#and Will refuses to be wasteful so he has to wear them <3

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His stubbornness and stoic grace.  His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together.  The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares.  At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too.  Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration.  His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you.  Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness.  The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean.  Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection.  You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”.  Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable.  Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other.  Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging.  “Cas made his choice.”  His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.”  You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.”  He states, matter of fact.  “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”  Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh.  “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.”  You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however.  Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala.  Shit!  Angels.  Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt.  How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them.  You, however, are stuck.  With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres.  At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland.  You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins.  Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car.  The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path.  You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood.  That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind.  You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!”  You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone.  “Sam is driving.  He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big.  That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do.  From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.”  Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!”  Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin.  You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain.  “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.”  Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.”  Sam offers.  “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!”  Dean snaps.  “You’re both safe.  I want you to stay that way.  Get someplace and lay low.  We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…”  Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No!  Okay?  For once, just do what I say.  We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response.  You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns.  It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals.  Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady.  Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle.  Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.”  Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax.  He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back.  The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode.  He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset.  You point to the sign and Deans nods.  He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you.  It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes.  You feel it too.  Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release.  You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better.  You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest.  Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever.  You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open.  Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear.  Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed.  You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you.  The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his.  He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him.  Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks.  His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?”  You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long.  Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance.  Your eyes met as you began to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it.  He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…”  he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now.  “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair.  He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.”  He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt.  Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby.  Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man.  Damn, he’s hot!  Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet.  Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure.  The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops.  There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you.  It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes.  You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him.  His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes.  With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged.  He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming.  He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell.  “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg.  “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you.  Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body.  Everything feels so right, he feels right.  The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel.  It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest.  There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him.  Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips.  “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?”  You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal.  “Hell yeah!  Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam.  You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away.  You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.”  You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.”  He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?”  You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need.  Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully.  Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x reader smut #dean winchester fic #supernatural smut #dean winchester fanfic #spn #supernatural dean smut #dean winchester x you #spn fanfic #frenemies to lovers #dean winchester #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #cloudy's writing

[hiaon]

My boyfriend <3

Your bf's twin x male!reader

Disclaimer: cheating (not intentional), sexual intercourse, & drunk!reader

This has been rotting in my draft for a while... I guess I have been motivated to write somehow.

A little backstory..

Matthew and Andrew was twins, and also you childhood friends.

Matthew knew that Andrew loved you since middle school, and Matthew, the ass that he is.. He always wants to have what his brother doesn't have, since Andrew always got the things he wanted.

So he took it apon himself to ask you out even though he doesn't have feelings for you. He confessed, you accepted since you had the same feeling for him for a while. Naturally Andrew was devastated when he found out that his childhood crush is going out with his brother, Andrew didn't wanted to be apart of you and his brother anymore. So he just drifted away in the background.

Even though Matthew didn't like romantically like you at the first of your relationship.. That didn't mean that he didn't developed any romantic feelings for you, and he actually fell hard for you.

You and Matthew have been together in 11th grade to a senior in college, and the two of you have been happily together.

Present

It was the normal day, but all of a sudden all of the students got invited to the rich kid's party, even though he didn't know who it was.. But since Matthew got invited, might as well go attend the party.

You, Matthew, and Andrew are in the same dorm. You saw Andrew dressed up and you we're curious if he will attend the party, he isn't much of an outing guy.

"Uhm, Andrew! Are you going to the party?" You asked him, even though you guys grown apart. You still very much like the thought of him being friends with him.

"Yes.." Andrew answered.

"Then.. Will you come with us?" You asked out of pity, and he is still your friend and has your boyfriends face after all.

"Sure.." Andrew said.

It was an awkward car ride, you didn't know what happened to them. You just we're a trio, everything just fell apart since you and Matthew started dating.. Did you hangout with Matthew too much??

Nevermind those thoughts, he'll think about that later. Now, let's let loose a little. There's going to be a sick party!!

3 hours in the party.

You are drunk, you are just upstairs leaning in a wall. You don't know where Matthew went, you searched for him everywhere in this big ass mansion.

Yet you still couldn't find him.

So you gave up and just started leaning into this off white wall, and you saw him. Or more likely your boyfriend's twin brother, but you don't know that yet.

"Where did you goo.. I was looking for you e.. everywhere.." you we're really drunk, you didn't even pay attention to the clothes that the person that was wearing. You just started to hug them.

"[Y/N], you're not thinking straight because of the alcohol." Andrew said.

"Sh.." You put you finger to shush him, and dragged him into a room. Looked it for privacy of course.

When you two are alone you faced him and started to kiss him, it shocked Andrew, even though it was wrong Andrew started kissing back.

"[Y.. Y/N] we can't be doing this here." Andrew said to him while he was getting air because the kiss was a little bit too long.

"Why not.. You already told me earlier that we could do it here.." You still wasn't back to earth yet. You still don't know that you kissed your boyfriend's twin brother.

"Please.. I-I really wanna do it with you.." You begged for him, and who was he to refuse his cute little brother's boyfriend who wanted his dick.

He didn't waste any time, he bend him over and pulled his brother's boyfriend pants pulled them down. Then saw his little hole ready to be stretched by his long dick.

The lube was already ready for this moment.

'Thanks, Richard.' Andrew said in his head.

1 hour later

After an hour, yes they're still going at, but this is the time where people get wasted and then do things that they would not normally do. But Matthew since his friends are wasted and can't talk with him anymore, he started to look for you.

That would be impossible in the god-damned mansion. As he was going to just drink away and probably pass out in one of the rooms, he heard something. A very familiar one. He heard it a lot.

"Ah! 'Andrew'.! Please l-let me cumm..!!" You said to Andrew. Andrew made you say it in the middle of it, he keeps on edging you when you say Matthew's name.

"Of course.." It sounds like he was going hard, because on how much you we're moaning.

"Woah there buddy. It's not appropriate to listen some people do it." It was Richard, Richard placed a sign in the door that says 'Do Not disturb.'

" Looks like Andrew is a lucky fella tonight, and also.." Richard placed a hand on Matthew's shoulder, and said.. "Find someone else bud." And dragged him somewhere else.

Have a wonderful day

#oc x male reader #x male reader #x you #male reader smut #oneshot #gay #smut

[irulaan]

OPEN WOUND | CARMEN BERZATTO

— He understand the sacrifices he has to do in order to see you smile, to not disappoint you — as he has done so many times even when you don’t say. He understands those sacrifices sometimes came labeled as family gatherings.

✧ PAIRING. carmy berzatto x fem!reader

✧ WORD COUNT. 3.6k

✧ WARNINGS. anxiety and u know all of carmy’s troubles. a loving family. mommy issues/parents issues/family issues, all the issues? i just watched like 3 episodes? so ooc carmy maybe? i don’t know… kinda corny too oops. no use of y/n. english isn’t my first language, expect mistakes.

Carmy was afraid of abruptly colliding with an imaginary wall, so he stays away. He knows pain, so if he can avoid it — hell, he would.

“I don’t really know about this,” He appears in your field of view, wearing his usual clothes and a familiar concerned expression — this shouldn’t be nearly as stressful as his days inside The Beef.

You instinctively approach him, mirroring his expression. “What’s wrong? Something happened?”

He’s taken aback by your question, but he quickly understands what you mean. “Oh, no, everything it’s fine, I promise… It’s not about nor has something to do with the beef.”

And he’s naturally lying; all his current worries have their foundations in the beef or what was left of it. He’s damaged far beyond that, but you’ve learned how to read him, when to inquire, and when to remain silent.

It clicks for you when you see he’s struggling to find the words; he’s trying to devise an excuse without hurting you. You feel foolish for a moment; of course, family reunions would affect him like this.

You reach for his hand, and then his arm when he avoids your gaze, “I can tell them we’re not going if you don’t feel sure about it,” You offer, and you can almost hear how the conversation unfolds inside his head, how his engines try to maintain a semblance of calm. “I was nervous too when I got to meet your chefs…”

“It’s different,” He deadpans, and you smile, resting your hand on his shoulder, trying not to appear too concerned by playing with a single curl of his rather messy hair.

He looks at you when you let slip out a nervous laugh. “How so? You call your meetings’ family’; that says a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he withdraws from your touch. “But it is not quite real… and it’s still non-functional.”

“What are you afraid of, Carmy?” You stand there, feeling your stomach drops by seeing him like this over something that feels so different for you. “My family’s going to love you, I’m sure.”

He shook his head, his face already getting that characteristic light red tint.

“Making a bad impression? They’ll realize you’re wasting your time” His beautiful eyes refused to stare at you in such moments. He’s afraid someday, somehow, you’ll unleash your anger on him because he’s just a depressed, over-thinker, anxious guy. “I know how family meetings work… It will be a mess—I won’t be able to go through it…”

“What—what do you mean? Wasting my time?” Your incredibly soft voice so understanding, as if you’re deeply connected to his mind. It’s the only explanation he can think of.

He’s convinced he’s a waste of time, even now, yet you’re not getting upset; you’re not attempting to hurl accusations at him. Granted, you’ve never done that, and Carmen doesn’t truly believe you’re capable of it… but that’s how his wounded mind works.

Carmen doesn’t provide an answer, so you try to press on to reassure him. “Carmy, you’re not wasting my time—“

He looks at you amid your sentence and suddenly comprehends there are some sacrifices he’s willing to make for you. “Fuck—okay, let’s go.”

“Carmy, I’m not—“You’re visibly confused; he doesn’t seem to mind as he takes your hand.

“Please, I’m going to lose this impulse… just— I’m trying my best,”

A vast, relieved smile covers your face, and Carmen feels he’s gazing directly at the sun — and he loves it.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently making him meet your gaze.

“If you want to leave at any time, please tell me?” There’s a shy nod, and you realize it’s a futile question to ask. But you accept it.

“I love you, Carmy,” You promise, planting a gentle peck on his cheek before heading outside.

Your older sister obviously is the one who had to open the door, her and her extrovert energy, her weird-looking eyes, and her funny hairstyles. “There she is! My baby sister,” She usually crushes your bones under her sheer strength, and after it comes a shower of kisses. “Oh, god, I have missed you so much.”

And it’s good to see her this energetic and lovingly — you don’t want to cross her path when she’s pissed… and that’s her, the majority of the time.

She doesn’t understand personal space, so she doesn’t respect it. Your older sister doesn’t hesitate to give Carmy the same kind of hug. “And there you are! I’m Margot!” She exclaims, introducing herself and giving him a loud kiss on the cheek. Carmen only manages to whisper his name… “Mom, did you know that our baby sister’s boyfriend is the best chef in the world?” She shouts, ensuring everyone in the house hears her.

You gulp, and almost get whiplash from how fast your eyes look for his. He doesn’t seem comfortable at all; he’s stiff and fidgety, moving his fingers as if searching for something to hold. You offer your hand, and he wastes no time intertwining his fingers with yours.

As you step into the house, your sister closes the door and disappears into the kitchen, where you can hear your mom lightly scolding her. “Mags! You’re making him uncomfortable,” Then you’re greeted by her warm features and a soft smile that’s so similar to yours. She doesn’t even glance at you—her attention is fixed on your anxious boyfriend. “I’m sorry, child, she’s a bit like that,” she apologizes.

Carmy is enveloped in an endearing hug, the kind your mother or grandmother can only master. He suddenly wants to weep. How’s it that he didn’t deserve that warmth from his own mother?

It doesn’t last long, though. She soon wraps her arms around you, embracing you as tightly as your sister, and whispers how much she loves you. It’s characteristic of her—she’s unafraid to show her emotions.

And that’s all Carmen ever longed for.

“Where’s dad?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “That old man forgot something… you know how he is,” she replies.”

And then, for Carmen’s well-being, another whirlwind approaches. He needs a breath of fresh air before whoever is descending the stairs arrives, ready to offer more hugs and love.

It’s your brother-in-law. Carmy’s lucky this man isn’t affectionate at all. “You’re earlier, bug,” he remarks, giving you a dry pat on the head, tousling your hair slightly. “Love, how did your baby sister do this?”

“Maybe it’s her boyfriend!” You heard Mag’s loud chuckle from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Carmen, for turning her into a punctual person, for god’s sake!” They shake hands. You observe your brother-in-law nearly stifling his inclination to crack a joke or be downright abrasive. He pledged to Margot that he’d be friendly… “It must be because you’re a chef; you can’t afford to be late, right?”

Carmy suddenly becomes hyperaware of his surroundings—the quiet conversation on TV, your mother and sister laughing in the kitchen, the distant voices of kids upstairs, his sweaty palms… and the broad smile on the man before him… expecting him to say something? God, he feels like a complete freak… “Yeah, th—that’s right”.

Did you fucking stutter?

You quickly notice his unease and almost drag him away from the man. “Mom, do you need help?”

“Baby? Your nieces are upstairs! Get them, please?”

After a sigh, you look at Carmen, who is already staring at you. He can clearly see how excited you are — how can you not be? When everyone loves you so much, and they show you? Even him right now, when he’s overwhelmed, he only can think about how much he loves you. “You want to stay here?”

He can’t; he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s overwhelmed by racing thoughts, the cacophony of sounds disrupting his thinking, and his heart rate threatening to skyrocket. He’s one sentence, one laugh, one scream away from losing connection with you. If he can’t step outside to breathe fresh air, he’ll cause a scene in your parent’s house. “I need to go out; it’s too much—“

“—I’m sorry, let’s go outside,” You almost drag him outside under the concerned stare of your sister.

When the cold air floods his senses, he can finally breathe properly. His fingers work on autopilot, seeking and reaching for a cigarette. He sits down on the old bench, you remained on your feet by his side.

It’s a whole scene you’re familiar with. Only lacking Tina and Richie’s loud screaming.

In moments like this, you know better than to exacerbate his unease with words and questions… he has learned to calm himself by his own means, and you respect that.

Once the cigarette is thrown away, you eventually become a part of his surroundings again. Carmy snakes his arms around your waist, pushing his head against your belly.

Your sweet smell comforts him. He inhales deeply when you card your fingers through his hair.

“You want to go home?” You ask, planting a kiss just above his hairline.

He begrudgingly distance himself from you. “Not really, it’s just—everybody loves each other?”

You pause momentarily, your gaze shifting from the bustling room to Carmen beside you. “I’m sorry about my sister and her husband, they have been like that since ever, and I understand if you feel bad; they mean no harm, tho” You completely miss the point.

Carmen looks at you — behind his eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration. “It’s not that, I couldn’t care less about it! It’s like I have—I have this fear—I’m not good at social interactions, I try my best—but did you see, heard? I fucking stutter! I—“

You try to comfort him through physical touch — laying your hand on his arm to ground him in the present. “You’re nervous; it’s expected, Carmy…”

He pressed his lips into a line. But you continue, “I’m or was as socially awkward as you are. Believe me when I say they’re used to odd phrases, stuttering, awkward silences, and silly laughs to avoid a question.”

“But they love you… it’s different,” He emphasizes. Carmen’s gaze remains somewhere else, his fingers fidgeting slightly.

“They love you too, and before you say anything, it’s simply because you make me happy, god! Carmy! They always tease me when I speak about you because I’m so in love with you because there’s always a smile on my face. And do you know how long they’ve waited for a huge smile from me? Years. And you know why, so yes, of course, they love you,”

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t really know what to say — I’m sorry, just my head messed up with me…”

A tender smile lights your face. “I know, Carmy, and I’m glad you can recognize when your mind is just playing games… you’ve come far,” you reassure him with a gentle smile. “And I won’t be pissed or angry about your insecurities or worries, but I understand if you’re waiting for me to almost kill you for it… It sucks, sure, but I understand. I’ve felt like that”.

Carmen’s gaze finally meets yours; he’s being so vulnerable right now that you only want to cuddle him, hoping all his insecurities vanish under the morning sun.

“Should we go inside? I don’t really want to worry your mother or sister,”

“If you want. If you need more time, we can stay here a bit longer,”

His voice is quieter when he finally speaks, a hint of relief lacing his words. “I’m better.” The tension in his body seems to ease slightly as he takes a deep breath, his expression slowly relaxing — he’s trying his best.

The soft sound of cutlery clinking against the dishes, the low individual conversations, the baby’s blabbing, and the dim lights on the dinning room shapes a homely ambience.

“You need to see her in action! She’s always been the best cook of the family, you know, Carmy?” Your sister interjects as her eyes light up with nostalgia.

That catches Carmy’s attention. He’s staring at you with genuine curiosity. So, stereotypically, your mom gets up in search of something. “Oh, you have to see her photos!” She chuckles, scavenging for the photo album. “She was so stubborn, wanting to make her own food for her or anyone’s birthdays, always looking for new recipes, she has done the craziest stuff!”

While your mother shows Carmy all your embarrassing childhood pictures, your brother-in-law can’t contain himself, he has to make a joke, and his playful grin gives him away. “I’m glad you’re a chef; she’s not at good as her parents want her to be.”

And your mother frowns, feigning annoyance, as Margot gives him a subtle punch.

“Because you suck at it, child,” Your father quips at him. “She’s good, right? Carmy”

Carmy considers for a moment, his gaze shifting from one sibling to another — he can mess up things if he doesn’t pick the right words. “Objectively, she’s quite decent. Some of her pastries are better than mine.”

You had plastered a lovesick grin on your flushed face. “I was born gifted, you see,”

He relishes in your soft giggles.

Your sister chuckles at the little scene your both doing, sharing a knowing look with your mother. “She was in diapers, building mud cakes outside, in the front yard…” Her stare lingers on you for a bit. “Do you remember, mom?”

Your mother nods, a fond smile on her lips. “Of course I do! Both of you treated your sister like she was a toy,” She teases her children. “Look at this, Carmen, she had been everything by the age of four.”

She finds her favorite picture of you, a huge smile paired with a set of eyes mimicking two big stars. “You were so cute.”

Your cheeks flush at his candid compliment, grateful for the levity that’s now enveloped the conversation. The shared stories and gentle teasing ease the tension, allowing Carmy to glimpse the playful dynamics of your family. He’s relaxing, finally starting to feel comfortable being around so many people that expected a lot from him.

Staring at each other, you both smile. And you don’t miss the dreamy sigh from your sister. You decided to give him a faint peck on his lips — earning a few ‘yuck’s and ‘wow’s from the kids.

“Okay, lovebirds!” Your brother said, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance — but Carmen can’t read him at all.

Not wanting him to sour the moment, your sister fights him back, “Why’s your girlfriend not here, uh?” You feel Carmy tense beside you as his hand flies to your thigh. To ground himself, to brace his rushing thoughts.

He’s expecting confrontation.

Your brother only frowns, “Funny,”

And Carmen’s so stiff, he could break if you push him. By means to help him, you whisper into his ear. “She didn’t come because Mag told her she was a milquetoast” He looked at you sideways with a confused expression. “Was recently, tho, she’ll be fine.”

Your brother shrugged and seemed to be worked up about something your sister said, but you couldn’t catch it. “Stop treating my girlfriends like they’re your friends! That’s what happens.”

Margot would rather die than not have the last word; she was provoked. “Stop bringing girls that can’t take a joke!” You could hear a few choked sounds as they tried to repress a laugh. “They’re just bland as you…”

But that was enough for your dear mother, “Margot! Stop mocking your brother, you’re acting like teenagers again!”

“I think it is the midlife crisis…” Said your brother-in-law.

Your sister laughs theatrically, bending his neck to throw her head back. Just to come back and stare directly at your brother with a big smile. “Something we have in common!”

“Carmen, dear, you want more?” Your mother whispered to him, trying to keep the conversation for the both of them only.

She understands he is fairly timid and awkward.

He smiles at her, into her wrinkled eyes that carry a joyful gaze, at her delicate and low voice tone. “Oh, no, I’m fine, thank you—thank you… I—uh, it was fine” He feels like he’s making that weird face, and your mother’s smile grows. And before continuing, he runs a hand over his face and his already messy curls, “Sorry—it was great, I don’t have this type of homemade meal often.”

She nods, glad he doesn’t lie or coat her in praises. It’s nothing out of the world but has other qualities; it tastes like childhood, like home, like your best day under the sun. It tastes mundane and, at the same time, magical. And he can’t wait to be a recurring guest…

“I’m delighted you liked it. She should prepare meals like this more often for you… because I’m sure, she’s always eating like a princess.”

Carmy nods, feeling his cheeks flush under your mother’s discerning gaze, particularly as they discuss you. “She is. I care about her”.

Your mother places a reassuring hand on his, her encouraging smile not going unnoticed, “It shows, Carmy,” He feels on the verge of tears again. Hearing that he’s doing well is a rarity; he only ever hears it from you. While it’s enough, he wishes his family did the same. “You’re a great guy.”

A knot tightens in his throat, and all he can manage to mumble without breaking is a quiet: “Thanks—“, He won’t fight your mother’s words.

“You should come over for the holidays… we spend a week on the coast. My parents had a great house there, and it’s lovely,” breaks in your father, “Everyone would love to see both of you there…”

Everyone is nodding, excitement filling the air. You probably had the best memories in that beach house. But Carmy’s eyes are glued on the table, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the back of your hand.

As the invitations hang in the air, an uneasy tension settles between you both — shouldn’t you respond to that should you?

The weight of the offer, the promise of belonging, and the haunting fear of judgment gnaw at his thoughts. And he’s spiraling again.

Your mother, in hopes of comforting him, takes his hand. “Oh, yeah, child, we’re a bit messy but nothing too bad… you’ll like it,” She’s nonchalant about it; she doesn’t want to pressure him. But the oldest of her daughters had to interrupt her. “—Baby sister loves it! You’re going to love it there too.”

Carmy smiled and gave them a quick nod. Your father makes an “ok” with his hand, and your lovely boyfriend stops being under the spotlight.

In the car back home, under the low-volume radio, he sighs, his voice tinged with resignation. “I wish I could just… step into your world without feeling like I’m going to mess it all up”. His words carry the weight of his insecurities, the years of feeling out of place and never fitting in.

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, your silent support a comforting gesture amidst his internal turmoil. “Carmy, they want you there because of who you are, not who you think you should be.”

His eyes leave the way for a second to meet yours. You catch a mixture of yearning and gloom reflected in them. “I know, but… what if I can’t be what they want me to be?”

The ache in your chest matches the one in his voice. You can hear how he’s fighting within himself, the desire to be loved and accepted warring against his self-doubt. He was raised to feel like that. “Carmy, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to be perfect. They’ll accept you for who you are, flaws and all. I mean — they invited you over. They don’t do that often. My mother loved you!” It sounds a bit more gleeful than you expected. All because you’re excited he’s welcomed into the family.

He lets out a bitter chuckle, his shoulders slumping. “You say that, but it’s not that simple for me.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, erasing your smile. And he regrets them the instant you recoil in your seat, even though it’s an unconscious action.

A second passes, and for him, it’s like minutes are splitting you, carrying you away from him. He doesn’t know what to say; he’s resigned, waiting for the consequences.

Again, it was a nasty point of view from his mind. You reposition yourself on the seat before speaking. “Carmy, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve seen each other changing and for good. And I’ve always been there for you, if you still need space, time… it’s fine. We’ll find a way out, yes?”

He parks the car, and then his eyes search for yours. He longs to be better, to know better. For him, the restaurant, his family—for Sugar, for you.

“I don’t think I deserve you.”

A sad smile touches your lips. “Just because you’re going through a hard time doesn’t mean you’re less worthy. I loved you in New York, and I love you like this. Your past and present emotions and thoughts don’t get a say in what you deserve or not, especially when we’re talking about nice things.”

“But I’m—“

“—Carmy! You won’t make me change my opinion” Your tone is softer than severe — you’ll never be severe.

And he’ll never be unloved.

“Did you realize you didn’t bring the pepto?”

a/n: Shitty ending, I KNOW I’m sorry… If I keep writing, I am going to end nowhere, so it has to end like this JDKKW. Hope you enjoyed <3. Reblogs/comments/likes are very appreciated <3

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#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst

[kingtomura]

Vitality | 2

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home.  Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni wc: 3.2k | prev | chapter 3 | m. list | read on ao3

There are tunnels under the bar. They wind and they twist and they are very easy to get lost in. 

That’s the point, Shigaraki tells you when you ask about the arrangement the next day. It had been a struggle to keep up with Kurogiri as he led you to your new living quarters for the first time – now you were able to get away with asking him to teleport you there instead. 

But you agree. 

They should be confusing so no one can easily find where you sleep. 

But not only are they confusing, they are dark, dusty and kind of spooky. Like an ancient vampire's lair or something silly like that. The rooms however, are not so creepy. They are oddly normal and have everything you need. 

Your room contains a desk, bed and empty shelves — ready and waiting to be filled with books. 

The sheets were neatly made and there was a small rug near your bed. You assume it's to break up the bland look of the concrete, but it's fine. For some reason it feels safer than what you've had before. 

A bed, desk and a door with a lock. Yeah, much safer.

There isn’t much time to dwell on the interior design of your new room because a knock at your door shakes you from your thoughts. 

It’s a little late at night for a visitor, but you push past the feeling, spouting a firm come in and waiting on the guest to make themselves known.

You have to will your face to stay neutral as Tomura Shigaraki walks into your room, absently closing the door behind him. He’s wearing the hand-mask, but you can still make out the carmine red of his eyes in the dim lighting of your room.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he starts, voice sounding anything but apologetic, “but there are a few things I need to know.”

You watch as he stands by the door, hands in his pockets as he goes on, wasting no time questioning you. And you should answer him, especially if you are going to be staying here with them, but your mind cannot process whatever it is he’s saying. 

Everything around you seemed to come to a stop as your eyes and focus pinpointed on the closed door behind him. The feeling of being shut in with another person, another man, makes your throat feel dry and your hands shake. 

Shigaraki is watching, waiting for an answer but you’re frozen — stuck as the walls suffocate your words.

He tilts his head, another question ready to be fired off, maybe to ask about your lack of response, but you beat him to it.

“Could you… open the door? Please.” 

It catches him off guard, but his eyes never leave yours. “Why?”

There is no bite to the question, no malice. Just curious. 

“I just don’t like when doors are closed.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. Desperate to keep some of your diffidence inside, “makes me feel claustrophobic.” 

Shigaraki hums, answer seemingly good enough for him as he turns back to open your door, wide enough that you feel comfortable, but still enough to give you privacy. You feel like you can breathe again.

“Like I was saying,” he picks up again, not missing a beat and pulling out your desk chair to take a seat. “I need a little more information. You say that you stumbled upon Giran, but how? What were you doing before?”

There’s an odd feeling in your chest. One of solid dread that weighed more than a thousand pounds. It made your eyes water and your chest tight, but you willed it all away. You would not break down here in front of a man you knew next to nothing about.

You clench your fists and meet his eyes, there was a decision to be made right now. If this place were to house you then you must do what you could to be honest. Not completely, but enough. 

“I… hurt someone. And I ran away before anyone could find me.”

“And who was the unlucky fellow?” His words are light and dripping with a sarcasm that made you feel like you were walking on eggshells.

“It was,” you stall, pondering if giving him the information would backfire. You decide that it is not something you should hide. There was no erasing the past. “My father.”

There’s a chill that passes through your body as the words leave your lips. The sticky sweet falsehood of the name makes you nauseous. That man is not your father, but it is all you know him as — and who were you to challenge that? Even without his presence. 

Tomura says nothing for a while, drowning the room in a still quiet so thick you almost think he hadn’t heard you. 

“Is he dead?” He asks, raspy voice finally breaking through the quiet. 

“What?” You ask, confusion lining your features. 

“Did you kill him?”

You shake your head, and it feels like you're in the moment again — shattering glass, splash of blood and then silence. The memory of him laying out on the living room floor, blood beginning to pool under his head sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I don't know.” And it's the truth, he could very well be dead, “and I couldn’t risk sticking around to find out. But I didn't mean to–”

“Can you defend yourself?” Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat, unphased by the possibility of you murdering your father and undeterred by your obvious incoming breakdown. 

You look to the floor, eyes focused on the rug below your bed, its curving patterns and the difference of its color against the gray cement floor. “Why?”

“If he’s not dead, if he looks for you — are you able to fight if it comes down to it?”

You can’t. You know that you can’t. You’ve never been able to hold your own against him and it eats you alive every night. So, reluctantly, you shake your head. “No.”

Tomura watches you, it feels like he’s analyzing you with every passing second. He hums, taking your answer in and standing up. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” You question, thinking there would be more to his questions. You may have killed someone and he doesn’t seem to care. Just who was this guy?

Shigaraki turns back to you, feet stopping just before your door, “Oh, yeah. We’ll get you a phone in the morning. Business only. Also, there’s a meeting tomorrow around three. Try not to be late, I hate when people are tardy.” 

You can only nod, watching as he turns away from you and leaves the room. Silence falls in his absence, a thick and loaded tension as you are left with your thoughts.

The idea of your father still being out there, alive and waiting for you makes you feel restless. Your mind races as you curl up under the sheets that were newly yours and pray sleep finds you sooner rather than later. 

—-----------

The meeting is uneventful.

It was a basic introduction, while discussing the plans and next moves for the League of Villains.

All of it feels surreal. One day you’re home wondering if the hell you lived was all your life had in store for you, and the next day you’re free. 

As free as one can be with a group of villains. 

You notice a few things in your first week amongst this new group you’ve joined. 

The first being that the league can be noisy.

It’s all you can think about as you take your place on a vacant barstool in front of the counter. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Kurogiri wastes no time, glass already prepped and ready, with two cubes of ice waiting. 

You shake your head, politely declining, “No, thank you. Alcohol’s not really my thing.” 

“Understood.” The man responds, shadows flaring around his figure like whips, “we also have nonalcoholic drinks.”

You give him a short sure and he pours you a glass of fizzy, clear soda. 

Shigaraki is a few seats down, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the obituaries of a newspaper — easily ignoring the commotion behind you both. 

It’s hard to tune out the noise, but you try. You’ve been caught up in your thoughts all day, in the idea of your future. There is no guarantee you will be safe amongst villains, but there is nowhere else for you to go. And then there is your father. 

What really came of him? You’ve searched on the new phone Shigaraki gave you, but there are no news articles and no public meetings. If you really did kill him, if you really are free — just what does that mean for you?

“Bullshit!” 

You turn back to the group playing a game of cards. Spinner is losing against Mr. Compress for what he claims is the third time in a row. 

“C’mon Spinner, it's the rules! No, he’s cheating!” Twice and his two-toned persona calls out. The noise in the room was beginning to rise, bringing your anxiety with it. You can’t focus in here, but you don’t really know your way back to your room. 

Someone slams their hand onto the table and the sound makes you jolt, spilling a bit of your drink onto the table. 

You curse under your breath, grabbing a few napkins and cleaning the area. It’s a decent distraction and with it you try to calm your breathing down. Maybe getting lost in the depths of the hideout wouldn’t be so bad. At least no one would notice your absence. 

But someone would. 

“Hey, now,” Shigaraki starts, not taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him. “Are you trying to give our location away? Lower your voices.”

And just like that, the tension in the room dissipates — taking your brain fog with it. 

Your shoulders relax and the group is now being subjected to Mr. Compress and his never-ending magic tricks. 

By the time night fell you were more than ready to retire to your room. 

“Kurogiri,” you start, hoping to keep your voice low enough to not draw attention. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me to my room again? The tunnels have still got me beat.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki raises a hand to stop Kurogiri's response. “Ah, Kurogiri, she’ll never learn if you just do it for her every time. Let me.” He offers, tone a little too flippant for something that should be an inconvenience. It feels like a trap.

You go to refuse, tell him you really don't need the help and you could probably find your own way, but he stops you — one hand held up and waving you off. You swear you could see the hint of a smile underneath the mask. 

“Don’t worry about it. We want you to feel welcomed here in the league.” He goes to stand and you follow, knowing it’s best to go along with it and not against. 

The walk is quiet and the tunnels are long. 

It's dark and decrepit while the cold air makes goosebumps spread across your skin like wildfire. 

Although, you could probably owe some of your unease to your unlikely walking partner. 

You did a little bit of research on your new phone that was given to you. A little deep dive on your new leader, Tomura Shigaraki, and just who he is. For starters, he is a villain who has one of the most destructive quirks you’ve ever seen. 

Decay. 

Tomura Shigaraki is a man with many dreams, those of which supposedly align with another villain — Hero Killer Stain. You don’t know how much of that is true, but you do know that he is dangerous, volatile and not afraid to kill to carry out his dreams.  

It's odd how fate brought you together. All you’ve known is to heal others while he seems to be a professional in death and destruction. Polar opposites. 

In your research you came across an article of the USJ incident, how the Symbol of Peace had been targeted. Shigaraki was the mastermind behind it all. 

It’s almost impressive how he seems to have captivated the attention of the public.

And now the very same Shigaraki is walking you to your room, insisting it is to make sure you don't get lost. Apparently that’s what a good leader would do. 

But there is no such thing as a free lunch. 

“You know,” he starts, interrupting your trail of thoughts, the never ending loop coming to a halt at his words. “There's something about you that's really gotten under my skin.”

Your breath hitches and you wait for him to elaborate. The quiet stretches thin between you both as your steps echo along the tunnels. 

“What’s your purpose here?”

It catches you off guard. “What?”

“Everyone in the league has a goal that they are fighting towards. The goals are like power-ups. I can't figure out yours.”

He’s got you. You don't have a goal, unless he counts survival. But they’re all just trying to survive aren't they?

“We’re all fighting for something or another. Money, freedom, revenge. Those are all important things that will drive you the extra mile in a pinch.” He keeps his tone leveled, innocuous. But you knew better. This is to gauge your resolve and you weren't sure what would come of you if you failed this test.

“What are you getting at Shigaraki?” You can't help the way your eyes narrow, waiting and watching as he brings a hand to the mask on his face. 

“I’m only asking to help you out. You can’t just go with the motions forever, you know.”

This guy thinks he’s so smart, like he’s got you all figured out. It’s irritating. “I’m not!”

Your eyes are glued to him as you both come to a stop. Your hands tremble as you watch him remove the hand from his face. The abrupt action makes you falter and you absently wonder if he’s shown anyone else in the league his face. 

Even in the dim lighting of the tunnels you could still see Shigaraki’s red gaze. 

His eyes consumed you so much that you had to take a step back. And he followed — close, but far enough away. 

“You are. You did what you had to do back then, but what will you do when you’re forced to make a choice like that again?”

The chill air of the tunnels do nothing to calm the heat you feel in your body. The fear and anxiety within your mind manifesting before you in its form of trembling fingers and labored breaths. 

What would you do if you needed to choose again? 

This situation could be over just as much as it could still be lingering. Watching and waiting for you. What would you do then? 

You hate how his tone makes you sweat. 

You hate the way his words make sense.

“An animal backed into a corner has no choice but to fight.” He continues, and you stare — taking in his features in the low light. His skin is pale and there’s something about the scars on his face that make you want to reach out. To see if you could heal them.

To see if he would let you.

You don’t. All you can do is stand before him, dumbfounded and speechless as he tells you the reality you face.  

“There will come a time when your ideals are challenged. What lengths are you willing to go to maintain that freedom? How hard would you strike at those who want to keep you down and dirty like a dog?” Shigaraki tilts his head, hint of a smile gracing his features but it is not one of joy. 

“This is your life. You are the one in control. Not me, not your father — you. I don't expect you to have all the answers now, but never regret making a choice that granted you freedom.” The words make you swallow, how someone could see right through you so easily… It felt absurd.  “And don’t underestimate the lengths you should go to maintain that.”

Shigaraki looks at you for a moment — as if to make sure you’ve taken his words in and then turns away. The silence was thick as he continued his route down the hallway. You drag your feet along to follow, unable to find the words to respond.

You're both arriving in the hall where your room awaits and you bite back a sigh of relief. This trip feels like it took years. 

You both pause in front of the door, staring each other down. It's like you're on another planet completely. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, voice low as if there were others around to wake. 

Shigaraki places the hand back on his face and brushes by your side, his steps echoing in the vacancy of the tunnel as his words reverberate in your mind.

Tomura Shigaraki is right about one thing. 

You would do anything to keep your freedom.

—------------------

The following days within the league have been mellow. 

As the resident healer you come across all kinds of injuries and scratches that don’t take much effort to heal. It gets you into a routine of some kind. 

Toga, with her minor cuts and bruises, to Spinner who had a massive gash in his arm from lack of practice with his katana. It’s all simple and easy. 

Your current patient, however, is not simple and easy.

Dabi is someone you have had little to no interaction with, the man choosing to spend his time elsewhere and makes his stance with the league known.

He couldn’t care less for any of it. 

Far too focused on his own goals and motives, Dabi tended to be out and about on his own business. 

Your hands tremble as they hover over his bloody arm. Apparently there was a fight and one of the guys caught Dabi off guard. He only managed to cut his arm before being incinerated. 

The heat of his quirk lingers before your hand as you focus your energy into restoring his arm. It was hot and you could only imagine the waves of his flames. 

He says nothing as you work, opting for a comfortable silence in the air of your room. The door is cracked allowing more light of the hallway to bleed into the space. His body is not one that you could ever fully heal. 

The burns were permanent, and with his constant quirk use you don’t think he would stay healed if you tried.

Your eyes trail up his arm and you notice the glint of the silver staples along his body. Then up towards the silver lining his face. You can't imagine how painful something like that must feel. 

Your eyes trail further up until you meet the cerulean blue of his. The sudden contact makes you instantly dart your gaze to the floor and the realization of being caught staring leaves you feeling unsettled. You’re not sure how long he’s been watching you, but it makes your stomach turn.  

Shigaraki has no use for harming you, but you didn’t know Dabi. 

You finish healing him and he stands, boots loud against the cement as he makes his way to the door. 

He pauses, opting to give you one last look. “You should really work on that.”

You know he’s not talking about your abilities. Your demeanor could use a lot of work.

You can’t help but agree.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura x reader #my works #mha x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #mha fanfiction

[respectthepetty]

Dangerous Romance is peak comedy

I got 99 problems, but Dangerous Romance ain't one. It feels like a Thai version of Another Gay Movie because it is squeezing in all the tropes yet taking none of them seriously, which is not a problem in my book.

Not a Problem #1 - Nava & Guy making everything into a competition including turning on the faucet. They got that Love Mechanics color-coded lighting treatment, and that's all I care about.

Not a Problem #2 - The Poor Boys treating the Rich Kids like the dogs they are by threatening punishment if they act up and dropping "good boy" casually into the conversation when they do good deeds, then rewarding them. It's puppy play meets praise kink, and I approve of it.

Not a Problem #3 - How Sailom's friends, especially Guy, thought Kanghan was trying to poison them, yet still drank with Nava because if he was going to die, he was going to die the champion.

Not a Problem #4 - Kanghan not knowing how to express what he is feeling when Sailom questions him after the kiss and expecting the kiss to speak for itself. He thought he was speaking Sailom's love language, but Sailom is clearly an "acts of service" type, while Kanghan is a "words of affirmation" guy.

Not a Problem #5 - Characters using the bathroom! Every episode, someone goes to the bathroom or uses it as an excuse to escape a dinner where they cannot make eye contact with the boy who kissed him in the bathroom because the kiss was a C- at best and he doesn't know how to tell him that without making him cry since he has a praise kink, and I appreciate it.

Not a Problem #6 - Kanghan saying that he sucks.

Not a Problem #7 - Kanghan stating he has to keep trying because practice makes perfect.

Not a Problem #8 - The tiny smile Kanghan gave when he realized he could go through the bathroom door instead of the front door to get to Sailom. And no, this is NOT an euphemism.

Not a Problem #9 - How Kanghan stood in the light because he finally figured out his feelings and he wanted to be open and honest about them while Sailom still hid in the dark blue afraid of the way he already loves this unhinged Blue Boy.

Not a Problem #10 - The pinky promise to be queer

Not a Problem #11 - The way Kanghan naturally went into Sugar Daddy mode.

Not a Problem #12 - The dumb looks these two kept giving each other in front of Sailom's friends and God as if no one else existed but each other.

Not a Problem #13 - Sailom singing JLo's 2001 hit "My Love Don't Cost a Thing" only for Auto to bring that Golden Era Madonna Energy and tell Kanghan that "We are living in a material world, and he is a material girl"

Not a Problem #14 - Kanghan liking the way Sailom smells. Kanghan wearing Sailom's clothes. Kanghan responding "no-no" when asked if he is a psycho like a cute little puppy. Kanghan's entire existence, and Sailom's annoyance of how much he loves this guy.

Not a Problem #15 - Kanghan being a WEAKASS! My family will give outsiders hot shit without any warning, just to watch them take a bite and cry, so I get a deep pleasure watching people suffer their way through eating spicy foods to save face. Like, just take the L my man, so everyone can know Sailom is superior to you in every way! Hence why I love Eddie from Kiseki: Dear to Me and Palm from Never Let Me Go. They like it spicy.

Not a Problem #16 - Sailom being horny on main when Kanghan took the blame to save Auto.

Not a Problem #17 - Auto being so tiny compared to the group. Auto getting White Girl Wasted. Auto dancing. Auto refusing to snitch on the group. Auto saying his mom is gonna be soooo upset at him like he is a (queer-coded) killer in the original Scream. Auto saying "NEVER FORGET! NEVER FORGIVE!"

Not a Problem #18 - Sailom being a gold-star gay when that girl was trying to dance with him, only for Kanghan to come in with a steel chair and demand she leave his gay boyfriend alone.

Not a Problem #19 - Sailom finally realizing just how crazy Kanghan is when Kanghan wanted to ballroom dance in the bar as a way of declaring to the whole world that they are in love, then Sailom realizing he is VERY into Kanghan's brand of crazy. *see #16*

Not a Problem #20 - Those handmade cheerleader outfits being so camp (read: fugly), that it brought the queer out of my (hidden) girl couple.

Not a Problem #21 - Sailom screaming "TROY!" again for the Wildcats in the audience who are "all in this together"

Not a Problem #22 - Guy not kink-shaming Sailom for his puppy play relationship with Kanghan since he's probably taking mental notes, so he can tame Nava using similar methods.

Not a Problem #23 - Kanghan hugging Sailom so tightly and THANKING HIM after Sailom said yes to being his boyfriend. See what a good dom can do for a brat through affirmation play? "Good boy" *pat his head*

Not a Problem #24 - Kanghan's (Perth's) smile. Sailom's (Chimon's) wavy hair. The boys cuddling up in Sailom's bed because Kanghan now needs constant positive reinforcement for his good behavior and he likes the way his boyfriend smells. Kink is really classical conditioning. Smell of boyfriend + Hugs from boyfriend = Who's a good boy? Who's the best boy? Who's my very good boy? *rubs his belly*

Not a Problem #25 - Saifah being A WHOLE FUCKING PROBLEM all episode! My wild ass theory lives!

God, I fucking love this show.

#dangerous romance #sailom x kanghan #my entire personality #words of affirmation + acts of service #the perfect combo #Kanghan is a GOOD BOY! #this show is a comedy

[good-chimes]

In honor of Life series four, Life Series Bake Off AU

NEW SERIES LAUNCHES:

Nation charmed by fresh crop of 12 amateur bakers including intensely competitive student GRIAN, ambitious cake artists BDUBS and SCAR, scientific bread experts TANGO and IMPULSE, and ETHO who has no discernible social media presence and, rumor has it, doesn’t officially exist. Married couple JOEL and LIZZIE raise eyebrows—will they be able to compete against each other?—but this is settled when Lizzie immediately announces she would murder Joel in real life to win and has bought the kitchen knife set for it, and Joel lovingly declares he keeps an axe under his pillow in case this happens.

The judges as usual are renowned cake chef PEARL, bread expert MUMBO, and our two inimitable presenters: BIGB, beloved by the nation for his gentle reassurances of weeping contestants, and MARTYN whose main contribution is his trademark eyebrow waggles as we find out from the judges who’s in trouble this week.

TART WEEK (1)

Tart week gets off to a strong start, with contestant REN charming both the judges and Martyn with his exquisite tarte au citron and his total inability to let a double-entendre go to waste (‘I’m just a tart triumph all over’ he proclaims, to Martyn’s immediate delighted riposte ‘Mm, but what do you do on the weekends?’). Law student JIMMY is not so lucky when a misreading of the recipe leads to ten times the correct amount of butter and a catastrophic oven meltdown. Star baker goes to early favorite BDUBS for an exquisite three-tier tart showstopper.

Week one elimination is, of course, the hapless Jimmy, and the recaps are united on two fronts: it's always nice to see someone on the show who reminds you of your own midnight experiments, but holy shit Jimmy, did it not give you a clue when the melted butter started pouring out of the oven like you’d stabbed the spirit of margarine to death in there. Jimmy's butter meltdown becomes a meme and he sells T-shirts; Joel immediately posts a picture wearing one.

CAKE WEEK (2)

Week two brings cake week and an impressive performance from SCAR, who embarks on a showstopper Baked Alaska in the shape of a snow-covered mountain. Tranquil in the face of GRIAN’S constant disparaging comments about his whisking technique and browned meringue, Scar perseveres and is crowned star baker for the week, while Twitter immediately declares Grian the villain of the season. A contingent of viewers theorising ‘could this be flirting’ are swiftly shouted down on social media and retreat to a dedicated subthread on a cookery forum.

Last week’s star baker BDUBS seems distracted by his new-found friendships with the quiet ETHO, who spends hours on the surprisingly unambitious Victoria Sponge. A conspiracy theory emerges that Etho invented the Victoria Sponge, refuted by weak counterarguments like “cannot possibly be true” and “he would have to be several hundred years old.” Meanwhile the nation is won over by JOEL and LIZZIE’S chemistry as they trade quips and spatulas, unfortunately Joel is eliminated after a jam mishap, at which he declares “at least I went out after Jimmy.”

TEA-TIME WEEK (3)

Tea-time week brings florentines and shortbread, but it’s a sad week for love as REN is out after his overambitious scones fail to impress. “I’m heartbroken,” Martyn announces, and cannot be consoled even by Scott’s superb showstopper petite-fours. Ren was a good sport to the end, everyone agrees. Ren spotted at a Covent Garden coffee shop with Martyn three weeks later.

HALLOWEEN WEEK (4)

The mood is jovial for Halloween week, with judge MUMBO in fake vampire fangs while ETHO bakes cookies in the form of anatomically correct skulls. LIZZIE starts off with adorable witch-hat cupcakes in little witch hats, then spends the rest of the episode precisely and effortlessly crafting a blood red mirror glazed sachertorte which the presenters refuse to look at because it “makes them uncomfortable”, and is subsequently awarded star baker for the most genuine aura of threat ever achieved by a cake.

Meanwhile GRIAN and SCAR continue to genially snipe at each other throughout. TANGO asks BDUBS to turn his oven off at a crucial moment; unfortunately Bdubs forgets and then blames Tango for relying on him, leading to the charred mess of Tango’s showstopper and a social media uproar dubbed “OvenGate”. Bdubs alternately sorrowful and dramatically dismissive. This cruel betrayal knocks Tango out of the tent; a public petition is started for his reinstatement.

WEDDING WEEK (5)

Puppet theater designer CLEO has her star turn in wedding week with ranks of beautiful marzipan figurines on all her bakes. An intense rivalry develops between her and wedding-enthusiast BDUBS, who declares his magnificent fondant confection a dry run for his impending marriage to ETHO, a stranger he met ten days ago. When asked by presenters how much of this is a joke, Etho laughs and says “I guess?”, which leaves the nation none the wiser. Unfortunately IMPULSE’S canapes are considered uninspired and he is uninvited from both the wedding reception and the series.

BREAD WEEK (6)

The feared bread week comes around and all the artistic cake-makers wobble badly. SCAR and GRIAN just scrape through, but CLEO’S triumph last week turns to tragedy despite the trouble she has gone to to model a realistic centaur out of sourdough. Bdubs makes an impromptu speech to camera about how she was robbed but he intends to triumph in her honor.

MEDIEVAL WEEK (7)

The experimental medieval week takes the bakers on an outdoor camping trip where they will attempt to build their own stoves and use them to replicate historical bread techniques. BDUBS’S enthusiasm for this and his drive to impress ETHO turn out to be his downfall as, distracted, he builds a stove that bleeds heat and fails to brown his bread. Etho meanwhile excels at both the survival and breadmaking aspects, leading to a divide on Twitter on whether this level of competence is hot or just very concerning, potentially the cake equivalent of a serial killer. The Victoria Sponge theory is raised again. Etho alleviates some concerns by getting lost three times in an open field over the course of the episode, which loses him enough baking time that dark horse SCOTT pips him to the post of star baker.

WINTER WARMTH WEEK (8)

Week eight arrives and five bakers remain: LIZZIE and SCOTT are known to be good all-rounders, ETHO is the reigning technical expert, SCAR remains the favorite on the cakes side, and GRIAN is mainly known for his habit of constantly sneaking spoonfuls of Scar’s cake mix so he can mock the taste. Social media opinion is divided into “Grian is a good baker actually”, “Grian is only still in because of executive meddling”, and the small but determined contingent of “no guys we really think they’re flirting??” who have emerged from their cookery subthread unbowed and with compilations of video evidence.

The set gets cozy with winter warmth week. Brandy-based showstoppers are the order of the day, and LIZZIE wins the episode by crafting a biscuit unicorn with a mane you can set on fire. ETHO invents an intricate brandy plumbing system to shoot flaming alcohol above his plum pudding—this attempt is in fact a good deal too successful and instead sets MARTYN’S hair on fire. GRIAN comes to his aid but ends up adding more brandy. Judge PEARL extinguishes the flames with a bowl of cinnamon milk. The judges are clearly not feeling merciful when it comes to the scores and Etho’s run comes to a premature end.

DOUBLES WEEK (9)

Some old favorites return for doubles week, where each of the remaining four bakers is helped out by an eliminated contestant on the other end of the phone. GRIAN for once assesses the limits of his own talents and asks to pair up with ETHO, a plan that immediately pays off when the contestants are challenged with a tricky technical that sees them baking the perfect pumpernickel bread. SCAR, having asked to pair up with BDUBS, is quickly underwater as neither of them understand yeast.

Scar’s floundering proves too much for Grian, who belligerently passes along his pumpernickel tips from Etho, saving Scar’s technical enough for him to scrape through. When challenged by Martyn, Grian grudgingly admits, “I just want Scar to stay in, okay?” Some recaps clear him of his villain status; others are still convinced it’s a fluke.

Meanwhile SCOTT turns in an efficient technical with help from CLEO and also JIMMY, who is apparently sitting in Cleo’s living room just to heckle Scott. LIZZIE calls on husband JOEL, but a combination of overconfidence and flirting distracts them both, leading to a burnt crust and Lizzie’s elimination from the final four.

MERINGUE WEEK (Final Episode)

In the finale, SCOTT, SCAR, and GRIAN face off over a series of escalating meringue-based challenges. Whatever alliance sprung up between Grian and Scar in the last episode is clearly water under the bridge as the two of them obsessively steal each other’s ingredients and annoy each other into trivial mistakes. This escalates into a noisy quarrel over the main challenge of the week: an edible diorama of a cactus ring. Scar’s attempts to ‘aesthetically correct’ Grian’s mountain diorama leads to Grian melting his sugar-spun cacti with a crème brulée torch.

The two are no longer speaking by the showstopper, where Grian embarks on a desperate attempt to make up points with an ambitious trifle in a castle-shaped wall of macarons while Scar builds his own grand macaron diorama. The clock ticks down. Scott is creating an impeccable strawberry pavlova. The trifle is going badly. Grian is covered in sugar and regret. BigB pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

At the last moment, Scar sacrifices half his perfect macarons to donate to Grian’s diorama. Grian, for once lost for words, grabs his apron and kisses him right in front of Martyn’s swiftly-derailed countdown. “Grian had a beautiful artistic vision,” Scar says sentimentally afterwards. “You have to respect the craft!” They snog behind the tasting table. Mumbo gamely attempts to award points. Pearl in a laughing fit behind the cameras. Martyn and BigB solemnly wrap up the shot with Martyn’s best cake-based innuendoes. Grian and Scar do not notice.

Scott wins the series. He got so many more points on the cactus ring technical.

#ethubs #treebark #scarian #zombiecleo #jimmy solidarity #i'm scared to use scott's tag he's on here #for blocking -> #traffic shipping

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 4)

Tw: Afab/fem reader, Cyprus being a sexual predator in the office, fear of reporting about it to HR, Cyprus being a dick and just manhandling you

I do not like this stinky man but i want to get out of my comfort zone in writing. It was so hard to not make him motherly, but i persevered and made Cyprus , cyprus

I wonder if this guy is actually appealing or he's just like peggable

Masterlists, part 1, part 5

There was a knock at your door. You groggily got up and wiped your eyes, you're squinting to avoid having too much light going in.

You opened the door to none other than Cyprus. He's wearing the same jacket, but a black shirt underneath today.

He looked at you incredulously. "Christ, it's two in the afternoon. You just woke up?"

You said yes and you would want to go back to sleep as soon as possible. You asked if he needed something from you.

"I need you to get out of bed! You can't just waste your three-day weekend like this, doll." He invited himself into your room, shutting the door behind him.

Its pitch black with your total light blocking blinds. He couldn't see anything, so he had to use the torch of his phone. Only to see you looking back at him tiredly, back hunched and bags under your eyes for days.

Cyprus used his thumb to gently pull your lower eyelid down and to examine your eyes. They're bloodshot and dry, you must have scrolled on your phone all night to compensate for your lack of control yesterday.

You asked if he could come back tomorrow. Or not at all. You wanted to sleep, you barely get them on work days.

There was pity in his eyes as he watched you blink strangely. "You can't keep living like this."

You said yes, you can. You have been doing this for years and you turned out fine. Again, you asked him if he could leave you in peace until Monday.

He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned in frustration. "Fine." He said, storming out of your room without saying goodbye.

To your surprise, he stuck to his word. He hasn't come by ever since, not even on Sunday. You did receive texts from him, though. His contact was saved as "My Man <3" despite not remembering even giving Cyprus your number. He must have unlocked your phone using your fingerprint and stole it for himself.

You refused to open those texts or answer his calls. You simply switched to silent mode and dozed off for two whole days.

Monday rolls around. You had to drag yourself to the bathroom and freshen up. Dress nicely for work and prepare without your bag, you forgot to ask Cyprus for it back.

You were moving automatically, using muscle memory and none of that critical thinking.

You screamed in shock when you opened the door to see Cyprus smoking there. He winced at the sharp increase in volume.

"Quiet down, it's too early for that, princess." He spoke in a softer voice.

You asked what he was doing here while locking your door.

"Picking my girl up. Come on, we're going to be late." You shuddered when he brought your hand to the small of your back, seemingly touching lower and lower since the last time you met him.

__

It felt like a walk of shame. Cyprus insisted on carrying your suitcase. Those who knew of your boyfriend would ogle at you and him. Some would boldly ask about the relationship between the two of you. And in Cyprus fashion, he would reply with something polite, but telling them it was none of their business.

Punching in at 9AM sharp, there were multiple heads turned when he set your items on your desk for you.

He was unaffected by the attention, as if he was used to it and there's nothing to fret about. You on the other hand, is fucking distressed. They're going to flock to you the second Cyprus leaves for his cubicle, knowing that they wouldn't get anything out of the man.

"Your bag is still at my place." He whispered as the office was deathly quiet for once. No doubt, it was to eavesdrop on what he has to say to you and vice versa.

You know what that smirk meant. You wouldn't be seeing your favourite handbag for a while unless you come over to his apartment tonight. You nodded, in silent understanding.

A couple of gasps sounded when Cyprus bent down to give you a kiss on the cheek. Your blood ran cold, but despite that, you stretched your neck out to see who expressed such emotions. Everyone pretended not to look, but their wide eyed, slack jaw, hand-covering-mouth expressions told you otherwise.

You asked if he really needed to do that here.

"Duh. How else are they going to know you're mine?" He chuckled lowly and ruffled your hair. Cyprus left your cubicle to return to his.

It didn't take long for the first interviewer to come along. The one nearest to your desk, wheeled their office chair to your personal space.

You sighed and covered your face, knowing that he wanted to know the juicy bits.

Another one came by, pretending to hand you some reports, but it's really just to extract some details.

Then another straight up arrived without a shame in the world. Asking bluntly about your love life with him, not even caring to be discrete.

You looked around for Jane, the monster manager. She's the lesser evil for now, if she saw this gathering happening around you, he would have shrieked for everyone to get back to work. But she was nowhere to be seen.

You tried to mind your business, giving vague and non incriminating answers to every question. But they kept pressing on, more and more started to flock towards you, chattering amongst themselves and cracking jokes. Without your boss, the office became a casual space for your colleagues to socialize without putting actual work into the company.

They're all blocking your sight, you didn't realize that Cyprus is marching up to your cubicle.

"Don't you all have work to do?" Cyprus's scowl and sharp tone caused everyone to jolt momentarily before scattering away. Once he's satisfied that they left his precious girlfriend alone, he walked away.

You sighed upon seeing that they're still throwing discrete glances at you and Cyprus.

A cup of your favourite warm beverage might help, so you stood up as quietly as possible. Trying not to alert anyone, you went into the shared kitchen. To your relief, it was empty save for you.

As usual, you grabbed your favourite cup, a sachet of your drink and began preparing it. All things were going smoothly until you heard footsteps behind you.

You knew it's Cyprus. He's standing so close behind you, that your back is pressing against his chest.

You asked him what he was doing.

"I'm just getting my mug." He opened the top cabinet and took longer than usual to retrieve the porcelain vessel. You frowned, being sandwiched between his muscular frame and the counter. A sinewy hand held onto your arm as he rummaged through the shelf.

You had half a mind to splash him with hot water. But that would probably cause you more problems than solutions.

Finally, he separated himself from you, but he was making his coffee right next to you. Cyprus waited for the machine to drip dark liquid gold, he has a hand on your shoulder at all times. He must really, really like physical contact.

You stirred your drink with a teaspoon while he picked his completed cup up.

"See you around, pretty girl." You let out a yelp when he patted your rear.

He laughed when he saw you jerk your hips forward in response to that unwanted touch.

You watch him head back to his cubicle with balled fists. This isn't right, you never saw him as anything more than a coworker.

You wanted to go to the HR and try to get him fired for sexual harassment. But you had no proof, as the CCTV cameras were faulty and the company didn't care enough to replace them. Your department was the only one that isn't slacking off, so why bother? There were no witnesses and he knows where you live. You do not want to be the receiving end of his mean punch.

You felt defeated, trapped and upset. But there really isn't anything you can do except to try and gather evidence from now on.

Or maybe get yourself transferred to another section.

You shook your head and went back to work.

__

"Baby."

You snapped out of your trance of scanning for numbers and figures on your blinding screen.

He's leaning against your cubicle with a hand in his pocket, you think he's concealing a pack of cigarettes.

"It's lunchtime. Stop working." He bent down and teased you by blowing into your ear. You swatted him away, but he only snickered at you.

You asked him what he wanted from you.

"Well. You." He adjusted his glasses as he stood back up straight. "Let me take you out to lunch."

You said you're not hungry.

He gave you a knowing look as your stomach decided to roar in defiance. You felt your face heat up at that.

"Come on. Get up, doll." He beckoned you to follow him as he stepped away.

You said you don't want to. You're staying in the office. He rolled his eyes and walked away, muttering about how you're royalty, needing him to go the extra mile for you.

You had no idea what that meant. So you continued working away.

You ignored all the attempts of your coworkers' nosy attempts to pry into your life between you and Cyprus. As much as it was tempting to tell them that you actually didn't consent to this relationship and he's a massive creep, you knew it would come back and bite you. So you just gave them neutral answers or not say anything at all.

It went on like this for the next half hour or so, until they parted ways for something. Rather, someone.

"Here." Cyprus set a takeaway container on your table. "Still warm."

He has his own box of food with him.

The women and men swoon over this gesture of kindness, but immediately composed themselves and coughed into their fists when Cyprus turned around to shoot them a glare.

They excused themselves and said they had somewhere to be. But you think they're just waiting to see what he would do with you, when he thinks no one is paying attention.

"Get up, princess. We're going downstairs, I need to smoke." He grabbed you by the forearm and slightly manhandled you. Cyprus made sure you took your food with you.

He knows all eyes were on him when he pulled you into the stairwell. Cyprus didn't care that he potentially blew his secret hideout that he goes to during lunch. He could always find somewhere else.

All that matters is that he's spending his valuable time with his favourite girl.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #tw yandere #yandere concept #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc cyprus #male yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #yandere coworker

[ugh-yoongi]

fic where yoongi says exactly what he means all the time (ie - i have a massive crush on you) and reader thinks “no one is that direct” and doesn’t believe anything he says because i love miscommunication in fics but YOONGI SURE AS SHIT DOESNT

you know why

hello my beloved birthday-having friend <3 hope you enjoy.

fun fact: this is the yoongi bee dressed up as the night she got drunk as fuck and spent an hour doing a powerpoint presentation on bts kinks. don't we love that for her :)

direct

pairing: yoongi x gn!reader genre: college au, strangers to friends to lovers; fluff warnings: yoongi is an implied fuckboy, brief mention of blood, very direct communication, cigarettes, swearing, a kiss. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 700

You meet Min Yoongi in your chemistry lab.

You meet Min Yoongi when he’s half asleep and wearing a permanent scowl. Looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, and you sneak a glance at his shoes to confirm. Yeah, two different ones, just as you’d suspected. You’ve met this brand of academically-declined fuckboy before and it’s never ended well for you, so you breathe out a sigh of relief when he ducks into a row towards the back.

Then your instructor tells you to pair off, that whoever you choose is who you’ll be stuck with for the rest of the semester, and no one else must want to work with Min Yoongi, either, because he’s the only person left. He blinks half-lidded eyes at you—slowly, like a cat—and says, “Fine by me. You’re who I wanted to partner with, anyway.”

And you scoff. Min Yoongi didn’t even bother to buy the textbook, and you’re at your seat with an arrangement of notecards and highlighters and a stack of notes you’d taken over the weekend just because you were bored and wanted to get a head start. “Yeah, I’m sure I was.”

You’re dumb enough to refer to Min Yoongi as a friend five months later.

It’s a Friday night. Your roommate is god-knows-where, probably getting railed within an inch of their life at some party. Good for them. At least someone around here is taking advantage of their college years instead of wasting away on a threadbare thrift shop couch, a magical girl anime playing on your laptop; the one you watch only when you’re alone, because it’s too embarrassing otherwise.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Min Yoongi is on the other side with a black eye and a busted lip. Refuses to meet your eye. Says, “I didn’t know where else to go,” even though he’s got a posse that’d put small armies to shame.

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need to bullshit me to get my attention.”

He smiles at that. “Why do you always think I’m bullshitting you?”

“Because you’re a sewer king, Min Yoongi.” Then you sigh, because couldn’t Yoongi have pulled this stunt when you were showered and wearing clean clothes? “Fine, get in here. But I’m not doing this shit again.”

Yoongi always smells like smoke and petrichor and trouble, and it’s the same when he breezes past you this time, too. “Thanks, doll. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

This fucking guy, you think. “Yeah,” you intone, “what are friends for, huh?”

You become absolutely certain that Min Yoongi is full of shit two years later.

“You’re full of shit,” you tell him, watching as he flicks the ashes of his cigarette onto the hood of his beat-to-hell car.

“Don’t you think this is getting a little old?”

“Don’t you think you’re too old to act like this?”

“Who’s acting?” Sticks the cigarette between his lips and takes a drag. Blows the smoke out, waves it away from you.

“You are,” you insist. “No one on earth is this honest. Especially not you. Especially not about something like this.”

Yoongi groans. Tosses the butt onto the pavement and stomps on it. “You want me to prove it?”

You curse the way your heartbeat hastens. How embarrassing that you’re falling for this. That all Yoongi has to do is sell you some kinda line about being in love with you for all your good sense to crumble at your feet. “You’re not in love with me,” you argue. More like you insist.

“Says who?” he fires back, inching closer. Smells like smoke again—nicotine and a desperate kind of hope and bad ideas that might not be all that bad. “Says you, who doesn’t believe a fucking thing I say?”

“That’s not—”

He stands between your spread things. Places two fingers beneath your chin and forces you to look at him. “I’ve never lied to you, doll. Not once.”

“Bullshit,” you answer, your voice diminished to a pathetic hush, but there’s no heat in it. “Fine. Prove it, then.”

You become absolutely certain that you don’t know a goddamn thing when Min Yoongi presses his lips to yours.

#beeday drabbles #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #yoongi fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts drabble #jewel answers #jewel writes

[ollie-jpg]

soapghost headcanons sleep edition

ghost:

sleeps in complete darkness. has blackout curtains and unplugs/shuts off all his electronics before going to sleep. sleeps in complete silence. if you didn’t know better you’d think you were walking into a cave

hates sleeping. it makes him feel vulnerable but he also think it’s an impractical waste of time

sleeps on a twin sized mattress. curls into a ball when he sleeps

always too hot

the first time soap slept in his bed ghost got a foot lodged in his side and he ended up on the floor and got no sleep that night

light sleeper

there’s at least one knife under his pillow at all times. sometimes he hides more between the mattress and the frame

talks in his sleep

refuses to sleep around anyone else because he has trust issues. will force himself to go days without sleeping unless soap is around

locks the door to his room at the same time every night to make him feel safer

has at least two weighted blankets that he’s folded in half to make them seem heavier but they’re still not heavy enough for his liking

loves it when soap lays on him/rests his head on his chest

soap

soap sleeps with the curtains half drawn and always has something playing in the background

wears earplugs when he sleeps ?? don’t ask me to explain it’s just something he would do

s p r a w l s out as much as he can. sleeps on a king sized mattress just because he likes having the space

has led strip lights on the walls but never changes the color from red and he keeps them on the lowest setting because it’s easy on the eyes at night and he knows ghost won’t mind it

the first time ghost slept in his bed he woke up the next morning crying because he had slept really well and that scared him (trauma responses abhorred <3) and soap didn’t understand it at first and thought he had done something wrong

a literal ice cube. loves to snuggle with ghost at night to warm himself up & gets sad when ghost isn’t around to keep him warm

sometimes finds himself sleeping On Top of ghost like a baby sleeping on somebody’s chest

never knows how it ends up happening but he doesn’t complain about it ever because he loves it

wears socks in bed

one time a civvy kid brought him a little beat up raccoon stuffed animal & he sleeps with it very night (it lowkey reminds him of ghost)

keeps a stack of various books on his bedside table to read at night when he can’t sleep

soap snores so effing loud

#soapghost #cod #ghostsoap #original #ollie talks #look at me creating content for something i know nothing about!

[periprose]

pretty please rough navi quaritch smut where he splits reader's legs apart and breeds her?? Reader can be from the RDA and she has to let him breed her as part of the new embryo growth program :) <3

Woo boy anon!! This ask made my head explode in a really good way 😳 thank you

The Old Fashioned Way

Miles Quaritch x Reader

When Parker Selfridge tells you that the RDA needs one of your eggs, since you're a Recom, for new genetic material, you literally can't say no. It's an order that you can't refuse, since they're trying to make new embryos to experiment off of.

Of course, you're placed in a room with Miles Quaritch, your superior, who's unsuccessfully trying to harvest his own reproductive material, same as you. He decides to kill two birds with one stone, and suggest that you do it the old fashioned way.

Word Count: 3.8k

Genre: Smut, pwp, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Quaritch being obsessed, 18+, no use of Y/N

Reader's name is Axe

“No way.” You cross your arms, staring down at Selfridge.

He’s just told you about the new RDA program. Growing Avatars and Recoms is easy and all, you know the process. Na’vi DNA was extracted successfully about twenty-five years ago- and there’s a process of combining human DNA with it to create new bodies.

It’s just that the Na’vi DNA has slowly been losing it’s potency with every sequencing process. You don’t know exactly what that’s all about- just that cloning deteriorates something about how strong the genes are. 

So the scientists and geneticists have decided that they need some kind of replacement, and they need it now. They wanted to track down more Na’vi, but considering how hard everyone’s asses get beat anytime the RDA gets a few klicks near their territory, it was a no go.

They’ve decided on the “natural way.”

As Selfridge has just said.

“ Why… not… just take my genes, Parker?” You bite your lip, and Selfridge shakes his head.

“Don’t make this anymore awkward than it has to be, Axe.” Selfridge stares at his fingernails, which somehow makes him look like even more of a prick. “Your genes are no bueno . You, Zdinarsk, Wainfleet, and Quaritch are the last line of ‘normal’ Recoms, if we can call it that. If we try to extract your genes, and grow a Recom body, it’ll just be a waste of money. It won’t work.”

“Okay.” You inhale sharply, and Selfridge flinches. You forget sometimes in your Recom body that you’re way more intimidating than your old self was. Your dead self. “So what exactly does the ‘natural way’ entail?”

“What are you, a fucking virgin?” Selfridge laughs. Loudly. 

You snarl at him, and he flinches, again, before snickering.

“Jesus, you really are one of them, huh?” Selfridge scoffs. “Try not to fuck the sperm donor too hard when you see him.”

“Selfridge-” You grab his arm as he tries to leave, and with how much smaller Selfridge is, it’s like you’re dangling his body with your sheer strength. “ Motherfucker- tell me for real what’s going on, or I’ll snap your neck.”

“You’ll get shot if you try anything.” Selfridge says, but you can see in his eyes that he’s panicking. “Okay, okay. I’m just fucking with you. They’re just going to extract an egg from your na’vi-ovaries or whatever they’re called. Then the rest, you should know. Embryo production.”

You do know, but you don’t trust him.

It’s not like you have a choice anyways.

/

You were right not to trust him.

Selfridge has to be kidding. You’re sitting in your typical testing room in Bridgehead City. There’s no scientists around, at least not yet. You’ve come in on your day of ovulation, and you’ve been told to wear something comfortable and loose, and to sit around for a bit.

You lean back on the large medical bed, sighing loudly. You’re wearing some regular sweatpants, and a t-shirt that just barely reaches your midriff. Your hair is tied loosely in a low, wavy ponytail. You hope it looks comfortable enough.

You’re assuming an ultrasound, and- the weirdest part- some vaginal probing. You haven’t gotten a chance to play around with your new body yet, at least not like that, and you have no idea what gets you going, or whatever.

You’re sure some lube will be implemented, and then you’ll just lie there and count to ten. You’re just waiting for someone, anyone to come by to do this procedure and get it over with.

The door slides open. You sit up.

Miles Quaritch looks at you, his eyes bright, alert, and his mouth a little agape. His ears stand up for a moment. He’s holding a really old magazine, and a cup- oh no.

You can’t be in this situation with your superior. It’s just so damn awkward.

“Axe?” He shakes his head and just looks flabbergasted as he cackles. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I might as well ask you the same question.” You say flatly, and sigh. “They told me… they were going to do my egg extraction in here?”

“Oh.” Quaritch isn’t exactly a sensitive man, or one with any sort of sensibilities, really, so he just sits on the other medical bed next to yours. After a brief pause, he pulls the curtain, so you’ll at least have a bit of privacy. It’s the most comforting thing he’ll ever do.

“You looking at porn?” You joke, but Quaritch just sighs in response.

“Sooner you shut up, the sooner I’ll be done.” 

You can’t argue with that. It must be weird for him too, to still have to jerk off into a cup so he can be a pseudo sperm-donor for an embryo he’ll never know.

You try not to listen too much to what he’s doing, and you can tell, from how much he’s flipping the pages of some old 2100s era Earth porn- he’s not exactly focused on what he’s supposed to be doing. What the hell was Selfridge and the other scientists thinking? That you were interested in having a voyeur experience?

You know that Bridgehead is really busy, what with all the expansions and all for the new human citizens, so you're guessing this was the only free room. You wonder if Z-Dog and Wainfleet are in the same predicament. Why not at least put you in the same room as Z-Dog, so you have a bit of a girl-to-girl, weird bonding experience? Nothing says best friends like getting your eggs extracted together.

Soon, a little robot of some kind comes by through the door, and gives you what has to be the most embarrassing object. 

A dildo.

Not exactly a dildo, because it's not a toy, but it's a very well crafted, self-lubricating, vibrating egg-extractor. Long, slim, phallic and curved in a way that you know will hit the right spot. You feel yourself flush a little.

The robot tells you to "get yourself ready," with the device, and when you're adequately so, to click a button and let it extend itself into your uterus, where it will harvest the egg for safe keeping. 

You really think this is some kind of practical joke. You would've vastly preferred the cold, clinical nature of a doctor asking you to stay calm as they put you under, and insert something into you. 

But you guess it has to be somewhat pleasurable, so they can get you to do it again at some point if they need to. 

"Those sick bastards." You mutter under your breath, and you hear Quaritch stir a little next to you. 

You decide to just get it over with, and pull down your sweatpants- just down to your knees- and your panties. You lay back against the bed, and fiddle with the device. 

Even when you were on Earth, you usually just messed around with dudes who were on your squad in the Navy. This is kind of new territory for you.

You gently press the tip of the device against yourself, and feel awkward. It just is mechanical, cold, and weird- until it starts vibrating, and emitting some sort of magically warm gel that makes you feel soft, as if your skin is beginning to tingle all over, spreading from in between your thighs, up your stomach, and into your chest. 

That's pretty good. You have to admit that yourself. 

You tentatively push it across your folds, not in just yet, and you feel yourself slicken, wetness pooling around the device- it's a sudden whirlwind of a feeling that has you seeing stars. God, you really have missed this feeling, but it's somehow even more intense in your Na'vi body. 

It begins to vibrate against your clit as you move it up and down in a testing, rudimentary way, and you very softly- just barely, audibly moan.

/

Quaritch's ears stand up, on edge. He's horribly alert of everything you're doing, and there's nothing he can do but listen. 

First, your scent is incredibly strong- intoxicating in a way that makes him sure that this is what Sully felt when he got some local tail. Your arousal has him closing his eyes, and thinking of what he would do if he was just a few feet over- pinning you down and thrusting in. Second, that vibrating sound- he knows what it’s doing, and that makes it all the more tempting to just go over and show you what a real man should feel like.

Still, Quaritch wants to follow the rules just this one time, because he's not used to his Na'vi body, either, and he would rather figure out his whole… situation, down there, before he immediately proceeds into sex. 

But he’s a bastard, too. He always goes headfirst into whatever his instincts tell him to do, and it hasn’t exactly failed him yet. Except when he died, obviously.

He hears you, just very subtly moaning, and his ears perk up as he listens.

Quaritch is too impatient to care. There’s a throbbing in his camo pants now, with no thanks to that shitty old magazine, and he knows- like all men know- what he wants to do to get rid of it.

He lifts the curtain aside, where you’re currently holding that damned toy, as your pants ball up around your knees. You’re half-lying against a pillow, and your baby t-shirt is riding up, just showing off a hint of your breasts. You’re not quite in the throes of passion, not yet, but your mouth is half-open, and your lids are half lidded as you gaze at him, your hand stopping in between your thighs.

Quaritch clenches his jaw. It’s insane how fast his hormones are- pumping through his blood, to where his pants are getting uncomfortably tight. It’s quite a sight, he can’t exactly blame himself for moving forward. 

You, to your credit, don’t draw yourself back. You just stare at him, face turning warm- probably not red, all things considered- and Quaritch just stands in front of you, taking your hand from between your legs.

“This is what they got you using?” He scoffs, pulling at the device, away from your legs. You involuntarily twitch at the movement, and your pussy suddenly feels cold. 

Quaritch tuts at the way you’re shaking a little, how you’re clearly so needy, and he leans in with an eager, almost malicious smile. His body easily towers over your own, and you feel your heart race as he looks down at you- up and down your entire body. 

“Why don’t we do things the old fashioned way?” Quaritch murmurs, a deep rumble in his chest as he does so.

You think you should say no. First of all, you don’t want to get pregnant, and second of all, it seems like Quaritch isn’t exactly being impartial, is he? You know that Earth porn probably did nothing for the guy, but that doesn’t mean you have to be his unwilling participant.

Still, as Quaritch gently nudges his bulge against you, your folds slick against the roughness of the cloth, causing you to inhale unsteadily at the pleasant friction, you realize you’re entirely willing to do this. In fact, all things considered, Quaritch is a hell of a lot more attractive than some of the other Recoms out there.

And it feels more natural than the device, which you were sadly struggling to insert. Lube or not, it was a little too out there for you.

You breathe in, feeling his bulge throb against you. “Okay.”

Quaritch doesn’t take much time to unbuckle his pants and underwear, his dick flopping out as he does. You’re a little amused- it’s proportional to his body, but it’s a lot bigger looking than any of the human dicks you’ve seen. 

It occurs to you that you probably look the same way to him. Tall, lithe body. Impossibly tiny waist. Plump chest and ass. Thick thighs. The proportions are different, but good. 

“Are you laughing at me, soldier?” Quaritch pulls off his tank top, his bare muscles causing your face to warm a little, and he towers over you now. His arms are a lot stronger than yours and he pins you down. 

“What the hell are you gonna do about it, Colonel?” You rile him up a little. Just for fun, since it seems like everything has gone batshit insane today. 

Might as well get some extra anger out of him, so this can count as stress relief, too.

“Well, let’s see.” He uses his hands to spread out your thighs, flattening and pressing them into the mattress, splitting your legs apart. He massages your thighs as he talks. “I guess I’m trying to knock you up. Get you nice and filled up with me.”

It causes a tingle in your lower stomach, watching Quaritch size you up as his hands firmly grasp your thighs. 

He inhales, and- with the practised familiarity of someone who hasn’t done this in a while- pumps his fist over his dick, just to remember the sensation. Quaritch slides his dick against you, causing you to convulse as it snugly fits into your outer folds, the head of his dick meeting where your clit is. There’s a throbbing sensation that seems to flow from him into you- and you swear pre-cum must be leaking from him, or you’ve just gotten a lot more wet.

“Ah- fuck- ” You groan, and Quaritch clearly likes the sound of that, because he slides his dick back and forth a few times. Lubing himself up. 

“You asked for this.” He grins at you, and he pushes your legs really wide this time, lifting them up a little as he enters you. 

Quaritch groans loudly when his dick has fully sheathed itself inside you, and you feel yourself twitching in anticipation, feeling more full than you’ve ever remembered feeling when you were human. He pulls your legs forward roughly, and you feel yourself clench around him as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Quaritch sighs in satisfaction, pressing his forehead against yours. He draws himself back, slowly, his dick slipping out of you sloppily, easily, and then thrusts forward at full speed, immediately filling you, causing you to moan loudly. He begins to thrust, slowly, testing the waters, and with every time he fills you, you feel your walls clench around him, like your body can’t do anything but squeeze him.

Eventually Quaritch works himself to a much more rapid speed- like he has a lot of energy he desperately needs to get out. His skin is slapping against yours as he thrusts, sometimes at an even pace, now a bit more sporadically as he gets lost in the sensation, his taut thighs causing what can only be bruises against your own. He finds that with every thrust, your walls squeeze the head of his dick, causing a delicious throbbing sensation to run through his groin, and he wants to capture that feeling again and again. He finds it insane just how wet and good you feel when he ruts up against you- it’s heightened in a way that makes him never want to let go of you.

His hands make their way towards your waist- your ridiculously tiny waist- and he squeezes, marvels at the way it seems his hands could probably swallow you whole there. He’s alarmed to find out that he wants to kiss you there.

Quaritch tries to distract himself a little. Out of some instinct that he can’t quite place, he leans towards your ear, and nibbles on it with his fang. He didn’t exactly realize how much of an erogenous zone that would be for you- warmth spreads across your jaw and ears and cheeks, and you bite your lip in the absolute cutest way, your ears fluttering up and down, as you moan a little against his jaw. He moves his hands upwards, and pulls up your top, exposing your breasts. He roughly thumbs a nipple, causing you to wriggle around in pleasure, and then decides to latch his mouth onto it, his fangs just teasing and pulling at your nipple until you cry out.

He wants to do this again, and again, until you’re covered in his marks and bruises, all his , so he can claim you as his own woman to breed. Of course, Quaritch isn’t that stupid to actually go through with it- you’re a great soldier in your own right, and you probably don’t want to be owned- he just has this need inside him to absolutely own you in every possible way.

You feel like you’re impossibly hot, your body burning up from your lower regions, all the way to your face, to where Quaritch has bitten you, here and there. You’re feeling a pressure build inside you- and you think Quaritch can feel it too, considering how hard he’s grunting, pushing, and pressing inside you, seeking desperately for that release. 

Your hands make their way around his neck, and you lean in, and kiss him, your parted lips moving against his. You think Quaritch won’t be receptive- he is the coldest person you know- but his tongue swirls into your mouth, spit being swapped between the two of you, and he actually groans into your mouth, it being muffled and all. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, ass, waist, and tits, and he begins to thrust with a little more impact- less sloppy, more intensity- which has you absolutely melting at his touch, wrapping yourself tightly around him.

Some instinct of yours- something that comes with this body, at least- tells you to combine your queue with Quaritch’s, and you do so with shaky hands, your braid swinging over his shoulder, and combining with his as you hold them together. Quaritch doesn’t stop you, but what you feel surprises you.

Of course, there’s an overwhelming sense of lust and sex and arousal and all the things Quaritch is feeling right now, so he can breed you like a strong man would, but there’s also… affection? Attraction, yes, but affection?

You could just be getting confused with everything else that’s in there. But you think it’s there, a feeling of affection for his favourite subordinate, and that’s all you really needed to know. You like him, too. You feel like you’re really seeing him right now.

Quaritch moans against your mouth, and cums inside you, and it’s as if fireworks have gone off inside your brain, his orgasm lighting up yours in the soul bond. You convulse under him, moaning, feeling the waves overtake you as he grips you tightly, the ache of his cock causing you to feel pleasure ebb outwards.  

He slowly pulls out, and watches as cum drips down the sides of your thighs. Quaritch is kind of impressed- he did it, like he said he would- and he lays down next to you, sighing in contentment.

“So. Are we keeping it?” Quaritch teases, and you give him a wayward look.

“ It is not gonna be a baby, dumbass.” You roll your eyes, but something about Quaritch now makes you want to snuggle against him, his scent all warm and familiar, and so you do. You let your face lie flatly against his chest. You feel like it’s the bond- it still feels kind of present between you two.

“Woo, boy, if you don’t know how babies are made, I’m not sure I should have done you like that.” Quaritch laughs, and you sigh.

“Goddamnit.” You shake your head. “Selfridge said that our reproductive material are meant to make the next Recoms. They’re just gonna take the embryo, and use it’s cells to make a blank slate for the next Avatar or Recom or whatever it is. We just… took out the middle man for them.”

Quaritch isn’t too caught off guard by this. He’s used to all the science fuckery that the RDA does, and he decides to just let it go.

“Tell you what, Axe.” He uses your name, for real, as his hand combs through your hair. “Come by my quarters later, and we can do it again and again . However many times until you’ve got a baby in there.”

You still don’t want to be pregnant, and you’re pretty sure the colonel knows that- he’s just got some crazy impregnation fetish or creampie kink going on- but you’re kind of obsessed with him now, and the way that he keeps looking at you.

“I’m cool with that.” You nod, and if Quaritch was an honest man, he would say that he felt completely enamoured with that response.

You snuggle up next to him, not really caring that this is a medical lab, or that you should head back to your quarters. You’re tired, and you fall asleep fairly easily.

/

Quaritch doesn’t fall asleep. He feels crazy energized. You’ve given him a high unlike any other- and he’s in a particularly good mood because he feels… some way that he can’t articulate about you.

After you’re out cold, he puts his pants back on- and good thing he does, because Selfridge comes in without knocking. 

Selfridge looks from you, completely naked, and snoring under some blankets, to Quaritch, who’s suspiciously shirtless and stretching his legs out.

He looks aghast. “I didn’t think you two would really-”

“Really?” Quaritch leans over him. “Seems to me like you did it on purpose. Putting us in the same room and all.” 

Selfridge splutters over Quaritch’s accusation, and simply states that he needs the embryo, exiting after handing another extraction advice to him.

Quaritch jostles you awake. “Axe. You gotta do something and then we got to leave, alright?”

You nod sleepily, and he hands you the extraction advice. You rub your eyes and then realize what you’re holding.

“Turn around?”

Quaritch gives you a “ really? ” sort of look, but you’re serious, so he raises his hands jokingly and complies.

It’s a really quick one minute procedure. The little device crawls up inside you in an almost-undetectable fashion, and then after a moment, it pops back out, with a symbol indicating that it has successfully taken the embryo out, and put it inside it’s storage section. It’s weird- you know you were told to come here when you were ovulating, but it’s like a pregnancy test. It confirms that you and Quaritch kind of made a potential baby… or something that will go on to become genetic material for a blank slate.

You’re too tired to care. You put your clothes back on, and yawn, feeling your eyes fluttering. Quaritch picks you up, bridal style, as you snuggle your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. He exits the room, sidestepping around different human RDA members, and Recoms and Avatars who are staring the two of you down. Looks of confusion among all of them.

Quaritch doesn’t give a fuck. He steps into an elevator, and it pulls the two of you up towards the higher floors of the skyscraper.

You know this will be gossip for all the other RDA members, but for now you can just sleep, completely satisfied.

#miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch smut #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch x reader #na'vi quaritch #quaritch smut #recom miles quaritch x reader #smut #na'vi quaritch x reader #avatar smut #colonel quaritch #miles quaritch #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water x reader #atwow #atwow smut #atwow x reader #atwow quaritch #na'vi x reader #na'vi #x reader #female reader #recombinant reader #recom!reader #avatar #avatar 2 x reader #avatar 2

[yuurei20]

Jade and Floyd Info Compilation part 12: Azul (pt3)

When Azul convinces Sebek to allow him to remove a stain from Malleus’ labcoat Floyd and Jade appear instantly when beckoned, to Sebek’s surprise. (“Where did you two come from?! More to the point, where were you hiding?”) Azul tells him to not trouble himself over petty details.

When Ace calls Floyd out on terrifying the ghosts during Spectral Soiree Floyd explains, “This is what I normally do to punks who don’t hold up their end of a deal.”

Jade and Floyd also step in during Book 3 when the 225 students that Azul contracted with for study guides become violent and we see it is common for Jade and Floyd to respond to Azul’s commands (never referring to Azul as “sir” or “boss” in their original dialogue. Floyd even speaks to Azul using casual speech, while Jade speaks just as formally as Azul does.)

There are also times when Floyd and Jade do not follow orders, such as when Jade agrees with Floyd’s behavior during Halloween and does not wish to stop him (despite being instructed to do so) and when Azul tries to send them after Grim, Jack and the perfect n Book 3, but Floyd refuses as “gettin’ yelled at kinda harshed (his) vibe.”

Jade is assigned the task of researching cuisine and ingredients local to Harveston when he visits Epel’s hometown, and is apparently acquiescing to Azul’s request that he not wear a T-shirt that Floyd gifted him.

Azul explains to Jamil again during Beanfest that “the Leech brothers do not work for or answer to (him)” and that there is nothing he can do when Floyd is not in the mood to listen to him, and Floyd himself says that he doesn’t appreciate being told what to do.

Despite this, it is still not uncommon to see Floyd following Azul’s orders: cooking for Scarabia during Book 4, helping with pumpkin carving for Halloween, going on errands to Pomefiore, not leaving strangers alone in the dorm, eating takoyaki that has been intentionally filled with unpleasant ingredients (“Azul gets all huffy if we waste food”) and allowing himself (or being forced?) to be squeezed out for the natural moisturizing liquid of his eel form (dehydration is fatal for mermaids).

Azul says that Floyd messes around with the lounge’s “painstakingly-selected dishware” no matter how many times he is warned, however, and Floyd refuses to iron his shirt despite Azul’s insistence.

#twstfacts #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #twstjade #twstfloyd

[lollytea]

(Part 4 of La La Land Machine exposition posts!! I know I've made way more than 4 but this is the part that's going in chronological order. Like I've talked about Hunter and hunlow in this au before but this is his formal introduction, like Willow got in part 1. I also got quite a lot more followers since I last rambled about this AU so linking the other parts if they wanna catch up. And if they want, they can look through the tag for all the additional info.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Anyway, I lied. We are only BEGINNING to talk about the hunlow slow burn. It's taken me long enough to set up Hunter and everything he's got going on. It sets up hunlow but they're not really close yet. But it won't even take that long to get the next post out because I am so excited to talk about them more)

Hunter Wittebane has lived his whole life wearing masks. He's been an actor before he developed object permanence. He was memorizing scripts by ear before he could fully read by himself.

Job after job, set after set, role after role. His environment is not only cutthroat competitive, but it's always in motion. Things never sit still. The biggest stability in his life was his Uncle Philip, whom Hunter loved intensely. Even if it felt like the only way he could express it was by bleeding.

But Hunter was only allowed to bleed in private. And if he wanted his Uncle to stroke his hair back and keep telling him he was special, he needed to prove it. He needed to be the second chance that he was born to be.

Hunter struggles to really understand who he is. Because he is seldom himself. If he's not playing a character, he's only known as the legacy of the Hollywood gem, Caleb Wittebane, Hunter's late father.

Hunter was quite sheltered as a child. Other than being out and about for business reasons, he didn't really get to experience much of the world. If he wasn't working, he was usually confined to his Uncle's house. Or hotel rooms. The only outings he goes on that are considered "personal" are to church.

He loves to read and he'll devour whatever book he gets his hands on. Unfortunately his options are limited to what his Uncle believes is appropriate. Philip views the world as a depraved and lecherous place, as are the people that inhabit it. If it weren't for this world and its poison, his brother would still be alive.

And then he wouldn't need to waste his time replicating his brother's likeness in some aimless weak willed child who can barely comprehend how important his performance is in all of this.

Philip refuses to allow outside forces to contaminate his nephew. If Caleb's soul is going to live on in the way it should have, they can't make a repeat of last time. Caleb's replacement has to remain on the right path, or his legacy goes up in flames.

The Bible is one of Hunter's top comfort reads. It's the only book that his Uncle seems pleased to know he's interested in. And he's pored over the pages so many times that the familiarity is soothing. It also puts the fear of God in him. As do Philip's frequent lessons. He's shaping up to be a very faithful little Christian.

Hunter also watches a lot of (Uncle approved) television. He's a tiny chatterbox but is pretty starved of socialization. If his Uncle isn't around, he's stuck with the family assistant Kiki, who usually ignores him. TV and books are mostly responsible for Hunter's expansive vocabulary.

As a shy but precocious little boy, his best friends are sweet, comforting preschool cartoon characters.

Even though Philip's life seemed to orbit around Hunter and he worked day and night for the sake of his nephew's success, a lot of the time he just....wasn't around. Sometimes Hunter went weeks without hearing from him and was left in the "care" of Kiki.

Hunter was always left wanting. On those lonely nights when Philip was away, he would beg Kiki to call him so Hunter could at least say goodnight. All for the sake of holding the phone tight against his ear and hearing his Uncle's soft spoken "Sleep well, Hunter," so his world felt a little less cold.

If Philip even answered.

But when Uncle was home, Hunter found himself with some very guilty feelings and ungrateful thoughts.

The details are not important. By that, I mean Hunter is quite uncomfortable recounting the things that used to happen in the Wittebane house when his Uncle was home.

He said them aloud once. At the age of sixteen, when his breathing was in sync with the girl he had fallen in love with and her fingers were tracing gentle paths down his bare back. He felt like he had melted into a world where he could say anything.

It didn't stop his voice from wavering nor his throat from threatening to close up. It was like he was having a full body rejection of the admission. These were secrets meant to remain locked up in his chest until his heart went still.

But he said them. And after that, they couldn't go back to being unsaid.

He didn't say them again for many years. It wasn't until he was a grown man. He wrote them down and he told the whole world.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

The point is that when Philip was away, Hunter got lonely and wanted his Uncle back. When Philip was home and focused all of his attention on his nephew, Hunter wanted nothing more than for him to be gone again. He knew that was an awful thing to want and the guilt ate him alive.

Did he not love his Uncle? Of course he did! He loved him more than anything.

That's why it hurt so much.

Sometimes, his Uncle was a comfort to Hunter's anxious heart. He held him in his arms and hushed him when Hunter had nightmares. He was safety.

And other times, he was the reason for those nightmares and Hunter didn't feel like he could be safe until that man was out of the house again.

Maybe, no matter what happened, he'd never be truly happy with any situation he was put in. Maybe the state of "being happy" just wasn't real, but a thing TV made up. There was just something inherently empty and scary about being alive.

At least that's the conclusion the small boy came to. This remained his mindset as he navigated the big loud upsetting world around him, which only got bigger and louder and more upsetting as Hunter got older and his career grew.

The most glaring problem Philip encountered grooming Hunter in Caleb's image was that there's a drastic difference between a man who achieved the most undiluted burst of stardom in his twenties and a toddler. Hunter can not immediately slide into the dignified shadow his father left behind, because he's too young for the kind of dramatic roles that Caleb had dazzled the world with.

There was nothing available to little Hunter that Philip felt lived up to the standards of Caleb in his prime. Which was understandable but disappointing. So, with a heavy exhale, which made Hunter worry the hem of this shirt ("Am I doing something wrong, Uncle?") Philip relented. Hunter would need a lengthy portfolio by the time he was older, so it was now time to start building this budding actor from the ground up.

Commercials, TV appearances, small film roles. Though it pained him to do so, Philip abandoned all the initial integrity he attached to his brother's legacy, and focused primarily on simply getting Hunter's face on a screen, any screen, whatever it took to get him entrenched in the industry.

Hunter was a lot more sensitive than other children. When he was very little, he had a bad tendency to get distressed over things like bright lights and unfamiliar places and weird textures. This led to a lot of on-set tantrums and he was deemed a difficult and entitled brat.

His "brattiness" never quite went away as he aged. But Philip did manage to curb those tendencies to be far less frequent. It involved brief private conversations in the nearest dressing room. When Hunter emerged, he was quieter and a lot more willing to co-operate with what the adults needed from him.

Hunter learned that misbehaving had consequences. He learned to swallow whatever obscure distress he was feeling and just do his job.

This didn't make his tantrums stop. They just shifted from regular occurances to big nasty explosions that build up over a period of weeks to months.

He eventually gave up trying to suppress them. It doesn't work. So, he just allows his emotions to burst out of him in the most humiliating public display a human being can put on, and then takes his punishment.

Uncle keeps telling him that people are going to think there's something wrong with him if he keeps doing this.

Hunter begs him to believe that there's not. There's not something wrong with him.

While it was happening, Philip would consider the 90s as a rocky beginning to his nephew's career. He didn't care much for any of the films or television series' Hunter appeared in, likely because he didn't care much for any production that included small children. So he was uninterested by default in any of the roles Hunter managed to book.

Regardless, this didn't make Philip any less demanding. Even if it was all tripe, and by God, he was very vocal about it all being tripe, he was still strict about Hunter's work ethic. The boy was expected to pour everything into his performance, and through there were very irritating child labor laws, Philip turned a blind eye to directors pushing the limits every now and again.

After long work days, Hunter would listen to his Uncle tear his current acting job to shreds. The stupid demeaning script that Caleb would be appalled at, but Hunter had no choice but to take, because he simply doesn't have the privilege to be picky.

Hunter felt a deep humiliation by his own career before he was even ten years of age. There was nothing that Philip held to Caleb standard, which left Hunter a paranoid wreck most of the time, fearing that he was always doing something wrong but never knowing how to fix it.

When he thinks back on being a little kid, he has a lot of memories of tearfully begging his Uncle to stop thinking of him a certain way or looking at him the way he does. He remembers his throat hurting. Things must have gotten loud.

An older Hunter would wince as he makes that connection. He remembers his throat hurting but not the consequences of raising his voice.

Every so often, a more prestigious opportunity presented itself to him (like the role of the protagonist's son in a film adaption of an American classic), and Hunter got so overwhelmed by the pressure of finally having something that could possibly hold a candle to Caleb Wittebane that he completely flubbed the audition and failed to book the role.

He knows that were dire consequences for not getting it. Although, once again, he doesn't remember the details of the punishment. But he remembers how tightly Uncle gripped his wrist as they walked out of the building. He remembers sitting perfectly still in the car, scared to make a sound by wriggling in his seat. Scared to breathe.

That was the 90s. That was Hunter's experience as a young child actor.

By the year 2000, he was ten and that's when Philip quietly realized something.

Hunter currently resembled Caleb Wittebane in miniature. He had his strong nose, his ashy hair, his dark eyes. Philip had always anticipated that there may be a bit of her in his nephew's appearance, but there wasn't a trace. It was beyond ideal.

This is when things should have gotten easier. This is when dignified job opportunities should have begun rolling in. This is when the world should have taken notice that Caleb Wittebane was not dead.

But this was not the case.

What Philip did not anticipate was that the industry had changed significantly since the 80s. It was the year 2000 and a young Caleb Wittebane was not what the industry wanted the future of film to look like.

He realized this in his study late one night as he obsessed over old video tapes. And once the truth had sunk in, he called Hunter into the room.

Hunter remembers wearing red pajamas patterned with beagle puppies. He has a memory of liking those pajamas a lot but can't recall the disappointment of growing out of them and throwing them away. It makes him suspect that at some point he just stopped wearing them.

On that night, a part of Philip gave up completely. He decided that this attempt of reviving his late brother's career was a failure before it had even started.

However, Philip was a deeply complex man. A remarkably stubborn man. So even when a part of him died, another part flared with life. It was the part of him that wanted to dig his heels in and say he wasn't done yet. Maybe they didn't want Caleb now, but this world was fickle. Who knows what they'd want in five years? In ten?

Hunter would continue making a name for himself, Philip would make sure of that.

Hunter would be something special if it damn near kills him.

And if he fails, Philip would kill the boy himself.

So, Hunter continues working diligently, attempting to find his footing in the rapidly changing environment. The early 2000s seem to be working overtime to distance itself from the 90s and it certainly takes some getting used to.

When Hunter is around eleven, he is told for the first time that he is not very nice to look at. According to various make up artists and hair stylists who he is left in the custody of when Kiki is god knows where, it's very easy to be cute as a small child. Baby fat n' all. But at a certain age, you start outgrowing it and that's when it becomes apparent whether you're going to be a handsome young man or not.

They gently break the news that there are not a lot of promising signs for Hunter. As one of the women, maybe in her late twenties, cups his face in her hands and tilts it towards the light (he really hates when strangers touch him), she sucks through her teeth and winces, as though she's trying to dig something out with her eyes but is coming up short. Nothing about his features reads as a future leading man. He can still have a steady acting career of course. But it's important he not get his hopes up too high. He's doesn't look like the typical Hollywood star.

Hunter argues with her. He riles himself up until his face flushes with rage. He looks just like his father, who was one of the most famous leading men of all time.

"Who's your Dad?" The woman asks.

Hunter frowns. He's never said the word "Dad" in his life. But the full name is familiar on his tongue when he answers the question.

"Oh, yeah," She says vaguely. "I think my parents used to watch his movies. I guess he was what they considered handsome in the 80s but..."

He doesn't like the way she trails off. He doesn't like all the new information being presented to him. He doesn't like her saying Caleb Wittebane wasn't handsome. In the world Hunter lives in, the man is picture perfect in every discernable way. He's never heard a bad word spoken of his father before, not even of the shallow variety. Uncle only lets him speak to people with nice things to say about Caleb. It's so jarring that it makes him feel nauseous. This isn't the way things are supposed to be.

And what's even worse, does looking like Caleb Wittebane not even matter?

Does this legacy he's supposed to carry on not matter?

That's always been one of his biggest fears, but he can not think about it for too long or the meltdown gets bad. But this new realization about his apparently mediocre looks catch him so off guard that he can't help it this time.

Hunter proceeds to hyperventilate in a supply closet for the next twenty minutes. He had never thought about what he looked like before. He had never really cared. He didn't know his appearance could hinder his career. He didn't know everything could fall apart just by having the face he does.

This is when a deep seated insecurity centered around his body image began spiraling out of control. It was also around the time that Hunter's dietary restrictions were being implemented, as were the intensity of his ballet lessons. This certainly did not help his already deteriorating self confidence.

From that point, Hunter is far more conscious of his own ambitions as an actor. He believes he is more than just a little boy who performs because it's what his Uncle tells him to do. He's a young man who wants to become a success like his father before him. He wants recognition. He wants acclaim. He wants...he wants....he wants something that he does not currently have.

As an adult, Hunter can only drag his fingers through his hair and sigh sympathetically at the thought of his young self believing that his determination to be a successful was ever for himself. It was for Uncle. It was for Caleb Wittebane. It was for everybody but himself. He was just a stupid kid who thought he wanted this because he knew nothing else.

The 2000s are a time when Hunter simultaneously starts slipping out of his iron confines, while getting reeled back tighter than ever. As he grows older, his curiosity becomes more and more insatiable and current pop culture is not as easy to shield him from. Especially when it's such a huge part of his life as an actor.

By the age of twelve, he's such a boring obedient self sufficient little robot that Kiki doesn't even bother monitoring him as severely as she once had. What's he gonna do, really?

And though Hunter is adamant that he never breaks his Uncle's rules, he finds himself shattering them to smithereens on a regular basis.

"I like authority. And rules," He says, ignoring the fact that there are piles of teen magazines tucked away under his mattress. Ignoring the hour of TV he sneaked in that Philip would have shattered the television screen over.

And no matter how many times Hunter wrinkles his nose in disapproval at how rowdy and frivolous today's youth are, he's still reading those trashy articles, desperate to find some connection. His small bubble of worldliness is beginning to grow.

It is slowly occuring to Hunter that he is much different than other kids. But that's a good thing....right? He's on a cleaner path than they are. None of them are being led by Philip Wittebane.

This is a good thing, he tells himself. This is a good thing, this is a good thing, this is a good thing--

However, Philip does crack down on an aspect of Hunter's autonomy that has been mostly ignored until now.

Though he tries not to think about it, as it gives him the most splitting headache, Philip must internally acknowledge those rumors from an age ago. The word of mouth telephone that crackled with the events of that one ridiculous party. Caleb Wittebane, age 17(!!!!) with his tongue down some filthy girl's throat.

The news hadn't been as scandalous as Philip viewed it as, and the world forgot about it remarkably fast. But he never forgot. And he never would. It was a pesky stain on the otherwise clean image that Philip was trying to preserve.

It hadn't been Caleb. It wasn't like him at all to behave in such an indecent way. It was her influence. It always was. Sometimes his blood boiled when he remembered how deeply interwoven she had become in his brother's life. How the child wouldn't even exist without her. It was vile. Eternally contaminating a narrative she had no business being a part of.

Obviously, he never told Hunter about all this. About the party. About the tongue. About the girl. He never mentioned the girl. She was a footnote at best.

Anyway, Hunter was almost thirteen. He was tumbling into adolescence. And no matter how singleminded and sensible he tried to act, there would be challenges to this physical and mental development. And Philip knew from personal experience that there was nothing more damaging to a clean Christian boy than fizzling teenage hormones.

There would not be a repeat of last time.

On Hunter's thirteenth birthday, his Uncle gifted him a chastity ring, like many of the other young people that attended their church.

Hunter was so floored by the gift he forgot how to speak. And when his Uncle put his hand on his shoulder and murmured "I know you won't let me down," Hunter had nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling so much older than he had been a moment before.

He now had a responsibility to refrain from things he hardly understood.

Philip felt this would be an effective precaution. It made Hunter feel important and Hunter loved to feel important.

All that concerned Philip was that the boy stick to his morals.

Keeping his stupid tongue in his stupid mouth was only the tip of the iceberg of what the rules of the chastity ring entailed, but Philip stressed the importance of it nonetheless.

And if the boy failed to do this one simple thing, Philip was going to gouge his eyes out.

A few months later, Hunter was hired to appear in an advertisement produced by his family's church. He, and several other actors in his age range, promoted the rings they wore to the children watching at home.

Hunter was very proud to be a part of it. He rarely got to do anything educational.

When Hunter was fourteen, he surprisingly booked a role as Sir William in some medieval fantasy film for swoony teen girls.

He rolled his eyes over it, but this was the point when Philip made it apparent to Hunter that swoony teen girls was a huge chunk of the target demographic of any actor his age so he best begin pandering. He was no Edric Blight (Hunter fucking hated Edric Blight) but he'd probably appeal to some.

The means of obtaining the role was not Hunter's talent alone, but it was because of a perfectionist director who wanted raw, emotionally gripping action scenes, and was disappointed that all the hazardous exploits in the script would require stunt doubles. No parent in their right mind would allow their child to be put in such dangerous conditions.

Enter Philip Wittebane and his nephew Hunter.

The film's shooting schedule had a rough history. And after a few months, production had to stop altogether when an on-set accident resulted in Hunter being sent to the hospital.

He remembers the hospital, specifically the very uncomfortable bed. He remembers rarely sleeping through the night unless he was drugged, as he kept waking up with panic attacks about all the money he was causing the studio to lose by not healing faster.

By the time the film released, Hunter was fifteen and already moving forward with his next project.

The Golden Guard was a TV adaption of a well loved comic book series that was currently in the development stages. Hunter has never read the comic (he's never read most comics, other than newspaper funny pages) but he's been informed that he is the spitting image of the titular character.

Initially he was skeptical. Who wants a famous superhero on their screen who looks like him? Certainly not current networks who have a very limited view of what leading men should look like, regardless of the comic it's being adapted from.

Apparently, a lot of negotiations have been taking place with the Golden Guard's creator, in order to obtain rights to the series. After months of arguing, they wore him down, as they always manage to wear creators down, and he agreed to hand over his baby.

The one condition that he managed to secure was that the boy cast for the screen resembled the boy on the page.

Hunter was fully aware that if it weren't for that old man's stubbornness, there was no way he would have been eligible for the role. He remembered seeing him appear once during a screen test and had wanted to thank him. The speech that fell out of him was flustered and clumsy, but it made the man smile.

"There are going to massacre the Golden Guard," He said with a bitter smile. "But I think you'll do well."

He never saw him again after that. And though Hunter did not have the frame of reference to have an opinion, the girl he would inevitably fall in love with happened to be a huge comic book nerd, being especially infatuated with the Golden Guard. And her opinions were strong.

"He was right, y'know," She would inform Hunter. "Your show is a steaming pile of shit." She would then kiss the tip of his nose. "But you're the best part of it."

Speaking of girls,

Hunter met Emira Blight a year prior when she and her twin brother also showed up for the chastity ring promotional ad. The two of them would have gotten fired for vandalizing the set and pranking the director if they weren't the most well known stars associated with the project.

Someone had tried to contact their mother to come get her children under control but she had failed to pick up the phone.

"Our precious little Mittens has an audition today," Emira explained, hands placed angelically behind her back.

"Until further notice, Mom has forgotten she has two other kids," Added Edric.

Emira smiled. "Like the next time she notices her stretch marks <33"

The two of them burst into giggles. They were left to be "disciplined" by members of the crew, who hadn't the faintest idea how to handle either of them.

Hunter had tried to avoid them while on set. He never had any personal encounters with them but he was well aware of their existence. They had been starring in twin centric comedies for the last decade or so, and were beloved talk show guests for being chatty, mischievous and overall "adorable."

Hunter found them obnoxious.

Edric more so than Emira. Especially lately, as the two were finally branching out into their own separate careers, rather than remaining a double act. Meaning Edric could be found sniffing around in the same auditions rooms as Hunter, going for the same roles.

Edric had a perfectly structured face, devoid of blemishes. He had the most photoshopped nose Hunter had ever seen, except he looked like that in real life apparently. He looked perfect and he was already a star to begin with. The roles were his the moment he stepped into the room.

But this wasn't about Edric. Edric was off somewhere else, performing the leading role in some teen musical movie that was going to become a worldwide phenomenon the moment it hit television screens.

This was about Emira, who had just been cast as Ruby Green, the Golden Guard's love interest.

Emira Blight was one of the most beautiful teenage girls in the entire world. Hunter knew this because he read it in a magazine once. More specifically, she placed 4th on the list, but that was still a pretty impressive accomplishment.

Hunter always had a difficult time deciphering the exact definition of beautiful. It was apparently a far different thing than what you would initially imagine.

From what he had gathered, it had nothing to do with being particularly interesting to look at, but having a nice and tidy face with all its features being a specific size and shape. He couldn't understand how one girl on that list could be in 8th place, while another could be in 3rd, as they all looked so startlingly similar.

That was what beautiful meant, he supposed.

There were definitely people that Hunter saw as beautiful in their own peculiar way. In the way that wasn't correct. Sometimes he saw them in movies from the 80s-90s. Sometimes he saw them in audition rooms, but they rarely booked the role.

Sometimes he even saw them on the street as the car drove past, people who made him sit up and want to look at them a little longer--

Girls. Girls on the street. Just girls. Only girls. It was only girls that he looked at on the street. It was only girls that he looked at ever.

Emira Blight had Edric's perfectly structured face, which made her beautiful in a celebrity kind of way, but also made Hunter want to look at her less. She had Rapunzel hair and a rail thin frame and, much to Hunter's dismay, she was taller than him.

The wardrobe department were given notes to add an extra few inches to the Golden Guard's boots.

"Little Prince indeed," The head stylist had murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Hunter to hear. An furious flush set his face aflame.

There were no screen test to determine Hunter and Emira's chemistry before the latter was cast, which resulted in hours of reshoots where they were chastised for the lack of romantic tension that they were putting into their performance.

To be perfectly honest, Hunter disliked Emira quite a bit and she disliked him too.

She carried her troublemaking tendencies from the promotional ad to the Golden Guard set, frequently wreaking havoc on the cast and crew.

Hunter had blown a gasket and berated her for it several times, but all she had done was smile her insufferable smile, roll her eyes and sing songingly tease him for being so uptight.

She made him mad. So uncomfortably mad. If he pulled the kind of stunts she pulled, without caring about the consequences, he would probably be dead by now.

Emira rarely got angry. Everything she did had this air of impish joy, but based on the way she spoke to Hunter, her opinion of him wasn't exactly glowing.

She called him arrogant, bossy, egotistical, to which he practically exploded in response. And then she made fun of how red in the face he got.

The only time Hunter ever saw Emira as anything less than her usual bombastic self was early in the morning, during hair and makeup.

"Are you washing your face, honey?"

"Yes," Answered Emira, looking smaller than ever in the makeup chair.

"Drinking plenty of water? Eating healthy? Staying away from junk food? Getting plenty of exercise?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes," Emira's voice was quiet and automatic.

After a pause, she continued "It's not my fault."

The makeup artist hummed, unconvinced, which made Emira grip the seat so hard her fingers shook.

But the woman didn't push the matter any more and got to work on painting Emira's face into the porcelain masterpiece that made its way on to magazines.

Hunter watched in fascination as a few minutes of work with sponges and brushes wiped her skin clear of acne. And then she was what everyone around here would call beautiful once again.

When Emira noticed him looking, she said, in her usual playfully indifferent voice "I think Hunter's eyebags are getting worse."

"We know," The woman replied, exasperated.

The comment wasn't much, but it successfully corralled Hunter into his default mood. Not being enough. Any thoughts about Emira flew out the window, and he was back to fretting about his own inadequacy.

"And he's more sickly looking than usual," Emira decided to add.

"Well, maybe if he laid off the coffee. It's got him looking like a half-dead ghoul. No wonder it takes so long to make him look presentable."

It was a bad time for Hunter to be taking a sip of his takeaway cup. He frowned. "I've been awake since 4:30am."

"You should go to bed earlier then,"

"But I--"

"And kids shouldn't be drinking coffee at all."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Hush up. We've got work to do on this face and the last thing I need is to listen to you bitching again,"

Hunter glowered at her.

"You're gonna have wrinkles before you're 18 if you keep pouting like that."

He was so preoccupied with not throwing a temper tantrum that he didn't notice Emira leave the room.

The worst thing she ever did was while they were filming episode 3 and she had decided that Hunter's uptight behaviour deserved a humbling punishment. He didn't know how but she had somehow managed to break into his trailer and scavenged the place for something embarrassing.

This resulted in his stuffed frog Sprig being paraded around the set in Emira's arms as she declared the toy's owner to everyone who would listen in a high pitched trill. Everybody. She told everybody. Everybody knew about his toy. And now nobody was going to treat him seriously.

And when Hunter finally processed what was happening, all he had wanted to do was cry.

But he couldn't cry. Because fifteen year old boys don't cry. But he wanted to cry so badly that his usual screaming rage was nonexistent. He was just completely deflated.

He silently took the frog from Emira's possession and walked away. She had seemed confused, not understanding why he was not turning his funny red colour and yelling his head off.

She didn't bait him as much after that. She rarely spoke to him at all, outside of filming.

At one point she had randomly burst into his trailer, brandishing a magazine full of women in bikinis.

"For you!" She announced proudly. "A gift."

Hunter was a little slow on the uptake because a bikini magazine being within ten feet of his person was so incriminating that immediately thinking of the consequences nearly made him black out.

When he could speak again, he exploded "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?? GET THIS OUT OF HERE!!"

"No, no, listen," Emira insisted. "I know your Uncle is like. Super Christian--"

"So am I!"

"And I know you're never gonna get your hands on this stuff by yourself. So, I'm helping,"

"Why do you even have this?" Hunter demanded, disgusted.

Emira took more than half a second to answer. "It's Ed's."

As if anything on earth could have made Hunter want to touch the thing less.

"Why..." He began, lost. "Why would you ever think I would want this?"

Emira cocked her head at him, puzzled. "You're a boy."

"Get out."

At the time, Hunter had presumed this to be another means of humiliating him, because he had quickly written Emira off as inexplicably cruel. But in hindsight, she had probably just been trying, in her own emotionally stunted way, to apologize to him. She had known next to nothing about boys and she knew even less about herself, other than she was a thing boys were meant to be obsessed with.

They were both just stupid kids who couldn't communicate properly to save their lives, because they had never learned how.

As a child, Emira ranged from a mild bully to an indifferent co-star, to an acquaintance of Hunter's. As an adult, she was the close friend in his Instagram comments section who kept hitting on his wife.

She still never figured out boys, but she figured out herself.

But again, getting ahead of ourselves.

Despite being the only two teenagers on set, Hunter and Emira did not spend much time together unless they were working. Once she settled down and stopped causing problems, Emira spent a lot of her time across the studio to visit her little sister, who was filming some preteen comedy show.

Hexside it was called. Some some vapid sugary husk of a television production that had magic and witches, yet not an ounce of dignity. Hunter had become quite a ruthless critic when it came to TV and film, mostly because he had spent his whole life in the company of a man with sky high standards.

It also helped him feel better about his own work as an actor. The glass half full method. Maybe the Golden Guard was not going to be the most brilliant show of all time, but at least he wasn't working on Hexside.

He had caught glimpses of Emira's sister a few times around the studio, mostly because her hair had been dyed a bright garish teal, so she was impossible to miss.

There were other cast members scattered about, you could usually tell from the explosion of layers and clashing patterns they were dressed in. Chunky belts, brightly coloured converse, weird pointy hats, jangly jewelry. They were a visual overload.

On one occasion, Hunter was waiting in line at the canteen. He was feeling lightheaded again, like if he didn't eat something in the next hour he would probably pass out while shooting. The last time that happened, it was really embarrassing.

He was a little zoned out, so he didn't pay them much attention at first. But then the poofy tutu-like skirt and zebra print leggings caught his eye, if only for him to wonder how in the Lord's name these young actors ever signed up for this ridiculous show.

It was a girl and a boy and their conversation entailed some familiar words and names that Hunter hadn't heard said in months.

Ah. The movie. The swoony teen girl movie. That had just released in theaters, hadn't it?

That's when the girl brazenly stated "I wanna sink my teeth into Sir William," successfully knocking Hunter straight out of the realm of sensibility.

What. In the name of all that is holy. Is that supposed to mean???

And also.....he's Sir William.

"You want to BITE ME??" Hunter finds himself blurting out, completely flummoxed. Was that a threat of violence? Did she not like his performance? Did she find his voice annoying like those other film critics? He used to get a lot of death threats for that when he was younger but...

It didn't really sound like a death threat. It was was just....absurd. How was he supposed to take this?

The girl whipped around, flashing Hunter with a very bright pair of green eyes. They were blown wide in panic, and she looked at him like he was the one about to bite her.

(He wasn't about to bite her.)

The girl wasn't tall, but she was big. Broad shoulders and a thick chubby build. Her face was rounder than he usually saw in young actresses, and her nose was wide and flat.

All he could really think as he was digesting these all details at once was....she was interesting to look at.

Hunter watched as a fluorescent shade of pink burned across her lightly freckled cheeks and the girl scurried away, flanked by the younger boy, calling after her.

For some reason, Hunter turned around to watch her leave until she was completely out of sight.

He was left more confused than ever.

What did he do that deserved biting? He never found out.

(Well, he found out eventually but....)

He continued to see that girl around the studio sometimes, as well as the young boy that accompanied her, and Emira's little sister.

The bigger girl usually tried to hide whenever she saw him, though Hexside's flamboyant wardrobe department made that nearly impossible. Hunter presumed she was embarrassed by what she said, though he really wasn't all that offended. He had heard way worse. The thing that drew his attention to her was actually the lengths she would go to to make herself invisible. He watched her dive under a table once.

Hunter usually just stared, not remembering until an hour later that embarrassed people don't like being stared at.

Eventually, Hunter and Emira started spending occasional school hours with the Hexside cast's tutor, which resulted in them all being lumped in a room together.

Her name was Willow Park, he learned. And with a little exposure therapy, she stopped blushing every time he was within ten feet of her. Though they still never really talked, she seemed to become a little more comfortable with his existence.

She didn't look at him much though. Or anybody for that matter. She seemed to be very guarded and closed off whenever they were in the school room. Hunter had also noticed that the tutor had to spend more time with her than anyone else.

But Willow Park was not currently where Hunter's head was at the moment. He had other things to deal with.

The recent Golden Guard script had been delivered to Hunter and did not really like what it had to say.

Apparently several episodes of the romantic tension that Hunter and Emira were famously bad at was finally coming to fruition in this big grand dramatic kiss scene.

Hunter did not think about kissing much because it made him feel very weird and squirmy, but he was always well aware that if he was ever kissing a girl anytime soon, it would probably be circumstances like this.

His opinion on romance in general is that he wasn't quite sure if it was something that could really happen in real life or if it was just a concept made up for TV.

First kisses were considered a milestone in the shows and magazines Hunter had secretly devoured. Something sacred and significant. It can't be with just anyone.

Admittedly, it had Hunter second guessing himself a little bit. Is his first kiss important? Or is that just a bunch of silly TV fluff with no grounds in reality?

It doesn't matter if it's Emira, does it? He's read books where first kisses are supposed to feel like you've been electrocuted. But in a good way. He can't imagine being electrocuted in a good way.

He gets his answer on the day of shooting when the kiss is ordered of him.

He should be grateful that they've been directed to keep it chaste. They both wear rings after all, and this is a family show.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, because eyes are always shut when people kiss in movies. And his mouth pricks Emira's mouth. And that's it. That's his first kiss over and done with.

And when he opens his eyes, a little underwhelmed and vaguely wondering why everything feels the exact same, Emira looks disappointed too.

That's when he realizes that the significance of first kisses is all lights and cameras. It's made up for TV. None of it is real.

But what he can't understand in the moment is why he feels a bit sad. There's no reason to feel sad.

But it's an annoyingly heavy emotion that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

They do a million shoots. Or what feels like a million. Hunter kisses Emira what feels like a million times. He had gone from having never kissed before to having kissed far too many times in one day.

And not a single kiss felt like anything but the usual emptiness that Hunter was used to.

During shooting breaks, he thought a little too much about how everything was just going to be like this. Forever. All of his experiences. Scripted. Made up. Not real.

Nothing was ever going to be real.

He didn't usually think about things like that. But now he was finding it hard to think about anything else.

Hunter couldn't sleep that night. You would think he'd sleep soundly when he had to get up before the crack of dawn, but he continued to struggle. Too much caffeine, too much brain bees that never shut up.

Tonight it was that one single thought of an entirely artificial lifetime.

Hunter was never going to be real.

After hours of restless tossing and turning, he left his bed and went downstairs, his footsteps expertly navigating across the creaky floorboards. He would watch something terrible on TV and he'd get so distracted by hating it that he'd forget his own problems.

After pushing a button, the first thing that appeared on Hunter's screen was a familiar girl's rounder than average face and bright green eyes.

Apparently, the Hexside Pilot had premiered recently. Hunter scoffed, making himself comfortable and deliberately tuning into whatever brain rotting stuff he was about to experience.

Unsurprisingly, he hated it. It was terrible. Cheap jokes. Flimsy plots. An obnoxious laugh track. He had never seen a worse show in his life.

Nothing is real, I'm not real, I'm not real, Nothing is real, I'm not real....

The costumes looked just as ridiculous on screen as they did in the studio.

Nothing is real....

The sets were cheap.

I'm not real....

Hunter abruptly paused mid laugh track, and stared at Willow Park's interesting face for an additional moment.

He knew absolutely nothing about this girl. Absolutely nothing.

The character she played was borderline illiterate, and Hunter genuinely could not say how much of her he was seeing was a script and how much was her.

But she was very lookable.

Are you real?

#tw child abuse #a lot of it!!!!! #tw for....belos in general #how do i even tag this. he's really creepy and it delves into a few uncomfortable subjects #some very weird policing of teenage bodies. it is meant to be weird i promise you #tw religious trauma #THATS IT!!! that is certainly a thing that is happening #La La Land Machine AU

[hwangcore]

pinned! — k.sm

warnings: smut, reader has a bit of a hand kink (me too babe), oral sex and orgasm denial (f receiving both), they fuck against a door, unprotected sex (please don’t do this at home), soft dom seungmin makes a return <3

wc: 2.9k

note: ty to the anon who requested this!! it is very self indulgent i will not lie, but i had fun writing it!!

enjoy <3

If Kim Seungmin was one thing, it was the bane of your existence.

Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic.

Kim Seungmin was many things. He was quiet for the most part, but also thoughtful, funny, sweet, and he was definitely the cutest boy you’d ever met. Kim Seungmin was without a doubt the best boyfriend you could’ve asked for.

But right now you couldn’t focus on any of that. You weren’t thinking about his thoughtfulness, like when he got you that butterfly bracelet you’d been eyeing for weeks (the one that was currently on your wrist, because you refused to ever take it off). You weren’t thinking about how funny or sweet he was, or any other parts of his personality that you’d fallen head over heels for. No, you weren’t thinking about any of them.

Because right now Kim Seungmin, who was sitting across from you at one of the tables in the library meant for studying, was twirling the stupid little puppy pen you’d gotten him between his stupidly long fingers, making you unable to focus on anything else besides how hot your boyfriend was with his stupid, veiny, attractive hands.

So yes, Kim Seungmin was the bane of your existence, and the cause of all your problems.

After what was most likely several minutes of you staring at his hands and imagining all the nasty, dirty, pleasurable things he could do to you with them, Seungmin finally broke the silence.

“I can feel you staring you know.”

“Good.”

He finally tore his eyes away from the book laid on the table in front of him, looking up at you with a raised brow. “Are you that desperate for my attention?”

He was still messing with the pen, and you spared his hand a quick glance. “It’s your fault for distracting me.”

“I’m not even doing anything. Maybe you should work on not getting distracted so easily.”

“Trust me, you were doing plenty. Are doing plenty.”

“Am I?” He finally put the pen down to cross his arms, leaning back in his seat. He was wearing his glasses today, and it made him look even more attractive in your mind. Either your sexual appetite had skyrocketed, or Seungmin was just unfairly hot in everything he did. Probably both.

“Yes. You know exactly what certain parts of you do to me.”

“Ah yes, I’d almost forgotten about your hand kink.”

“I do not have a hand kink!” You protested, probably too loud for a library, but this was the one on campus filled with college students. They’d probably heard (and seen) weirder things than a couple arguing over what kinks one of them had.

“Really? That’s not what you were saying the other night when I had my fingers shoved in your mouth and you were drooling all over them.” You knew exactly what night he was talking about, and you fought back a shudder at the memory of how hard he made you cum.

You rolled your eyes instead. “Yeah, because I couldn’t say anything, Sherlock. You kept shoving your fingers deeper every time I tried to.”

“Like you didn’t love it.” Seungmin scoffed.

You moved to the edge of your seat and began rubbing Seungmin’s ankle with your own, wasting no time in going higher to brush over his shin and calf as well. “I never said that I didn’t.”

Even though he pretended to be unaffected, you knew your boyfriend too well. You knew exactly how much he liked the cute little pastel blue skirt you were wearing, as well as the white thigh high stockings you usually wore with it, today being no exception. And you especially knew how much he liked to fuck you in them.

The two of you engaged in a silent staring contest, practically daring the other to break first.

“Are you really trying to play footsies with me in the library?” He asked, grabbing your ankle and moving your foot back to the floor just as you reached his knee.

“Well I was…” You pouted. “C’mon Seungminie, don’t you wanna have your way with me? Fuck me until I’m crying for it? Hmm or maybe you’d want to shove me down on my knees and make me choke on you?” You bit your lip, glancing down at his hands again. “Mm, doesn’t that sound nice? My mouth on your perfect cock, your hands in my hair, pulling it as much as you like?”

Seungmin clenched his jaw, and for one brief second you thought you might’ve actually upset him, but then he was slamming his book closed and standing up.

“You’re so fucking insufferable sometimes, you know that?” He grabbed his backpack from the seat next to him before walking to the other side of the table and holding out a hand.

“Well?” He prompted when you merely looked at it with wide eyes. “You wanted me to fuck you so bad you were talking like someone in a cheap porno, and I’m not gonna do it here, so let’s go.”

“Wait, for real?” You grabbed your bag and took his hand, letting him tug you up and smiling giddily when he wrapped his arm around your waist.

Seungmin rolled his eyes as he began guiding you out of the library. “Like I’d be stupid enough to pass up my girlfriend offering her pussy up on a silver platter.”

“Kim Seungmin!”

You could feel his lips curl up into a smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Oh, so now you’re shy?”

You’d barely made it into your dorm room before Seungmin had you pressed up against the door with his tongue shoved down your throat, kissing you like you hadn’t seen each other in months. You moaned against his lips, reveling in the feeling of having him pressed tight up against you after feeling needy for so long.

Eventually, when the need for air became too strong for either of you to ignore, Seungmin pulled away from your mouth with a quick scrape of teeth to your lip.

As he began kissing and nibbling on your neck, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Now who’s desperate?”

“Still you,” he mumbled, before biting extra hard on a more sensitive spot.

“Says the one trying to maul my neck.” You hissed.

He soothed the stinging flesh with a swipe of his tongue and sucked on the spot briefly. “You were the one trying to give me a foot job in public.”

You made a face, and just as you were going to tell him to never say the words ‘foot’ and job’ right after each other, his hands, the things that started it all, dropped down from your waist to your thighs, just above where your stockings ended. They slid up slowly until he had them firmly planted on your ass, and squeezed.

He moved his head away from your neck to brush his lips against yours. “And you know exactly what this skirt does to me, honey.”

You held back a smirk, blinking up at him innocently. “The thigh highs too, right?”

“You’re a menace to society.”

You moved your hand down from where it was resting on his chest to cup him through his jeans. “You know what they say baby, you are what you eat.”

Seungmin shook his head, but you could tell he was trying to hold back from laughing. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.” You pecked his lips and squeezed his dick. “Now, are we just gonna talk and grope each other or are you going to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?”

“Actually I was thinking-“

“That’s dangerous.”

“-that we could skip the bed today.” His fingers began playing with the band of your panties, snapping the elastic against your hip.

You narrowed your eyes. “If you’re thinking about shower sex you can forget it right now. My knee still hurts from slipping last time.”

“No, not the shower sweetheart.” He kneeled down suddenly, pulling your underwear off and stuffing them in his back pocket. “I was actually thinking about just taking you right here.” He bunched your skirt up and began leaving soft kisses along your thighs.

“H-Here?” You stuttered. “Like, like right here? Against the door?”

“Against the door.” He hummed, kissing along your hip bone, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most. “Is that okay? Can I have you right here honey?”

“Yes, yes, please, I-“ You gasped as he grabbed your thigh and moved it to rest on his shoulder, exposing your pussy to him. “I’ll let you fuck me anywhere Seungmin just please do it now.”

“I’ll remember that.” He mumbled, burying his face in your cunt and licking a wide strip up your folds before stiffening his tongue and pushing it inside you as far as he could.

“Fuck! Fuck, Minnie, Seungmin, oh my fucking go-“ The hand not gripping your hip and holding your skirt up moved, and suddenly his thumb was rubbing slow, wet, circles on your clit.

The sensations of his mouth licking, sucking, and kissing all over your pussy along with the perfect amount of pressure he was using to stimulate your clit was pushing you towards the edge faster than you could comprehend.

“Seungmin, fuck, I-“ An extra hard suck made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I’m gonna cum, please, please, can I cum? Seungminie? Can I?”

“Hmm,” The vibrations from his mouth made your legs shake, but then he was pulling away with one last lick to your clit. “No.”

“Seungmin!” You whined, trying to escape the tight grip he had on your hips, but to no avail.

Eventually, when you finally stopped thrashing and simply leaned back against the door, Seungmin stood up and gathered you in his arms, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle into his neck. “Are you done with your tantrum now?”

“Fuck you.” You muttered. “You’re an awful, rotten, terrible person.”

“Oh really?” He kissed the top of your head. “I guess I should go home then, since I’m such an awful, rotten, terrible person. Surely you wouldn’t want someone like that to fuck you, no?”

Your grip on his shirt tightened. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then let go of me and let me get you ready for my cock.”

“I am ready, I’ve been ready, just stick it in already!” You whined.

Seungmin sighed and kissed your forehead. “How romantic.”

You glared at him. “If you wanted romance you should’ve asked Felix to date you.”

Your boyfriend jerked back as if he’d been slapped and scrunched his nose up in a look of disgust. “Are you trying to make my dick go soft? Because I can assure you, mentioning my roommate is the fastest way to do that.”

“Come on Minnie,” You huffed. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? Get your cock nice and wet inside my hot, tight, little pussy? I promise I’ll treat you so good.”

Seungmin sighed. “And the bad porno talk is back.”

“Well that ‘bad porno talk’ just made your cock twitch against my hip.” You raised a brow.

His cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Shut up. Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“I think we both know the answer to that babe, do you even have to ask?”

“Not really, no.” Seungmin turned you around and pressed down on your back, making you arch so your ass was sticking out. “I just like hearing how desperate you can get for me.” You heard a zipper being pulled down as well as the shuffling of clothes, before he pressed up against your back and you could feel his cock rubbing up against your pussy, coating it thoroughly in your slick.

“C’mon Minnie, please, please,” You were getting worked up again, but you knew Seungmin loved it. “Want you so bad, want your cock so bad, please fuck me.”

“Alright sweetheart, calm down.” He kissed your cheek softly and rubbing his hands up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you. “I’ll fuck my pretty girl just like she wants, don’t worry.”

While one of his hands moved up to your blouse to start unbuttoning it, the other went down to guide his cock into your soaked pussy.

“Fuck-“ He breathed once he was buried to the hilt inside you. “You really weren’t kidding about being wet, were you.”

You shook your head, focusing on how good it felt to finally have him inside you after being desperate for him almost all day.

His other hand finally got your blouse unbuttoned, and he wasted no time in pulling the cups of your bras down and replacing them with his hands, squeezing and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. “You okay for me to start moving sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whimpered. “P-Please move.”

He pulled his hips back slowly, making sure you felt every ridge and vein on his cock, before shoving himself back in. It only took a few more thrusts like that to have you whining at him to go faster.

“But I thought you said I could have you any way I wanted? What if I wanted you like this?” He moved his hips away, leaving you with his cock buried only halfway inside.

“Seungmin!” You sobbed, feeling tears start to form in your eyes. “Don’t tease me, please, just-just want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Seungmin pressed back up against you, burying himself as deep inside you as he could get. “Poor baby,” He kissed along your shoulder, up your neck, all the way to the corner of your mouth. “Look at me sweetheart.”

You turned your head and immediately his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply.

“You really need it, huh?” He asked breathlessly after breaking the kiss.

You nodded pitifully. “Don’t wanna think about anything else but you and how good you make me feel.”

“Alright sweet girl, I’ll be nice.” He pressed another kiss to your neck.

His next thrust, and every one after that, felt like anything but him being “nice”, but the amount of pleasure and pure fucking relief of finally being fucked like you wanted was too much for you to try and say something sarcastic. You couldn’t think of anything but Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin.

“Fuck, baby,” He moaned, voice deeper and breathy, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, loving the fact that you had just as much as an effect on him that he did on you.

“Fuckfuckfuck- Sweetheart, darling, don’t fucking do that or else I’ll cum before either of us want me to.” His right hand left your breast to smack down harshly on your ass, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from doing something embarrassing. Like whining just from having your boyfriend spank you.

“Seungmin, Minnie,” You panted. “Please, gonna cum soon, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Yeah? Is my pretty doll gonna cum for me?” His thrusts stayed the same, no speeding up, or slowing down, nothing. It was the same, rough yet steady pace he had set, and the consistency drove you crazy, edging you even closer to your release.

“Please, please, please!” You weren’t sure why or even what you were pleading for, but Seungmin seemed to know your body better than you did, as the hand previously gripping your ass slid around your waist and down to where the two of you were connected.

All it took was one, harsh rub on your clit paired with the fingers of his other hand pinching your nipple, and suddenly your pussy was clenching around him right as you came with a loud sob that vaguely sounded like your boyfriend’s name.

“Good girl,” Seungmin groaned. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you honey?”

You could only manage a weak nod as Seungmin continued fucking you.

“Where should I cum baby? Hm? Where do you want it?”

“In-Inside, Minnie. Please. Wan-Want your cum so bad.”

It was like something in Seungmin snapped as his grip on you grew tighter and he started fucking his cock into you even harder. “I love you sweetheart, love you so much. You’re so good, so good, love your pussy, love your tits, love you, loveyouloveyouloveyou-“

You both moaned as Seungmin came inside you, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“That was so good,” You breathed, leaning your head against the door. “Fuck.”

You could feel Seungmin’s mouth curl up in a smile as he buried his face in your neck. “We just did.”

You groaned and half-heartedly tried to push him away. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

He ghosted small kisses all over your neck and shoulder, still not pulling out. He knew you both wanted to stay connected like this just a little longer. “Says the girl who tried to seduce me in a public library.”

“Well, duh.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing the hand that was still cupping your breast and bringing it up to your mouth to press your lips to the back of it. “Have you seen your hands? They’re irresistible!”

Seungmin snorted as he pulled his face away from your neck and kissed your cheek. “I’m glad you think so.”

You sighed happily, snuggling back into him. “Love you, babe.”

“Me or my hands?”

“Seungmin!”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #kim seungmin smut #seungmin smut #seungmin hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #skz x reader #kpop smut #k.seungmin

[gentil-minou]

Hi, I just wanted to say thank you for voting third-party. I know a lot of folks have said third-party votes are wasted, but with the way things are going, I'll probably vote third-party, too, and it's nice to know there are other people out there who care more about following their beliefs than standing by a broken system.

Maybe this will be the election people realize it's not a waste.

(Also, I'm sorry folks are being nasty in your inbox. Hope things get better soon. On all counts.)

<3 <3 <3

Thank you for also voting third party!! I used to do it more back when I first started voting because I actually believed in the democratic process, until I was disillusioned by a rigged system and started voting blue because it felt like I had no choice.

Every year I voted blue I had to convince myself "this is fine. This is better than the other guy" even though I knew their warmongering policies and how they leaned too close to the center for comfort. Voting Clinton and Biden last couple cycles felt like I had to, because I was able to wear the blinders long enough to gaslight myself into thinking I actually wanted them as my president. Because I had to or else I'd "waste my vote"

I refuse to do that anymore. Now I realize I'd waste my vote by giving it to someone who would rather see us dead than lose their money and power. I'd waste my vote giving it to a broken system.

The people shaming everyone to vote blue act like I'm voting for Trump by default if I don't vote Biden, and look i followed the same rhetoric in 2020. I'm sure if you go back in my posts I said the same thing.

But the line was crossed somewhere around the minute I learned my money funded the deaths of thousands, and always has. The line was crossed when I learned the president I called into power cares more about his military pet project than life. The line was crossed when I realized Biden is old enough to remember when Palestine was it's own free nation but refuses to, because he follows the age old American tactic of "This land is my land, actually, not yours"

So yeah I'm done with feeding into a system like that.

And here's the thing about this newest generation of voters: they are soooo powerful and they are so much braver than I was at their age. They know that meaningful movement and cooperation can overtake a corrupted system. The Dems and Republicans are both terrified of them because they know they're not as easy to indoctrinate into their philosophy.

I genuinely believe that if we can use the millions and millions of people who voice support for Palestine to also put their vote towards someone else, like Claudia in the socialist party who I've been keeping an eye on or the representatives that have actually backed up calls for ceasefire, like Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar and I'm proud to say my own rep, who are trying to move the dem party to a place that actually represents me.

If millions back a third party candidate, that says something. It says we aren't going to fall into the traps laid by the generations before us. It's says we are going to fight for what we believe in.

Revolution does not happen in a year or two. It takes a lifetime. And if there's anything that I've learned from Palestinians it's that the cause for a truly free world is worth fighting for no matter how many decades it takes.

#ive made my stance on this very clear and frankly i dont want to waste anymore time on white men in power when i could be uplifiting #palestinians voices and supporting change #so we can have a free palestine in my life time #so im going to block everyone who comes to my inbox/comments trying to shame me into voting for biden #you may have your eyes and hearts firmly closed but i refuse to #joe biden #free palestine #genocide joe

[murdocking]

„ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ”

- a chishiya series. ch2 ch4

masterlist

warnings + notes: mentions of sex… n*ragi…😒 just getting to the beach and getting used to chishiya. this one is short be grateful

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ:

- THE BEACH

you learned quickly that chishiya was very different from anyone you’ve met. he cooly serves truthful jabs of venom at people as though hes speaking of the weather. but you tried to cling onto the bare of companionship by offering him food and water you had packed- but he refused everytime.

“do you already have somewhere to stay?”

“yes. and it is not here.”

he continues to walk away from you, as he’s been doing for the past 2 miles since you’ve left the game arena.

“well… where is it then?” he sighs out, and you feel that you’re beginning to really annoy him at this point. “far from here.”

“how far?”

“whats with all the questions? don’t you ever stay quiet” he furrows his brows, stopping to look at you while he speaks.

chishiya seems to be like a sensitive brat, any sentence over 3 words makes him decay inside- and he’s kind of right. you have been asking him random questions this whole time.

“well i just want to… get to know you better maybe. you’re the first person i’ve been able to speak for more than 10 minutes to since i got here.” he chuckles a bit before lightly saying “they probably died to get away from you.”

ouch

but chishiya lets his own voice sink in and he realizes the cruelty of his words and cringes a bit inside, turning quickly and resuming his walk, “are you planning on following me like some creep?”

you take this as an invitation

“maybe…” though you can’t see him clearly, his hood blocking his face and the moonlight sky being the only source of light- chishiya seems slightly pleased by this response.

its dark, and cold. but only for a little while. when chishiya leads you past a certain corner, thats when you see it.

a hotel resort, brightly shining across the way. you can hear faint music playing and girls jumping and giggling.

“come on” he continues to guide you to the mysterious place’s entrance- not before running into a stranger. his face makes your arms tingle with nerves and fear.

“oh chishiya? you planning on having fun tonight huh?” he leans and rolls his shoulders under the rifle he carries, chuckling just inches away from your face. you feel queasy, his eyes stare and check you out with evil- and you wonder just what did chishiya get you into.

“no niragi. we’re going to see hatter, she’d like to join the beach.”

the beach?

niragi tsks, and leans back before looking at you dead in the eye despite speaking to his beach counterpart. “can’t wait to see her here then. dont be greedy either chishiya”

the creepy pierced man looks at you longer, enjoying the unpleasant face you’re making before walking off into a crowd of bikini wearing women who loudly giggle at his presence.

“ignore him, hes an idiot anyways.” chishiya doesn’t even look at you before making his way into the resort, locating the staircase and wasting no time to go up them. you wouldn’t exactly say you’re feeling that safe at the moment. the run-in with the creepo outside has made you quite unsettled.

“chishiya, if you dont mind me asking” he turns to look at you and you can definitely tell he does mind you asking. “what exactly is this place… what am i joining specifically?” chishiya inhales a quick breath before continuing to walk up the stairs.

“the beach is like a refugee camp, but partying if you will.”

“you dont seem like the party type”

he smiles “glad you realize.”

“so why are you here?”

he pauses for a second, not too long- but long enough for you to notice something is missing from your understanding of your newfound companion.

“hatter will explain it all to you, hes the leader. im simply an executive.” he lifts his arm up, his sleeve falling slightly to expose the beach bracelet he wears, the number 11 printed onto it.

hatter originally gave you the impression of some passive leader, but once he leads you into his personal quarters- without chishiya present, you’re feeling as though the whole place is filled with creeps.

theres a topless woman grinding herself onto his leg while he stares at your frame behind his dimmed sunglasses, swirling his gross liquor in his hand.

once again, you’re feeling small- and slightly scared.

you lower your gaze, his stare is getting too much.

“not sure how much chishiya has told you… but first things first you need a bikini.”

“e-excuse me..?”

you lift your head up quickly and hes menacingly smiling “thats a rule here at the beach. cant hide weapons when youre wearing swimwear. i’ll have someone get something for you don’t worry.” you just nod

“here at the beach, you can enjoy it all. the food, drinks, partying… sex! there’s no limit here. but, a few things.”

he shuffles and slightly pushes the woman on his lap off onto the couch instead, she huffs a bit but resorts to nibbling onto his ear as he leans forward to rest his elbows onto the table in front of you both

“here, all beach members go to games for me. we collect the cards, searching for the answer to these games. and searching for a way out. you’ll be sent to some games, and if you live i expect you to give me the card at the end.”

the card..? you gasp lightly and tell him “wait!” and reach inside your pocket.

his face transforms into a dear smile as he leans closer and snatches the two of diamonds card from your hand

“wow… good job. none of my members have been able to locate this card, shame cus its such a low difficulty.” he examines the card and you nervously laugh, playing with the strings of your pants

“another rule, all doors are unlocked. not a single lock is on these doors- except for the higher positions like myself.” he takes a swig of his drink before continuing. “finally, we bring death to all traitors. you’re a part of the beach now. and you’ll stay a part of it until you die.” his playful demeanor has cut out like a bad signal, and he stares at you blankly- observing how you’ll react.

it takes a minute, but you clear your throat and begin to speak

“can i choose my own swimsuit?”

it takes a while, but you concoct a mix-and-match set that gave more coverage than your other options within your size.

you just decided on a swimsuit skirt set- though you’ll admit the v-plunge of the top was a bit more than what you’d like. the beach bracelet reminds you of the diamond’s bracelet- and you resist the urge to scratch at it.

you search for an empty hotel room, preferably one where theres no discarded clothes littering the bed- or worse… the people doing it on the bed.

eventually you get settled and let your body melt into the plump mattress and thats when you start to feel the exhaustion on your body.

you decide that nows a good time to sleep.

until your hunger wakes you up when dusk sets in. though you truthfully don’t want to go downstairs and feel exposed in the swimsuit, you accept that this is how you’ll have to live your life until you either die or leave the games.

#shuntaro chishiya #shuntarou chishiya x reader #chishiya x reader #alice in borderland x reader #aib x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #chishiya fanfic #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x fem!reader #niragi alice in borderland #kuina alice in borderland #usagi alice in borderland #arisu alice in borderland #chishiya angst #chishiya fluff #eventual smut

[buckys-little-belle]

could you do sm with a little reader who’s refusing to go to bed , with aemond pls 😊

Little Dragon

Aemond Targaryen x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - None really, reader is being silly, technical punishment (no bedtime story, how dare Aemond really.), reader is described as having bed hair at one moment.

Notes - I'm rusty, I haven't written in a while, but I decided to give it a shot <3, I hope you enjoy!!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

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"Little Dragon." Aemond's voice became harsher as he spoke, his patience wearing thinner and thinner.

"Nooo!" Y/n cried, their footsteps heard in the other room, running from wall to wall.

"Unlock this door now." Aemond said, his tone still calm somehow, his anger not yet taking over.

The footsteps on the other side stopped right in front on the door, a small voice heard. "Bu' you're gon' a make me go t'bed." It whined, Aemond could see their pout in his mind.

"Little Dragon." He chuckled. "It is way past bedtime, and we have a big day tomorrow. I do not think you wish to be too sleepy to ride Bug." His words were spoken with a smile, his head tilting to the door, staring into the wood grain as if it was Y/n's eyes.

A small *click* was heard, signaling the door has finally been unlocked, the doorknob turning, door swinging open, Y/n's cowering frame seen, ready to be punished for running away, maybe no story at bedtime, or no extra berries at breakfast.

"Are you done being a nuisance now?" Aemond chuckled, noting their fingers picking at one another. "Come on." He sighed lovingly, grabbing their hands and leading them to the bed, sitting them down on the edge. "I'm not mad, I just want you to be rested." He confessed, making sure Y/n knew they weren't in trouble, that their stress wasn't warranted.

"S'still extra berries?" They asked, their eyes hopeful, a soft smile on their face.

"As long as you do sleep tonight, you can have as many berries as you want." He kissed their forehead, guiding them to get under the covers, doing so himself.

"Story?" The questioned, sitting up, their hair already a mess from their short time laid in bed.

"It's too late, Little Dragon." His words greeted with a pout. "Do not look at me like that." he chuckled, engulfing them with his arms, pulling them to snuggle against him. "You are the one who chose to run around and waste time, not me."

"You din' stop me." Y/n said whole heartedly, trying to make this Aemonds fault.

"You either get a story or berries, your pick."

"Uhg." Y/n turned over, making Aemond curl against their body instead. "S' unfair." They mumbled, choosing berries.

Aemond just smiled, kissing the top of their head once again, giving up the argument, closing his eyes, wishing for quick sleep for the both of them.

#aemond x little reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x little!reader #aemond #house of the dragon