#almost like he's been expecting to be nailed in the head for his bullshit for decades and has been practicing

[etakeh]

Happy "I regret I only have two shoes to give to your country" Day!

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. chenle x fem!reader (ft. kun)

| warnings. kidnapping, mention of physical violence.

a.n.: it's been stuck in my drafts for a while and idk what to do with it so here we are.

it takes a few ringtones before chenle’s call gets picked up, waiting a couple of seconds until he hears kun’s groggy voice on the other side of the phone.

“... hello?”

“uh, kun?” chenle has never felt more stressed out in his life before. he hopes kun doesn’t notice how terrified he sounds. “i, like… really need your help right now.”

he hears kun shifting in his bedsheets, turning on the lamp on his nightstand. chenle can clearly imagine the frown he has on his face. “why the fuck do you need my help at 3 o’clock in the morning?”

“if i call you now, you can guess it’s really important,” he answers, bringing his fingers almost by reflex to his mouth, biting down on his already short nails. “...please.” 

kun snorts. “it pains you that much to say please?” he jokes, but he knows that word would’ve never left chenle’s mouth if he didn’t need his help desperately. “i’m coming,” he sighs, “where’re you?”

“well, huh…” chenle looks around, the streets being totally empty, yellow lights lighting up the place, his shadow showing up on the pavement beside him. “i’ll send you my location.”

kun sits up on his bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm while letting out a yawn. chenle can hear his feet walking on the floor, surely picking up clothes from the night before. 

“okay, i’ll be there in… 20 minutes,” he announces, but he’ll arrive in too long. far too long. 

“no, no… kun, you don’t understand. i need you here, like, immediately.” chenle specifies, feeling the blood draining from his face little by little. he’s so fucking stressed his hand is shaking as he passes it through his hair, his heartbeat literally being out of pace. 

kun sighs yet again, finding the situation more like a bother to him. “alright, alright!” he agrees, but it’s not like he had any other choice anyway. “let me put some pants on… and-” he pauses, struggling to pass his feet through the holes of his jeans with just one hand, “i’ll be there in 5.”

chenle feels the slightest relieved. “bring your ass here quick.”

—

when kun closes the door as he takes the driver seat, the car shakes a little, breaking chenle’s running thoughts at the same time. his friend says nothing for the first couple of seconds, making the beating of his heart the only sound he hears. 

despite staying silent as well, chenle is the opposite of calm. he wants to appear calm and collected, but he’s not. he knows he’s fucked up, kun’s first reaction is enough to remind him of that, but he really isn’t feeling that bad. not for you, at least.

your body is lying unconscious on the backseats, not one single muscle moving. he didn’t think the hit on your head would knock you out for this long. well, to be fair, he didn’t think this through at all. 

“i can’t believe this,” kun grumbles to himself, but he says it loudly enough for chenle to hear, too. 

“what else did you want me to do!?” he responds, quick to defend his actions. “you’re the only one i could call. i sure as hell wouldn’t have asked renjun,” chenle explains, “or worse, mark. he probably would’ve pissed his pants or something.”

kun scoffs, amazed that chenle still has the heart to say so much nonsense. “don’t you have any self-control? do you even realize the amount of bullshit you put yourself into?”

the youngest groans as if annoyed to be reminded of the seriousness of the situation. he looks outside his window, not wanting to give kun any answer, but he doesn’t seem to be done scolding chenle. 

“you’re lucky i’m not beating your ass right now because you fucking deserve it. what went through your head?”

chenle stays silent, gulping down. he keeps a stern expression, not looking at kun, even though he feels his angry eyes on him. 

what does kun expect him to say anyway? everything happened so fast, he didn’t think twice. he doesn’t even know your name, and yet, he felt the impulse to have you. you were alone in an empty street, not looking around you, trusting fate a little too blindly. it was too easy, too obvious, he had to do it. 

a whim, kun would call it. a sense of immaturity chenle still hasn't yet resolved. or whatever psychological shit he’d say. 

but sometimes he just does stupid stuff without thinking of the consequences. it’s nothing deep. he does agree this time was stupider than any other. and he shouldn’t have acted so impulsively. that doesn’t mean he regrets it, though.

[lacydollette]

CASUAL , THREE ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ‘casual’ mini series

pairing: fwb!dean x fem!reader

warnings: time skip, angst, confession, dean making you cry, reopening old wounds, explicit language, fwb to lovers, fluff

Dean had spent months in a strange headspace, feeling your absence in every fiber of his body. At first, he told himself it was for the best. You deserved better, and he wasn’t the guy to give it to you. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, the emptiness in his chest only grew bigger.

He wanted to reach out—texting you, calling you late at night when the loneliness hit hardest. But every time his finger lingered over your name he chickened out and the silence stung more than he cared to admit. He missed everything about you; your voice, your laughter, the way you always seemed to know what to say when he was spiraling. He even missed the way you challenged him, called him out on his bullshit.

By the time your birthday rolled around, Dean couldn’t ignore it anymore. He’d spent hours pacing the floor of whatever motel he was staying in, debating whether to make a move. Ultimately, he decided he couldn’t let you slip away more than you already were.

He had actually gotten your gift a few days before you broke things off with him. A knife, but it wasn’t just any knife—it was a custom hunting blade with a special design etched into the handle. Practical and personal, just like you. But that didn’t feel like enough. So, against every instinct he had, Dean stopped at a flower shop and bought the biggest bouquet he could find. The arrangement was almost embarrassingly oversized, but he didn’t care.

Dean drove for hours to get to your little apartment, the mix of nerves and determination keeping him going and when he finally arrived, he parked the Impala and stood at your door, his heart hammering as he rang the bell.

And then he waited.

Nothing.

He rang again. Still nothing.

Dean sighed, shifting the weight of the flowers in his hand. “Fuck..” he muttered to himself, stepping back. His body was filled with disappointment, though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. It wasn’t like you’d been itching to hear from him.

Getting back into the Impala, Dean tossed the bouquet onto the passenger seat and leaned his head against the steering wheel. “Damn it,” he hissed, feeling ridiculous for driving all this way just to be ignored. Desperate, he pulled out his phone and called Sam.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was groggy, clearly half-asleep. “I need you to do something for me,” Dean said, his tone sharp with urgency.

“Let me guess—track someone down?” Sam replied dryly, clearly unimpressed. Dean sighed. “Yeah. Y/n. Look, it’s her birthday, and I just… I need to see her, okay? She’s not at her apartment, and I have no idea where she is.”

There was a pause, and Dean could practically hear Sam’s disapproving sigh. “You realize how stalkerish this sounds, right?”

“Sam, please,” Dean said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I screwed up, and I need to fix it. Just—can you do this for me?” Sam sighed on the other end of the line. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

It didn’t take long. Within a few minutes, Sam had tracked your phone’s location, telling him that you were at a bar nearby, and Dean definitely didn’t waste any more time.

When he arrived, the bar was packed, the neon lights glowing against the night sky. Dean parked the Impala and sat there for a moment, staring at the entrance. The bouquet sat beside him, mocking him with its overly big flowercrown. He felt like an idiot.

Taking a breath he stepped out of ‘baby’ before entering the bar. Inside, the place was alive with music and people everywhere. It didn’t take long for Dean to find you—you were at a table near the back, lazily twisting the straw in your empty glass. You looked stunning. Your hair fell in soft waves, and your lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile as you absentmindedly tapped your nails against the side of the glass. He felt his heart twist, a mix of longing and regret washing over him.

Just as he worked up the nerve to approach, another man appeared beside you. He set two fresh drinks on the table and slid into the seat next to you. Dean froze. You smiled brightly, your expression lighting up in a way that Dean hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It was genuine, carefree, happy—and it wasn’t because of him.

Dean’s stomach twisted, his heart sinking. You looked good. Better than good. You looked like you were doing just fine without him. And suddenly, he felt out of place. He took a step back, torn between the overwhelming need to say something and the bitter realization that you didn’t need him anymore. Then, as if sensing him, you glanced up. Your eyes locked with his across the room, and the world seemed to stop.

You froze, your smile fading as your breath hitched in your throat. It was like seeing a ghost—Dean, your Dean, standing in the middle of the bar with an unreadable expression. Your buried feelings came to the surface, a flood of all kinds of emotions rushing through you; anger, pain, longing.

But Dean wasn’t standing still anymore. His gaze lingered on you for only a moment before he turned around and rushed out of the bar.“Dean!” you called out, rising to your feet, but your voice was lost in the noise.

Your heart pounded as you watched him disappear through the door. You grabbed your jacket, ignoring the man at your table as you rushed out after him. But by the time you made it outside, the Impala was already pulling onto the road, speeding away. “Dean!” you shouted again. But it was too late. He was gone, and you were left standing there, breathless and confused.

Back at your table, you sank into your seat, your mind a mess. The man beside you asked if you were okay, but you barely heard him. Your thoughts were consumed by Dean—his sudden appearance, the way he’d looked at you, and the way he’d left just as quickly.

The last time you’d seen him, you’d meant every word you said. You’d stood your ground, told him exactly how you felt, and walked away because you deserved better. And he hadn’t fought for you then. He hadn’t cared enough to try. But now? Now, he showed up out of nowhere, carrying this pained expression. Was it guilt? Regret? Or just another half-hearted attempt to make himself feel better?

You were glad he saw you, glad he got to witness what he’d lost. You’d spent so much energy, so much time on him, only to be left empty-handed. He needed to know what it felt like. And yet… as you sat there, your drink untouched and your heart heavy, you couldn’t stop the ache that lingered deep inside. Because no matter how hard you tried, some part of you still missed him. Still wanted him.

The Uber ride to your apartment felt like forever, though it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. The city lights blurred past the window as you rested your head against the cool glass, your thoughts a mess. Dean’s face was haunting your mind—his green eyes filled with something raw, his lips pressing into a thin line before he walked away.

A headache was beginning to throb at your temples, not from too much alcohol but from the emotional chaos inside you. By the time the car pulled up to your apartment, you were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

You climbed out and headed toward your door, fumbling with your keys before you noticed it; a massive bouquet of flowers resting against your door, vibrant and fragrant even in the dim light of the hallway. Beside it was a small box, tied with a white silk bow. Your breath caught as you spotted a card tucked neatly underneath the bow.

You already knew.

Kneeling down, you grabbed the card with trembling fingers and opened it. The handwriting was unmistakably his—rough but deliberate. ‘Happy Birthday, y/n.’ A lump formed in your throat as you set the card aside and picked up the box. Pulling the bow loose, you opened it carefully, and the sight inside made your heart clench.

It was a hunting knife, brand new and polished, with a custom blade. Your initials were engraved on the handle in elegant lettering. It was beautiful, practical, and unmistakably thoughtful—exactly the kind of gift Dean would give.

The tears started before you could stop them. They blurred your vision as you knelt there in the hallway, clutching the knife in one hand and the card in the other. You felt like a teenager crying over her first heartbreak, raw and exposed in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you still loved him.

Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you pulled out your phone, fingers shaking as you dialed his number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Then his voicemail clicked on, the sound of his gruff voice making your chest tighten.

“Hey, it’s Dean. Leave a message.”

You hesitated for a second before letting your emotions take over. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” you started, your voice thick with frustration and tears. “Showing up like that, leaving me flowers and—and this stupidly perfect knife. What do you want from me, Dean? Huh? Because I can’t keep doing this!”

You let out a shaky breath, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I should punch you in the face and never talk to you again. But I can’t, because no matter what I do, I never stop thinking about you. About us. About that dumb smirk of yours and—and how you make me feel safe even when you’re the one tearing me apart.”

You paused, your voice breaking. “I miss you, Dean. I miss you so much.” A moment of silence stretched on after your confession, and you were about to end the call when a familiar voice echoed softly behind you.

“I know.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, you turned around. Dean was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His face was drawn and tired, but his eyes were locked on you.

Without thinking, you rushed toward him, tears streaming down your face. You shoved him hard in the chest with both hands, all the pent-up frustration and heartache pouring out of you. “You’re such an idiot!” you yelled, your voice trembling with rage. You pushed him again, your palms hitting his chest with force, though he didn’t flinch, didn’t even try to stop you.

“You don’t get to do this, Dean! You don’t get to disappear and then show up whenever it’s convenient for you, like nothing ever happened!” You shoved him again, harder this time, but your strength was waning. “You don’t get to make me feel like I’m not enough! Like I’m just—just some leftovers!”

Dean stood there, his jaw tight, his green eyes filled with guilt and pain, taking every word and every hit you threw at him. He didn’t defend himself, didn’t say a word, because he knew. He knew you were right.

“You’re such a coward!” you sobbed, your voice breaking as your fists pounded weakly against his chest. “I’m too good for this, Dean. Too good for you! And I hate that I still—”

Your voice gave out as your body did the same. All the anger, all the pain, it came crashing down on you at once, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You collapsed against him, your fists loosening as your tears soaked into his shirt.

Dean caught you instantly, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. He held you tightly, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. His chin rested on top of your head as his hand gently ran up and down your back, grounding you as you sobbed against him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so damn sorry, y/n. For everything. For not seeing you. For not—” His breath hitched, his arms tightening around you. “For not realizing what I had until I lost it.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t move, but he kept going, his voice raw and honest. “You’re right. I am an idiot. And a coward. And you are way too good for me. But I can’t—” His voice broke, and you felt his chest rise and fall sharply as he tried to steady himself. “I can’t lose you again.”

He leaned back just enough to tilt your chin up, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek. His eyes searched yours, his own glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t deserve you, y/n. I never did. But I love you. God, I love you so much it hurts. And if you give me just one more chance—just one—I swear to you, I’ll never take you for granted again. I’ll spend every day proving to you that I want you, all of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to be angry, to hold onto the walls you’d built around your heart, but the way he looked at you—so broken, so full of love—made it impossible.

“Dean…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Not this time. Not ever.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself hope. Because as much as he had hurt you, as much as he had failed you, you still loved him. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally learn to love you the way you deserved.

So, you let yourself fall into him, his arms wrapping around you once more, holding you as if the whole world could shatter around you and he wouldn’t let go.

links: dean masterlist

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @deansbite @figthoughts @chevroletdean @deansenvy @cosmicanakin @hischrrypie @nuemanfilms @rubyvhs @supernatural-wolfie

[fandomtherapy44]

Sick days with you, Dean x fem! reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is a man who has always been independent of everything, especially when it comes to taking care of himself. Gets taken care of finally.

Paring: Dean x reader

word count: 395

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Warnings: swearing, being sick, and being described

AN/ I was sick a couple of days ago, so I thought, why not use that experience? Also, our boy deserves to be taken care of.

Dean Winchester, my man, the man who has fought God and every monster under the sun. The man who would get cut by a rusty nail and pour beer on it, call it good, is someone I love very much. However, when he gets sick, he will be the most stubborn person you will ever meet. And I’m not talking about a simple head cold, no, he will be almost coughing blood, a fever of a hundred and five, and act like it is a cold. So, taking care of him is a little hard. I’m walking through the bunker hallway when I hear coughing.

“Dean?” I walk in, and he’s keeled over a trashcan and puking up the lunch we just ate. “Dean!” I run up to him to check his temperature and load, and behold a fever of one hundred and five. “Dean, you’re going to have to stay home for the next few days.” He processes what I said and perks right up.

“No, no, I’m fine, babe. Just give me a couple shots of Niquil, and I’ll be fine.” He tried to tell me very confidently, but we both thought he was spewing bullshit. Also, his mouth may be lying, but his face isn’t.

“Dean, as your girlfriend, I am using my trump card. You are going to stay in bed, and I will take care of you, okay?”

“Okay…” He grumbles and snuggles in bed. 

“Dean, how are you feeling?” I walk in holding a tray of soup, and he looks very comfortable, which is nice to see.

“Better after the medicine. So I’ll be ready-” He here goes.

“Dean, why do you always say no to people taking care of you?” He looks a little shocked at my question.

“Ever since I was a kid, I was expected to take care of Sammy even when I was very sick, so I guess it carried into even after Sam turned into an adult.” He stares off, probably thinking about the moments that shaped that belief. I take my hand and caress his face.

“Well, you have a badass girlfriend now who can take care of you and herself. So please lean on me just a little bit more, I promise to catch you.” 

“How the hell did I get so lucky?” I chuckle and kiss his forehead.

“By being yourself, Dean Winchester.”

Short little fluff, I hope you enjoyed 🥰

[sataraxia]

jerk.

earth42!miles x fem!reader

summary: you haven't heard about him for a whole week, what a 'jerk'. (wc: 3.9 k, kinda short and a dumb blurb)

warnings: cursing, a kind of suggestive? line at the end.

a/n: it's the first time i publish something so maybe it's kinda bad idk, and also this isn't angst miles is actually the best man ever pls i just wanna hug him. aand english isn't my first language so pls pls let me know if i spelled something wrong!

"I heard that kiki was invited to prom in the most romantic way possible, I'm so jealous."

"oh god, yeah, I wish I had a boyfriend like hers, or well, just a boyfriend".

You were biting your nails right now, looking everywhere but at your friends, what a topic, huh?

“hey, your boyfriend already invited you?”

And there was the question, you just looked lazily at them “uh, sure”

The truth was that you hadn't been talking to Miles for a week or so, and this was exactly why.

You always understood that maybe he didn't like a lot of things about high school, and you never complained about it, but this time, it was something important to you, and he didn't seem to care.

"baby, it's just a dance, I don't understand why you're acting like it's such a big deal." he said while not even looking at your direction.

"maybe it's a big deal that you're being a jerk about this."

Yeah, that conversation didn't end well, you haven't heard from him since.

The thing was, you don't do a lot of couple things publicly, and it's slowly starting to affect your mind, maybe he didn't want to be seen with you, or someone couldn't see him with you, the thought alone causing you to shiver. 

You spent the rest of the day distracting yourself with your friends and your homework, secretly waiting for a message from him to appear on your phone.

It did, but definitely not what you expected.

miles <4: 'i’m back in town, wyd?'

Oh. 

You didn't know whether to be happy that he wasn't ignoring you, or angry that he didn't give the last discussion more than a thought. 

You decided not to let it go this time, and not even look at the text.

Of course, that was stupid, but so were you.

It wasn't more than two hours, he was already knocking on your window, and once you let him in, he just looked at you, deeply.

“wanna’ tell me what’s up with you, darling?”

That was not affectionate, he was annoyed, mocking, you realize.

“nothing.” you couldn’t look at him when you were lying, he knew that.

“i thought you were the one who opted for that communication bullshit, cmon.”

“where were you?”

“work”  the tone was defensive, almost secretive, it was always like that when he mentioned something about the prowler, you never talked a lot about it.

“you could have told me”

“thought you didn't want a jerk talking to you?”

“yeah, but you’re still my boyfriend, Miles, we argued, and I didn't hear about you for a whole week.”

“sorry.”

That's what made your veins boil the most, he was never mean, disrespectful, or a jerk.

He always knew when to say sorry or when he had done the wrong thing, that meant he didn't really care about the problem that kept popping into your head, he didn't see it like a problem at all.

And that only made you feel dumber, maybe you were overreacting, again.

“it’s okay, i just missed you” 

That's all you had to say for him to look at you with those eyes that made you feel like the most special woman on earth, that made any insecurity disappear just as the space between your bodies did.

“i missed you too.”

Of course, he stayed the whole night with you.

The next afternoon, when you entered your room, you saw a package on your bed, with a note on top of it

“I couldn't go to prom if my girl wasn't wearing my color, be at your door by eight o'clock. 

                                                                                                      luv ya, miles.”

Inside the package was a beautiful dress, vibrant purple, obviously.

This was definitely the man of your dreams.

+bonus:

Eight o'clock, and he was with his motorcycle at your door.

"you are breathtaking, love" he said and you approached him to give him just a little kiss, while smiling.

"thanks for all this, but I thought it wasn't a big deal?" a smirk adorned your face.

"it was a big deal if you were calling me a jerk about it" you grabbed his waist as you settled on the bike.

"sorry about that." a little peck on the cheek.

"you'll have time to apologize to me, don't worry:"

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 11

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, body shaming, typos

Words: 2879

The One I Want Masterlist

“So, you are the new roomie,” Brit says, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up much higher than what is naturally achievable. The door closes behind her. “The new pussy. The new set of tits.”

Her heels click across the tiled floor as she makes her way over to the sink, pulls out a tube of lipstick from the bag hanging off her shoulder, and uncaps it. The stick runs smoothly over her bottom lip, renewing the vibrancy of the red shade. 

“I could see it the other night,” she continues as she caps the tube. Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Fucker was looking at you like you were some angel that fell out of the goddamn sky—until it changed into the kicked-puppy look because of whatever you said to him. And yet, despite your nasty words, I’m the one who got the furious look to go with a bullshit lecture about ‘backing off’,” she scoffs. “I’ve heard it before, but this time I figured it probably had something to do with the chubby girl he sent away.”

It’s been months since you’ve heard that word, and you feel the dig, but it doesn't make it as deep into your gut as you expected. It's more like a shallow divot in the ground. It causes a stumble and a fleeting moment of panic, but that panic morphs into relief when you realize it didn’t shove you down onto your knees. You’re able to pull yourself back together, upright and undamaged, and carry on with your next step as if it never happened.

The blonde looks you up and down in the silence that follows her words. Oddly, her eyes do not flit in sharp movements that would suggest an unwillingness to linger on something unpleasant. Instead, she’s almost as slow and thoughtful as Jake when his eyes drag along your curves with enough appreciation they could substitute for his fingers. But it’s no shock that Brit’s lengthy concentration on the wider parts of your body is not from appreciation. Her stare contains questions, the most likely of them picking at why Jake would want someone like you when he once had her. And without an accompanying snarl across her lips or pinch in her brow, she seems more like a curious child wanting to understand a concept she’s never before been witness to. 

But then she finds her smirk.

“You’re not his type.” Her tongue running over one side of her top row of teeth makes a squelching sound that you pray you’ll never hear twice. 

“What do you want?” you ask, “Just for Jake to want you again?” 

Her head jerks back an inch and the curve of her jaw shifts with her grinding teeth. You weren’t aware you had the power to catch someone like her off-guard, but it takes some time before her tense features melt into a smile. 

“I knew he would tell you all about me,” she sighs. “I don’t even have to formally introduce myself because he’s so damn considerate.” Tilting her head, her smile widens, but her eyes are missing all light and the longer you stare the more you expect fangs to form and nails to elongate in preparation for ripping you to pieces. “I only want to do you a favor. Don’t you like favors?”

You swallow. “I don’t need a favor.”

“What kind of weirdo doesn’t appreciate a favor?” Her face scrunches and her head shakes in mock disbelief as she tosses the lipstick back into her purse. “Fine, we’ll call it something else: a warning for the sake of your own self-care.” She crosses her arms again and moves back to lean against the sink; the exact spot where you sat as Jake touched and kissed and held you. You wonder if she’d allow any part of her to make contact with that spot if she knew its very recent history. 

“Jake Seresin gets bored,” she says with the prideful tone of someone much too pleased to force their knowledge upon others, whether that knowledge be accurate or not. “I don’t know where he found you or what sob story you gave that tapped into his caretaker complex, but it doesn’t make a difference in the long run. You’re not there because you have value to him, you’re there because you’re easy. You are a warm pussy and an open mouth and a pair of tits, and that’s it,” she spits. “Don’t start thinking that you're special or that you give him something no one else can. He’s tasted better things than you and thrown them away, so believe me when I say that you’re wasting your time by latching on to him. The way he looks at you, it's not real. What you are is shiny and new, but shiny and new doesn’t last forever, and after enough time, he’ll–”

“I'm not that new,” you interrupt.

A flash shoots across her irises—there and then gone. For someone else, it could have passed unnoticed, but you recognize the things you have felt before; the verbal shutdown that stops someone in their tracks by ripping the words from their throat and rendering them meaningless. Being on the opposite end of it turns your stomach, but for your defense and the defense of the man you care for, you won't hide the truth to spare her.

Brit scoffs. “You’ve lived there, what, a few weeks?”

“Months.”

Her brow knits and eyes narrow, and she’s guaranteed to form wrinkles you’re sure she’d rather prevent. 

“Good,” she says, but it’s not quite as dominant as before. “Then you don’t have much time before he shows you the man he really is. It starts off all sweet, he’s kind and considerate of your feelings, but the minute you want more he’ll dump you on your ass.”

“He isn't–”

“It will happen,” she snaps, taking a few more steps closer until she’s just shy of in your face. “And if you have an ounce of intelligence, you’ll leave him.”

With how hard she’s trying, there’s an instinctual part of you that fights to feel sympathy. And in a way, you do. What she’s sharing is not unlike your own experiences. You’ve been with men. You know the ones who aim to hurt and revel in their success. You know the ones who don’t think twice about their actions and hurt without looking back. But you also know Jake is neither of those men.

You let a handful of beats pass, hoping to find in her glare one dominating emotion to guide you. But they are too interwoven. She is fueled by the familiar self-sustaining brew of anger and pain, and you wonder if she can feel anything else anymore–if she is capable of relaxing or evenly breathing. You wonder if she ever sleeps. 

“You know, running from something and chasing after something are a lot alike,” you begin, testing the strength of your voice in the slim space between you. “You practically kill yourself trying to reach a place where you’re content and have what you want, but you never get there. And it's exhausting,” you admit. “I know how exhausting it is.”

“Do you have a point?”

Your stare doesn't falter under the intensity of hers. “Aren’t you tired?”

She flinches, and as her eyes flick back and forth between yours you wait for some form of retaliation, but it doesn't come. 

Your safety is solidified by the call of your name as the door swings open. Millie’s head pops into the room and when she recognizes who has you nearly pressed up against the wall, her body follows. Her arms cross and her brows dip and for the first time you witness a death glare you didn’t know that that woman—that tiny woman, Rooster’s girl, your friend—was capable of. The glare pries into the blonde. 

“You alright, hon?” she asks, but it’s not a question looking for a response as much as it is a warning to Brit that if anyone in this room is going to be ‘alright,’ she’s last on the list. 

Impressively, that’s all it takes before you’re watching Brit retreat from the bathroom. 

When the door closes, Millie rushes over to take your hand, falling into the motherly mode that, considering her age, continues to throw you for a loop. 

“What the hell was that?” she demands. “What’d she say to you?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. Glad that she’s now by your side, your lips quirk.

“It didn’t look like nothin’.”

“Nothing that matters.” Her fingers give your hand a light squeeze as she scans your face, searching for a chink in your expression that might indicate a lie. “Millie, I swear.”

Seemingly satisfied, she nods and turns for the door, pulling you along behind her. “We have to tell Jake she was botherin’ you.”

Suddenly, your heels dig into the floor. “No, we don't.”

Millie twists back around and blinks as if she misheard you. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

You’re not. Jake doesn’t need that. Dragging unnecessary problems into his life is the last thing you want to do to him. And unnecessary is exactly what this is. You can take care of yourself, but you’re not sure your abilities will matter if Jake knows what happened in this bathroom. After everything he’s been through and lost, learning that Brit went around him to get to you will be seen as nothing less than a threat in his eyes, as it would be seen in yours were the situation reversed. 

That’s what happens when you chip away at each other’s walls. Because both of you have begun exposing your hearts and your worries and your fears while your hands are intertwined, the area to protect has expanded in a way it wouldn’t have had you taken this journey on your own. Now it’s harder. There’s more open space, less solid defenses, and your eyes have to monitor distances farther than they can reach. It's impossible to always be successful in protecting two people at once, so now, to protect Jake, you have to take the blow. And in this case, that is what is necessary. 

“It’s his birthday,” you stress. “He's happy. Just let it be.”

“But he's going to see her out there anyway.” Millie waves in Jake’s general direction as if the dramatic flail of her short arm might assist in making her point.

“I doubt it. She probably left.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

Because Brit didn't come here for Jake. Not tonight. But you can’t immediately piece together the right way to say I don’t think it, I know it without inviting more questions from the fiery redhead with a fierce protective nature. So you ignore it. “Everything's going to be fine,” you say. “I promise.”

—

“Don’t you think it’s a little too out in the open there?” you ask from the couch as Jake centers the snow globe on the mantle above the television. 

“No,” he says without a glance back at you.

“It’ll catch the sunlight and blind you while you're watching a movie.”

His finger nudges the globe a millimeter to the left. “I’ll watch movies at night.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, it throws off the decor of the room.”

He steps back to get a look at the globe's placement before going in to erase the millimeter he had just moved it. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you huff. “There’s no other snow in here.”

When he finally turns to you, his brow is arched and his lips are upturned enough to carve dimples into his cheeks. “There’s no other snow in here,” he repeats. “Do I need to go buy some of that fake stuff? Sprinkle it around the room maybe?”

“You’re not funny,” you grumble as he walks toward you, stopping just a few inches away. He leans down and his hands reach out to cup your cheeks.

“It’s staying,” he says with a peck to your lips. Then he releases you and falls onto the cushions beside you. 

His head rests on the back of the couch, tilted to the side so he can easier watch you, which is exactly what he does. He watches. His soft gaze stays on your face until enough time has passed that you can’t help but chuckle. 

“What?” comes through your light laugh.

“Come here.”

“What for? Your birthday is over.”

Heading lifting, his jaw drops. “By an hour and a half.” 

When your lips pull to the side and brows raise as if to say ‘Not my problem’, Jake sits up and scoots toward the edge of the cushion. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Getting ready to get on my knees and beg, what does it look like?”

You quickly throw out your hand and press it against the center of his chest to stop him. Though he’s undoubtedly much stronger than you, he falls back onto the couch with the slightest push. As you sit up and stretch a leg over his hips to settle down on his thighs, you sigh through your nose with a smile, and say, “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

Firm hands grip the dips of your waist. “From my perspective, no.”

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you let your body lean into him until your breasts are flush to his chest and your lips are inches apart. “Happy Birthday,” you whisper before your mouth meets his in a kiss. 

It’s soft and slow, and his tongue greets yours with such sweetness as it explores you. He tastes you as if it's the first time after months apart and he doesn’t want to neglect a single bit of you—a drastic shift from earlier when every move he made was filled with urgency, but being in your own home grants you that luxury. There’s no need for hurried movements with no one to bother you. So he doesn’t rush a single thing. Not his kisses. Not his touch. 

Those fingers roam expertly about your body, expressing how much he wants you without demanding you offer him permission to do as he pleases. His fingers that slide up your inner thigh, but not too high, and brush around your breasts, but not too close, silently swear that you are the one in control. His touch serves as a promise of what he can give you, but only if you decide you want it. 

And it’s not that you don’t want it, him, you do, but you would prefer to feel a stronger sense of confidence that if you take each other, you won’t lose something of yourself in the process as you have in the past. If you take that step, you need to be sure you’ll still be the person you’ve become since you met him, the person he knows you to be. Right now, you can’t guarantee that. So you let his fingers do their roaming, burning tingles through the fabric of your dress, and you let your hands do the same, traveling over wide shoulders and thick neck and into soft hair, but you don’t suggest more. And to your relief, he doesn’t push for more, despite it being his birthday. 

Jake releases a moan so low and gravelly and deep that you feel it from your chest to your belly. He moans and groans and when you bite his lip, he lightly whimpers, and you like it too much that you can pull the same sounds from him that he can from you. But that little song you're making him sing is interrupted by a sharp ding. 

Jake’s lips detach from yours and his head whips in the direction of the intrusive sound. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry, let me turn it off.” His arm extends toward the noise, making his whole body lean sideways, and you take the opportunity to lick a small stripe along his neck. “Fuck, beautiful.” He groans another lovely groan as he secures the phone in his hand and straightens his posture. 

You hear the click that opens the phone, the light from the screen creating a bright spot in the corner of your closed eyelids, but it takes you a while to notice that, though Jake’s other arm is still wrapped around you, his hand has stopped its caressing. His breathing has slowed to a more regulated pattern. He’s too quiet for too long, and you never heard him set the phone back down on the side table. 

Then he says, “Why didn’t you tell me about Brit?”

You freeze, all of you from your head to your toes to your heart and the blood rushing through your veins. Pulling your head back from his neck, you find his eyes still glued to his phone. “W-What?”

Jake flips the device so you have a full view of the screen and the block of text in the bottom left corner. 

Rooster: Hey man, Millie said Brit went after your girl tonight. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I know you’d tell me if it was Millie, so just making sure she’s ok.

You reread the words, hoping they might change with another pass over, but no luck. “Um…”

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @hookslove1592 @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Twist around the lounge - George Daniel & Matty Healy

A/N: i've been writing since 10am also this is barely spellchecked @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff ur a legendary beta thank u for fixing the fuckass formatting xx

wc: 5k

content warnings: super gay, smut, fluff, kissing, power dynamics, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, begging, teasing, threesome, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, so gay, pain kink, cumplay, sub! matty, switch(?)! george, shy G oh my god, they get high moments before they fuck so tw for that, allusions to pegging (i reckon that isn't even a warning but better be safe xx)

“What happened to ‘girls don’t roll their own spliffs?’” George comments as you drag your tongue along the paper, the question directed at Matty. You roll your eyes dramatically, holding your hand as George passes you the lighter and you flick it on, rotating for an even burn. Matty shakes his head from across you, adjusting his legs under him he wipes his thumb on the glass of the coffee table.

“There's some things I'm willing to give up.” he settles on a vague answer, eyes darting over your face as you chuckle at the implication. Your legs shift over George’s lap to a more comfortable position as you take the first drag, letting the smoke curl around you in pretty patterns.

Passing the lit spliff to Matty, you pick at your nails as you let the hazy sensation take over your body, though it's not quite as strong as you’d like.

A soft breeze from the open window kisses your skin and you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling. George lets his arms splay out on either side in a relaxed manner, sucking in a deep breath as he watches Matty inhale the smoke, his eyes drooping closed when it hits him, a lazy smile spreading onto his face.  

Matty blows an O in your direction and you catch it like a kiss, shooting him a wink. Too distracted by you looking at him, Matty manages to fumble the spliff, letting it drop into the sliver of skin exposed by the mid-length black skirt he’s wearing.

“Fuck– shit, fucking bullshit-” he curses, brushing hot ash off his leg, hissing in discomfort. 

“Hm, I thought you liked pain?” you joke, eyeing him up and down in a teasing manner, giggling quietly. George perks up slightly at your words, his eyes darting between you and Matty.

“Not like that, you know well enough the type I enjoy.” he breathes, wiping his fingers on his skirt to rid them of the black residue from the ash, going to take another drag. 

You expect a fucked off groan from George, the typical annoyed expression you’re used to replaced by one of undeniable intrigue, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Matty looks up, a bit confused at the lack of conversation, a heavy silence falling over the three of you. George runs an unsteady hand through his hair as Matty blows smoke, his eyes getting visibly redder as the seconds tick by. 

The silence is broken by George’s deep voice, timid and unsure.

“What do you mean he likes… uhm- pain?” The end of his sentence is punctuated by an uncharacteristic voice crack, your eyes narrowing at the odd question. It takes a few seconds for the words to finally register as Matty hands George the spliff, their hands lingering in a way that could be labeled as more than platonic if you looked close enough.

The more you look, the faster the gears in your head turn. You can see a thousand thoughts running through Matty’s mind as George stares at both of you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the obscenity of the question. It finally clicks for Matty when he sees him looking at the bit of skin visible over the collar of his shirt, littered with multicolored hickeys and bite marks.

“Oh you know, just like….” you trail off, moving your legs from their position on George’s lap, sitting up in a more normal position.

“I like it when she pulls my hair.” Matty’s bluntness almost makes you cringe, but the feeling of embarrassment is curbed by the look on George’s face, his lips parted in surprise at the answer. The curly haired boy smirks at you mischievously, eyes flicking between you and George, waiting for one of you to answer.

“Oh, uhm– thats-” George stutters, his voice incredibly meek right before Matty cuts him off.

“Really fucking hot? Yeah, mate, you wouldn't believe.” your eyes widen at the conversation being held right now, and you try to gather your words to steer it away from whatever this was, hoping and praying Matty hadn't spooked George into never wanting to speak to either of you ever again.

“Yeah, it is.” George breathes, no stutter in sight as Matty watches his every move, acting accordingly. In what feels like a fraction of a second, you suddenly feel the weight of a body in your lap, and it takes a moment to realize its Matty, straddling you like George isn’t sitting two fucking feet away from you.

His lips catch yours in a searing hot kiss, all tongue and teeth as our mouths work against each other, quiet wet sound filling the space as you feel George’s eyes on you, shamelessly staring. 

“See? I was right.” Matty murmurs against your lips, vaguely gesturing in the direction of an incredibly flustered George, his confidence unfaltering. You pull away for a few moments, cocking your head in confusion as you see him set the spliff down in the corner of your eye, bright pink ashtray glimmering in the dim light.

“Our little Georgie here,” he cuts himself off with another peck to your bruised lips before continuing. “likes to watch, don't you, love?” The pet name makes George visibly twitch, Matty’s sultry words evoking something primal in him, something he’d never felt before. You feel his hand trail down your chest, grazing over your nipples as he caresses your skin, his touch tantalizing. Turning your head slightly, you see a sight that will be ingrained into your frontal lobe until the day you die. Georges nods, confirming Matty’s suspicions and you gasp as curls brush under your jaw, hot lips pressed to your collarbones. 

The energy in the room shifts dramatically as George makes a move towards the two of you. He opens his mouth to speak once, twice, until he finally manages to force a string of words out.

“W-what else–” Matty stops, turning towards him with a look of encouragement, nodding at the clearly nervous blonde.

“What else does she– does she do..?” The question is directed at Matty, his eyes avoiding you at all costs, too shy to even look at you properly.

“Fuck, she makes me hurt so good, m’dizzy even thinking ‘bout it.”

George's breath hitches and you can tell he's turned on by the way Matty moans the words, grinning maniacally at the both of you, this whole situation like a dream come true for him.

“See this?” Matty hooks his fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a myriad of bruises and marks, flaunting them to George. You can see a small part of him wish George would touch him, run the rough pads of his fingers over his pale skin, maybe even press down onto the fresh splotches of color.

“Got a bit too annoying so she put me in my place, marked me up all pretty.” Endless nights spent holding him down, murmuring into his ear, your mouth attached to his throat as he whines spin in your head, the memories going straight between your legs as you absentmindedly spread them, and action not going unnoticed by Matty.

“Fucking hell.” George mutters, entranced by the scene in front of him, trying to convince himself he was dreaming. You don't even notice how close he really is until Matty grabs the edge of his half unbuttoned shirt, smashing his lips against his. A startled gasp escapes George before he melts into the kiss and Matty moans, licking into his mouth at a dizzying pace. 

Your heart beats against your ribcage when George threads his dominant hand into his curls, tugging experimentally. The action is tentative, unsure, but Matty’s wanton groan spurs him on, a sudden rush of confidence making him pull harder, earning more sounds from him. A high pitched moan spills from Matty’s lips as George slips his tongue past them, the sight pornographic as you watch them, eyes darting between the two men. 

Letting out a groan of protest when Matty pulls away, you catch the beginnings of a smirk right before George presses his lips to yours, his stubble scratching along your chin roughly. It feels different yet so, so fucking good as he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck, that's so hot.” Matty breathes, running his fingers through his hair, still perched in your lap as George continues kissing you frantically, wanting to feel every inch of your lips. 

You barely notice Matty sinking to his knees while George keeps you busy, your eyes screwed shut tightly as a carnal desire takes over your body, lighting every fiber of it aflame. Both of them can visibly see how worked up you are the moment Matty slides your shorts down your thighs, your hips lifting to help him out. There's a visible wet patch on the front of your panties, one that makes George gasp when he sees it, breaking the kiss. 

“Oh, don't stop on my account.” Matty pouts, not liking this you-and-George-not-kissing turn of events. George catches your lips again, the kiss searing hot as his hand finds your jaw, his chest pressed up to the side of your body.

“Gorgeous, isn't she?” you giggle at Matty’s words, letting one of your hands thread through his hair as he mouths along your thigh, licking over your clothed cunt. His fingers play with the hem of the cotton, making you shiver at the coldness of his fingers against your skin. 

“You should see him in a bit of silk, takes your fucking breath away.” you whisper to George, quietly wondering if he did have a pretty little number on under that skirt of his.

“Fuck, seriously?” George says, almost to himself, looking down and locking eyes with Matty. Matty rests his cheek on your thigh, his fingers slowly pushing the fabric of your panties to the side.

“Shame I didn't have time to prepare, would've even gotten those pretty little garters out. Love those, don't you?” You nod, smiling at George as the mental image flickers in front of his eyes, fantasies running wild in his mind. 

You feel rough fingers against the skin of your stomach, and you realize what the blonde is hinting at.

“Can I..” he trails off before he can even finish his sentence and you nod, urging him to rid you of the unnecessary material. A choked gasp spills from his lips when he realizes the lack of bra under your top, his hands shamelessly groping your tits as you moan, fingers toying with your nipples meanly. 

His mouth finds the space between your tits, leaving aggressive marks in his wake as Matty watches the scene in front of him unfold, licking his bottom lip. Matty’s fingers dip under your underwear, applying pressure to your clit making your hips buck upward, searching for more pleasure as Matty grins up from below you.

“Fuck– you’re so tight.” he murmurs as his digits sink into you, stroking against your walls at a dizzying pace, your head spinning at the blinding ecstasy. 

A desperate moan escapes you as George feels you up, your chest looking eerily similar to Matty’s as your nails dig into the cushions of the sofa, your feeble attempt at grounding yourself. Matty presses soft kisses to the inside of your thigh as you writhe under his touch, sucking lightly and leaving similar marks to George, if not a bit less harsh. 

“Matty, please– m’so close.” you whine, cut off by George’s lips against yours, all the oxygen in your lungs being knocked out of them in a split second, leaving you feeling weightless. Your vision is blurry as your orgasm approaches, the coil in your belly winding impossibly tight as Matty’s hand reaches up to graze your stomach reassuringly. A rough hand grabs yours and you open your eyes fully to realize it's George’s, smiling softly as Matty brings you to that delicious edge.

You cum with a whimper of his name, gripping the blonde’s hand so tightly you might've cut off the blood supply to his fingertips, pleasure washing over you in tidal waves, your hips unabashedly grinding down onto Matty’s fingers.  

It takes a few minutes for you to properly come to, your chest heaving with effort as Matty kisses your thighs sweetly, gazing up into your eyes. A beat of silence passes between the three of you as you and Matty exchange silent conversation, George blinking rapidly at what he had just witnessed. He still felt like he was dreaming, his whole body floating above the mortal plane as you move to get up, Matty shuffling to the side to make his way between George’s legs, giving you space to do the same.

“You don't have to– I can just-” he stutters, so unsure of himself it's adorable, his face flushed a deep shade of red. You smile to yourself as Matty speaks, his confident tone having a visible effect on the boy above you.

“Do you want us to? Because I want you both so fucking bad.” Matty’s hands grope George's thighs, playing with the buckle of his belt cheekily as he peers up at him, his eyes dancing with desire. 

“Let him take these off you, hm?” You trace your fingers over his stomach where his shirt had ridden up slightly, making him twitch. The movement reminds you of Matty, yet still starkly different.

“Yeah, okay– fuck.” he groans as delicate hands unbuckle his belt, the clinking of metal making your heart thrum in your chest in anticipation. Matty’s fingers start unbuttoning his jeans, stealing a glance at your face, signaling you to take over. George’s cock is hard, precum leaking from his tip as he strains against his grey boxers, a sight you commit to memory

Matty’s now free hands grip the back of your head, pulling you into a messy kiss, so clearly for show it makes your head spin at the mere implication that George was getting turned on from watching you. Your hand finds the front of George’s boxers, palming his cock through them as soft groans fill the room, his legs shaking at the sudden stimulation.

“So ready for us, hm? Should've done this earlier if it got me that.” Matty gestures to the blonde's face, scrunched up in ecstasy as you take him out of the confines of his underwear, fisting the base of his cock. Settling into a more comfortable position on your knees, you take the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as George gasps, screwing his eyes shut in pleasure. 

Matty takes the few spare seconds to grab at the hem of his shirt, sliding it off of him to reveal his bare chest, glistening with sweat and adorned in tattoos. The sight of him half naked never ceases to make you stutter, the low rise of his skirt only adding to the inherent erotic energy surrounding him.

It takes effort to take all of him into your mouth, Matty watching intently as you choke, sputtering on his cock with spit dribbling down your chin obscenely.

“Look how well she’s taking you, feels so fucking good I bet.” Matty reaches down to touch himself to the scene in front of him, letting his face fall onto one of George's thighs. Soft whimpers and moans spill from his lips, barely audible over George’s masculine groans, the juxtaposition making you feel lightheaded as one of his hands finds its way to the top of your head, resting there. 

“Please– fuck, feels so good. Keep doing tha- ohhh shit, fuck.” The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Matty presses an encouraging hand to your lower back. One glance up makes your breath hitch. George isn’t looking at you, but at Matty, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his velvety skirt, squeezing himself through his underwear. The air is charged with lust, the eye contact between the two men so intense you can feel it in your bones. 

Matty’s eyes are glazed over with desperation, the sight of you getting George off fulfilling every fantasy he’s ever had. He’s sure nothing could ever top this, silently begging this wouldn't be the last time it would happen. Matty brushes strands of hair out of your face, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek as you deepthroat George, tears threatening to spill at the effort.

You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, a low groan following as his hand goes slack in your hair, his hips bucking involuntarily. Sincere apologies spill from his lips and you pull off him, wiping your mouth and assuring him everything was alright, offering him a sickeningly sweet smile like you didn't just have his cock down your throat. 

“Make him cum, darling, I wanna see him cum– shit.” Matty whines, eyes begging you. You nod, a smirk spreading onto your face as you take George back into your mouth, his immediate groans of pleasure letting you know just how close he really is. Matty watches as you manage to not gag, making George throw his head back in ecstasy, moaning your name like a prayer. 

The thing that finally does him in? Matty’s hand grazing over the skin of his arm, making him spill into your mouth with a cry, the musky taste of his cum filling your senses. George shakes, actually shakes at the force of his orgasm, hair sticking to his forehead. An idea pops into your head moments before you swallow, and you turn your head to Matty, tapping his bottom lip with your index finger.

Matty’s eyes widen as he realizes what you want to do, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he opens it. You let cum drop into his mouth, some of it missing and hitting his lips, a pornographic moan ripping itself from Matty’s throat at the salty, distinct taste of George.

“Love tasting you on my tongue, shit.” Matty mutters at George, growing impossibly harder at the eroticism of it all, his cock visibly tenting his skirt. 

You lick a stripe up the side of his neck, bringing your wet lips to his ear and whispering into it.

“Get up on the sofa for me baby, let's get you off.” you speak, your words sultry and coated with thick honey, making both Matty and George shiver. 

The curly haired boy nods frantically at your request, scrambling up to find his seat next to George, still panting from his recent orgasm, and the proximity to Matty definitely not helping his current state. You let out a sigh Matty knows all too well, searching your expression to decode what you really meant. It clicks for him when your eyes flicker over to George’s lap, grinning wildly as he clocks it, draping one of his legs over George in a heartbeat. 

Using his body weight to hoist himself to a sitting position, he relishes in the surprised sounds George makes, stuttering over his words while trying to process the events unfolding. Something shifts when Matty makes direct eye contact with him, that sight probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“God, you’re so pretty.” George mutters, his lips inches away from Matty’s as they both breathe heavily.

“He is, isn't he?” you grin, your thoughts running wild as your eyes dart around the space, your breath hitching when they land on the discarded leather belt right in front of you, innocent and unassuming.   

Matty is the one who initiates the kiss, immediately taking George’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down meanly as the blonde gasps into his mouth, pupils completely blown out. Both of them are completely breathless, too caught up in each other to notice you get up and circle around to stand behind Matty, leather in hand.

Matty’s eyes fly open when he feels you grab his arms suddenly, the belt clamped between your teeth as you pull them back, a small yelp spilling from his lips. George notices your movements, knitting his eyebrows in confusion before he realizes that you’re restraining him, the thought making his heart race. The metal clinking is deafeningly loud as his movement is restricted, a high-pitched whine leaving Matty.

“He loves this, look at how hard he is.” you say, your lips pressed to George’s ear as Matty’s hips twitch, bucking up against nothing, desperate for any kind of friction. He’s been hard for the better part of an hour now, watching and talking but never getting off. You see George hesitate, his hand ghosting over the bulge under his skirt while Matty yearns for his touch, eyes pleading with both of you simultaneously.  

“Touch him baby, promise he doesn't bite.” you coo, letting your fingers linger on the leather, tracing the small designs of the belt.

“Unless you want me to.” he bites his lip at George, earning a chuckle from both you and him. The lip bite, despite being ironic, still made something in you stir. 

“I don’t know how– i’ve never-” George whispers, deathly afraid of messing up, afraid of ruining this perfect moment.

“It's alright love, just–” Matty speaks, cocking his head in a sweet manner as George looks at him, red dusting his otherwise pale cheeks.

“Do what you do to yourself when you’re alone, yeah?” Matty reassures him, writhing against the restraints as George tentatively palms his cock over the velvety material.

The thought of George getting himself off is something you file away for later, the mental imagine making the heat between your legs grow exponentially, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of that pressure.  

“Ah, fuck.” Matty whimpers, and you see the blonde flipping the fabric of his skirt up against his stomach, the clothing bunching up at his waist.

“Look how much he wants you, basically begging for you to get him off.” you speak slowly, drinking in the scene in front of you with a primal hunger, the bulge in Matty’s boxers adorned with a wet patch on the front of them. 

“So responsive, isn’t he?” 

Matty whimpers as George finally reaches into his boxers, taking him out and wrapping a hand around his leaking cock, beads of precum bubbling at the tip. George mirrors the movements he uses on himself, eyes searching the other boy’s expression for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he’s met with a blissed out Matty, face contorting in pleasure as George’s hand works him, using his precum as lube.

“Hear that?” you speak, taking in Matty writhing against George, wet lips parted as his eyes droop shut in ecstasy, wanton whines filling the room. You can see abandoned spliff in the ashtray across from you, last remnants of smoke curling in the air as the weed goes to waste, reminding you of how this situation even came to be.

“Those are the same noises he makes when I fuck him.” Your inflection makes the sentence all the more erotic as George stares at both of you wide-eyed, scenes playing out in his mind like a film.

“Y-you-” He stutters and you nod, Matty’s face flushing in a way you don't quite recognise. He’s embarrassed. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as you realize this, finally finding his Achilles heel. That spot was George.

“Yeah, and he takes it, takes whatever I give him. He’ll take whatever you give him, too.” A choked whine leaves Matty’s lips as you speak about him like he isnt even there. He leans forward, resting his cheek in the crook of George’s neck as he makes eye contact with you, fucking panting like a dog in heat. 

“Shit, your hand feels so fucking good.” Matty whimpers, his cock twitching in George's grip as he speeds up his movements, basking in the curly haired boy's praise. Sweat makes Matty’s curls stick to his forehead, his bare chest glistening in the dim light of the living room. You watch as George gets him off, so blatantly turned on by the boy in his lap that it's genuinely laughable. 

“Let me see you, wanna see your pretty face.” George mutters against Matty’s hair, catching you both by surprise. Matty pulls back, a clear look of arousal at the boy’s words, his lips parted in a way that shows you he’s so, so close to the edge it's physically painful for him. 

“Make me cum, please– i’m so fucking close, feels so good, G, fuckk.” Matty braces himself as you trail your fingers up and down his spine, shivers blooming through his whole body as his orgasm rushes at him full throttle. George’s hand squeezes his cock roughly, the slight note of pain sending white-hot pleasure straight to Matty’s lower half, making him moan desperately as George murmurs against his jaw.

The audible sounds of frustration as Matty pulls at the belt restraining his arms is incredibly hot, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe along his throat as he gasps, the stimulation feeling like pure heaven

“That's it, baby, let go for us, doing so well.” George groans, his commanding tone of voice sending Matty hurling over the edge, his orgasm crashing over him so violently tears start to stream down his face as he cums all over George’s stomach and his own, panting their skin as you watch, a soft noise slipping past your lips.

George works Matty through his high, watching every reaction, expression, and movement he offers him, his hand steadily slowing down as Matty’s full body twitches subside, high.pitched pants and whines spilling from his lips as he closes his eyes, basking in the afterglow.

“Fuck- that was.”    

“The hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” You smirk, finishing his sentence for him with a cheeky wink. It takes a few beats for George to fully come down from his power trip, eyes darting between you and Matty as he registers the compromising position he is currently in. You notice his slight panic, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, acting as his tether to reality. 

“Is this going to happen again?” The question is heavy on the three of you for a moment, but eye contact with Matty tells you he already has an answer.

“Do you want it to?” Though he is still restrained, Matty is as cocky as ever, raising his eyebrows at George in a teasing manner. You watch as George gathers his words, your heart thrumming against your ribcage in anticipation. 

“That depends,” George says, sounding confident. 

“Depends on what?” Matty cocks his head and you mirror the movement, equally as confused at his statement. The curly haired boy is still out of breath, his panting ruining the calm and collected demeanor he tries so desperately to portray.   

“Depends if you take it as well as she says you do.” he gestures to you, your smirk growing as Matty flushes a deep shade of crimson, squirming under George’s touch as he rests his hands on his velvet covered hips. You chuckle quietly before answering, making deliberate eye contact with George and George only.

“Oh trust me, my sweet G, he does.”  

[666kage]

this is literally my first time writing smut that's not like.. same idea straight forward bullshit for my friend so please be nice 💀

kuroko tetsuya x fem!reader smut

CW!!: cunnilingus, squirting, face riding, oral (f! recieving), overstimulation, idk just read it :3 (men who eat pussy for pleasure go to heaven btw)

wc: 742

kuroko hadn’t a single clue what you’d meant when you called him a munch. not until he heard his upperclassman laughing, as they quoted a beautiful, ginger haired, busty woman. they’d watched her music video during lunch, koganei walked around sassily quoting the video. this made hyuga, izuki, and tsuchida cackle. mitobe silently chuckled. the first years were lost in conversation, not noticing.

when kagami commented about liking american girls compared to japanese girls, kuroko was confused. kagami couldn’t put it into words without cringing indefinitely, but kuroko could almost read in between the lines. kagami liked them better because they were fuller? he didn’t outright state it, he had motioned downwards saying it “feels better”. before evasively asking kuroko his opinion on sex with japanese. kagami knows he has a girlfriend, and since they’d been dating since their second year of middle school, he could only assume that they’d done things.

kuroko only brushed him off, changing the subject. he didn’t know how to tell his friend that he’d never had sex. that he didn’t want to have sex. he genuinely enjoyed just.. eating pussy. he didn’t have any interest in sex. yeah, a hand job or blow job is nice, but it so much more fun to watch from below as you squirm, and shake. telling him to stop, that you couldn’t handle any more. pulling so hard on his blue locs, that he was sure they were going to come out. when you’d squish his head with your thighs, squashing his cute cheeks together. squeezing so hard he was sure he was running out air.

the way you bucked your hips when he stuck his tongue inside. how you would whimper his given name every time his nose would brush against your clitoris. the feeling he expects every time you began pushing his head again, that gush all over his face and his bed sheets. how you’d shyly cover your face, as he looked up at you endearingly. he was so inlove with every movement you made. when he’d watch your fingers, nails painted the color you had him to choose, grip onto the sheets, so tightly the color of your skin is dulling.

when he’d rut into the sheets, cumming himself from feeling your pulse against his soaking wet face. he’d let soft moans out into your pussy, making your back arch at the light sensations.

and when he’d convince you to ride his face, it was a fucking ball. you’d grip onto the headboard, trying to get up with all your might. but his arms were entangled with your legs so tightly you couldn’t. he’d occasionally squeeze your thighs or ass lovingly. you’d mewl and whimper when he’d kitty lick at your clitoris. he’d lock eyes with you, giving the most content, and excited expression he could muster.

however, his favorite—i mean his favorite—thing to do, wasn’t something he couldn’t do often. usually having to be quiet due to your or his parents accompanying one the other rooms. but whenever he got you alone, he’d overstimulate you, then bite you. right on your clit. electing a scream out of you. it wasn’t a hard one, he was practically just grazing your clitoris with his incisors. but when he’d bite down, he’d flick his eyes up to you, watching your pleasure filled expression. he’d then pull back, and you’d look at his face. despite it being cover by cum, squirt, and any other bodily liquids that had come out of you, from only a few centimeters below his eyes. he still had a innocent, pure looking on his face. his blue eyes all wide and child like, he would smiled at you.

coming in at a close second, was when you’d lay lethargically on his bed. as he went to get a water bottle, and a cloth to clean you off. and despite being spent you’d beg, and beg, and beg to help him with the brick hard erection that was staring at you. he’d just deny, eventually laying down beside you. and you’d promise to give him the greatest blowjob of his life at some point in the near future. he’d say no, that you wouldn’t do that. that he wouldn’t allow it.

you would only whine in response, at how unfair he was to you. occasionally, you’d catch him slipping the morning after, getting down on your knees and pleasing him. but those days were rare.

if this gets one note i’ll make a part two where she tops kurokos off. also i am in love with ice spice that woman is gorgeous.

[spidernuggets]

Hi! :D

I was wondering if you could do a jason x fem reader where jason just rescued reader from being kidnapped and he has to calm her down from a panic attack?

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warning‼️: threats of rape

Note: I apologise in advance, I don't have much experience of comforting or calming someone down during a panic attack

You couldn't see. It was dark. You were sitting down on a hard, cold surface. Wherever you were, you were moving. But, you couldn't moce your arms or your legs. Your wrists were bound together behind your back, and your ankles tied together.

You were whimpering and crying, tears rolling down youe face as you heard someone, a man most likely, scoffing at your state.

"This is the girl big, bad Red Hood is hooking up with? I expected someone... Feistier. Definitely wouldn't mind a feisty gal," he grunted and you sniffled at his comment.

So you were kidnapped as bait for Red Hood?

You were scared. This never happened before. You couldn't even remember what happened before you got kidnapped. But you knew your boyfriend was already out on patrol. Yeah. And he checks up on you ever half hour. He'll find you. He'll figure out where you are.

The vehicle came to a stop. The ropes from your ankles were cut. Someone harshly grabbed your arm, forcing you up and shoving you out of the van, almost tripping over when you couldn't watch your step.

"Move it, bitch," a different man said, pushing your back every two seconds, guiding you to a cliche located warehouse.

You were gagged with an itchy rope tight around your face, dribbles of saliva running down, mixed with your salty tears.

"Ugh, fucking disgusting. Did he answer yet?" Asked one of the men.

"No, sir. It's been 17 minutes since our message."

"Tsk." The man who seemed to be the one in control of this situation leaned down by your ear. "Looks like you don't mean as much to him as both of us thought. You know, if he doesn't come, we can still make good use of you," he sneers, grasping a tight hold of your jaw.

You snarled, refusing to take any of this bullshit, anger rising in your chest. You took the close proximity as a chance to kick him as hard as you could in the crotch. You can hear the loads of guns being pointed towards you, but no fire. You assumed their boss refrained them from pulling the triggers.

"Oh, ho, you fucking whore!" He yells, giving you a brutal slap across the face, making you topple over, your head hitting against the cold, concrete floor. Luckily, though, you were still conscious, aware of your surroundings.

The man pulls you back up and grabs you by the throat. "That was your only warning, you little bitch. Make a move like that again, and the next time your little Red Hood fellow sees you, you'd be branded by someone else," he threaten as the other men snickered and laugh at your vunerable state.

But then, there was a sound of a creek of a floorboard in the distance. You can hear the mean aiming their guns to where the sound was coming from, up at the catwalk.

Suddenly, one of the men dropped dead. As some of the men closer inspected the now dead body, they saw a small hole in the middle of the dead man's eyes.

A few seconds before they could react, three more of the men got shot. Unusually, though, there were no gunshot sounds. And you knew Jason was there. Jason once told you that if you were ever kidnapped, he would use a silencer, so you'd be less startled.

You weren't, to say the least, but then one of the men was ordered to grab you and bring you back to the van. You felt the harsh breeze slap your skin, struggling and wriggling in the man's grasp.

"Shut uo, would you-" The boss yelled and was about to throw a punch if his head wasn't then filled with lead a split second after.

You felt the grip the man had on you loosen. You were so shook, you fell to the ground, crying and whimpering, still unable to see or speak.

You felt like you couldn't breathe. Your heels were digging against the dirt and gravel, and your nails pierced cresent shaped dents in your skin.

"Y/n!"A voice called out. But you couldn't register whose voice. "Darling- Hey, princess, I'm here- I'm right here, it's me, don't worry," the voice said frantically.

You were in a state of shock, you kept kicking, and your screams were muffled. You looked like a mess. Snot was running down your nose, your wrists were red and bruised, and some of the skin was peeling off, and foam of saliva filled the corners of your lips.

Jason quickly untied all the bounds. He started with the rope around your face. Once it was released, you wasted no time to beg for you life.

"No- No, please! I'm- I'm sorry, please, please," you wailed, choking on your sobs in the process.

"Wh-what? Darling, it's okay, it's me! It's Jason!" He tried to assure, but to no avail. You were still squirming against him as he tried to take off your blindfold.

But once he did, your eyes were bright red and closed tight.

"Please!" You sobbed. "Please, let me go, I won't tell anyone, just- please." Your breathing began to quicken and became unsteady.

Jason started to panic, cutting the ropes off your wrists as fast as he could. Once your arms were free, you put them in front of you in defence.

"I'm sorry, please! I- I can't-" Your sobs grew loud, your hands grasping at the dirt on the ground, gravel pieces digging into your nails.

Jason carefully places his hand on your knee. "My love, please look at me. It's me. Jason. Look," he took his glove off and held his hand in front of your shut eyes, hoping you'd open them for at least a second. "It's me, your husband. You're safe. I came. I promised you I would always protect you," he continued to assure you.

You peeked and saw the glistening band that rested around his ring finger. You still couldn't pricess that it was Jason who was in front of you, but you called out his name.

"Jay?" You whimpered. Jason nodded, his free hand slowly reaching out to hold your cheek, his rough textured glover softly caressing your face.

The hand on your knees takes your hand, and he puts it against his heart. "Breathe with me, doll. I'm here for you, okay?" He says, taking deep breaths in and out.

Your breath continues to shudder but manages to slowly follow his deep breathing patterns. "That's it, love. You're doing so well."

Finally, you can see the face of the love of your life, kneeling in front of you, eith glassy eyes and a scared and concerned look on his face.

"Jason," you said quietly while sniffling. You weakling reaching your arms out, and Jason immediately understood. He leaned towards you, holding you in a secure embrace, a promise showing you that he'll always save you.

"Did they hurt you?? Did they touch you?" He said, fury sparking in his eyes as you weakly nodded.

Jason clears the damp hair away from your face. "Listen to me, sweetheart. They're dead. They're all dead. Every single one who laid a hand on who, and those who were an accomplice to it. They're dead. And I'll kill anyone else who thinks they have a right to do so," he says.

You were never afraid of Red Hood. Why be afraid of someone who loves you so much that they'd kill someone who put you in danger for you?

And that's why you love him just as much.

soz this fic is shorter than my usual ones, hope you lile it!! 😭😭

[venomvalley]

REPENTANCE

ada wong x afab!reader // 2k words

summary: Disillusioned by your crumbling marriage with Leon, you find comfort in an unlikely ally: his ex.

warnings: 18+ (face-sitting), infidelity, there is no Good Guy here

notes: a smut week request that very much got away from me. i wanted to try something different, specifically in regards to leon’s character. i truly think that in the later stages of his canon he would be a neglectful partner for obvious reasons, and i wanted to dissect that while using my personal spin on… everything. not everybody will like this one. be warned.

You aren’t sure how, but she knows to find you. Casts a shadow over the doorway of your bedroom, calls your name in the silence, stashes away her grappling gun.

“Ada,” you say, rising onto your elbows beneath the sheets. “Just the woman I wanted to see.”

“I know. You’ve been asking for me.” From the window, she creeps slowly toward your side of the bed, boots crisp against the wooden floor. “I don’t think I have to tell you how dangerous that is.”

Dressed head-to-toe in midnight black, you can guess well enough that she chose your home as a pit stop after a mission. Whether successful or not remains a mystery.

“Obviously I like danger. I mean, look who I’m married to.”

She takes a seat on the mattress beside you. Crosses her legs at the knee. Exhales a disappointed sigh. “What are you doing?”

“I have questions.”

“I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.” Her response is immediate as she holds your gaze, and the look could pass for a glare if not for the way her fingers find yours.

“I want in with Umbrella.”

Her brows raise and she leans back to shake her head, clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother. “Leon wouldn’t like that very much.”

“I know he’s been seeing you, Ada, so I really don’t give a shit.”

Her lips twitch, threatening a smile. “You’re sharp, but I can’t confirm or deny.”

“So he is.”

“If he was?”

Your relationship is crumbling regardless. If it’s not this, then something else would put the nail in the coffin. The grave’s already been dug. Fuck it.

“I have a few ideas.”

She leans forward, smells of rosewood and big city wind, mint from the gum she chews. “And I suppose I’m one of them.”

“You’re sitting on the bed we sleep in.” You bite back a grimace, lips stretching wide into a pained frown. “Do you know how long it’s been empty?”

“A while, I’m guessing.”

“Two months.”

Her face twists up in mock pity, and manicured nails trail the line of your arm, gooseflesh rising in their wake. “Not what you expected, huh?”

The comment stings as intended. Because it isn’t. She’s known him far longer than you. Knows what kind of man he is—one with demons latched so tight to his roots that any attempt at separation might kill him. She knows him in ways you don’t, can get through to him in ways you can’t, and you hate her for it.

“He wasn’t always like this. At the start, he was kind and loving and thoughtful. But we just… we can’t fucking stand each other anymore.”

You aren’t sure why you relay the difficulties of your relationship to your partner’s ex. Maybe because she might understand, or offer solace, or help you forget. You’re disillusioned at this point, tired of his routine, every day week month year the same detached bullshit, but you’ve grown comfortable in it. Fulfillment feels unrealistic now.

Which is why you must do this. For your own sake.

She exhales another sigh, glances around the far corner of the room before meeting your eye once more. “We’ll make a deal, only because I like you.” Leans in close enough, just another inch or two, that your noses almost touch. “You leave him, I’ll give you my connections to Umbrella.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You understand it. She still cares for him, wants to minimize blowback—so do you. A large part of you still loves him, however curdled and rotten that part may be. But you don’t wish for him to suffer.

Or she intends to steal him away, but you don’t give a fuck regardless. He hasn’t been yours for a while.

“Then we have a deal.”

Somewhere between packing and finding a hotel, you panic. Why the fuck are you doing this? For revenge? Some sort of extreme mid-life crisis? A mental breakdown?

He kept his work hidden from you for so long, and still, he doesn’t even know that you know. One rogue voicemail to the house phone, an employee breaking rules catalyzed your failing marriage. The weeks-long trips, the lies, the new scars. He stopped fucking you when you started questioning his alibis. He replaced his love for you with a bottle of cheap whiskey.

And you would empathize with him if not for the fallout of his self-destruction. The poison within him that craved to ruin everything it came into contact with. Even you. Especially you.

Now, you just want to watch the world burn.

You're old enough to understand consequences, and you’re old enough to damn them. When have you ever gotten anywhere by doing what’s right?

“I don’t see a ring,” Ada says, perched on the hard bed inside your hotel room—pitiful in size, bought with the emergency money you stashed inside an envelope then taped to the back of your silverware drawer.

“I did what you asked.”

“And I’m impressed.” She watches your approach, motions to the empty space beside her with a tilt of her head. “To be honest, I didn’t think you were that serious.”

“I mean what I say.”

“As I’ve just learned.”

You take a seat next to her, lean in close enough to count each individual eyelash. “So answer my question. Have you been seeing him?”

She thinks for a moment, eyes roaming the features of your face before she settles on your razor-sharp glare. “I did. Once. I wasn’t aware that you even existed at the time.”

“That’s bullshit. You know everything about him.”

“I used to, a long time ago. But we’re older now—too old to play games, don’t you agree?”

“Yet you’re still here, conspiring with his soon-to-be-ex.”

“This isn’t a game to me.”

You scoff. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen already.”

“You wish, my dear.” She shakes her head, hair swaying about her face. “No. I’m a lot of things, but I keep my promises.”

In that moment, a piece of her shines through. Her, Ada, the woman in red. So much more than that. You see it in her eyes sometimes, when she thinks nobody’s watching. When she forgets that she must pretend, put on a show, craft a standing-ovation performance.

You wonder if she even knows who Ada the woman is anymore. When she begins and the mercenary ends.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, shoulders tensing.

“Like what?”

“Like you know me.”

“I know you better than most.”

“That’s not saying much, sweetheart.”

You don’t understand what follows. Maybe it’s the stress, or the budding tension, or whatever impulsive streak you’ve been on lately, but heat curls on your gut.

The first thought that comes to mind is excruciating guilt. The ex-lover of your husband, who aids you in twisting the knife stabbed into his back. You’re fucked, too far gone, long-past heavenly entry.

The second thought is how badly you wish to kiss her. Just once. To see what he sees in her, to understand infatuation at such a loyal-to-death degree. You have to know.

“Go ahead. Do it.” Her head tilts to the side, mirth narrowing her eyes. “I dare you.”

The rest of the night is not intimate or loving. It’s not happy or playful. Both of you seek to destroy, to ruin, to fuck the other into submission. Nothing but a battle of wills wrapped up tight by bitter spite.

You sit on her face and she clutches hard to the tops of your thighs, digs manicured nails into giving flesh. The sting leaves you grinding against her mouth, half need half anger, and she opens her eyes to gaze at you.

Again, you see it. Too focused on your pleasure, the curl of her tongue around your clit, to continue her performance—a spark of light, of hunger and heat and you can lie to yourselves as much as you want but there’s something here.

No. No, god, no, this isn’t about Leon anymore and that terrifies you. When did hatred leave, how did this craving find an empty place to stay?

You’re supposed to hate her. On all accounts, she’s supposed to be enemy number one.

But the real her keeps shining through. Slender hands map out the curves of your waist and hips and chest. Warm lips suckle at your clit. She hums a cooing sound as you clench around her tongue and her eyes close and then you’re gone—she’s catching you at the hips, keeping you upright as you moan and grind and cling tight to the headboard.

Pleasure curls low in your belly, spreads warmth down to your very marrow. When you shut your eyes, try to pretend, all you envision is her: too-small hands, a stubble-less jaw, high-pitched moans.

You have to let him go. He’s not here anymore. He doesn’t love you.

The tide recedes and you roll off of her. Catch your breath a moment before pulling her into a kiss—one she turns away from.

“Get out of that head of yours. Regret serves no purpose.” She cradles your face in her hands, and her lips shine with your slick, and your heart threatens to break your ribs by force.

“How did you—“

“I know that look. All too well.”

There are many ways to describe Ada Wong: aloof, cryptic, dangerous. Sensitive is not one of them.

“I’m surprised you admitted that.” You kiss beneath the curve of her jaw, and she tilts her head back with a sigh. The column of her throat on display, soft and inviting.

“You know nothing about me.”

A trail of kisses down her pulse, fluttering beneath your lips. “And if I wanted to know you?”

She grabs the hand that you ghost down her belly, scoffs and says, “Then you’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Ada does make you stupid. Irrational. Impulsive. Something here, between you, greater than hatred or spite or bitterness.

Greater than your shared history with Leon Kennedy.

“This meant nothing. I hope you’re aware of that.”

And yet, she stays. Cuddles up next to you on the bed, her hair soft against your collarbone. She smells of pretty things. Her skin akins to the silk of rose petals.

But this isn’t Ada, no. Too good to be true. Too perfect. Still, naked as you both are, she rejects the vulnerability. Still plays her part well.

“Do you actually care about anything? Besides my husband?”

“Soon-to-be-ex, you forgot to add.” She brushes a pinky over the hand you spread atop her thigh, falls into silence a long moment. “And of course I do. I’m still human, aren’t I?”

A water stain buckles the ceiling above your head, and you trace the jagged edges with low-lidded eyes. “Sometimes I question if I still do. Care about anything, I mean.”

The pinky becomes a set of fingers, circling slow over the back of your hand. “If you have to question it, then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Do you ever question things?”

She stays silent a long while. Keeps touching you all tender and soft.

She never answers. She doesn’t have to.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 8

Ao3 | 3.5k Words | Darlin's POV

Quinn does show-and-tell. Angel sleeps fitfully. Darlin' (nearly) commits homicide. Sam pulls them away from the ledge. David sets foot on the scene.

TW: Threats, home invasion, injury, blood, sexual trauma, implied physical abuse, threats of rape, non-consensual filming of sexual acts, general Quinn bullshit.

Quinn Fox looked exactly the same as he had when you’d last seen him four months ago, sans being beaten within an inch of his life. His skin was still so pale it was nearly translucent, dotted in a handful of places by beauty marks. He still wasn’t adorned by any of the shitty tattoos that you were, that he had put there, that he claimed to love so much. What few he had peaked out from the sleeves of his pristine leather jacket, perfect and new and costing a fucking fortune. His blue eyes were still so pale that he had to squint in Max’s warm light. His teeth were still sharp and too many and nicotine stained. He’d go in for a bleach session next time he was in L.A.. 

“My precious thing,” he rose from his seat and tossed the paper napkin he’d spread in his lap to the ground, waving away the server casually. You watched her face drop as she turned away and retreated towards the counter, where the guy behind it was staring outright now. You’d only have a few minutes before they had enough of Quinn and kicked you out. It was a familiar countdown in the back of your mind. Nearly everybody had enough of Quinn eventually. You’d gotten the timing down to a science. 

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed. He reached out to you, one nimble hand with perfectly painted, black nails and bulky rings. Your mind supplied the feeling of those rings crunching across your cheekbones. “And don’t fucking touch me. Sit down.” You huddled into the booth, arms locked around your middle. There was still blood on your jacket from the last time you’d seen Quinn. 

“So touchy, Precious.” Quinn said, floating back down into his side of the booth. Sam sat down quietly next to you. His eyes flicked across Quinn quickly, almost casually. You watched him categorize Quinn’s skinny jeans, bought with rips and wear already sewed in, his Nirvana shirt, a band you knew he’d never listened to. God, he was such a fucking poser. You couldn’t fathom what about him had ever been enticing to you. “I implied you should come alone, you know.” He sneered towards Sam. 

“Yeah, well, the last time I was alone with you, you put me in a fucking coma, so…” you shrugged. You felt Sam’s eyes slip to you. That was a little tidbit you’d neglected to share with him. He’d have questions later on. You swallowed down the urge to deny them before he even asked. Instead, you brought one hand down to rest against his thigh, your fingers twisting up his uniform pants hard enough they would wrinkle. 

“True,” Quinn laughed, not even bothering to be decent enough to hide his glee. His eyes moved to Sam. “I assure you, they gave as good as they got, Sammy. Or- do you prefer ���Captain Collins?’”Quinn grinned, his mouth pulling just a little too far on either side. You thought you were going to fall out. Behind that grin, that delighted twist to his stupid face, there was a familiar anger. He’d had that look about him when he put cigarettes out on your skin. He’d had that look about him when he’d fucked you so hard and hateful you couldn’t move for two days. “I was expecting the other one, Precious. Big, scary Captain Shaw. He’s a much better frame to hide behind.” 

“They ain’t hiding.” Sam spat. “And you’d be so lucky to be staring down Shaw instead of me.” 

“Is that so, cowboy?” Quinn laughed. It was a rasping, shrieking sound, like a predator barking out before it struck. Your hand tightened on Sam’s thigh. 

“It is.” Sam said. “David Shaw is a good man. He wouldn’t hurt ‘ya without cause. But I am not a good man.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘do no harm,’ Doctor?” Quinn cocked his head to one side. 

“I’m not a doctor anymore.” 

“Quinn,” you snapped, demanding his attention. Those bright eyes stuck on Sam for a moment longer. You slammed your phone down on the table. The photo of Little Shaw shone up at the three of you, accusatory. Sam gasped audibly when he saw it, going stiff. Quinn flicked his eyes down at it and laughed again. “What the fuck do you want?”

“That was almost too easy, you know?” He rested his chin atop his folded hands as he stared down at the picture. “I just had to pick a day when the good Captain was working the night shift. It’s so convenient that he takes you with him everywhere. I almost wish I had sent you this instead.” 

He produced his own phone and laid it on the table next to yours. It was newer, nicer, and the screen was giant. The big screen exposed a shaky video of the Shaw’s master bedroom from an angle you hadn’t seen yet. If you had to guess, it was through a crack in the closet door. Your stomach flipped as you leaned in close. Sam mirrored your posture. The camera panned from the plush, carpeted floor and towards the softly lit bed, on top of which Little Shaw was spread out, their phone in one hand and the other free. They were wearing one of David’s D.F.D. tee-shirts, which swallowed their frame like a robe. You watched as their hand trailed from the hem of the shirt and lifted, exposing their thighs, their waist, their fluttering stomach and chest. Sam cut his eyes away immediately, but you didn’t move until the audio kicked in. Little Shaw let out a moan, Quinn’s phone cranked up to top volume. Heads swiveled towards your booth. You slammed your hand down on the phone, fumbling for the volume button as you snatched it and tucked it close to your chest. 

“You fucking freak.” You hissed. You couldn’t even manage to be surprised, just vaguely nauseous. He was in the fucking closet. How long had he been in there?

“They rest so fitfully when the good Captain isn’t home.” Quinn mused, inspecting his nails. “I had to hush them back to sleep a handful of times to make sure I wasn’t caught. Nothing a quick cuddle couldn’t fix, of course.” 

He had touched them. You were going to commit homicide. 

“Quinn,” you growled through clenched teeth, “step outside.” 

“Darlin-” Sam started, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to ground you. You didn’t care if he wrapped his arms around your waist, if he pressed kisses to your temples, if he fucking took you right here in this booth in Max’s; no firm touch or soft word could pull you back down now. Quinn had touched them. He had filmed them in a vulnerable moment and then held them while they slept. All while David was fussing over you at the 10-19. You had distracted him. You had drawn his attention away from the people who really mattered and then delivered danger to his literal fucking bedroom. 

“Fuck you, move!” You shoved Sam hard, hard enough for him to stumble out of the booth and into the guy from behind the counter just as he came to interrupt the fight that was brewing in his dining room. 

“Captain Collins,” the guy said, catching Sam as he got his footing. You forgot how well known the 10-19 was on this side of town. You’d be surprised if Sam wasn’t a familiar figure to every person who worked here, and you’d dragged him into this. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Guy,” Sam said, and go fucking figure, a literal pizza Guy. “We’re just leaving.” Guy’s gaze flicked from Sam to you to Quinn and back again. Sam must have given him a reassuring enough look, because he stepped aside. You surged up, knees shaky, and snagged Quinn by the collar of his designer leather jacket. He grunted but didn’t fight back as you pulled him out of the booth and towards the door. You pulled stares from the families adorning the booths and counter, and you probably looked like a rabid animal. You could picture your own expression, twisted and gnarled by the scars that cut through your face. You saw a kid flinch back and away from you as you passed his seat. 

The air was cold and sharp as you burst out of Max’s and started dragging Quinn towards the back parking lot. He let you, let you pull him along, let you toss him when you reached what you considered an acceptable distance from the building to kick his ass. You knew that, if he wanted to, Quinn could make it difficult for you, at the very least. He was strong, just as strong as you and twice as fast, twice as clever. You were a blunt object. You didn’t have it in you to strategize, to think through a fight as it happened. You could call Quinn a lot of horrible things, but one thing he was not was stupid. Not like you were. 

Your fist connected with his face before he could even get his footing. Pain burst out over your barely-healed knuckles with satisfaction. You grit your teeth and tried to step back, put some distance between you two. Your back met with the trunk of a silver sedan. Quinn held himself up, one hand on the grimy wall of Max’s industrial dumpster. Blood and bruise blossomed so prettily across his sharp cheekbone. He closed in as soon as he got his footing, boxing you in between him and the car. Your only way out was through. 

You’d been fighting the same way your entire life. You’d always been weaker than someone, you’d always been hungry and disadvantaged and outnumbered. So you took to the ground like a prey animal. You dove in, hit them where it hurt, and ran, put distance between you, let the hoard thin as they chased you so you could pick them off one by one. Quinn had always delighted in watching you dance around the battlefield, often of his own making. He liked to watch you scrap, fight dirty, pull hair and bite and scratch for eyes. 

He was so much taller than you and his reach seemed endless. When the two of you fought, he didn’t let you run. He made you stand in one spot and wail, hoping that your brute force was enough. 

That, more than anything he did to you, had always made you feel distinctly vulnerable. 

He came at you quickly, decisively, struck you hard in your ribs. His shitty ex must have told him where she’d done the same, because his aim was eerie. You gasped, the air knocked out of you, and locked an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. You drove your fist up, into his gut, punching for his diaphragm as your chest seized and fought to allow you any air. 

Quinn twisted out of your hold and swung his leg up, landing a kick to your stomach and sprawling you back against the sedan. You growled, near feral, and dove forward again. Quinn wanted you close, pinned down, vulnerable? You would show him just how dangerous you could be in close quarters. 

It was blurry after that. A series of hits, skin on skin, tearing fabric, blood and grunts. This was a familiar dance. The two of you had fucked, often, in fact, but for you this was a much more familiar type of intimacy. It was how your father, on the rare occasions he had been present in your childhood, had shown you his love. It was how your mother, for all of her virtues, had raised you. Since you were young, you’d been shown love most often by a firm right hand. Quinn was the latest in a long line of people who loved you with a fist. You filled up with the heady euphoria of it, got drunk on his little sounds, his curses and moans of pain, his high laughter like a predator’s ringing around in your swimming head. 

This is what you had seen in him. His eyes flashed, bluer than blue, catching yours a few times in the scuffle. You crushed your knuckles into his nose and knocked it askew. He called out your name, your real name. Fuck, it sounded like a plea, like a promise. 

He hit the ground before you did. You’d always had staying power, whether it had anything to do with your actual constitution or if it was tied up in your stupid, persistent stubbornness. Quinn was a child of abundance. You knew from the shape of him, no matter what games he liked to play, that he had never wanted for anything. That was the only advantage you had over guys like Quinn, guys like David. You had had to last before. Plenty of people had tried to starve you out, so when most people were bent with hunger pains, you did what you did best; soldiered on. 

“What do you want, Quinn?” You panted, hands on your knees. He spat out blood and smiled up at you with swollen cheeks. 

“I already told you, Precious.” Back to that stupid nickname. You wanted to kick him again, but he was already pushing himself up, getting his feet under him. “I want you.” 

“You are fucked in the head if you think I’d ever go back to you.” You growled. Your ribs ached. You wrapped a hand around your chest and held on. 

“No,” Quinn smiled at you as he stood. He had the nerve to look bashful. “I suppose not. That’s fine. All I want is… one last taste.” 

“What?” You breathed. 

“I want to fuck you.” He rolled his eyes, swiping a finger under his nose and coming back bloody. “One last time.” 

“Fuck off.” You scoffed. Your stomach was doing flips again. The idea of putting yourself in that position, vulnerable and bare under him, submitting yourself to Quinn’s particular brand of love, made you physically sick. 

Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t survive his one last time. Another part of you, somehow bigger, was afraid you would. 

You turned to leave, resolute, and caught sight of Sam. He was standing two yards off, watching silently on the edge of the parking lot. He seemed more concerned than anything, but there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his severe features. You looked away. Holding his brown-eyed-gaze was unbearable. 

“I’ll get what I want somewhere, Precious.” Quinn called after you. “From someone. Remember, I’ve been inside their bedroom.” 

An image of Little Shaw flashed across your mind. Pressed against the floor, folded in half with Quinn between their legs, his teeth in their skin, burns littering their flawless skin, cuts waiting to scar from that ill-kept pocket knife he carried. Something in your chest snapped. Maybe it was a bone. Maybe it was your resolve. 

You crashed into Quinn, moving faster than you thought you could. His head banged back against the dumpster, his lips twisted into a fuck-you smile that you wanted to rip off of his face. You knew where he kept it in his stupid fucking jacket. His knife was in your hand before you could even think. The blade was opened, dried blood giving it a rusty look, and pressed into the juncture of his throat. You knew the bite of that blade. You’d had it pressed in that same spot a dozen times before. A line of blood ran down his throat, catching on his bobbing Adam's apple. He looked so fucking pretty in this light, the puff of his breath in the winter air smothering his features, blood smeared across his thin lips. 

You loved him. You had loved him, at least. Your body wouldn’t let you forget it. 

“If you ever fucking touch them, I’ll kill you!” You cried, a plea, a promise. “I’ll tear you to pieces, do you fucking get that? I’ll fucking kill you!” 

“Darlin’!” An arm locked around your middle and pulled you back. The knife clattered to the asphalt, wet with Quinn’s blood. His laughter crowded out any thought that might make itself known in your head. You thought you’d drown in the sound of it. 

Warmth at your back. The distance between you and Quinn grew. A soft voice taking up the space left behind as Quinn’s retreated. You were across the parking lot, across the road, in the passenger seat of Sam’s truck before you could think enough to start fighting. Sam didn’t stop talking. 

“I know, I know, Darlin’, I’ve gotcha. Gimme- yeah, there, come here-“ he grabbed your hand, squeezed it in time with his exaggerated breaths. You realized, suddenly, as Sam plopped into the driver’s seat and trapped you in the silent confines of his truck’s cabin, that you were crying. Wailing, actually. You hadn’t cried in years. Not since Gabe had died, and even that wasn’t anything like this. You bent at the middle, your seatbelt pulling at the bruises on your chest, and screamed. Sam’s hand snapped to the back of your neck. You thought he was likely trying to stabilize your spine. Paramedic training must have kicked in. His fingers tangled with your hair as he shushed you, cooed soft reassurances into the space between your cries. 

Eventually, your voice gave out. Eventually, your muscles unclenched, and you hung, chest to thighs, hugging yourself so hard you couldn’t breathe. Sam’s hand didn’t leave your hair until the car stopped, and only then to reach more of you. His cold, rough hands trailed up under your jacket, sought out skin, tugged you up until he could look you over. 

Your eyes met his, dark and wide and sure. 

He wasn’t scared. You didn’t know how he had managed that. You didn’t know how he managed to look at you the exact same way after that. 

“I’m sorry-“ you started, your mouth sharp with blood. 

“Don’t,” Sam snapped, his face twisting. He looked… pissed off. That you understood. That you could wrap your mind around. He wanted to be angry with you? That was fine. Better that than scared of you. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Come on, lemme get you inside. I need to take a look at you.” 

You looked up, took in your surroundings. The 10-19 stood, illuminated by street lights, across its long parking lot. You didn’t know how you’d missed that familiar drive. Your chest sparked with anxiety. David’s truck was still on the lot. He would see you. 

“I can’t.” You breathed. You shook your head, rebuking the very thought of David seeing you like this. And fuck, how could you explain why? He would kill you. He’d kick you out. He’d wash his hands of you. And as much as you were fighting his influence, his help, his care, you knew that you would come unraveled without it. If David was done with you, then that was it. Doors closed. No vacancy. 

“Darlin’-“ Sam started, reaching for you. Your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You startled, fumbling for it with your swollen, fucked up hands. Sam had delicately dabbed your knuckles with alcohol and gauze for days and you’d gone and wasted his work. 

David’s name lit up your screen. His shift was over and at this hour he was done worrying over the night shift. He was looking for you so he could go home to his invaded home and his endangered spouse. The prey animal in your chest jerked and you followed where it tugged you. You dropped your phone, stumbled out of Sam’s truck, tangling with the seatbelt. Your boots hit the asphalt and you ran. 

You didn’t realize, in your haste to run, hide, escape, that you’d started running towards the 10-19. You didn’t realize, as you stared down at your feet and tried to make yourself small, that you were running straight into David until you collided with his chest. 

You bounced back, let out a startled cry, and raised your fists. You didn’t know if it was to strike out or to protect your face, but it served the same purpose either way. David’s phone was still up to his ear, and his face was bare in shock as he looked you over. 

You stepped back like you were going to run. He was faster than you. His fingers threaded into your jacket and pulled you close. 

“What the fuck?” He barked, his face lined with anger and worry. 

Your body knew you were done. David’s hand held up your weight, and you went limp against your jacket. Whatever adrenaline had been holding you together slipped away and let you unravel. David hauled you to his chest by your jacket, cradled your head with one giant palm, wrapped his other arm around your still too-trim waist. 

“Sam!” He shouted, a definitive order. You were a walking house fire, and David took over as soon as he set foot on the scene. 

That was it, then. He’d seen you. He would know, or Sam would tell him. David would choose his spouse over you, which is what he should have done in the first fucking place. You’d be out on your ass in two hours flat. You’d run with less in worse shape in less time. But you couldn’t get your feet under you. You couldn’t get an inch of your body to obey your desperate orders. 

Doors closed. No vacancy.

[silvercap]

if you're still taking prompts then how about leon + this very specific tumblr post that sound funny?? but has the potential to be devastating:

after we have sex i'm lying in your arms when i'm like "hey can i tell you something?" and you're like "sure" and you figure it's going to be a love confession or something like that, but then i grab your arms in a vice grip so tight my nails are digging into your skin and stare into your eyes with a haunted expression and say, with grave urgency and deadly seriousness, "i'm a bad person. i've done terrible things." then i go back to cuddling you like nothing ever happened

(link: https://www.tumblr.com/valtsv/730565506368684032)

i kind of imagine piers tbh but could be anyone

Oooh 🤭 sure!

They're lying in bed with Piers' back pressed up against Leon's chest, skin on skin, relaxed and close in the aftermath of a few satisfying rounds of reunion sex. It's been far too long since they saw one another, and Piers smiles to himself. His hand idly traces patterns on Leon's arm where it drapes over his chest. It's nice. Comfortable.

"Can I tell you something?" Leon's voice breaks the silence, soft. Piers smiles and leans down to kiss Leon's forearm before cuddling right back up to his chest.

"Anything."

"I'm a bad person," Leon says, matter-of-fact. "I've done horrible things. Terrible things, to the people around me."

"Huh?" Piers turns, incredulous, to see Leon staring at him with a sad, puppy-dog expression that makes his big blue eyes look wide and shiny. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not... I'm not a good guy, Piers. You should know that, before we go any further."

"Further?" Piers latches on to the word, trying and failing to process. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should get out while you can." Leon's expression is deadly serious, sorrow lining the creases around his eyes. "There are better people out there, kinder---"

"Bullshit. You're the kindest person I know!" Piers retorts hotly. Leon laughs, but it's hollow.

"Everyone puts on a façade."

Piers does his best not to roll his eyes, but he can feel a muscle in his brow twitching as he steadies himself with a deep breath. "You're being stupid," he decides, rolling all the way onto his other side so that he and Leon are face-to-face, tangling their legs together beneath the blanket. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody needed to tell me, it's something I've always known," Leon scoffs, frowning like he didn't expect Piers to disagree. He looks a little offended, actually. Well, screw that. Piers doesn't believe a word.

"Don't say that," Piers says, unable to hold back the current of anger in his voice. It's not directed at Leon, exactly, but the frustration is certainly a result of his self-deprecation. "You're not a bad person at all, Leon. We've been together for months, now, and if I wanted to run, I would've done it already. Where is all of this coming from?"

"I..." Suddenly Leon is quiet, hesitant. Almost shy with the way he looks down and sweetly laces their hands together, eyes darting around to look at anything but Piers. "I care about you."

"So, what? You want me to leave you?"

"No." Leon turns his face towards the ceiling. "It's selfish, but I can't say that I want that at all. It's just... I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't want you to think I'm something better than I am---"

"Leon," Piers interrupts, firm. "You're being melodramatic."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are, but it's okay. You need to stop reading so many novels, I think." Piers smiles, lifting his head to plant a kiss on Leon's cheek, softening his voice. "I care about you, too, you know. Don't tell me I shouldn't."

Leon looks guilty. Piers untangles their fingers and slips his left hand under Leon's cheek as he turns back to look at Piers, pulling him in for a long, slow, delicate kiss. He strokes Leon's cheekbone with his thumb and smiles sadly.

"You're a better person than you know, Leon. We all do things we're not proud of in this line of work, but I trust you more than anyone else in the world, you know that?"

"Oh," Leon says, and his voice is wobbling.

[itgirl-cad]

I kept seeing tiktoks about an AU where the characters are actors and what their blooper reel would look like… so I made a lil fic from the idea :) lmk if I should make this a mini series cuz I have so many ideas!!

Valentino was sitting on his couch, waiting for the scene to start. It had been 5 takes deep into the first few lines of his scene and he had to continuously restart. As soon as they had the greenlight, they started the scene. He sat up with rage.

“Fuckin’ finally!” He smashes the sugar glass cup he was holding right on the floor. He finally managed to hit it on the spike they put on the floor. “Kitty, another drink!” One camera followed the extra Valentino was interacting with, the other stayed focused on his close up.

“Can you believe what that piece of shit did?” He held out his hand without moving his head to look. The extra placed it in his hand but Val got a bit too into character and moved too quickly. The drink hit his hand and was tossed onto the ground below. “Hijo de perra!” Val swore as he picked the prop up and sighed.

Vox chuckled from the other side of the room “This scene is never gonna end.”

Take 6.

“Can you believe what that piece of shit did? The ungrateful whore!” He yelled and fake threw the glass. Vox had to laugh. He was trying to stifle it but it ended up bursting out of him. “I’m sorry but you look so stupid.”

Val rolled his eyes, “You try fake throwing something.”

It was take one of Lucifer and Alastor having their first scene together. They have had the most success with their lack of mistakes. Charlie was watching them, almost in awe when she heard her cue line and made her way towards her father as he turned to speak to her in an unimpressed tone.

“Who is this? Are you the bellhop?” He gestured his cane over to the taller man.

Alastor let out the most perfect fake and sarcastic laugh ever. He really did amazing with sarcastic roles. “No! I am the host of this hotel! You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast.” He leans on his cane, slightly bending down to his level, just even to make a point.

“Hmm. nope! I guess that’s why Charlie called it the HAZBIN hotel hahaha-”

“Ha ha ha…” His last ha dragged out for a bit then the radio effect was gone from his voice, “What the fuck’s my line?” He asked and started to chuckle.

Charlie let out a laugh as the crew told him his line.

“I do apologize, your performance was rather captivating.” Alastor adjusted his tie and his ears moved a bit. He was getting a bit frustrated working with Lucifer. Usually he makes no mistakes.

They ran the scene again.

Hmm. nope! I guess that’s why Charlie called it the HAZBIN hotel hahaha-”

His laughing got cut off by Alastors fake bullshit retort “Ha ha ha. It was actually my idea.” nHe looked at his nails like a sassy ‘mean girls’ like character.

Lucifer’s eyes got more bloodshot as his laugh got more insane and his dialogue speed up “Haha well it’s not very clever-”

Ha HA…” Alastor got down to lucifer’s level and up in his business “Fuck you”

Charlie got in between the two of them “Anyways.. Dad, look at this lovely parlor!” She dragged him away to carry on the scene.

Alastor appeared behind them as Charlie spoke his name. He never missed a cue. He made his way over to her, minding the spot on the floor that is spiked with red tape, for him. “Charlie has a very unique vision. I am happy to fulfill her bizarre requests.” He rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, thank you, Alastor.” She smiles sweetly and places her hand on his. Lucifer was fuming. Alastor looked back over to his face and his shit eating grin got bigger.

“Quite an impressive young lady,” He placed a hand on her chin. Charlie decided to be a prankster and gave him a kissy face and puckered her lips. Alastor, not expecting such an action, drops his hand from her chin and the radio static picks up. Charlie roared out with laughter, Lucifer following suit.

“Al! Your fucking face!” She had tears in her eyes.

“You traumatized him!” Lucifer was having too much fun with this.

Alastor just looks right into the camera with a traumatized smile and pained eyes. The director yelled cut and Alastor’s smile immediately drops. He frowns and his radio effect is gone from his voice.

“Awh no he's frowning!” Charlie felt kinda bad, but it was a funny prank.

“It was worth it.” Lucifer gave her a high-five.

In the recording studio, Vox was recording his lines for “stayed gone” alongside Alastor. They both had their scripts in front of them and stood in front of microphones.

Vox started his lines “Top of the hour, and we're discussing a certain has-been Who has been spotted cavorting around town After a seven-year absence. Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? More on tonight's program So, the Radio Demon is- holy fuck I talk a lot..” He exclaimed, running out of breath.

Alastor chuckled, “I have been telling you that.”

“Oh literally go fuck yourself” He rolled his eyes and started from ‘top of the hour’ once again

They tried different callouts between the lines to see what would fit best. Most of it was improv because Vox couldn’t remember the actual script. He was too engaged with yelling at alastor and looking at the cocky son of a bitch in the booth beside him.

“Yes, I know it's been a while Since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast Sinners, rejoice!”

“What a stupid voice!” Vox yelled. Vox just did a string of those, looping Alastor’s track so he did have to repetitively sing the same cue line. “Such an irritating voice!” “What a lousy voice!” He could’ve gone all day long if the sound director let him. All those shower conversations had prepared him.

“Instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast” Alastor sang and let Vox have multiple retorts

“Come on.. No, that one is so boring. Lemme try again” Vox sighs and thinks of better retorts, “Oh piss off!” “Excuse me?” “up yours!”

“Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?”

“Ignore his chirping!”

To be honest, Vox could have written a disstrack.

[strawbrrycuteblog]

OMG i never thought I would like hybrid!enha so much having read your puppy!Jake as my first hybrid fic.

I have already become a fan of your writing 😭💋please can you make one for heeseung and sunghoon too????

This is such a compliment!! TYSM!

Warnings: lowkey mean Dom!hoon, he calls reader bitch, nipple piercing mentioned, mostly hoon being a meany.

“W-wait…”

You mumbled out as sunghoon forced his dick through your lips, pushing and hitting your cervix as he held you up against the front door.

“You knew I was in heat this whole fucking time but didn’t do anything?”

He grunted as his throbbing and aching penis was finally getting relief.

“You know how bad I needed this?”

“No..”

“Then you’re gonna find out, don’t expect to be treated nicely baby.”

And with that he pulled out and pushed you down to the couch, getting in between your legs and ravishing your clit, nipping at it with his leopard canines.

“Ah! Sunghoon that’s hurt!”

“The whole fucking point bitch.”

You couldn’t believe how rude he was being, he’d always been so gentle, so considerate of his strength compared to yours…

But now you only felt yourself leaking on the leather couch from being called a bitch.

You felt his nails dig into your thighs as he fucked you open on his tongue alone, slurping up the juice you had for him, almost like he hadn’t just downed two three waters at the restaurant.

“So good..”

“Perfect even”

You could hear him mumble and jumble as your head fell against the leather pillow, arching off the cold material to buck against his face, bumping against his nose.

“Please Hoonie! I wanna cum so bad!”

He stopped almost immediately, even if he himself didn’t want to pull away the force of wanting to edge you like he felt you’d done to him made him able to pull away.

“As if I’d let you do that now?” He spat.

“I had to fuck my fist because I was trying to be ‘thoughtful’ but here you were, trying to do what?”

He said as he waited for you to speak, “I was only trying to give you space!”

“Bullshit.”

He pulled you up and sat down, sitting you on him, he pushed his tip in but held you up so you could sit fully on him.

“Hoon this isn’t fair!”

“Seems fair to me. But at this point what does fair even mean to you?”

He let go with one hand to rip your top off.

“Hey!”

God he wish you’d just shut up at this point, you both know he isn’t gonna be gentle anymore so why be such a brat?

“I’ll get a new one.”

He licked your hardened nipple, flicking his tongue over it as he sucked on it too, he thought you’d look so pretty with a nipple piercing.

“Fuck baby you drive to the edge.”

He tried not to sound to desperate but god the way you wrapped around him was hard to resist.

He pushed up into you, attempting to reach your end point. Curious as to how deep your pussy really was.

“I’m gonna fuck you inside out by time the night ends.”

In the future I also might edit this to be longer or make a pt 2 so lmk if that’s what y’all want!

[solsticelosthermind]

I actually read through those long fics I keep complaining about having abandoned, and oh my god, I have so many notes in those docs, and so much already written, and it’s so good?? I love it so much?? I think I’m going to make more of a dedicated effort to straighten those out. It seemed to be helpful, bouncing between projects, rather than just. Languishing in my agony when the words aren’t wording.

anyway blah blah some sentences not-Sunday—have about 800 something words of the sterek fic because I’m kicking my feet about it:

(editing to add the link now that I’m posting: Rewilding of Beacon Hills by SolsticeLostHerMind)

Picture-wolf nodded, his eyes wandering as he thought. Then, the little notepad was back. “Touch the glass.”

“...why?” Stiles asked, even as he let his hand hesitate over the surface.

“Please.”

“Not really an answer,” but it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose.  He shifted, so he could still see the man beside his hand. “Now what?”

Ridiculous as it seemed, he felt a frisson of ice drip down his spine at the thought of being hauled inside the frame. He couldn’t even figure out how to get off the Hale’s property, nevermind out of a freaking picture.

Almost too fast to follow, the man laid his own small hand against Stiles’ palm, slashing down with all five nails. Yelping, Stiles wrenched his hand back, gaping at the five tiny lines marking his skin, each seeping little ruby droplets. 

“What the—” but when he looked up to snap at the man inside the picture, Stiles stopped dead, his jaw hanging open. 

His blood left faint trails behind on the glass, smudges that the man was cleaning with his tongue. If it hadn’t been his blood, then it might have been comical instead of turning his stomach. “Lesson learned,” he croaked, edging away, back to his books. “Stay away from the terrifying blood thirsty moving pictures.”

A laugh rippled across the room, soft and mocking, rooting Stiles to the spot as he watched the little man throw his head back. Staring didn’t help it make sense, so Stiles switched to eyeing the thin slices on his hand. They’d already stopped bleeding. He looked back up, just in time to watch the man lick the last traces of red from his mouth. “Um. What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Oh good, it worked.” The man gave Stiles a pleased, mischievous grin. “I wasn’t sure.”

“You weren’t— what— how are you talking?”

 “All things considered, you’re not very bright, are you, kid?” The voice, which matched the motions of the man’s mouth, was softer and higher than he'd have expected, just like Derek’s. Belatedly, Stiles bristled. 

“I suppose it’s to be expected, new lamb like you. Don’t take it so personally.” The man cleaned his claws with a careless dip into the lake behind him, drying them absently on his jeans.  “And the ‘what’ being my very rudimentary knowledge of blood magic.”

Stiles flailed his arms out with a high pitched, “You magicked me?”

“Not quite. Come on, Stiles. You just said this yourself: your reality includes werewolves and curses, now.”

“And blood magic,” Stiles said, flatly.

“Naturally. Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone except you will be able to hear my scintillating wit, but beggars can’t be choosers and all.” The guy gave an airy flutter of his fingers. “More importantly, Derek’s licking his wounds somewhere we can’t get at him, and you’ve got a nearly feral puppy running around the house.” 

That pulled him back together quickly. “Erica’s not feral.”

The man sighed, shaking his head. “She’s a newly turned wolf with zero guidance and her Alpha’s run off. From what we can tell, the only reason she’s even half as cognizant as she is is because of her bond to you.”

There was too much in that one statement for Stiles to even begin to process. He focused on smaller parts, talking almost to himself. “Derek’s her… Alpha? Because he bit her. Except Alpha wolves are crap.”

Another huff of laughter. “In actual wolf-wolves, yes, that study was utter bullshit. But we’re human, too, and that’s what makes things muddied. We need a head wolf, an Alpha wolf, to protect and nurture the pack’s spark.”

“Okay,” Stiles turned away, pacing back and forth before the man’s frame, scrubbing at his hair. It stabbed unpleasantly into the shallow cuts on his palm and he winced, dropping and flexing his hands. “Okay, so maybe part of the reason she was okay before was Derek’s proximity. But she almost lost it in the woods…” He shot the man a puzzled glance. “I calmed her down just fine? Made her listen to my heart.”

The man gave a noncommittal shrug. “And if you think Derek let you two wander off alone, then you’re going to need to pay better attention.”

Stiles deflated. “But you said I’m keeping her sort of okay?”

“In theory, yes. She seeks you out and uses you as…” he hesitated, blinking. “Something of a touchstone. Bear in mind, all we can do is watch and make assumptions. We don’t know either of you. Maybe she’s just very strong willed.” He shrugged, eyes keen on Stiles. “But whatever it is, it isn’t strong enough to anchor her to her humanity. She’s going to hurt you.”

“We,” Stiles repeated, pulling himself straight. “That’s the second time—“ He paused, swallowing as his eyes went wide. Turning, he looked at the other, empty frames. “She was moving,” he murmured. “That wasn’t from missing my dose.”

Stiles ducked his head to bring himself down to the man’s eye level. “Derek said the Hales never left. All of you? You’re,” he made an all encompassing gesture. “Stuck in the photographs?’

“All of us,” the man returned, sounding strained, creases appearing around his eyes. “Every single one of us, save my nephew.”

[dramaticals]

HIII, okay... I have to tell you that I CONSTANTLY check your blog because MWAH chefs kiss lol

I'm so happy for you, btw! 800 followers is huge! (And SO deserved)

And I was wondering (if you've got time with all your fans you little celeb you) if for your 800 follower event could do a small blurb of Fem!reader x mattheo based off of the song 'Lips Of An Angel' by Hinder? I just feel like it's so HIM but he wouldn't really listen to it, yknow?

Anyway... it's absolutely cool if you can't, I love your blog and SO MANY well wishes that you get even more (deserved) followers ml <3

Thank you sm, and I hope you have such a good week! Always so much love and patience ofcc 🫶

thank you so much! that means a lot to me 🥹 i don't typically write mattheo, so i did some very surface reading and i hope this turned out how you expected.

star's 800 followers celebration ! | send an ask !

honey, why you crying, is everything okay? / i gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud / well, my girl's in the next room / sometimes I wish she was you / i guess we never really moved on

"Is everything okay?"

Mattheo stands a few feet away, frozen at the start of the corridor that led to the dormitories. His feet are bare, his head of curls in disarray, and his pyjama pants hang loosely on his hips. It looks like he had just snuck out of the witches' dormitories.

You nod, grateful for the cover of darkness the dimly lit common room provided. You don't bother wiping your tears, knowing any movement would bring Mattheo's attention to them. "Yes," you sniffle, voice soft. "I'm fine."

Mattheo, knowing you so deeply, disregards your blatant lie and steps closer towards you. There's no hiding from him now, and it takes everything in you not to turn and hide from him. It had only been a month since he cut things off with you, three weeks since you found out he was seeing someone else, and two weeks since you impulsively decided to put yourself back out there. You clench your fists together, focusing on the pain of your nails digging into your palm to halt the flow of tears. 

"What did he do?" 

"It doesn't matter."

"Bullshit," Mattheo says harshly, forgetting himself a little. He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "It does matter."

"It shouldn't," you say, swallowing thickly. Your heart pounds and it aches. "At least, not to you."

Mattheo's eyes blaze, and you swear you imagine the anger behind his soft brown eyes. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not when he had just spent the good half of the night with another girl, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that you occupied a large part of his mind. Every time he was with her, he couldn't help but think of you—the way you snorted when he made you laugh really hard, the way you'd lean on him when you were tired, the way you'd tug him closer when he was already as close as he could possibly be. "You'll always matter to me."

"Right," you almost laugh. You couldn't deal with Mattheo tonight. Your head was already spinning, and you weren't in the right mindset to decipher what the hell he meant by that. "Goodnight, Mattheo."