you into a right angle that becomes more and more acute with each passing second. His cock pounds in and out of your dripping pussy, your slick sliding between your thighs and making the fucking smooth and wet and oh so fucking good for him.

“I still like being sweet to you,” he says through gritted teeth, his thrusting becoming more erratic.

“I know you do, baby,” you hiccup out.

“But fuck! Do I love pounding this pussy.”

You laugh and he cums. All over you. He pulls out, dropping your legs down, and it spurts hot over your stomach and tits. It’s messy but he’s satisfied and you’re satisfied and fuck it, that’s what towels are for.

Once he’s gotten you nice and wiped up again, Adam pulls you to him in the bed, wrapping his arms around you tightly and giving you no room to move away. Not that you’d want to move. Why would you when you can lay here in this bed, tangled up in the man that wrung pleasure from your body and laughter from your lips.

~*~

Tagging some lovely people (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in future work!): @mariesackler @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @sacklerscumrag @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction @historyandfandoms50 @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely

#anon #request #Adam Sackler x reader #Adam Sackler/reader #Adam Sackler x you #Adam Sackler/you #adam sackler smut #adam sackler fanfiction #adam sackler fan fiction #smut #writing #fanfiction #roanniom #tw: dom/sub #cw: dom/sub

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takerfoxx · 2 years

Text

Hey, hey, hey! Guess what's back! That's right, it's the WN girls watch The Rebellion Story! This time it's from Sayaka leaving Homura to Homura's big realization.

Reminder:

G=Gretchen

H=Homulilly

Op=Ophelia

Ok=Oktavia

Ca=Candeloro/Mami

Ch=Charlotte

...

Ok: So you’re just going to let my cape go, flying into the night?

H: I guess.

Ok: Rude.

H: You left it behind. Besides, I’m sure you have more.

Ok: Yeah, probably. Hey, Ophelia. How come you never wear a cape? I mean, it’s not too far away from your usual style.

Op: A cape? Huh. Y’know, you might have a point there.

Ch: If you get a cape you might as well go all the way with the tight, frilly pants and the cane.

Op: I am considering that.

…

=montage of surreal imagery=

Ch: Well, okay. This shit is happening now.

Ok: Is this just going to keep getting weirder and weirder the more the movie goes on? Asking for a friend.

Ca: Most likely, yes. They’ve dropped the façade of this not being a witch’s labyrinth completely.

Ok: And stuff like this-

Ca: This is what every witch labyrinth was like, yes.

Op: How the hell did you not wake up screaming every night?

Ca: Who says that I didn’t?

Op: Yeesh.

…

H: And now I’m on a boat.

Ch: Yes, you are.

H: Okay. Why am I on a boat?

Op: So you can stand dramatically on the bow? How should we know?

Ch: She has a point. Say what you will about her, but Homura sure doesn’t miss a chance to be as dramatic as possible.

H: I’m not that dramatic. Am I that dramatic?

Op: You have your moments.

Ok: Honestly, you should’ve kept my cape instead of throwing it away. That way, you can have it billow majestically in the wind!

H: That still doesn’t address why Homura Akemi felt the need to just jump onto a boat.

Op: I don’t know. Sometimes you just gotta brood and the edge of a tall building isn’t cutting it anymore!

…

Ch: So, what is this? The Tunnel of Love?

Op: More like the Tunnel of Angst.

G: Are those animatronics of us meant to be…literal?

Ch: Maybe? Or maybe it’s like a metaphor for her internal conflict?

Op: All I’m saying is that if I was stuck in a witch’s labyrinth trying to figure out which of my friends was the witch and then a bunch of cardboard cutouts literally started saying my insecurities back at me, then I’d be all like, oh shit! It’s me.

Ok: Oh, Christ. Look at me. Why did you give me the stupidest expression?

H: I get the distinct feeling that Homura Akemi and Sayaka Miki did not have a history of getting along.

Ok: So she’s just being subconsciously petty.

H: I believe so, yes.

…

Ch: Well, this part is plainly metaphorical! Unless you decided to jump off the boat and found a Madoka idol to claw dramatically at.

G: Why do I look like that? That wasn’t my dress!

Ok: Also, you have wings.

G: And I have wings.

H: Well. That’s…co-dependent.

=Ophelia clears her throat=

H: Oh, what? What?

Op: Nothin’.

Ok: Boat’s on fire.

H: It doesn’t look like my boat.

Ok: A boat is on fire.

Ch: For reasons.

G: Oh, there I am!

Ch: You notice how the city is suddenly normal again?

H: So either I am hallucinating or only I can see the weird. As established.

Ok: You waited until your crush showed up to wipe the brains off of your face?

H: Well, I have to give a good impression of myself.

Op: You think there’s still a gaping hole in the side of your head?

H: Unlikely.

…

=Madoka leaps off the bridge and lands on top of Homura. Charlotte, Oktavia, and Ophelia burst into laughter=

H: Oh, for Heaven’s sake.

Op: Bet you liked that!

Ch: You think she knows about the gunfight?

Ca: I really doubt it. Madoka is way too chipper.

H: I wonder how you explained it to her.

Ok: You know, with the time-stop thing, from Madoka’s point of view you two just straight up vanished into thin air, only for Mami to come back all flustered and out of breath. You’d think she’d be more upset.

Ch: Maybe it’s a regular thing with them.

Ok: I’d start to ask questions after a while.

=Candeloro and Ophelia both wince=

Ok: Oops. Sorry.

Ca: It’s fine.

…

Ok: Oh, poor Madoka is just so precious. She just wants to help!

H: Come on. Tell her. Tell her!

Ch: Tell her what? ‘Oh, this city is fake and is actually a witch’s labyrinth’? She doesn’t even know what a witch is!

H: Tell that something is up! Like she did Kyoko!

Op: Which reminds me. What happened to me, exactly?

Ch: Trust me: be glad you aren’t getting more screentime.

Ok: I could stand to see her a bit more.

Op: Then look to your right, dummy.

…

=Homura tells her “dream” of Madoka’s disappearance=

G: This is awful. Poor girl.

H: I will admit: I find this alternate version of myself to be…pretty aggravating, but if this is what she went through, then I sympathize with her anguish.

Ok: So, like, what did happen?

H: I looked it up during our last break. Apparently Madoka wished for witches to never have existed, which translated into her basically becoming the goddess of magical girls, coming to take them peacefully away to the afterlife before they become witches. And only Homura could remember her afterward.

=Candeloro slowly leans back with a sigh, her eyes lost in thought=

Ok: Okay. So why not just wish that the Incubators never existed? Why only take that part out?

Ca: Incubators have been meddling with human history for as long as we’ve had a history. To simply erase them from time would drastically alter our civilization, setting us back thousands of years.

Ok: Might be worth it. Sure, it’ll take us longer to get cars and movies, but way less kids die.

Ch: I mean, she also could have been trying to avoid a paradox. Like, she wishes that there were no more Incubators, but then who would have granted her wish if they never existed? It’s like going back in time to kill your grandparents to stop yourself from being born. If you never existed, then who killed them?

H: Wouldn’t I have created one already? I mean, if I keep going back in time to save Madoka, that would mean I start each loop having already made a contract. But that means in each new loop, I don’t make a contract, and yet I am already a magical girl, even though the timeline in which I contracted was overwritten.

Ch: Could be an alternate reality situation. As if in, you don’t actually go back in time, but instead travel to another universe every time.

Op: Wouldn’t that mean that the Madoka that she knew stays dead, and each new one is technically a different person?

H: I do not like the implications of that hypothesis.

G: I don’t think that’s what happened. I think she really did go back in time. Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s just a feeling I have.

Ok: Ugh, now I’m getting a headache. Can we get back to Homura pouring her soul out, please? Because that is so much less painful.

…

H: You idiot! Don’t leave her! Stay with her!

G: Why is she leaving?

H: Because she’s a dummy. You wanted Madoka back! There she is!

Ch: I think she might have put two and two together.

Op: What, so now she knows that she’s the witch?

Ch: Might be. If so, she’s probably going to do something dramatic and doesn’t want Madoka to be in the splash zone.

Ca: Technically speaking, if she is a witch and the whole city is inside her labyrinth, then there is no getting out of the “splash zone.”

H: Oh great. And now the rat is here.

Ch: I knew it! I knew it! That little fucker’s behind everything! Look at that zoom-in! He knows what’s going on!

Op: We kind of had that figured out from the start.

H: I’m just frustrated that Homura didn’t. It is quite obvious!

…

Ok: Oh! Nice.

Op: Zoom-in! Right on my ass!

Ok: Camera loooooves those cheeks!

Op: Wait. Where the hell am I?

H: Wait, why am I calling you in specific?

Op: I think the dancing mannequins and Madoka’s creepy cardboard cutout in the background are a little more important.

H: Not really.

Ok: So you’re in the world’s freakiest video arcade. Surprise, surprise.

Op: Do I not-

Ch: No, you don’t notice anything. We’ve established this.

H: I’d still like to know why I’m calling you in specific.

Op: Who else you got? You and Mami just went to town on each other, and on the town! Sayaka just totally fucked with your head. Madoka is…sort of in her own little world of obliviousness. Kyoko is the only one who you’ve told your suspicions to and haven’t actively tried to kill in the last hour!

Ch: You forgot me.

H: Charlotte, no offense, but in this situation I think you’d be excluded by default.

Ch: You know what? That’s fair.

Op: Hey, wait! Tavi, I just thought of something. If this other you knows what’s going on, how come you never told your smoking hot but still totally oblivious girlfriend?

Ok: How the hell would I know? Not-dead me is a total weirdo.

…

G: What is she doing?

H: I believe that Homura has finally figured it out, and is about to test her theory.

Ok: So…what happens when she confirms that she’s the witch?

Op: We all die horribly in the flames of perdition! The end!

=Kyoko rushes out of the arcade to see flaming blimp descend on her=

Ch: You mean like that?! Jesus!

Ok: RIP to Kyoko Sakura, crushed by a blimp.

Op: She was the lucky one. She gets to end up in Freehaven and sit the rest of this movie out.

Ch: No, wait, you’re still alive and yelling. Despite Satan-blimp.

Op: My buddy’s being weirdly dramatic. Clearly that takes priority over combusting airships.

G: And your phone…Okay, your phone is just a piece of paper. Okay.

Op: Shit is about to go down, isn’t it?

Ca: I have a feeling that all Hell is about to break loose, yes.

…

H: Well. This is…

G: Horrifying?

H: Something like that, yes.

G: I just feel so bad for her.

Ok: Would it be accurate to start calling Homura Homulilly now? Since, you know…

H: I’d…honestly prefer it if you didn’t.

Ch: You know, this might not really be the kind of thing I write, but I do know a thing or two about what goes through the heads of writers, and believe me: the script writers and the animators were having a blast doing this scene.

H: They enjoyed tormenting me with this deranged nightmare?

Ch: Yes.

Op: Sick.

…

=clocks strike midnight, bus bursts into flames, blimps fall from the sky while the city burns=

=no one has anything to say. They just watch silently, until…=

G: Oh no.

Ca: I wish there was something we could do for her.

Ch: Yeah, not gonna lie, at first I was thinking that she was kind of a jerk, but now…

=Homulilly says nothing. Homura shoots her soul gem=

Op: Not even the soul gem was real.

=Gretchen hugs Homulilly, who still hasn’t said anything or even moved=

Ok: I’m just going to say it. I’m glad we died.

Ch: I can’t disagree. I mean, I feel bad for our families, but…

H: I would like to take a break please.

Ok: Um, sure.

=movie gets paused=

Ok: Are you okay?

H: I don’t know. I knew this was coming, but seeing how much pain she is in…

Op: It does kind of make you think. That could have been us.

Ch: That was us. We did become witches.

Ca: It wasn’t that drawn-out.

G: It might have been for Homulilly and me.

H: I doubt it.

Ch: How much of the movie is left?

Ok: A little over forty minutes.

Ch: That long? Jesus, there had better be a happy ending!

Op: I predict we all die.

G: That would be a happy ending.

#WN Rebellion MST

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

Text

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 1

I went through my entire ao3 history because I’m insane, AND here’s my favorites. (There’s not a lot of aus because I’m not a huge fan of them, and there’s no sad endings. I’m a hopeless romantic leave me alone. There is angst though! Lots)

Beginning with SakuAtsu (I’m a hoe for Atsumu):

Hide and seek, by badreputation (10k. E. canonverse)

It sure is a good thing Atsumu doesn't have a latex allergy

It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

Some Memories, We May Keep, by mika60 (31k. T. canonverse)

This is canon, fight me on it.

The missing panels, the missing games, the missing moments.

The them we never saw.

*Now complete! :)*

every action has an equal and opposite reaction, by akanemnida (10k. T. canonverse)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

Ass-fingering as a prelude to relations of the emotional kind: a case study, by neverwere (2k. E. canonverse)

Fucking hilarious, the imagery is absolutely hilarious.

"Marry me, he thinks, as he comes around Sakusa's fingers and all over himself.

This. This is exactly why you don't let strangers or very attractive teammates finger you out of the blue.

Everyone knows that the ass is the shortest way to the heart."

When it comes to sex, Atsumu has rules. Guidelines! SOPs! He swears they work, they've always worked.

Until they don't.

parallax error: angle of inclination, by min_mintobe (10k. T. canonverse)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

autumn ends, but we remain, by wolfsbvne (5k. T. canonverse)

Author says in their ending notes that they're not an ‘author’, but methinks they should write more and pursue that career path because this was wonderful.

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

I left a taste in your mouth, by emso (26k. E. bodyguard au)

Because obviously

Sakusa fixes him with a vague expression of something like distaste. There's a scathing edge to his tone when he speaks. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, not everyone who meets you is instantly dying to get into your pants, Miya."

"Lucky I don't really care right now what 'everyone' wants to do, then." Atsumu swivels his mug around on the tabletop a few times, and then brings it to his mouth to drain the last few dregs of his latte. Over the rim of his mug, he adds casually, "Just you."

Whoa hey Bodyguard Omi, I think Spoiled Rich Kid Tsumu might possibly have a teensy crush on you.

How do you know you're in love?, by spiritscript (12k. T. canonverse)

Pure art

“So, how did you know you were in love? How did it feel?” Atsumu felt nervous asking this, a slight wiggling in the pit of his stomach, unable to look at the man beside him who rolled his shoulders in an attempt to reset his posture. “I mean, you didn’t resonate with what I said, so, what is love to you Omi-kun?”

Atsumu thinks he must be in love with Hinata Shouyou and so asks the best person he knows to help him understand his feelings

san'yo expressway, 6:17 pm, by yamabota (13k. T. canonverse)

Of violent forethoughts, and handheld car vacuums.

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

Different Kinds of Dysfunctional, by DeathBelle (Series, 5 works. T-E. Canonverse)

Honestly, I think this one is kind of famous amongst Sakuatsu readers but I can’t not include it. If I recall correctly, this is the fic that got me into Sakuastu, so thanks, DeathBelle. The characters are portrayed really well (i.e. Sakusa is disgusted and confused, and Atsumu is a little shit). You’ve got a good balance between conversations and descriptive thoughts and all-in-all it’s just a really good read.

Atsumu said into the heavy silence, “You can’t say you’ve never thought about it.”

"Thought about what?" said Sakusa.

Atsumu smiled to himself, smug. "You know."

"No, I don't."

"You know. Of course you’ve thought about it. There’s no reason to be ashamed, Omi-kun. I’m a real catch.”

Sakusa was appalled. "You're disgusting."

"You flatter me. I'm not judging you. I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it, too."

Sakusa shifted, slowly, to peer over his shoulder. He wasn’t scowling, but his expression was unreadable. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Atsumu wasn't joking, and he was about to get more than he bargained for.

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands), by liliapocalypse (7k words. T. canonverse):

Oh, god. This one was so cute. Super fluffy. Loved the metaphors and symbolism. Sometimes you just can’t say things out loud.

When a bad injury shocks the whole V. League, Sakusa finds himself paired with Atsumu for more rigorous assisted stretches before every training. Atsumu then finds himself writing random letters on Sakusa’s skin to soothe the spiker, forcing Sakusa to reevaluate how his touch aversion became an irresistible yearning for more, and how the boy with the annoying hair somehow brought that hunger to life.

Or, the fic where Atsumu mindlessly writes a confession on Sakusa’s back when he thought Sakusa wasn't paying attention. Sakusa always did.

mortality is found is the flesh of your sins, by novrik (10k. M. canonverse)

This is literally my favorite fic of all time. Not just of Sakuatsu, not even of the Haikyuu fandom. Ever. Favorite fic ever. Listen, I’m an atheist, but this fic took me on a religious experience that I haven't come down from yet. The symbolism had me actually shivering, and I had to put my phone down quite a few times. Just, oh wow, just read it. I’d like to share my favorite line; ‘And if Sakusa is Eve, if he takes a bite, what then? Perhaps, he is a little afraid of the knowledge he will gain’. My god, author, if you ever see this, this is not only a plea for you to continue writing, but also an offer of marriage. Your hand, author?

dickhead one, sakusa kiyoomi. dickhead two, miya atsumu. neither understand how to communicate.

Pray tell, why are you drawn to him?

Are you drawn to him in the way he looks beautiful even when crying?

When his eyes are red, shiny tears streaking down, lips quivering, is he beautiful?

sakuatsu domesticity simulator, by pseudoanalytics (75 words. T. canonverse)

75 words because it's actually a digital art simulator. An interactive fic! How frickin’ cool is that? The art is so beautiful and I love the plotline and ugh, just everything. Please read, or watch, or click around, yes. Good.

Update: artist created another interactive fic and of course it is wonderful. SunaOsa this time! https://newttxt.itch.io/cheesecake honestly just check out @newttxt their work is amazing and I love everything they do.

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

***

(this is the result of letting the sakuatsu brainworms really get to you...)

Pas De Deux, by hatsuna (19k words. T. Ballet/college au)

There's just something about prim, proper ballet Sakusa and human-benign-tumor Atsumu that makes my heart burst. Seriously gorgeous writing style, loved every second. By the same author who wrote ‘liminal spaces’ (which is also just perfect) so that should give you a good idea of the style.

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes. The twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?”

Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

the affective presence of our black and white reruns, by kozumess (19k. E. canonverse)

Beautiful, classic misunderstandings, my heart actually physically ached at that one scene (you’ll know the scene when you come to it). Kiyoomi is so refreshingly relaxed(? Is that the right word to use? We all know Omi never truly relaxes).

but the want, it's always there, constant like the static playing on every television channel, present even when the station disconnects.

cut the conversation, just open your mouth, by meeksoo (E. 16k. canonverse)

Absolutely filthy...BUT WITH FEELINGS! Completely nails the Sakuatsu dynamic, and protective ‘Tsumu? Love it.

Sakusa opens the door. He always does.

They’re teammates first, barely even friends. But they hook up on the regular and it works. It’s simple, easy. But then a fan gets too close, Sakusa reacts, and Atsumu is swept up in how quickly things can get complicated.

As Atsumu palms himself over his briefs, still feeling off, he realizes it’s because he still wants it. Him. Sakusa. Even after already having him earlier.

He should probably feel self-conscious, mildly ashamed even, that he’s panting ‘Omi Omi’ into the dark beneath the steady thrum of the AC unit when Sakusa’s right down the hall, probably good for it if Atsumu ended up back at his door. Instead, he lays there, writhing and sweaty, alone in his hotel room bed thinking about Sakusa and touching himself.

Afterward, as cum begins to cool on his chest, Atsumu really can’t help but face the fact that things may be getting complicated.

the hands that beckon me to come, by Ellieb3an (4k. E. canonverse)

So hot, what the fuck!

The toss, the run, the spike-serve at the end of it all—Sakusa sees it happen in perfect clarity as if time has slowed and his vision narrows to the center where just Miya exists, all powerful muscle and extraordinary skill and that air of confidence.

Sakusa isn’t one of the best receivers in the league for no reason, so his body moves on muscle memory, forearms absorbing the sting of the hit. It’s not enough. But his eyes are still on Miya—on the way his shorts ride up his muscular thighs as he lands, on the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, on the clench of his fist thrust into the air—when the ball ricochets out of bounds.

***

Atsumu stays late at practices to work on his new third serve, even when his frustration with it starts throwing off the rest of his game. Sakusa notices and starts hanging back to secretly watch him from the gym doors. He’s fascinated with Atsumu's determination... and more than a little turned on by it, too.

you're the flame i use (when it gets dark), by starkartifices (55k. M. canonverse. Ongoing)

Everything is the same except the Sakusas are super rich.

“Oh, if you want dear, you could bring a plus one. Though, I doubt you have a partner yet.”

“I do actually.”

“What was that, dear?”

"I do have a partner, I mean."

alt title: crazy rich sakusas

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or; the fine art of emotional recognition), by pseudoanalytics (13k. E. canonverse)

Ah, yes. A Pavloved sex life. A Pavloved LOVE life??

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu oneshots), by wordstruck (5 works. T-E. canonverse)

Works 1-3, I think follow a linear story, whereas the last two don't.

All sakuatsu works are just the angstiest, most miscommunication filled pieces of absolute gold and this one is no exception. Wow. These men are assholes and they bring out the worst in each other, but I’ll be damned if they’re not soulmates.

Collection of SakuAtsu fics. Several fics are loosely set in the same storyverse. Not necessarily directly connected and can all be read as standalones.

#haikyuu!!#sakuatsu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #sakusa kiyoomi #atsumu miya

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