#and im just now realizing most of the not switch fics are very dark and twisted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starbuckie · 4 years ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing(s): college!peter parker x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!sam wilson x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader

words: 8.1k words

warnings: DARK!FIC, SMUT 18+ (unprotected sex, foursome turned fivesome, gangbang, non-con/dub-con, daddy kink, oral M and F-receiving, spit kink, degredation kink, praise kink, creampie), age-gap (reader is in her early 20s), cheating, angst, there’s like zero fluff

summary: peter should’ve made it back to the tower for date night on time, or maybe just before he found his girlfriend being fucked by three other superheroes.

a/n: eee my first dark fic! im so so happy with the way this turned out, and even though it was a pain in my ass for nearly three months, im so hapy to share it with y’all. this idea was brought up by an anon from @mypoisonedvine’s saturday sleepover a few months back, but i switched up tony and sam bc i didn’t like the tony and peter stuff. hopefully my smut has improved from the first time i wrote it in january, and just a reminder that in no way, shape, or form do i condone rape of any kind. there’s a large difference from the page and the real world. i try to put all tw’s in the tags and warnings, but if there was something i missed please tell me. thank you to my lovely bestie @mermaidxatxheart for beta-reading(i have no fucking clue what i’d do without your help). feel free to leave a comment or two and reblog, but don’t repost anywhere or i will hunt down your ass. thank you again and please please enjoy <3

main masterlist || mcu masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck Y/N as soon as he saw her.

It started with a faint mention, something Tony had thrown around along the lines of, “Parker’s bringing his girl down here tomorrow, don’t be an asshole”. He didn’t give a damn what Tony said or how he acted around Peter’s girl. Years of being thrown between gruesome mind-wiping and being half-dead, asleep in a freezer would do that to a man.

So the next day when Peter brought his girlfriend in, he was scratching his ass like a fucking ape and downing a beer with a messy bun at the nape of his neck, until he actually saw her. Neat hair, even neater laces with a sweet smile but a body that could kill. Didn’t matter that she was bundled under Parker’s hoodie and a pair of jeans- he could always admire a pretty dame, but Bucky could see that she was beyond that. It was as if God had intentionally made the one being, the one ethereal creature beautiful and angelic enough to be a sin away from him, so that he couldn’t touch her. Because she was young, and in her twenties, and that shouldn’t have even been the first two things that popped up in his mind because she was also Peter’s girlfriend.

But then she had the audacity to stick her hand out, a shy grin and twinkle in her eyes as she gave her name. It sounded so pretty rolling off of her tongue, and he wondered what it would sound like while he groaned it into her cunt.

Y/N.

So, yeah, maybe Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck her as soon as he met her, but it was pretty damn close after.

Steve Rogers was one of very few men who said they had the pleasure of banging nearly every woman on the north side of Manhattan. Bucky indulged in the fact that the man who had once been too shy to do so much as meet a gal’s gaze was now “a dollar whore”, but he was more than happy to keep that title if it meant he could continue to get off in the nearest woman’s mouth everyday.

Every time he walked down the streets of New York with just a simple ball cap and jeans, he could feel stares on his back from what seemed like miles away, girls on every street corner just waiting for him to take her into the nearest public bathroom and fuck them dirty. CEOs, baristas, girls fresh out of getting master’s degrees with stars in their eyes and big dreams, until he shattered them by making them gag on his cock and scream his name into bedsheets. Or tile floors. He didn’t care as long as they were screaming. The girls of this century were just too delectable to turn down. He didn’t discriminate. His dick had been in women of every height, stature, hair color, and he had quite the variety throwing themselves at him as well.

And then Tony ruined it all and sat him down with a simple explanation that the image of Captain America was being tainted with disturbing stories of girls being fucked in the ass and thrown on their knees in dirty bathroom stalls. The blond was beyond pissed when the billionaire told him to stop dicking around, but he couldn’t do anything else if he wanted to keep his title and job. In a new century, even if he’d had a few years to adjust, he was still absolutely oblivious when it came to anything outside of aliens and sex. There was nothing left for him outside of being an Avenger, so reluctantly he agreed to keep his number of conquests to a minimum, and most definitely inside of the tower rather than out on the street.

However, inside of the tower seemed to be no problem at all when Peter brought his girlfriend over, all smiles and straight A’s, and that’s when Steve realized that he’d yet to fuck a bright, little college student. He could see himself stripping her from the innocence in her eyes, loosening up her pussy with his thick cock against the wall in his room.

Surely Tony couldn’t reprimand him for spending a little time trying to bond with Peter’s new girl, right?

Sam Wilson was a simple man. He had a job, a well-paid one at that, somewhere to live, a girlfriend, or a woman to keep him company, that’s for sure- but for once in his life he was seeking out something other than missions, something that would keep him busy when he was feeling bored, something like-

Pleasure, and he knew that he’d finally found what he was looking for the moment Peter brought his girlfriend through the elevator doors on the fifty-sixth level of the Avengers tower. She’d shaken his hand so daintily and spoke so politely that if he were to see her without any backstory, he’d think she was another innocent, dim-witted college student, breaking her bank account every Saturday morning and naively believing that her relationship would last longer than a few months. But by the things Parker had told him, she was much more than that.

Was it shitty of Peter to tell his teammates, the people he worked with, how Y/N was in bed? By the majority’s vote, probably, and by Sam’s strict conduct of his own morals, definitely, but when Peter’s girl looked like that and he was so incredibly bored with his routine?

Well, fuck, Sam had never been happier that the Spider-kid had told everyone how his girl gave head.

Peter brought his girlfriend in daily after that, and every one of her visits, she grew less shy and more friendly, and the Falcon saw each of his friends gape at her growing comfortability with a wolfish demeanor. It started with the water incident with Steve in the kitchen, where he so clearly spilled water on her already thin, white camisole with intention. Sam couldn’t say he was upset though, after all Steve had offered him and the rest of the Avengers quite a show when he tried to clean up her shirt, taking his sweet, sweet time to fondle her tits as subtly as he could, his eyes staring at her pebbled nipples poking through the material. He could see Bucky hiding his boner under his cereal bowl on the couch that day.

Then of course, he’d been no better than America’s sweetheart himself when he greeted Y/N with a hug that in hindsight, was a little too enthusiastic. His large hands squeezed into the pockets of her back pocket, and if the college student found anything weird with it, she didn’t say so, but Sam graciously palmed the round globes of her ass in his hands, feeling the muscle clench under his fingers. Oh, how he’d never hugged someone that tight ever before in his life. Maybe he would’ve gotten a bit further than squeezing her ass had it not been for his own girlfriend standing behind him, ready to introduce herself to Y/N.

Bucky, well, Sam could admit that Bucky had the most guts out of all of them. Though the super-soldier was normally well-reserved and polite, the dark glint in his eyes the day he met Y/N let him in on the secret that he had a much dirtier mind than most thought. It had been movie night that time, and he barely even tried to cover up how much he wanted the girl, his hands resting all over her as they watched Inception. Hardly a movie to get so riled up over, yet Bucky’s hand still inched its way up her thigh, his rough fingers gently carressing the flesh until they started to lightly trace the apex of her thighs.

If she noticed anything then, she didn’t comment on it, doe-like eyes just marvelling at the screen in great intrigue. It was only when Peter’s arms wrapped around her a bit tighter did she scooch away from Bucky’s touch, with a small apology and shy grin.

That only made his dick harder.

On the other side of Bucky, his super-soldier counterpart tapped his knee gently, forcing their blue eyes to meet each other. No words had to be said between the two, three men when they looked over to Sam, because they all recognized that look they saw in each other's eyes; predatory, dark, nearly voracious in the way they all wanted to be balls deep inside of Y/N.

And they would get there. No matter how long it took, they knew that the ultimate prize of tearing their prey apart would be more than worth the wait.

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna be a little late. Ned and I got stuck back in the lab, so we’re gonna need to stay until eight or nine. Can you make it to the tower by yourself alright?”

Peter’s concerned voice made Y/N smile gently as she trudged along the rainy streets of New York. He always loved to worry about her, especially when it was dark and gloomy out, but she could handle herself pretty okay. By pretty okay, of course meant she could kick ass like no other twenty-something year-old, but she wasn’t one to brag. Y/N readjusted the Kate Spade purse on her shoulder with her right hand, attempting to keep her umbrella over her head with the other. “I’ll be fine, Pete, just go finish up and get back to me. I’m gonna be waiting in your room at the tower before you go off on that mission this weekend.”

A small sigh came through the speaker, “Okay, I’ll try to get back to you soon. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Pete.”

“Oh,” she could hear the shy but no less mischievous smile that was taking over his face, “I left you a little present on the bed, make sure you open it before I get back.”

Y/N’s face heated at the implication. “Peter Parker, you dirty little-” He ended the call with a laugh, and she huffed out a small chuckle at his childish antics.

The walk to the Avengers tower would have been nice, had it not been for the downfall of rain, making everything mushy, socks being absolutely soaked through her sneakers by the time she arrived. The receptionist at the front desk, Jenny, if Y/N remembered correctly, stared at her a little oddly, probably not expecting to see the young college girl in such a state of disorder, but it didn’t affect her at all. She confidently strutted up to the elevator, pressing in the floor number where all the rooms were located. Y/N scrolled through her Twitter feed on her phone while classic rock blared through the elevator with the constant shuffling of people moving in and out. Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds later she was sprinting down the halls with soggy shoes and damp hair, her cold body screaming for warmth.

Peter’s room was the farthest down the hall, and the room was fairly empty. He rarely stayed at his room in the tower, preferring to stay with his Aunt May or keep Y/N company in Brooklyn. When she entered the room, she saw a plain white shirt and a pair of socks strewn upon the carpeted floor, but what really caught her eye was the red box wrapped in a pink bow on the bed. Deciding it would add more suspense if she opened it later, she quickly hopped in the shower, letting the hot water warm her freezing, rigid muscles under the spray.

Peter didn’t have all the products she’d usually use before she knew they were going to have sex, so she had to make do with the half-used bar of Irish Spring and his small travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, promising the fresh, breezy smell of citrus and mint. It was a quick process; two squeezes of shampoo, shaving with the green soap as best as she could without cutting herself, one squeeze of conditioner. A fuzzy towel sat waiting for Y/N on the rack, with the Spiderman symbol as a prank gift from her to her lovely boyfriend, and without a second to let the heat leave her damp skin, she wrapped herself in it, quickly hopping out to the bedroom again.

The lingerie she set out on the bed was a deep set burgundy color, with lace decorating the delicate corset and the trim of the satin panties. The packaging really did not do it justice. Y/N grinned at the new set, one that she knew would happily be torn from her body later. A shiver ran through her as she let the cold air fall over her skin, carefully slipping the lingerie on. It was a damn shame, really; the set was quite nice, and she reminded herself to buy more of the nicely suiting color for their nights together.

Click.

Y/N’s heart thumped with anticipation as she heard the door open and she took a quick moment to ready herself. Hair in perfect style, legs stretched along the length of the bed to make herself look as seductive as possible, a small smirk thrown on her pouty lips.

But in the darkened room, it wasn’t Peter’s shadow that appeared. Three men, three tall, bulkier men’s shadows appeared at the foot of the bed, and horror washed over her as she realized who they were. “Goddamn, dolly, I’ve imagined what you would’ve looked like under those sweaters, but this is much sweeter than I expected.”

The sinister face of Bucky Barnes came into her view, just a sliver of moonlight lighting up his pale skin. His eyes raked over Y/N’s uncovered skin, and goosebumps appeared as she tried to cover herself up under his predatory gaze.

“W-what are you doing here?” She whispered worriedly. Sam and Steve flanked the bed on either side of her, plastered sickly sweet smiles on their faces, providing her with a false sense of security that made her heart scream in fear. Though she wasn't making any noise, her lungs felt like they were going to give out, her throat closing up like an allergic reaction.

Her head whipped every which way in robotic movement, her brain seeming to fail her as she scanned the room for an exit. Several moments of shortened breaths, cold air chilling her body, before she came out of her freezing shock to realization.

“Why are you here? Please, get out, just g-get out!”

A calloused hand pushed away Y/N’s left arm that covered her tits, and Steve groaned at the sight of her pebbled nipples. “God, baby, they’re as pretty as I thought they’d be. Been trying to feel them up all week, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Saturday the week before at lunch when he’d spilled water over chest and tried to clean her up. Sam’s friendly hug that became a bit less friendly when his hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans. The movie night on Monday when Bucky’s hand caressed her thigh a little too close to her core. All of their touches began to make more sense, and her eyes filled with tears at the realization.

“Please,” she begged, tears blocking her vision, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Pete, but please just go.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Steve asked. He grasped her chin roughly, his face close enough to hers so that she could feel his fiery breath on her lips. “We’re not leaving, sweetheart. You’re gonna let all three of us play with your pretty little body, and you’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for us, alright?”

Y/N shook her head violently, too afraid to make noise, but also bold enough to make one last attempt at freedom. The hand that held her chin quickly moved to slap her cheek, and she hated the way the sting made heat stir in her lower belly. She tried to shy away from their touch again, but Bucky’s face simply held the same smirk as he trailed his vibranium fingers up and down her leg.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t act all shy now. Peter has been telling us how good you’ve been to him and don’t think he hasn’t told us about your little childhood crush on little ol’ me. Been wanting to fuck you ever since.” Bucky’s hand quickly left her body, instead moving to palm over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, sweetheart, got me real hard just thinking ‘bout your pussy swallowing my cock. Bet you’re gonna be a sweet, obedient girl for me, right?”

Fire started to course through Y/N’s veins, and with all the power she tried to dampen it down with, it seemed to push through her body that much more dangerously. She despised the fact that she could feel herself growing wet for the three older men, but God, she had never felt the need to be filled up as badly as she did in that moment.

“You’re a bit of a slut, don’t you think?” Sam mocked. He kneeled on her right, his eyes fixated on her panty-clad pussy, a wet patch already forming on the soft satin. It really didn’t help that three of her teen celebrity crushes were eyeing her nearly naked body like a piece of meat. “I mean, look at you, already growing wet and needy for three cocks. Is that what you want, honey? Parker not treating you good enough?”

She hesitated. Goosebumps rose across her skin at the sinister tone of his voice, like he already knew it was true. And it was true and she hated that Sam was right, but as amazing as Peter was a boyfriend, it was clear from the vibrator hiding in his apartment’s bathroom that he was not amazing in the sheets. Every time, she held hope that it would be better, that she would finally get to stop faking an orgasm before he rolled out of the bed with a filled up condom, but she knew deep down inside of her that it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Y/N forced herself to nod weakly at Sam’s questions, and Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you poor dolly, we’re gonna have so much fun with you. Treat you better than that little boy ever could.”

All it took was a whimper, a nearly audible, deadly silent whimper that managed to squeak its way past Y/N’s throat, and the three men took it as permission to ravage her body however they pleased.

Steve made quick work of his pants as Sam lifted her chin to kiss him, his tongue hot and heavy against her mouth, coaxing her lips open. The sound of belt buckles hitting the floor shamefully turned on Y/N even more. Panic coursed through her senses, her mind wanting to scream for them to stop, but her body knew her too well as she felt a wave of slick run down her thighs. Cold metal digits slipped under the waistband of her panties, moving to her wet folds, and she whimpered into Sam’s mouth at the touch.

“You look so nice, baby, so pretty all laid out for us like this.” Bucky’s hands pulled down her panties as Steve pinched her peaked nipple through the lace, laying lavish, open-mouthed kisses down her torso. The cool air hit her pussy when Bucky’s hands pulled her legs wide open, fully exposed to the three men ready to use her against her will. “Knew you’d be so wet for us, sweetheart, just look at you. Dripping all for your daddies,” Steve murmured against her skin.

Hot breath fanned over her cunt before they rolled her over on her stomach, someone’s hands forcing her up onto her knees with her face smashed into the cotton pillows. She could feel two rough human hands pulling her ass cheeks apart, spreading her ever wider for their view. “Would you look at that, boys, look how fucking hot she is for us.”

Sam’s thick finger ran through her folds, the calloused pad of his finger just teasing her clit before landing a harsh smack to the inside of her thigh. Her moan was muffled through the mattress and she prayed they wouldn’t hear how being treated like whore made her wet like nothing else.

Hot slick dripped down her thighs, a pool of it staining the pristine sheets by each knee. It was quite a sight, Steve, kneeled by the bed as his face hovered next to her ear, whispering filthy things into her ear as Bucky stroked his hard, leaking cock right next to him. Sam’s lips were making their way up the inside of her right thigh, cracked skin gliding across her sticky flesh. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you smell so good. Bet you taste even better, don’t you, little girl?”

His tongue reached the apex of her thighs, finally licking a stipe up her center with no warning. Y/N sobbed into the comforter below her, mascara stained tears marking up her face. Two fingers edged their way between the bed and her face, forcing her head upwards and arching her back. Steve’s face was caught in a dirty smirk above hers, lip pulled taut between his teeth, until he saw the tears trailing down her face. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so desperate like this.” His fingers traced her smeared lip gloss around her lips, before opening her lips harshly. “Open up, you dumb baby.”

Y/N forced her jaw open wider, just enough to watch a string of Steve’s saliva drip into her mouth. The thick spit pooled on her tongue and she tried hard not to grimace in front of him, in hopes that he wouldn’t make her-

“Swallow it, sweetheart.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes, how her lower lip trembled at his words, but he just laughed at her. “Now.”

The warm saliva slid down her tongue and more black tears ran down her face as she obliged his orders, finally gulping it and cringing at the taste. Steve loved the way her face screwed up in displeasure, how she still had the audacity to pretend she hated what they were doing though she was moaning and whimpering with Sam’s tongue attacking her entrance.

“What do you want, sweetheart? We might give it to you as long as you use your words.” Bucky taunted lightly.

Y/N stared up at the brunette, staring menacingly down at her with his cock in hand. “Please,” she whimpered.

The three found it woeful, the way she could barely get a full sentence out as Sam went to town with his skilled tongue, but even with that onslaught, a simple please wasn’t enough for them.

“Please what, honey,” Sam moaned from between her legs, “you gotta use your big words or we’ll never know what you want from us.”

Steve and Bucky nodded in fake-agreement even though they all knew exactly what she wanted and where.

“I don’t-” her widened eyes glanced into Steve’s, blown-out and teary. “I don’t want anything, not from you.” She lied through her teeth harshly.

Sam removed his head from between her thighs and Y/N immediately whined at the loss of contact almost hilariously. “You don’t want anything, little girl?”

The air felt static, every hair on her neck rising in the pressured silence. The angel and the devil clawed at her heart, each trying to show her what was right. And she wanted to sin, God knew that she would love nothing more than to let that little greedy part of her take over, but she’d already cheated on Peter and that damn good part of her conscience stole the wheels of her brain.

Slowly and shamefully, she shook her head, though the downright dirty monster inside of her wanted the men to ignore her words and keep assaulting her body.

“That’s a shame, baby, I thought we were having fun.” Sam sighed. He met Bucky’s gaze on the side, and though they seemed to be in resignation with her wishes, their eyes twinkled devilishly. He positioned his body over Y/N’s kneeled over form, his bare chest glued to her sweating back as his hands ran up the sides of her ribcage and to her front, just barely grazing over her sensitive nipples. “You mean, you don’t want me to touch you here?”

He pinched the darkened buds and she had to use every ounce of self-restraint to not collapse at the sensation. His calloused hands moved back even further, tracing down to the stretch of skin just above her mound, swiping a finger across the skin delicately. “How about here? Or even,” he brought three fingers around her body, over her ass, and into her glistening cunt again, just rubbing along her entrance, not daring to go further in. Y/N couldn’t hold in her reaction to his prodding anymore, his teasing chipping away all of her dignity and pride in a few simple touches.

“Yes, please, please, use your fingers,” she blurted against her will. Where shame should have washed over her, there was only lust, raging red and coursing through her body so forcefully that she felt braindead. “Put your fingers in me, daddy, please.”

The pet name rolled off of her tongue so easily and she was barely ashamed of how it made her feel. The name especially shocked the three men, who smiled even wider with their cocks harder than before at the little slip up. “That was all you had to say, dolly, gonna have your daddies make you feel real good,” Bucky laughed.

Sam finally plunged his thick fingers knuckle-deep into her cunt as Steve’s mouth captured hers, effectively swallowing her scream with ferocity. The long digits scissored and swirled inside of her, pressing against new unexplored areas that she’d never even gotten to with her own fingers. White dots danced along the front line of her vision as teeth clashed against hers and though it’d been mere minutes she already knew she was close and the men did as well.

“I can feel you clamping around my fingers, honey,” Sam taunted. His lips were moving sinfully around her ass, planting sloppy kisses and drooling all over her skin while he fingered her deep. “Are you gonna come soon, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m so- fuck,” Y/N panted into Steve’s mouth, “m’ so c-close.” The blond bit her tongue hard enough for her to taste blood and she yelped as she heard Sam and Bucky laugh.

“Watch your language, dolly,” Bucky sneered from the side of the bed. His hand was rapidly moving around his cock, corkscrew motions edging him towards the brink of pleasure.

“Little girls like you don’t get to use big swear words,” Sam’s face was still buried between her legs, his soaked fingers pulling out of her cunt only to rub at her little pearl of nerves in circles. His tongue still lapped at her dripping entrance and he could feel her tight hole start to pulse as her breathing picked up. “Oh, baby, you’re getting close, aren’t you?”

Y/N was hesitant to answer at first, the sweat on her body seeming to cool immediately in fear of what would happen if she messed up. But after five seconds Steve stopped kissing her, gripping her chin and staring into her eyes deeply. He looked as debauched as she felt, with his rosy lips swollen with spit and cheeks tinged with pink. “Are you gonna answer daddy, sweetheart?”

That knocked her into shape real fast.

“Yes, daddy, I’m so close. P-please let me come,” she whimpered. The whine in her voice pleased the two men, and Steve went back to exploring her mouth before she felt something poking against her asshole.

“Gonna let daddy put his cock in you, little girl?” Sam asked gently. His words had panic coursing through her system, a chilling realization like water being poured on her head and she began to wiggle around, trying to free Sam’s hand from her hip. Her arms weakly pushed at Steve’s chest, trying to push him as far away as he could, but the men only laughed at her flailing limbs. Y/N wanted to scream no to them, and despite her contrasting love-hate relationship with Sam’s fingers inside her cunt she knew it was time to go. It was laughable how much she would continue to say that to herself for the rest of the night.

But Sam managed to sense her panic, knowing exactly what the issue was before harshly spanking her and effectively stopping her struggle. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t come inside of you. I’m not risking knocking up a whore with my kids, I’ve got more dignity than that.”

He led the leaking tip of his dick down her crack, rubbing it along her slick entrance before pushing in with a groan. “Oh my fucking God, that is so hot.” Bucky admonished from the side. “Gotta get in on that soon.”

Steve chuckled against Y/N’s lips, pulling away with a strand of saliva connecting them. He adjusted himself up so his dick was centimeters from her face, a knee propped up on the bed for balance. “Gotta wait your turn, Buck, we all want a piece of her.” He noticed the way Y/N’s eyes were transfixed on his cock, the red mushroom head smeared with precome along the slit, nearly purplish veins standing out prominently on his shaft. Yeah, he couldn’t even deny that he was big because he already knew how many girls had dropped down on their knees for him. “Go ahead, sweetheart, open up those pretty lips for me.”

Almost too excitedly, she dropped her jaw, allowing him to slide his cock into the silky warmth of her mouth. As his hips started to thrust into her mouth, Sam’s started to do the same into her cunt. Both men moaned in tandem with their movements as Y/N’s worries faded away to the back of her mind as they stuffed her to the brim.

“You can come now, baby,” Sam nearly ordered, “go and cream on daddy’s cock- fuck, I know you’ve been waiting.”

It was a harsh bump of his head against her G-spot that sent her over the edge, walls clamping down with ferocity and milking him for all she was worth. Y/N reeled in the sunlight infested warmth that coursed through her body as she finally let go, whining around Steve’s dick as he continued to abuse her throat with long, deep thrusts.

Bucky was still holding his orgasm off, fondling with his tight, heavy sac while his dick remained a painfully hard mess, glistening with precome. “I’m so glad I got to see you come, dolly, look so fucking pretty when you do.”

She couldn’t deny the little skip of her heart at the praise, just a few simple words that made her feel like a good little girl. But no, God-fucking no, she wasn’t supposed to let them make her feel this way. Guilt washed away that warmth in her chest just as quickly, knowing that her boyfriend was just waiting to come back to see her, finishing up his studies so that they could live their lives out together after college while she was getting her pussy and mouth absolutely wrecked by his co-workers.

As soon as Y/N got her brain thinking straight again, Sam started moving inside of her again and she garbled out a strangled cry. “If you thought we were done here, baby,” Sam laughed, “you’ve got a lot left ahead of you.”

“We’re not leaving until all of us have come, brat.” Steve’s palm gripped the back of her skull roughly, pushing her head so far down on his dick that her nose was squished against his abdomen. “Greedy little bitch.”

Both men started to thrust into her again, and just like that she was back to being absolutely lost in desire and lust like the bitch in heat she was until there was a sudden shift in the air. So much that the sweat on her body began to cool her skin, Sam’s hands still gripping her hips so tightly she knew they’d leave marks that she would have to hide when she wore her favorite low-cut shorts.

Bucky’s eyes seemed to drift from her tits moving with each movement of her hips, checking behind the door as if there were something lurking there, but she was too afraid to see for herself. If she stopped she would get spanked, and they’d probably prolong her second orgasm even further, and her pussy couldn’t handle any more subtle teasing.

“Hey there, Parker, why don’t come on out here?”

But that, that was what made the hairs on Y/N’s neck rose, dread filling her to the fullest as she realized the implications of Sam’s words.

Peter had seen everything. Peter, her boyfriend, had seen three of his co-workers, three men who she barely knew, fuck her deep into his mattress. Peter, her boyfriend, had watched her get fucked into his mattress, without trying to stop them whatsoever.

She couldn’t tell if it was the guilt of cheating on her boyfriend or the freezing realization that he hadn’t done anything to stop the three men that hurt more.

Yet Peter still walked from behind the door, dressed in a NYU hoodie and a pair of khakis slung low on his hips, just drawing attention to the sizable bulge that stretched out his zipper. His umber eyes, normally full of so much joy and love, were possessed by the same lust and darkness as the three men, as much as he tried to hide it behind a shyer facade.

His eyes were trained on the tightness of how Y/N’s pussy was gripping Sam, her lips glossed over with come and spit wrapped around Steve’s dick. The girl stopped in her movements, her eyes no longer full of tears for just being gagged, but as soon as her mouth came to a halt around the base of his cock, the blond slapped her across the face. A sharp crack echoed around the room and though she couldn’t see him, she heard Bucky’s feral growl of pleasure at the whorish treatment she was receiving.

“Didn’t say you could fucking stop, sweetheart, keep working on daddy’s cock.” No more words needed to be said as Steve gripped her hair once more, forcing himself farther back into her throat to the point where she couldn’t breathe. Sam’s thrusts were quickening, closer and closer to release as the sounds of the girl struggling to breath made his balls tighten.

“Fucking shit, baby, you feel yourself squeezing my dick? I bet you like teasing daddy like that, don’t you?” One of his hands were brought down on her ass in a quick smack that resonated with Bucky, who was staving off his orgasm for something much sweeter than his hand. She was moaning raucously around the dick stuffed in her mouth, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up every nerve in Steve’s body as he came with the tip of his dick nearly being swallowed by Y/N’s throat. There was barely any time for her to fully down the thick come in her mouth before Sam was threatening to orgasm. “I’m gonna come so soon but you better fucking not, little girl, you hear me? Gotta let your daddy come before you, you ungrateful little bitch- oh.”

It was a really fucking close call, Sam’s dick pulling out of her with one quick movement before spilling pearly ropes of come onto Y/N’s spine. A high whine escaped her mouth, clit throbbing as she was so, so close to coming, and she was too far into her crazed pleasure to realize that she was letting three older men, men who fought to defend the universe from evil, use her as an over-glorified fleshlight.

She couldn’t really blame them for calling her a cockdrunk whore.

Bucky sauntered over to the bed, eyes trained on the pool of come centered around the base of her spine before flipping her over onto her back with his large hands and shoving three vibranium fingers back into her hole. She gasped and held onto his forearm as he continued to fingerfuck her to her second orgasm, eyes screwed shut in a delirious haze of contentment for being filled with at least something again.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, please-” Steve slapped her along the face, correcting her words immediately. “Daddy, daddy, please let me come.”

Bucky chuckled, tweaking one of her nipples with his flesh hand as he hovered over her face. “I don’t know, dolly, you’ve been a little naughty, callin’ me the wrong name, not listening to Stevie’s orders- don’t think you deserve to get what you want.”

A muffled whimper escaped her swollen lips, and he sighed in surrender. “Okay, dollface, go ahead and come on my fingers. Let me see how you wet ‘em up real good.”

Y/N’s hips bucked into his metal digits with finality, come leaking out of her cunt and soaking the sheets below her. Her sweat-glazed skin shone even against the darkening sky, and all Bucky could do was chuckle at how her chest rose quickly as she tried to catch her breath. He thought about teasing her clit again, just circling around the little bud of nerves to get a rise out of her, but he decided against it. Sam probably had better plans for her anyway.

On the other hand, Y/N’s orgasm was starting to wear off as she noticed the hardened stare from the edge of the room. Her boyfriend.

“Peter, I…” Y/N made eye contact with him, suddenly noticing how mousy he looked in his own bedroom.

“I nearly forgot you were here, Parker,” Sam smirked darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and fuck your little whore. I’m feeling a little generous today.”

Steve and Bucky nodded with the same infuriating smugness as Sam. The brunette boy opened his mouth to object to the degrading statement, but when he met his girlfriend’s eyes nothing needed to be said. There was no escaping this. Nothing he said mattered to the three older men, because really they had already gotten everything they wanted right in front of their disgusting, perverted eyes.

He unbuckled his belt, letting the weight of it drop his khakis to the floor. Maybe if he’d known he would be forced into join a fivesome later that night he’d have picked any other boxers but the Ducktales one, but no one seemed to say a word about them, rather focusing on what they were failing to conceal.

Peter’s cock had always been admirable to Y/N by its length and God, definitely its thickness. Curved upwards towards his abdomen with a vein running along the left side up to the bulbous head, it was definitely more than average. It was really just a shame he didn’t know how to use it well enough.

His shirt was pulled over his head just as quickly, and if Y/N knew any better she would say that he was excited to get to fuck her in front of the three men. He placed himself in between Y/N’s parted legs, standing in the same position as he had so many times before.

But when Y/N cried out in pain and pleasure as he slid into her, Peter knew that this time, it was different. This time three men, men that he used to trust with his life, stood on either side of him and his girlfriend and jerked their hands up and down their cocks as they watched her get fucked relentlessly. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic, but he couldn’t really think when his thick cock was stuffed inside of her stimulated pussy, juices and come leaking out of her abused sex.

“Go faster, Parker,” Steve instructed, his face contorted in pure pleasure. The pace of Peter’s thrusts sped up, and he threw Y/N’s ankles over his shoulders, hitting deeper inside of her, with the sound of her sobs only turning them all on more. “Oh, right there, shit, shit, shit-”

Steve came first, a low groan escaping his lips as streams of come landed on her tits, still bouncing with every movement of Peter’s hips.

“Open up,” Sam gritted through his teeth, and Y/N obediently opened her mouth to let his bitter come coat the inside of her throat, some of it landing on her face and neck. The string of curses he let out made Peter thrust even faster into her, and he hated, absolutely despised the way it turned him on to see the three men use his girlfriend to their pleasure. But soon enough a hand pushed against his chest away from Y/N and he reluctantly pulled out.

“Move aside, kid,” Bucky instructed, “Wanna come inside of her.”

As he lined his gigantic cock up with her entrance, her eyes widened with fear. “No, please, I didn’t take my pills, I can’t- I won’t, please not inside-”

“Shut the fuck up, you slut.” Bucky’s fingers came to slap her clit harshly, and she cried out in pain. “You’re gonna be quiet and let me come wherever I damn want, right?”

He punctuated his last word as he thrust inside her, filling her up to the hilt with his girth. She was too drunk on the feeling of her cunt being filled up to argue again. It was painful, extremely so, even though two different cocks had been inside her overstimulated pussy already and Bucky stretched her out wide, his cock thicker with veins to hit every pleasure point. With her legs tossed around his tapered torso, he slid out until his very tip was left in her, then slammed back in with a small moan. The head of his cock relentlessly pounded into her cervix in a nearly soundless tempo and all Y/N could hear were her own gasps of pleasure, jaw-dropping moans that made drool slide back down her throat in her laid down position.

She turned her head to the side, and though her vision was bleary through the tears, she could see Sam and Steve watching Bucky fuck her while Peter, her boyfriend, her sweet, sweet boyfriend, was caught up fucking his hand to the sound of Bucky’s balls slapping against her ass.

“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last much longer, dollface.” Bucky gasped. “You gonna come soon? You’re gonna come for daddy one more time. I think you’ve got a third one in you, you little fucking slut.”

“Shit, shit, daddy, please ‘m almost there,” Y/N wailed absentmindedly. A thumb came down to circle her clit quickly and she felt the coil in her stomach grow tighter and tighter, until she finally let out a high whine, finding her release as Bucky’s cock pulsed inside of her, ready to come just as easily as her. Her pussy clenched around his cock as she rode out her orgasm, fingers grasping at the sheets in order to find some sort of grounding. His come painted her walls white, and Bucky could’ve sworn there was no better feeling than feeling his blood warm in every vein as he finally let go. With stunted groans, his hips slowed its rhythm, lost in watching how his cock disappear into Y/N’s pussy, her slick juices coating his dick each time he pulled out.

“Ah, fuck, dolly, you did so good for me. Pussy tight as a fuckin’ vice.” Bucky hugged her limp body close to his sweaty chest, letting his dick soften inside of her for a good few moments before pulling out. He tossed Y/N back onto the bed below him, barely even caring to clean the come dripping down her ribcage and out of her cunt before grabbing his boxers from the cabinet next to the bed.

Steve was already buttoning his jeans up, checking the notifications on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. The blond seemed to have better things to do so soon after, rushing his way to the door before pausing where Y/N laid to watch come drip out of her pussy. One more time he pushed Bucky’s come inside of her abused entrance, watching as it oozed out from behind his digits. “Look at you, fucking full of of his come. Such a goddamn whore,” he muttered under his breath.

Those were the last words he said to her before patting Bucky on the shoulder and leading him out of the opened door.

Maybe Sam was a bit more kind, or affectionate at least. He was already dressed but visibly hard again beneath the thick denim of his pants, and he made sure Y/N knew it, taking her left hand and placing it over his dick. “You still got that effect on me, honey, even when you’re all fucked out like this.” He dragged his fingers through the thick ribbons of come that coated her chest, bringing them up to her mouth so she could taste. Even though she was more than exhausted, she wrapped her tongue around the two fingers that were pushed past her swollen lips, sucking them clean with a tired vengeance. Satisfied with her work, he kissed her chin one more time before leaving without so much as another word, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Click.

It ended exactly the way it started, the lock jostling into the doorknob just as easily as the high of Y/N’s final orgasm slipped away.

Stifling silence suffocated the room around them. Peter refused to meet her eyes, just as much as hers did his. She laid motionless on the bed with him standing at the foot, his dick soft and if she narrowed her bleary eyes just a bit, she could see how his knees were shaking. Neither of them were able to say anything, losing the ability to converse as soon as the three men left the room.

“Peter,” her voice was throaty after the rough fucking she took, “C-can you please get me a drink?”

The brown-haired boy looked down to meet her face, and she could finally see the reason that he had hid it from her. His eyes were red and bloodshot, snot running from his nose with tears running down his cheeks. She’d been so caught up in the after haze of the sex that she didn’t even notice how his bare chest was heaving so deeply, nearing hyperventalation.

But still, he grabbed his boxers, pulling them over his weakened legs clumsily. “Y-yeah, what kind do you want, Mr. Stark has a ton-”

“I don’t care.” She cut him off firmly, a sharp tone in her voice as she rolled over on her side. Y/N tucked her knees to her chin, fingers running over the side of her neck which was marked with bruises and scratches. “I don’t fucking care.”

Without another word Peter slipped out of the room quietly, knowing better than to try to talk to her about what they had been forced to participate in. It wasn’t as if there was much to say anyways.

Rain pattered against the window. It was only six o’clock in the evening. Cars honked and beeped and Natasha’s Igor Stavinsky record played for its fiftieth round of the day, and to anyone else in the tower it was a normal night. Normal, just like the ones spent sitting on the couch with Bucky’s hand creeping up her leg or Sam’s hands groping her ass, but this time they’d made a move.

The silence was far too much to handle, the unspoken truth of what she’d done with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Peter finally hitting her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she suddenly struggled to breathe. Gripping her face, clawing at it like a goddamn wolf, Y/N began to cry. Silently at first, gradually growing into heartbroken sobs, she let her trodden pride carry her voice wherever it wanted to go.

The men’s whispered words haunted her mere moments after they’d left the room, but most audibly she could hear a faint husk of a voice, Sam’s low moan in her ear looming in the dreadful silence of the room:

Thanks for sharing with us, baby.

2K notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Drum it out - Harry Styles

a/n: hiya lovelies! im bringin an OC fic this time only because i had a strong vision about the girl and thought it would be best to have her as one instead of Y/N this time, but hope you’ll enjoy it regardless! Remi Devon is a baddie, i like her!

pairing: Harry x OC

summary: Harry is forced to find a new drummer since Sarah is about to become a mom, but no one seems to be good enough to replace her. It is until he meets Remi Devon, the woman who completely takes his breath away from the moment he sees her on stage.

word count: 7k

warning: NSFW content, some slight spanking

masterlist

“Don’t worry, you’ll love her just as much as I do!” Sarah smiles at Harry, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as they make their way into the small but cozy looking bar. Harry is skeptical, mostly because for him, no one compares to Sarah and if it wasn’t for her pregnancy, he would do anything to make her stay in the band. But he is so happy his two friends are starting a family together, it’s only that Harry is now forced to look for a new drummer as it’s getting harder for Sarah to keep up with the hectic lifestyle they’ve been living. Her bump is now pretty obvious and it’s only a matter of time until she can’t sit behind her instrument.

They’ve been trying to find someone to replace her during the second half of her pregnancy and at least the first year after she gives birth, but no one seemed good enough. Truth is, and Harry knew it damn well, that his problem was always the same: they weren’t Sarah.

Now she has dragged him to check someone out, a girl Sarah knows from years ago and who was told to be a mind-blowing drummer, though Harry has doubts about that.

“Sure will,” he hums, not too convinced about it.

The bar was previously a small theater, the seats have been taken out on the ground floor, replaced with tables and stools around the sides and a dance floor in the middle. The gallery is used as a kind of VIP area, this is where the two of them are right now, sitting at a small table in the front corner so they have an amazing sight of the stage where a local band is about to start very soon. Sarah said Remi, the drummer in the talk, is just a jump-in for the night for a friend, but it was a great opportunity for Harry to check her out.

“You know, she beat me at an audition a while ago. This super cool rock band was looking for a drummer for their mini-tour in Canada, because their drummer broke his leg and we both tried for it. There were still some people waiting to audition when she went in and she blew their mind so much, they just ended the audition right there,” Sarah tells him, the story still holds a dear place in her heart. She and Remi used to be close friends, but got a little distant as life took them to different paths. Now they are meeting up every few months when they are in the same city, catching up on everything since they last saw each other, sharing their equally exciting stories.

“Really?” Harry asks with genuine surprise as he takes his beer from the table and glances down at the stage. Everything is set up already and his eyes move to the shiny looking drum set at the back. It’s hard to imagine himself finding someone as good as Sarah, for Harry she has been the etalon ever since they met. But now he is forced to find someone even though he doesn’t want to, not even a bit.

“Yeah. She is the kind of girl that just turns heads wherever she goes without even trying.”

“You think I would get along with her well?” he asks, turning to face her just in time to see the wide smirk on her lips as she nods.

“I think you two would make an epic duo, H.”

“Alright, now I’m interested,” he smiles softly.

“She said they will play a lot of covers.”

“What kind?”

“You’ll see,” she smirks, sipping on her lemonade, a hand going to slide down on her stomach.

The dance floor is not packed, but there are a lot of people, seemingly most of them are here specifically for this band called Striped Shoes, Harry hasn’t heard about them until now but he is always happy to discover new music.

Soon, the lights go down, darkness falling to the theater, the only light is coming from the bars at the back. Then a spotlight turns on and a guy is standing in the middle of it, cheers erupting from the people as he starts playing the guitar and Harry immediately recognizes the song: Smells like teen spirit by Nirvana. Just a few riffs later all the other spotlights come on, each of them illuminating a member of the band and Harry’s eyes flick to the drum set where the only female on the stage is sitting, he catches her the moment she starts playing, the vibrant energy lingering around her almost knocks him off the stool even from this far away. Her hair barely reaches her shoulders, it falls to frame her heart shaped face in soft waves, the roots are a darker color than the rest that’s an odd shade of mahogany, but it suits her perfectly, Harry thinks. She has a few tattoos littered across her arms but not a full sleeve on any of them. They are on full display in the shirt that’s sleeves were seemingly ripped off, the fabric is raw on her shoulders. It seems to be some kind of old band shirt but Harry doesn’t recognize the logo on the front. Her legs are wrapped in ripped jeans and Harry is immediately mesmerized by how steadily she keeps the rhythm while absolutely nailing the song.

She makes it look so easy yet fascinating, her head snaps back a few times, a satisfied grin stretching across her lips as she enjoys the music, clearly a fan on it. She doesn’t miss a beat and flows into the next song that’s an original from the band as if the two songs were the same while she had to switch up the rhythm entirely through the transition.

Harry feels starstruck, watching this woman take the whole show, in his opinion, while simply sitting behind the drum set, playing like no one he has ever seen. She puts all of herself into it and that’s why she manages to outshine everyone else. Harry knows how hard it is for a drummer to get the same kind of attention as other members, but Remi makes it seem like it’s the natural, like drummers are the front people without a doubt.

When the cover version of Rock and Roll by Led Zeppelin comes on, in a way more hard rock version, Harry almost fears the stage is about to catch on fire. The song already has amazing drums in it, but the band gave it even more attention, giving a chance for Remi to show how amazing she really is.

“So? What do you think?” Sarah shouts over the music and Harry suddenly realizes he is not alone. He managed to zone out on the drummer without even noticing.

“She is… amazing,” he admits truthfully, in complete awe of what he is witnessing. This is music. This is passion. This is exactly what Harry always looks for in musicians and Remi has a whole lot of it.

They push the short drum solo a little longer at the end and Harry watches as Remi finishes the song standing, playing so hard that with the last hit, one of her sticks simply snaps into two, flying across the stage as she is breathing hard, skin glimmering from the sweat, her hair a complete mess from all the head shaking she’s been doing, but Harry thinks that it’s the hottest thing he has ever seen in his life.

Sarah knows she finally found her replacement, judging from Harry’s look she knows he is a sucker for Remi so she just lets him enjoy the rest of the concert.

When they play their last song and they all gather at the front of the stage to bow in front of the audience, Harry finds himself standing as he is applauding the band, but especially Remi who doesn’t even know Harry Styles is now a fan of hers.

“Let’s talk to her, shall we?” Sarah suggests once they disappear from the stage. Harry nods, finishing up his beer before the two of them head backstage.

Sarah has been put on the list since she previously let Remi know she would be coming. She was ecstatic to see her old friend, however was not told that Sarah would be coming with someone else so when Remi spots the two of them walking down the small hallway at the backstage, she is surprised but not shocked. She knows Sarah has been working with him for a long time now, but she wasn’t expecting him to be here tonight.

“Hey! There you are, mama!” Remi jokes with a heartfelt chuckle as she hugs her old friend. “Already looking like a milf!” she teases, earning an eye-roll from Sarah.

“Rems, I want you to meet Harry. Harry, this is Remi Devon.”

Remi’s eyes meet Harry’s piercing green ones and for a moment, Harry feels his stomach drop. She is even more breathtaking up close, in her simple but very fitting outfit, hair pushed back from her face carelessly she is easily the first woman ever to make Harry nervous to the point where he is having a hard time to even talk.

Remi holds out a hand for him smiling warmly and he luckily takes control over his actions and shakes it before it could get awkward.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Heard a lot about you,” she chuckles softly.

“Hope you believed only the best,” he nods with a shy smile.

“Oh, of course,” she winks and Harry swears he felt his heart skipping a beat.

“We actually have something to talk to you about, Rems. Do you have some time for us?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah, just let me wash my face and I’ll be right back. There’s a small green room on the left, feel free to wait there,” she nods and disappears a moment later.

Sarah and Harry move into the room as Remi told them to and just a few minutes later she storms inside, a new shirt hugging her torso, a simple black one, but it’s tight unlike the one she wore for the concert. She sits into the armchair while Sarah and Harry have taken the small sofa.

“Alright, I’m all yours,” she smiles at them crossing her legs. Harry knows he should be the one to bid the offer, but it seems like he is not finding his words just yet. But Sarah is quick to talk when she realizes Harry is at a loss of words.

“I brought Harry today because I wanted him to see you play. We are currently looking for someone to take my place shortly,” she explains, placing a hand to her bump. “I know you’ve been freelancing lately so I thought you’d be interested in working with the band and of course Harry.”

“Oh!” She seems genuinely surprised at the offer. “So this was kind of my audition in secret?” she chuckles.

“You could say that,” Sarah smiles.

“And how did I do?” she asks, eyes meeting Harry’s gaze that hasn’t left her face since she arrived.

“You… definitely passed. The best I’ve seen so far,” he tells her and the smile on her face is worth everything for him.

“So what does this mean exactly?” This time Harry answers, finally finding his voice.

“If you are not too busy in the upcoming time, I would love to have you as my drummer,” he states, handing her the offer on a silver plate, basically.

It’s an offer most musicians dream of, so Harry thinks she’ll accept it right away, but of course, Remi is not like others.

“I’ll be needing some more details before I give you my answer though,” she smiles.

And that, she gets. A few days after the concert Remi meets up with the rest of the band and Jeff to talk about all the details. She clearly wants to know what she is jumping into and Harry respects that. At the end she accepts the offer and as Harry watches her sign the paperworks, a huge wave of satisfaction and excitement washes over him.

***

The public imagines Harry as the picture perfect human being who is always at his best, never making any mistakes, but that’s far from the real truth. He is as flawed as anyone else, it’s just that not many get the chance to see him in this state.

His bandmates are among the few privileged ones that are bound to see all his ups and downs as well and since Remi is part of them now too, she has witnessed his bad days since they have started working together.

Harry’s growl is heard in the microphone when he is supposed to be singing and the music soon comes to a halt. It’s probably the tenth time he is messing up the exact same part because his head is just not at the right place. He knows he should be at the top of his game, not wasting his colleagues’ precious time, but he just can’t bring himself away from the heavy thoughts that’s been occupying his mind lately. There are days when he is as free as a bird, not a worry in the world, but sometimes everything comes down at once and he feels like crumbling under the weight of his own career.

“Sorry guys,” he apologizes into the microphone, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes for a few seconds to collect himself. The silence in the auditorium where they are currently rehearsing for tour is harsh, everyone is tired and they can feel the nerves creeping up on them about the upcoming tour and making sure that everything is perfectly in place for the first show.

Remi looks around from behind her drum set, holding her sticks in one hand and she doesn’t like what she is seeing. A group that’s always so happy and carefree is now just a big ball of stress, this is not right.

“Guys, why don’t you all wrap it up for today, I’ll stay here with Harry and help him get it right,” she offers.

“How do you want to practice without everyone else?” Mitch asks, not at all in an offending way, more like out of curiosity.

“I’ll find a way,” she smiles softly and he doesn’t push it further.

As the rest of the band is packing up, leaving slowly, saying their goodbyes Harry is sitting on the floor next to one of the speakers, head hanging low, deep in his thoughts. Adam is the last one to leave the place and once it’s just the two of them, she stands up from behind her set and walks over to the desperate man.

“Get up,” she orders, not in a bossy manner, more of a ‘do what I asked, I’m trying to help’ way so Harry obeys. Standing up he towers above her, almost a full head taller than Remi, but still, sometimes she can make him feel so small.

Harry has noticed that her energy is making her push the air out of his lungs sometimes, just the way she stands, looks, moves around a room, it’s making her appear like the ruler of everyone around her. He has often found himself just staring at her from afar since she has joined the band and even though she has caught him ogling her a few times, he just still can’t bring himself to stop admiring her. He definitely has a fat crush on the new addition to the team, however now his feelings are pushed aside, their place taken by his anxiety and worries.

She takes his hands and pulls him to the middle of the stage, putting the microphone stand to the side so they have some space cleared out around them. She then turns to face him, a warm smile tugging on her lips while he is rather curious about what she has on her mind.

“Scream,” she simply tells him, his eyebrows immediately knitting together in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“Scream,” she repeats, but he is still lost about the situation. She chuckles a little before taking a few steps away from him, twirling around her heels before stopping facing the area where the audience is supposed to be during a concert. “Whenever I feel like I’m locked, like everything around me is so suffocating that I can’t even function normally, I take a minute and just let it all out,” she explains before taking a deep breath and hunching over, the most eardrum-breaking scream bursts out of her, making Harry jump a little.

She holds it long, until her throat is cracking up and she runs out of her breath, then the scream dies and she takes a deep breath, filling up her lungs again. Harry stands there, completely stunned, thinking that if anyone heard her now, they are surely convinced she is being tortured here.

When she turns back to face him again, she is smiling as if nothing just happened, like it’s the most natural thing to randomly scream from the top of her lungs on a casual Wednesday night.

“Now it’s your turn,” she tells him, but Harry doesn’t feel like it’s gonna be his thing at all. But he still turns to the side, clears his throat and lets out a not too forceful shout that’s quite saddening compared to her scream. “Oh, come on, I’m sure you can do better, Styles,” she chuckles, hands on her hips as she tilts her head to the side.

“Is this really necessary?” he questions, eyebrows still furrowed at her.

“Very much. Now come on, do it!”

“Remi, I--”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish, because she screams at him, knocking the air out of him once again, making him flinch at her sudden action.

“Scream!” she then snaps at him.

“I don--”

“Scream!” she repeats forcefully and Harry gives up. Taking a deep breath he lets his voice out in a hoarse scream that’s way more vibrant than his last attempt. “Yes! Again!” she grins nodding and he does it again.

And then again and again, until he feels like his chest is completely empty, like nothing is keeping a tight grip on his insides anymore. He is panting, mind racing as he realizes how much better he is feeling now, meaning that Remi’s technique worked.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, smirking, her arms folded on her chest.

“Fucking awesome,” he chuckles out of breath, running his hands through his messy hair.

“Great. You think you can handle going through the song now without messing up?”

“I… think?”

“Alright, grab your guitar and I’ll give you the beat.”

She moves back behind her set as Harry grabs a guitar, throwing the strap over his head, turning to face Remi behind him as he places the microphone stand in front of him.

“I’ll go softer on the beats, you just do your thing okay?” she tells him and he just nods, fingers already on his guitar.

Kiwi sounds a whole lot different with just the drums playing weakly and only one guitar playing, but it’s not what matters. Harry finally manages to go through the song without messing anything up.

When the song ends and the music is replaced by silence, Harry can’t help the grin stretching across his face.

“I fucking needed that,” he sighs, his head falling back for a moment as the last bits of euphoria settles in his body.

“Want to go over something else?” she asks, turning back and forth to the sides on her stool, playing with the sticks, twirling them between her fingers easily.

“You sure don’t want to go home like the others?”

“Let’s see what choices I have. I can go home and watch an entire season of Love Island on my own, eating leftovers from two days ago or I can stay here, play music with a hot dude. I think I’m fine with the second option.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up at how simply she just called him a hot dude, his heart fluttering in his chest again like the first time he saw her play, only difference is that now her eyes are piercing on him and it’s just the two of them in an empty room. He is already having thoughts that should probably be pushed down.

“Did you just call your boss hot?” he teases her then.

“I don’t think you’re my boss,” she scoffs. “You need me here more than I need to be here, so I think I’m the one having the higher ground,” she points out and Harry knows she is so damn right. “Besides, I know you find me hot as well.”

He is quick to blush at her words, but that doesn’t stop him from questioning her.

“What makes you think that?”

“I see you staring, Harry. I’m not oblivious or naive. I know you like checking my butt out every time I’m fixing my set leaning down,” she chuckles and now he is certain his ears are a deep shade of red, he was caught more often than he thought, it seems like. “Also…” she smirks slyly. “If you think you hid your hard-on cleverly the other day when I played my solo, you are wrong.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry mumbles, cursing himself for being such a horny teenager around her, but he can’t help it. The woman is the epitome of everything Harry finds so fucking attractive, it’s like she was made for his imagination specifically. “This, um, this is a little awkward, but I’m sorry--” “Oh, don’t be,” she chuckles. “I’m just lucky I’m a woman and my arousal can’t be seen that easily,” she comments and Harry almost chokes on his own breath.

Did she just admit she has been turned on by him before? When? What did she think about? What was it that made her turned on? Harry needs answers, however he is not given the chance to get them.

“Alright, you can choose two more songs we’ll go over and then we are off,” she simply says, as if they weren’t just talking about being horny a moment ago.

“Uh, maybe Only Angel and, um, Lights Up?” he prompts, trying his best to regain his composure.

“Cool. Let’s do them.” And with that, she switched back to work mode without batting an eye.

***

It feels like the crowd will never stop screaming. It just keeps going and going, people are probably losing their voice, but the screaming just continues as Harry stands at the front of the stage, his adrenaline jumping to the sky, eyes roaming around the full arena. He throws a few more kisses, placing his hands to his chest one last time before turning around and heading off the stage, his eyes meeting Remi.

She is not wearing her usual clothes, instead, she is now sporting a pair of high-waisted dress pants in a lavender color, a white top tucked into it, her matching blazer thrown to the floor, she probably got hot the moment she started playing. Her tattoos are on full display and she looks just as sweaty as Harry feels. But still, for him she is a sight he would love to look at for the rest of his life.

Their eyes meet and she smirks at him, eyes glimmering from the high she experienced through the concert, it’s a feeling they all share every time they perform together and it’s clearly like a drug neither of them wants to come clear of.

“Good job, Rockstar,” he reads her lips saying and he laughs, winking at her.

Ever since their one-on-one rehearsal, things have felt to change between them. It’s like a barricade that’s been lying between them has come down and they are feeling much more free around each other. Secret glances, touches and flirty comments are their usual and they don’t care that the people around them are starting to catch on it as well. They love the game they are playing and neither of them plans on stopping it.

Harry stops at her drum set, holding out a hand to help her up and walk her off the stage, knowing well she doesn’t feel the most comfortable in her stage clothes and feels a little too restricted by the end of the concerts, but she understands that her style does not go well with the look they are going for.

She snatches her blazer from the floor and gladly takes Harry’s helping hand as he walks her off the stage, her Gucci boots feeling a little too tight at the moment.

“One of these days I’m gonna rip these pants off,” she jokes, pulling on the tight waistband of them.

“Just make sure I’m around when it happens, Darling,” Harry teases, making her laugh as they walk backstage, everyone congratulating them and the band following behind on their way.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Very much,” he admits without shame, the blushing long gone from his cheeks and ears. The buildup has changed his nervousness around her lately and he is enjoying the teasing and flirting all too much.

The whole team agrees that tonight’s show was exceptionally good and that it deserves some celebratory drinks. A few blocks away from the hotel where everyone is staying there’s a cozy looking bar and the rather loud lot occupies half the place as they flow in and start ordering their endless rounds of drinks.

Harry is sitting at one of the tables they have taken up, going strong with his third beer of the night, half zoned out of the conversation with the small group he is sitting in. His eyes are fixated on Remi’s figure who is standing at the bar with Charlotte, unlike every other female around she is not sipping on some kind of fancy drink or a cocktail, she went straight for the crafted beers the place had to offer. She has changed her stage clothes, wearing her usual tight black jeans and a sheer top with a simple black sports bra underneath it. Harry can’t stop his eyes from raking down her body, taking in every curve, tattoo and tiny detail about her and he thinks that there is not one thing on her he doesn’t find attractive.

Her eyes find him, a playful smirk playing on her lips Harry has been thinking way too much about lately, and she cocks an eyebrow at him in a way that yells at him: Like what you see, Rockstar?

As an answer, he just simply shrugs with a growing smirk until she turns back to Charlotte, who is still talking to her, she hasn’t even noticed that Remi was focusing somewhere else for a moment. Remi laughs at something her bandmate said and Harry wishes he could be closer to hear her voice, he has grown quite a liking to her laughter, he has been trying to crack as many jokes lately as he can just to hear it.

He takes his eyes off her just for a second when someone at the table asks him something. He mumbles his reply and reaches for his beer as his gaze shifts back to her figure, only to find that Charlotte is not gone and a not so friendly looking guy is behind her, clearly trying to chat her up.

The dude is standing way too close to her for Harry’s liking, leaning in to talk to her, but she keeps backing away, however he does not care about that. She is clearly not enjoying the exchange and when the guy reaches up to her face Harry is quick to jump to his feet, ready to go to her rescue. But it’s not needed.

Just as he takes one step towards the scene near him, he witnesses as Remi grabs the bloke’s hand before he could touch her face and with a strong and quick move, she twists his arm behind him, keeping the guy on his toes as he is trying to escape her deadly grip on his wrist, his hand pushing into the middle of his back.

Harry’s mouth hangs open as he watches Remi tell something to the guy in a not too friendly manner before letting him go and the man flees before Harry could blink twice.

“That was impressive,” Harry tells her, walking up to her at the bar. Remi just shrugs, gulping down the rest of her beer.

“I know some tricks.”

“How come?”

“Grew up with three older brothers, had to learn how to defend myself when they decided to attack me out of nowhere.”

“Three brothers? That must ‘ave been wild,” he huffs impressed.

“I surely didn’t have a girly childhood, I’ve always been kind of a tomboy,” she shrugs again. As a teenager, she often wished she would be like the girls in her class, but later on she realized how big of an advantage it is that she speaks the boys’ language so easily.

“I think it just made you… badass,” Harry smirks, leaning against the bar counter.

“Is that what I am?”she arches an eyebrow cockily.

“Definitely. A handful, but the good kind.”

“Oh, just be careful, Rockstar. I might think you are trying to get into my pants,” she chuckles and as Harry hears her laugh he can’t stop himself from taking it further. She is too intoxicating.

“And what if I am?”

Remi doesn’t seem surprised at his comment, not even a bit. She is clearly enjoying the flirting once again, but when she answers, he surely is the one who is surprised.

“Then I gotta say you are working way too slow. I’m losing my patience.”

His eyebrows rise, lips parted as he stares back at her, the words that left her lips pushing the air out of his lungs once again, he is done for her. Utterly and completely. He wants to say and do a million things, but then settles on just one simple question.

“Want to get back to the hotel then?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she smirks and simply heads towards the door without another word spoken. Harry is quick to grab his stuff from the table and catch up with her at the exit.

The crispy night air feels a little sobering as they both step out of the bar, heading to the nearby hotel with rushed steps, keeping their silence but they both are grinning madly. When their eyes meet they can’t push down the laughter and Harry grabs her hand before he starts running, pulling her after himself.

By the time they reach the hotel they are both out of breath, adrenaline running high once again as what’s been building up between them since the first time they saw each other is finally about to bloom fully.

Remi pushes the button for the elevator and as it moves down painfully slowly Harry’s hands find her hips, pulling her back against his chest. His lips tease the soft skin on her neck, peppering kisses everywhere he reaches while his fingers dig into her skin under her sheer top. She leans against him, head falling back to his shoulder and she pushes her bum against his crotch, a whiny moan escaping his lips that makes her smile in satisfaction.

“Fuck, Remi,” he breathes out, eager to finally have her all to himself and make all his fantasies come to life. The elevator finally dings and as the door slides open Remi turns in his arms abruptly and grabbing onto the collar of his shirt she simply pulls him inside, hand snapping on the button of his floor and just as the door slowly slides closed and they start moving up, her lips finally crash against his.

They are kissing hard, eager to take as much from each other as they can, they are both greedy, wanting the other all to themselves, the heat of the moment lighting up the small elevator. His fingers rake through her hair, grabbing a handful of it in each of them while one of her hands slide down his upper body until it stops on the obviously growing bulge in his pants. Harry moans shamelessly when she gives his erection a teasing squeeze and she smirks against his lips, satisfied with how easily he reacts to her touches.

Harry melts into her, wanting to devour every bit of this moment with her, he is seeing stars when she takes his lower lip between her teeth and tugs on it. A hand flies down to her ass and he squeezes it hard without shying about how much he is enjoying touching her.

The elevator reaches their floor and once again he grabs her wrist and starts pulling her down the hallway towards his room. Her lips are glued to his neck when he is trying to get his keycard from his back pocket and open the door, but when he finally succeeds, they basically fall into the room, tangled into each other and the door snaps closed behind them.

He is quick to push her against the door, lips attacking her neck, nipping and sucking on her skin until he is sure a mark is left on her.

“Off with it,” she pants, her hands tugging on his shirt and they work with all four of their hands to unbutton his shirt until it flies across the room. Remi pushes on him, hands spread across his hot chest as they get farther inside the room. The bump into some furniture on their way, lips glued together again until they finally reach the bed and fall right onto the perfectly made sheets. They are both showing dominance so it’s a constant fight for the lead between them, rolling around until at last Remi ends up on top, strangling his lap. She straightens up and grabs the hem of her shirt, getting rid of it fast before she does the same with her sports bra, baring her upper body completely to Harry’s greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pushing himself up until he wraps his arms around her, mouth meeting her chest, littering her heated skin with sloppy kisses until his lips reach one of her nipples.

“Yes!” she moans as he starts playing with it, his hands coming to cup her breasts, massaging them continuously before his mouth moves over to her other nipple, giving it the same attention.

Harry uses her momentary weakness and turns them over, his crotch coming in contact with her center as he pushes his hips between her legs forcefully. He kisses down her stomach before he leans back and works fast on the buttons of her jeans. The tight material hugs her legs stubbornly, but he is eager to get rid of them and he soon succeeds, leaving her in just a lacy black thong. He undoes his own pants in a heartbeat, pulling them off and throwing them to the side before he gets on top of her again, kissing her lips so hungrily as if it hasn’t been just a few moments since he kissed her last.

She whimpers under his touch when he moves a hand between her thighs, running his fingers along her clothed folds, her arousal already soaking the fabric. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his hand into her underwear, her juices wetting his wandering fingers and he teases her hole and clit playfully.

“You better not fucking tease me, I don’t like that,” she pants, her dark eyes meeting hers and he can see the threat behind her words, she is not joking.

“Then what do you like?” he breathes out, eager to please her so much, she’ll forget about everyone else she has ever slept with.

She doesn’t answer, instead, a devious smile tugs on her swollen lips as she pushes him off until she is able to move. Harry is now kneeling on the bed and watches as Remi pushes her ass up into the air, back arching perfectly, her thong looking so delicious on her round butt and when she pushes herself back so her behind meets her throbbing dick in his briefs he could cry from the sensation. His hands immediately grab onto her asscheeks, pulling her even harder against himself.

“Smack it,” she breathes out, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do it,” she nods and Harry doesn’t need more encouragement, he lifts a hand up and smacks her ass so it leaves a little redness after it. Remi moans erotically, enjoying herself fully and seeing how much it turns her on, he smacks the other cheek as well.

“You are gonna be the death of me,” he whines and pushing down his briefs his erection finally springs free, he grabs it with one hand, stroking himself a few times while his other hand is keeping a tight grip of her ass.

Remi wants to see him naked, so she quickly pushes herself up to her knees and turning around her eyes fall on Harry stroking himself. Hunger fills her eyes as she launches forward, lips meeting his while her hands simply take the place of his on his length, doing the job for him.

“I’m on birth control. When were you last tested?” she mumbles against his lips before leaning back so she can get rid of her thong and Harry does the same with his underwear.

“Three weeks ago, haven’t been with anyone since and I’m clean,” he mumbles in a rush.

“I’m clean too. You can ditch the condom if you want to.” “I wanna feel you,” he pleads desperately as she lies back on the bed and he gets on top of her again.

“All yours,” she smirks, spreading her legs wide for him, the sight in front of him is easily beating any art he has ever seen, he thinks.

He positions himself to her entrance, but doesn’t push into her just yet, leaning down so his lips brush against her ear as he whispers into it.

“Let’s see if you feel just as amazing as I imagined.” And with that, he pushes into her with one swift movement, stretching her all the way until his whole length disappears inside her.

“Fuck, Harry!” she cries out, back arching at the sensation. He sucks on her neck once again as he starts moving in and out, fitting inside her so perfectly, he is convinced she was crafted just for him.

He is going fast and hard, their pants and moans completely filling the hotel room and they can only hope they can’t be heard by anyone right now. She circles her legs around his hips, the angle he is reaching making her toes curl behind his back.

“You feel so fucking good,” he chokes out, face contorting into a blissful frown as he is getting closer to his orgasm with each thrust.

“I want to be on top,” she gasps, already pushing on and this time Harry doesn’t hesitate to obey. He rolls to his back, pulling her with him so now she is on top. Her hands come to rest on his stomach as she starts riding her, circling and lifting her hips so perfectly, so breathtakingly that Harry could cum just from the sight of her bouncing on him, but the feeling is making it a mind blowing experience. His fingers dig into her hips as she is starting to move faster and faster, before Harry starts bucking his hips up to meet her rhythm as well, going so deep into her, he is having a hard time deciding where she ends and where he starts. They are completely merged together in one hot mess.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she screams gasping, her head falling back as she doesn’t fall out of her rhythm, still being such a drummer even in the bed, dictating the beat.

Harry pushes himself up into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her so he can push her naked chest against his, their sweaty skins sliding against each other relentlessly, creating friction.

“Scream my name when you cum,” he orders, his lips finding hers once again, but it’s a messy kiss, their teeth are clanking, noses are bumping together as they are both nearing their high.

“Harry, oh fuck!” she exclaims and with her next movement he can feel her clench around him.

“Louder!” he growls on the edge of his own orgasm.

“Harry! Harry!” she screams shamelessly, throwing him over the edge, a guttural moan bursting from him as they both fall out of the rhythm, satisfaction washing over them in waves.

“Oh shit!” she breathes out, lips against his as she keeps him close with her hands on the base of his neck.

“Fucking Hell, Remi. I think I almost had a heart attack,” he breathes out with a soft chuckle making her laugh as well. She pulls him into another kiss, but it’s way slower now, the hunger and greed taken by their pleasure, now it’s time for something softer.

When they fall back to the bed, arms and legs tangled as they are still trying to stay close to each other, Remi looks up at him with a tired smile.

“So, was it like you imagined?” she asks and he chuckles softly.

“A thousand times better. But now we have a problem on our hands.”

“And what would that be?”

“Now I’m hooked. I won’t be able to stop thinking about you, not that it hasn’t been the situation since the start.”

Remi chuckles shortly, pushing herself up enough so she can look comfortable at his flushed out face.

“Well, it’s a good thing we are kind of locked together for months.”

“I’m one lucky man, aren’t I?” he smirks, so full of himself before he pulls her back down, kissing her like they have all the time in the world on their hands.

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles smut #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles imagine

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beigehearts · 3 years ago

Text

Part I, The Awakening

so im in love with Ran Haitani i might not even get to any requests with the way im feeling so please bear with me. ill be writing fics to make myself feel better and that is all thank you for your understanding

TW / CW // unedited, violence, intense descriptions of gore Word Count: 2.7k

You find yourself in an alley. It's dark and dingy and smells something like rotten food and dead rats. It's a full moon tonight, and it shines brightly through the faded clouds. Snow is trickling down, so lightly that you would miss it if you weren't looking for it. You're laying in the snow of this revolting alley, laid out as if you're trying to make a snow angel.

How did you get here?

It's so cold that your fingers and toes have practically frozen off of your body. So numb, so cold, so alone. You sit up and look around; you can hear your bones creaking as you move around. Now that you're thinking about it... Who are you?

You stand up, ignoring the pain and aches of your body. You can't remember how you got here. You can't remember why you're hear. You can't remember even a week ago. Your mind is a blank slate and it makes you want to scream. Nothing. You remember absolutely nothing.

But you can't stay here. You're already one foot in the grave but you refuse to lay in it. You rub your arms and shiver. You're wearing nothing but a sports bra and some pajama shorts.

buzz buzz

Ah, a phone. You begin walking out of the alley and pull the phone from your pocket.

Addy

where are you??

are you okay???

I'm about to call the police

please answer

I'm worried about you.

sent at 2:04 am

That's not the only missed message. There are two others from who you can assume are friends. And a bunch of missed calls from those same friends.

It's 2:05 am on December 31st, 2007.

For some reason the date just feels wrong. Something about it just feels off.

There's an empty street with shops lining it, all of them with lights off and doors locked. You amble down it and are glad that you can't feel your toes. All you can feel in your bare feet is the crunch of the almost frozen over snow.

Maybe you'll be able to find something on your phone. Your cracked and slow smart phone opens up and you scroll to the maps app. The most recently searched address is 682 白桃通り. Alright, so that's where you'll go. Hopefully you can get out of this cold and warm up some.

You follow the directions, bearing with the 35 minute walk it directs. All of your limbs are starting to go numb, all of them feel like they'll fall off at any moment.

It's an apartment complex. You walk through the empty lobby and take the elevator to the sixth floor. 682... 682... Ah, here it is. The door has a large crack straight down the middle, and the doorknob is barely hanging on.

Hesitantly you push the door open and peek inside. You find the light switch and close the door behind you. The place is completely destroyed. The couch is flipped over and television is laying flat on the ground. Most definitely it will not be able to work. The walls have small holes in them... Bullet holes. There's blood splattered across the walls and the furniture.

But it's warm. So warm. You find the bedroom and hurry inside where it's even warmer. You rush to the bathroom and gape at your reflection.

Your nose is blue, there are icicles hanging from your eyelashes... The rest of your face is beat red and as you warm up it begins to burn. But that's not the extent of it. Your left eye is swollen, it's practically pulsating with it's black, purple and blue color. Your lip is cut down the side, you can see the flesh clearly as the skin splits.

You look down at your hands aimlessly and wonder, just where have you been? Your hands are the same color as your swollen eye and your knuckles are, blood smeared all over them.

As you examine your body, you begin to feel the pain setting in. Stinging hands, aching face, burning toes… It looks like you put up a fight with whatever happened. That thought alone seldom brings you comfort.

You look through the drawers of the bedroom, finding a sweatshirt and some sweatpants along with fuzzy socks. You waste no time in rushing to the shower, basking in the burn of the water and the aching of your sore muscles. The water runs brown and red, staining the shower tiles with it’s hideous color.

Once out of the shower you tend to your wounds. The cuts on your torso and face… But this bruise on your eye is only going to get bigger and swell until the point that you can’t see. You stand over your bathroom sink and grab a knife from the kitchen. Ah yes, here comes the worst part. You bring the knife up to your eye and try to stop the shaking of your hands.

This is necessary you remind yourself. You press the end of the knife into the wound, creating a decent sized slit in it. Immediately blood begins pouring out of it, blinding you as it stains your bathroom counters. Once it stops gushing by itself, you squeeze the rest of the blood out and put a bandage over it after disinfecting it.

After cleaning up the mess that looks like a murder (for the most part), you put on your clothing and jump right into bed. You definitely deserve a nice rest in this comfortable bed. After having done some sleuthing around the apartment, you realized that it’s yours based on the pictures hung of you and your friends. Not to mention the mug with your name on it.

Having the front door busted open and unable to be locked is a bit worrying but it couldn’t possibly get worse than it is right now. You wake up in the morning to the sound of pounding on your front door. Though it doesn’t really mean much because they burst into your house. What is up with people breaking into your house?

You sit up and squint at the suspects who enter your bedroom. There are two intimidating men who make their way over to you. One is an incredibly tall man, Wearing a black kimono of sorts that has something written on it that you can’t quite place. He has dark brown hair that’s pulled back into a single braid. On the side of his head is a dragon tattoo that you think must have been very painful to get.

The other man is much shorter than him, he has cropped black hair that covers his eyes and wears a tank top with a loose zip up sweatshirt.

“Looks like you’ve been busy.” Says the taller one with a chuckle. Though despite his words you can see worry in his eyes.

You look towards the shorter man and squint. He looks so tired, and so rundown. He cocks his head to the side and sucks on the lollipop hanging from his lips. “What the hell happened?”

They must be your friends, that’s the only way this makes sense. You stare at your hand and feel your mind go blank, because you’re asking yourself the same question.

The shorter one looks up at the taller, “Draken…”

He nods at his friend, knowing what he’s asking. The black haired one leaves the room and goes to investigate the torn up living room and kitchen.

So his name is Draken. He sits next to you and places a gentle hand on your knee. He furrows his brows and looks at your face, hoping for answers in just your expression.

“What’s going on?” He asks quietly.

You barely missed being shot… That you can remember but it’s more of an intuition than it is memory. You can hear the whizzing of the bullet by your ear and the loud blow of the gun, deafening you.

You look up at him and shake your head, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“What do you remember?” He coos.

You shake your head more vigorously this time, “I don’t know! I don’t remember it! I don’t remember anything!”

His eyes go wide, “What do you not remember? How much?”

You shrug his hand off of your leg and find yourself yelling, “Nothing! Fucking! Nothing! I don’t even know my own fucking name!”

Draken stands up and holds his hand out to you, “We call you Bruiser…”

After that they swept you from your home and plopped you on the back of 'Mikey's' bike. You were taken to Draken's house, he lives in an apartment above his bike shop. Draken leads you through the building with his hand resting on your back.

You sit down on his futon and they settle down as well. They called some people and instructed them to come over. Now you're wondering if you're with friends or enemies. You assume they're friends but how could you ever be sure when you don't have any memories?

You down on some convenience store onigiri, realizing just how hungry you are. The hunger is painful, and your body feels weak.

Someone enters the room and you look up from your food. He's tall as well, with long black hair and narrow eyes. He storms through the room until he's directly in front of you, looking down at you with his sharp gaze. When he opens his mouth you see that his teeth are just as sharp as his look.

"Bruiser what is going on?" He growls out, seeming angry. But he's purely concerned.

Instead of answering you take a bite of your rice snack. He smacks the triangular rice from your hand and grips your jaw. "What happened?"

You grab his wrist to pull his hand away but you're just not strong enough. "Fuck if I know! Who do you think you are?!"

He grits his teeth and how he answers you sends you into silence.

His lips press against yours roughly and your eyes shoot wide open. His kiss is rough and so are his lips, and something about it is familiar. He steps back and examines you for a moment.

You open your mouth to speak but close it. But then you open it again, “Are you a fucking idiot?”

Laughter echoes throughout the room, everyone but you finding this funny. Mikey wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head, “We we’re going to wait before getting to that point, Baji.”

Huh? What?

You stand up from the bed and shoot a cold look at Baji. How dare he kiss you without asking or waiting for your consent! You raise your hand and bring it down fast, leaving a red and stinging mark on his face.

That laughter trickles out, and turns into an uncomfortable silence. But you don’t have to deal with this… You’re not sure what kind of life you were living but it doesn’t matter, your dignity is more important.

You gather up your belongings, (a jacket, phone, some onigiri, wallet, keys) and storm out of the bike shop. You can tell that something in that room changed when you slapped Baji, a light and fun atmosphere turned dark and heavy.

You don’t bother with looking at your phone or asking for directions, you’ll end up wherever your feet take you. Where they lead you to is another shop… well actually it’s not a shop at all, it’s a bar. You check your phone, 5:45 pm. That’s plenty late enough for a drink.

But before you enter you gaze up at the neon sign. It’s a lit up pint of beer that’s being tipped to the side. The white of the foam is begging to tell you something…

An image flashes in your head, a man being held up against it. He’s held up by nails in his hands and feet, plastered up there for everyone to see, like a tourist attraction. Blood drips from above, dripping onto the sidewalk and leaving a thick puddle.

But it’s only a fleeting image.

You enter the bar and look around hesitantly. It’s some rich type of bar where the booths are surrounded by tinted glass and the tables have complimentary shot glasses. You’ve definitely been here before. But the layout of the place is bugging you. Somethings off.

You earn yourself some looks as you find an empty booth in the very back of the building. It’s smaller than the others, the others can fit six to eight people but this booth can only seat two to four.

It's not exactly as bumping as a bar/club usually is. Sweet oldies play quietly while rich groups of people sit together, sipping of martinis and laughing in 'rich'.

It really is beginning to bother you, immensely. Everything seems so familiar but so foreign at the same time. It's as if the décor has been changed around a bit but holds the same aesthetic as what you can remember. What is it? What feels so wrong about this?

You're too lost in your own thought to realize that someone has entered the building and taken a seat not far from you. He's surrounded by other men who take quickly to drinking. They seem out of place but their demeanor is very comfortable.

After a few drinks (maybe a few too many) You set down the stack of money that resides in your pocket. Who are you to have so much cash stashed away in your pocket? Maybe a prostitute? That would explain why that man kissed you before. Baji.

Time to go home, you're pretty sure you remember how to get home even in this drunken state. Apparently you're a woman who can handle her alcohol, good to know. You find yourself skipping down the empty street of the usually bustling town. Everything seems to shut down at night, leaving it as a ghost town.

There's something so freeing in being a reborn human. While it's frustrating, it feels like you can be anyone or anything. No regrets to weigh on you, no trauma to destroy you, and no memory of the people who have most certainly used you. It's so freeing.

Snowflakes begin descending from the sky, brushing over your clothes and leaving the tiniest of wet spots. It's just like that night. Yesterday night. It seems like so long ago. But this time you aren't half naked and freshly beaten. The moon is shining so brightly that it's almost blinding even through the clouds heavy with snow. You've realized you need to learn to appreciate the small things... In just one day of your new blank slate life, you've had a lot of realizations.

Appreciate the small things. Your past doesn't define you. Perseverance is key. Life is fragile and short... all cheesy realizations you would hear a villain from a kids movie say. But those realizations are a lot for a person with no memories. Right?

Behind you there's the crunching of feet on the cold snow, following not too far behind. Once again your thoughts have consumed you and your senses, leaving you oblivious and defenseless.

The perpetrator begins gaining on you, until he's only steps away. Something else that you didn't know is just how fast your reflexes are. A hand reaches out to you and you duck, swinging your leg to knock the person off of their feet. But they easily evade your attack by jumping over your leg like a skip-it.

You jump back and hold your fists up, ready to fight whoever it is.

In front of you stands a tall man with fair skin. His hair is parted into two sections, black braids that hang over his shoulders. He's wearing a black outfit that makes it hard to see his physique but you can assume it's muscular and lean. But it's his eyes. Yes.

Cold, lifeless eyes that peer down at you as if you are no more than a pathetic bug. Yes. That's what it is. That's exactly what it is.

A long stick, cracking into the back of your knee and you fold. You're hit over the head with it but barely remain consciousness. That baton... Why are you remembering a cold and heavy baton assaulting you when you look at this man?

He puts a hand on his hip and cocks his head to the side, "Why are you alive Bruiser?"

#ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #haitani x reader #baji #baji x reader #mikey #draken #tokyo revengers #part 1 #the awakening #tokyo manji gang #bonten

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cryingoverafictionalcharacter · 4 years ago

Text

Terrible Dancers

Prompt: You are spending the holidays at the burrow with George, Fred, Ginny and the golden trio. The house is packed most of the time, which is fine seeing you love everyone there *cough* especially Fred *cough* but when you get a chance of having some guaranteed alone time, you take it to your advantage. Only realizing you weren't totally alone when Fred comes downstairs to see you dancing around the living room in your pajamas, leading to a dance battle, laughing, and a confession.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, cute things, that's it I thing?

A/N:Is this probably the lamest, most corny, most bazar fic I’ve ever written? Yes, but this idea came to me when I was listening to ABBA in the car and I couldn’t not write it, So there will be 80s muggle music references in this to give you the full ⭐experience ⭐ . Anyway I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to leave any fic recs.

A/N2: I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS AND OMG PLEASE PLAY THE SONG I’LL WRITE IN WHEN JUST OMG IM CRYING.

You were currently sat on on of the couches in the burrow, your legs kicked up in front of you as you read a book. It was one of the few times you were able to find some quiet in the burrow. You loved the burrow, you thought of it as your second home, but with Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and yourself all staying for the Holidays, you had to admit it was a bit crowded.

However, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had least earlier in the day, saying they were running errands, which was probably code for doing something illegal, but you knew they were fine so you took the opportunity to finally catch up on a book Hermione had recommended to you.

After about an hour of reading, Molly walked in, greeting you with a smile that lit up the room. You smiled back, marking your place in your book and putting it down beside you.

“Hello dear, the boys and I were going to head off and do some last minute holiday shopping, would you like to join us?” She asked.

“I’ve gotten all my shopping done, so I think I’ll just stay in today if that alright?” You asked.

“Of course! Though you will be here alone, you know where everything is if you need something?” Molly asked, concern in her voice. You nodded.

“Yes, thank you” You smiled.

“Alright, we’ll be back by sundown, try to enjoy the peace and quiet” Molly joked, making you laugh.

“I will, have fun!” You said, watching as Molly left the room headed towards the fireplace, before opening your book again to continue reading.

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before you started feeling antsy. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The burrow was known for always being active and full of laughing, happy people, so now that the only sound in the whole house was the steady ticking of the clock, you had to admit, it was a little freaky being the only one here.

You quickly closed your book, and idea popping into your head. You decided to bring your Walkman when you left to go to the burrow just in case you ever needed to block out the noise. You hadn’t used it at all so far, and now seemed like the perfect time.

You ran upstairs into the room you were sharing with Ginny and Hermione, digging through your bag and pulling out the rectangular object. Your parents had made you a mixtape of your favorite songs before you left, and while you loved some popular wizard singers, you missed your music.

You ran back downstairs, putting the Walkman down and pressing play, the music instantly starting up, playing one of your favorite songs.

A Man After Midnight, by ABBA

You walked to the empty area in front of the couch and started to dance, swaying your hips a bit, before starting to sing the words.

“Half past twelve and I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone, how I hate to spend the evening on my own.”

As you were singing you started swaying around the room, grabbing your wand to use as a microphone, and continuing to get more and more energetic as the song went on.

“Is there a soul out there?”

You stopped moving just tapping your foot, slowly raising the hand that wasn’t holding the wand.

“Someone to hear my prayers........”

“Gimme Gimme Gimme a man after midnight!” You sang at the top of your lungs, jumping around the room and singing into your wand. You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t notice the figure walking down the stairs, until-

“Take me through the darkness through the break of the- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Your singing was cut off by the sound of you screaming, well cursing, as you turned around to see Fred staring at you with a confused, half asleep look, a grin spread across his face. “What the fuck are you doing?” You practically yelled, running over to switch off your radio.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Fred laughed, the slight smile he had before now turning into a shit eating grin.

“You know, just.... dancing’” You said, desperately trying to act casual, like your crush of two years didn’t just walk downstairs, shirtless by the way, to see you dancing around like a maniac”

“I can see that. Its awful” Fred joked, making his way down the rest of the stairs and walking over to you.

“Shut up I’m amazing. Wait I thought you and your family were going out shopping” You said, suddenly remembering you were supposed to be alone.

“Yeah, George tried to make me to come along, but I didn’t wake up so my mum left a note” He said, sitting on the couch in front of you.

You nodded in understanding, trying your best to look Fred in the face, instead of letting your eyes wander to his hair which was currently sticking out in all directions. Or toward his chest which was currently bare exposing a constellation of freckles, or at how low his sweatpants were hanging-

“Earth to Y/N” Fred said, waving a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your thought.

“Oh yeah, nice, cool” You said nodding, rocking back on your heels.

“What were you listening to, it doesn’t sound familiar?” Fred asked, leaning back on the couch.

“Oh, it’s a muggle band called ABBA, they’re basically music goddesses” You joked, walking over to your Walkman picking it up and handing it him.

“That's a lot of praise, considering your horrible taste in wizard music” He said, making you playfully swat his arm, a fake offended expression crossing your face before smiling, pressing the play button and continuing the song.

“Huh, its actually not bad, what else do you have on this?” He asked smiling.

You smiled back, taking back the Walkman and skipping to the next song, which happened to be “Africa” by Toto.

“This one’s really popular, I think you’ll like it” You said, setting down the Walkman and going to sit next to him.

As the music started I could see Fred starting to bob his Head to the beat.

“I like it so far” Fred said

An hour later, and you and Fred were dancing around the living room, singing at the top of your lungs.

“So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye!” Fred yelled

“So you think you can love me and leave me to die!” You sang back

“Ooooooh baby, don’t do this to me baby, just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here” You both sang in unison, Fred playing an air guitar as you sang into your wand.

As the slow started to slow down, you both just started swaying, smiling at each other and catching your breath. Finally after a moment the song ended, making you both laugh.

“That ones my favorite so far” Fred said laughing, going to take a break and sit on the couch, you plopping next to him.

“Its a classic” You laughed, taking a deep breath, trying to cool down from the very intense dancing.

The next song started up and you instantly recognized it, practically lunging at the small radio to skip the song, but as soon as you hit the pause button, Fred snatched it out of your hands.

“Hey” You yelled, reaching to get the device back which Fred held over his head, making it hard to reach.

“What’s wrong with the next song?” Fred asked, making your face heat up a bit.

“It’s not really dancing music, my parents probably only added it on because they know it’s one of my favorites, but yeah it’s not that good we can skip it” You said quickly, attempting to get the radio back from Fred, but he still kept it over his head.

“Y/N, if you like it than I’m sure its great” Fred said smiling down at you. You let out a breath. You knew he wasn’t going to let it go until you played it.

“Fine” You said, Fred finally handing the radio back. You rewound the song so it would start from the beginning, before taking a breath, and pressing play.

*PLAY CAN’T HELPING FALLING IN LOVE BY ELVIS*

The music picked up, and with it your heartbeat, afraid of what Fred was going to say. You were internally panicking, playing one of the most iconic love songs ever written in front of your long time friend and crush.

You had been friends with this boy since first year. You might even go as far to call him your best friend. Sure there had been flirty moments but most of it was just kidding around, but this was different.

Before you could panic anymore though, Fred had stood up and turned to face you. A sly smile grew across his face before he held out his hand to you.

“Dance with me”

“...What?” you asked, eyes widening. Were you hearing this right?

“Dance with me” Fred repeated. So without thinking you took his hand and stood up.

He led you to the middle of the living room, moving to put your right hand on his shoulder, holding your left and resting his other hand on your waist, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Trying to make a move on me Weasley?” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

“Maybe” He said smiling, but it wasn’t his usual joking smile, it was more sincere.

You started to sway to the music, laughing as Fred twirled you, your hand moving back to its original place on Fred's shoulder.

As the music continued to play, you couldn’t help but listen to the lyrics, while looking up at the boy you were dancing with, finding he was already looking at you.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be”

Fred suddenly wrapped his arm around your back, moving to dip you backwards, startling a laugh out of you, before he pulled you back up, pulling your chest closer to his, barely leaving any room between you to.

“For I can’t help, falling in love with you”

You moved your hand out of his, instead moving to rest your arms around Fred’s neck, Fred moving his now free hand to your other hip.

“Who taught you how to dance?” You jokingly asked, once again trying to relive the tension that had grown between you too.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m just a natural?” Fred smiled

“Definitely not” You smiled back, making a light chuckle leave his lips.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help, falling in love with you”

“I think this might be my new favorite song” Fred said, making you roll your eyes but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

“Why’s that” You asked, noticing how Fred’s demeanor seemed to get more serious compared to his usual playful attitude.

“Because it’s your favorite song, and you’re my favorite person” Fred said.

The butterflies that were in fluttering in your stomach before were now in a frenzy, your heart beating like crazy. You continued to sway to the music, slowing as the song finally stopped. Fred moved a hand up to move a strand of hair out of your face, before closing the space between you, connecting your lips.

You pulled him closer as well, kissing him back and moving your hands to his hair while his moved back to your waist. After a moment your finally pulled away, looking into each others eyes.

“You’re my favorite person too” You said, making the both of you smile.

“Is that the end of the tape?” Fred asked, noticing that the music wasn’t continuing.

“Yep, but I have another one one second” You said, moving out of Fred’s grasp to sprint up the stairs, Fred laughing behind you.

You came back downstairs, a new tape in ahnd. You quickly switched out the tack and pressed play, waiting for the music to start.

“Who did you say was your favorite person again?” Fred asked as you walked back over to him, laughing as you wrapped your arms around him. He moved to take a step back and stumbled, tripping over the book you had put down earlier, and because you were already holding him, you fell as well.

“Shit! Are you ok?” You asked, landing on Fred’s chest, looking up at his face to see him laughing, sending you into a fit of laughter as well, before you were both cut off by the sound of the Walkman playing that oh so familiar Saxophone.

You would have appreciated the irony, but before you could you heard the front door open, looking over to see Ron, Hermione, and Harry all looking at you... laying on top of a shirtless Fred..... with careless whisper playing in the background.

“It’s not what it looks like!” you said, quickly sitting up, Fred helping you to stand so you could turn off the music.

“My eyes!” Ron shrieked

“She fell we weren’t!-” Fred started.

“We don’t want to hear it pervs” Harry said, a slightly joking tone in his voice.

“For shame” Hermione said shaking her head disappointedly, but as the two other boys left towards their room, she gave you a quick thumbs up before running off as well.

You listened in silence as the three ran up the stairs, the door slamming behind them. There were a few seconds of silence between you and Fred, neither of you knowing how to process what just happened.

“You know, we could do what it looked like” Fred said slyly.

“Fred!”

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A/N: I’m not going to lie, I think the ending is hilarious. Any who, I hope you enjoyed this super sappy, almost cringe worthy fic. Feel free to leave requests if you want.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fic #fred weasley headcannon #fred fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n

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princesssarcastia · 4 years ago

Note

Thoughts on Star Trek AOS? (And do you think Kirk was on Tarsus?)

i have SO MANY THOUGHTS about star trek aos, so buckle up. brace yourself.

star trek aos is a terrible disaster and i love it SO MUCH. for me, star trek 2009 is still in that class of unreasonably pleasing movies like the mummy or stardust or jumanji: welcome to the jungle. what they are isn’t exactly top notch but you love them for being exactly what they are.

star trek aos is a star-studded fucking phenomenal cast of some of the best actors working today, which makes up for the very inconsistent writing and unfortunate low-level current of sexism.

literally where would i be today if chris pine could not make faces Like That. i honestly couldn’t tell you.

overall, I have quite a few bones to pick with JJ Abrams for setting up a star trek universe that is less Wacky Space Utopia adventures with liberal political commentary ranging from unsubtle to im-hitting-you-over-the-head-with-my-opinions-like-they’re-a-brick—

to this kind of overtly militarized action-hero adventure porn where one white man saves the universe from Scary People Who Don’t Look Like Us And Are Crazy. I also don’t appreciate what they did to Jim Kirk, turning him into this womanizing self-centered bastard who has to be in charge. I REALLY don’t appreciate the casual misogyny, what with the last of rank stripes for women and the gratuitous sex-ed up scenes and the way that Amanda Grayson gets fridged for man-pain and and and— you get the picture.

Or at least, that’s what they tried to do to jim kirk. and god fucking bless chris pine for being able to make facial expressions, because i firmly believe if pretty much almost anyone else had played Jim Kirk as written by JJ Abrams, that’s exactly what he would have been.

But because of chris pine’s acting, instead, most of the AOS fandom and I realized/decided that this “womanizing” version of jim kirk actually really really hates himself so much, most likely for trauma reasons.

we took that shit and ran with it and never really stopped.

zachary quinto is also like god tier casting. unfortunately the writers for the first two movies mostly gave him Anger as a primary motivator, which like, is not exactly how I would interpret Spock at all, but quinto played this Angry Spock so so well.

ZOE SALDANA PLAYS THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE, NYOTA UHURA, PERFECTLY AND THAT’S ALL I’LL HEAR ON THE MATTER.

john cho should be cast in everything ever he’s amazing and I love seeing him. this man has the range. hikaru sulu is the backbone of this fucking ship. this man wins the big damn hero award every single movie.

i still miss living in the same world as anton yelchin. i really, really do.

I also have found family feelings all over these movies, where these baby versions of iconic characters from the sixties are brought together too early to witness too much fucking trauma. harry potter references aren’t exactly in vogue right now, but there’s this one piece from a—well, actually, its a harry potter reference in an mcu fic i read years ago, now that i think about it, but anyway:

it was something like, there are some things you can’t go through with a person—like that mountain troll in harry potter—without becoming friends for life. there are some crucibles that will bind you together forever. and awful as it is, I think Nero and the Vulcan genocide were the AOS crew’s mountain troll. there’s no going back or separating, after that.

also I feel like there’s a ton of competence porn in this trilogy that i deeply, deeply enjoy.

star trek: 2009 and into darkness are both grimdark male power fantasy bullshit that only accidentally hits all the right buttons for me. I love them dearly but i know EXACTLY what they are, thank you.

star trek: beyond is a delightful movie with no real plot where our favorite crew are finally Adults With A Modicum Of Common Sense And Stability, instead of Disaster Children Angsting All Over The Place, and they get to save the universe with the power of excellent rock music and friendship. how cool is that?!? i wanna give simon pegg a high five for making this movie.

on a more meta note, what I find kind of satisfying about these movies is that—for all his many faults that i’m always happy to expound upon—JJ Abrams actually went for it. He Did That. He just made his own brand new timeline, killed jim kirk’s dad, then gave him an abusive uncle/step-dad, then literally destroyed one of the founding planets of the Federation, then he, in an iconic fashion, switched Jim and Spock’s places in the infamous “wrath of khan” death scene, so instead Spock gets to watch Jim die.

and you know what? I can forgive a lot of bullshit for that kind of poetic angsty fanfic plot detail.

every time uhura says, “an alternate reality,” in star trek 2009 just gives me chills. every time she says it, you feel the weight of sixty years of history and legacy sitting on these people’s shoulders, the weight of arguably one of the most popular TV shows of all time.

imagine, living in a new world you’re aware isn’t the one that was supposed to be. imagine that!

oh! and on the question of tarsus:

what I think is probably true irl: JJ Abrams has never thought that far ahead in his life. correct me if i’m wrong, but hadn’t he.....not even watched star trek.........when he made these movies............like lol i’d bet you this man didn’t even really know Tarsus was a thing. And even if he did, I don’t think he thought it was part of the new canon he was creating. AOS is much more self-contained than the serialized universe the original star trek was, so I don’t think that AOS was intended to encompass all those things, like tarsus, that we as a fandom like to obsess over.

what I personally enjoy: i love me some AOS fic that explores the ridiculous amounts of trauma that comes from living through a genocide. I think that, given we all decided AOS Jim Kirk hates himself, and engages in a shit ton of self-sabotaging and destructive behavior to cope, it’s a reasonable jump to think that at least some of that comes from some survivor’s guilt bullshit from Tarsus. And honestly, hit me up if you want recs for this, because boy do I have them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: no one does angst quite like AOS!Jim Kirk.

what I believe wholeheartedly: this is like Schrödinger's Plot Point, okay, it both exists and doesn’t exist simultaneously. it’s easy to read tarsus into some of jim’s behavior, and it’s easy to read none of it in, and both of those choices are valid. go with your gut, go with what makes you happy, go with what you think makes sense. This is where fandom lives, in these little details that fall through the cracks.

anyway WOW did I talk a lot. those are at least some of my star trek thoughts. i do have others, but i’ve expounded on them before on this blog, and y’all don’t need me to repeat myself

ask me my thoughts on ______

#star trek #aos star trek #jj abrams #ask meme #actually i also had the tarsus convo with a mutual recently #and like 99.99% of my fandom opinions it boils down to: You Do You Babe We're Doing This For Fun #long post #(oops)#lupanymeria

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johnnycranes · 3 years ago

Note

6,7,12,13,17,19, & 21 for Norman and Kenny, please!

ahhh thanks, Amanda!! now i just wanna write more for them 😭🥺

for the otp asks

6. Who has the most unique sense of humour?

how can we all forget the iconic you know im something of a scientist myself??? fsdkahflajfl i feel like norman would just make the corniest jokes, but another side of his humor is that is they can also end up being quite dark and kennedy loves all of it.

7. Who laughs at their own jokes, even if they’re not funny?

Kenny! She's tryna make jokes as much as her man does and c'mon they sound pretty good to her, and they deserve a little laugh and Norman's just like, 'i know honey, i know'

12. Who always feels the dire need for physical affection, even at the most inconvenient of times?

Both! Is2g these two are horrible at keeping their hands to themselves fdksjhfal when they were 'fake dating', a lot of the touching was yeah, fake. but when they realize they do really love each other it's like a switch flipped and now each touch means so much and theyre so real.

13. What is the silliest thing your OTP would get into an argument/fight over?

Lmao Norman is still Green Goblin in this fic and his whole fam knows. It's like a day job tbh so when the kids have school events, Kennedy and Norman fight over things like, 'no you can't go causing destruction this afternoon, we have that meeting with the principal later!' and Norman is just like, 'ugh ok tonight then'

17. Do they like cold or hot drinks more?

Hot drinks and alcohol lmao. Kennedy's a fan of cool weather and loves drinking something warm, and they both just love their coffee

19. What is their favourite form of affection? (e.g. cuddles, kisses, hand holding, compliments)

They both love their kisses tbh 😭 and Kenny loves cuddling, the moments when they can just be together and relax. Norman loves hand holding, loves the reassurance of just having her there with him and knowing it's real.

21. Who's more romantic?

Norman! Kennedy has her moments for sure but she's such a sap too for Norman being so romantic. They're both very busy but he always takes the time to take her out to a good dinner, or surprise her with gifts. One time he was like, 'hey you wanna go out for some italian food?' and they actually went to italy.

#i went so soft with them too #but ya know what #why not #thanks amanda <3 #norman x kennedy #scungilliwoman #answered

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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bloodhorse

this was supposed to be a short fic,, i was wrong

the Jockey’s name is Sorrel!

also im sorry if i got the Netherworld wrong. i don’t quite know how it works but i am Trying.

using the concept where the Dead can feel the pain of how they died!

Word count: 6071

TW: Blood, death, implied child abuse

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Sorrel was eight when she first watched The Lion King, maybe nine. She couldn’t quite remember. But what she could remember was the horror of Mufasa’s death. Her jaw had dropped as the big, fluffy kitty was stepped on by all the weird-looking deer, and she screamed in reaction, floundering over to her smartly-dressed parents in tears to blubber about what she had just witnessed. They had, as they always had with anything she did, looked bothered by her presence around them, and her father tiredly explained what was going on to her, but even then she still couldn’t really understand. She just knew that it was scary and sad.

But watching someone get trampled and actually being trampled were two entirely different things.

Despite her best efforts to forget, Sorrel remembered That Day clearly. She was sitting in the jockey room, in a far corner, away from all of the other jockeys. She had already dressed out and was patiently waiting for her race of the day. She was clad in black riding boots, white pants, and a checkered ruby red and white jacket that she knew was going to be covered in dust and dirt by the end of the race. Her safety helmet, goggles, and crop were beside her on the bench she was sitting on. She already had her long brown hair done in a braid and then a tight bun so she could tuck it safely out of eyesight when the time came to race.

At first glances, she almost looked like she knew what she was doing.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. She did know what she was doing, she had been training, but the anxiety of racing was getting to her, as it always did. For example, she had woken up that morning mid-panic attack before her eyes even fully opened.

And she knew for a fact that jockeys that knew what they were doing wouldn’t have that happen to them.

It didn’t help that everyone else in the room was a man, meaning she was not only the youngest, but also the only girl. Now she really had to prove herself worthy of being equal to her male counterparts.

Hoping to distract herself from her festering anxiety, Sorrel had looked up to watch the big TV up on the far wall, where the hosts of the racing channel talked about the odds and favorites of the next race today. All That Jazz was the favorite going into the race, with another horse by the name of Knock Your Socks Off right after.

Names Sorrel didn’t recognize at all continued to pop up on the screen, until, finally…

All That Jazz

Knock Your Socks Off

Fly Me To The Moon

Too Close For Comfort

Killer Whale

When Lightning Strikes

Donut Tell Daddy

Rookie’s Gambling Chance

Dime-a-Dozen

Blazing Berry

“Would you look at that,” A biting voice cackled from the side. “Little girl actually made it in the top five.”

Sorrel whipped her head around to glare at the owner of the voice- a young man about nineteen with enough gel in his hair to start a fire. Sorrel did her best to just ignore him, busying herself with her boots instead, making sure they were fastened properly.

Harassment in the jockey room wasn’t uncommon for Sorrel- in fact, it was weird if she didn’t get picked on at least once. Her young age didn’t deter the men, either. If anything, it made them even more manic in their persecution of her. More…handsy.

Sorrel swallowed thickly and tried not to think about the Other Times. When nobody could see the handprints because of the dirt slathered up and down her sides. When she was accused of trying to slander her opponents because she “couldn’t handle losing.”

“Are you ignoring me?” The young man said. He sidled more into view, and Sorrel could see that his uniform was yellow and white. She turned her head away more, saying nothing.

She was sure the man was about to spew out even more misogyny when someone came into the room to tell the jockeys it was time for them to saddle up. The man, quick to straighten himself up, headed out for the place where all the horses were being held at the end of the walk. Sorrel glared at the back of his helmeted head, considering using her whip on him, finally standing up for herself, but couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Maybe if she had, she would have been disqualified, and then none of this would have happened in the first place.

They all heard loud voices of the fans as they made their way to the paddocks. As the horses and trainers lined up came into view, each jockey moved towards their respective mount. There, amid the rising dust, Sorrel saw her stallion shifting anxiously on his haunches, looking all around as the sounds grew louder and louder. Her trainer was doing his best to calm the colt.

Her horse was well named. After SeaWorld’s most famous orca, Tilikum, aka Killer Whale while on the track, was a massive beast with sleek roan fur and an ebony black head, legs, mane, and tail, as if he had crawled out of the very shadows themselves. His eyes were pitch dark and wild, and he never seemed to stop moving. He was an aloof, ill-tempered, cranky young colt, and nobody ever seemed to have any idea how his caretaker became the most shy, anxious, and socially awkward girl to possibly ever exist.

That girl was Sorrel.

She and Tilikum just had a connection! She had raised him herself, despite how agitated he always was, and never gave up on him no matter how many times he bit her, bucked her, scratched her, or knocked her down. He was her best friend! Not that the bar was very high, she didn’t have very many friends to begin with, but still! They were a dynamic duo!

“Come on, Sorrel,” Her trainer said impatiently. “Up you go. You have a race to win. We gotta pull in cash somehow.”

Sorrel nodded, put on her helmet and goggles, then grabbed the saddle and clambered onto Tilikum’s muscular back, which took a few tries because of how big he was and how much muscle she lacked. Surprised, the horse stumbled a little, pawing at the dirt with a front hoof. Then, he settled. Somewhat. He didn’t seem happy.

Tilikum hesitated. He shuffled back and forth. Under Sorrel’s thighs, his muscles tensed, and, for a moment, Sorrel feared he was going to throw her off (he had done that before. before a race like this. she had yet to get over that one). Then, he craned his head around, looking for something. Sorrel laughed softly and gave it to him- a sugar cube.

A watching jockey wrinkled his nose a little at this. Another bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“He shouldn’t be so fidgety when you get onto him,” Said the first jockey. He was sitting maturely on the back of his dark bay thoroughbred, probably thinking he knew everything about racing. “And you shouldn’t have to tempt him into listening to you with treats… Is he not trained?”

“He is trained!” Sorrel snapped, causing Tilikum to stir in agitation at the tone of her voice. She quieted herself, hunching her shoulders in, and muttered an apology to her mount. “Tilikum’s just…he has a temper. That’s all.”

The jockey quirked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything else. Sorrel looked away.

“Remember,” Her trainer spoke back up. “Let him make his own pace coming out of the gate. Don’t push him until the very end. And don’t listen to those PETA pussies. It’s okay to use your whip. It’s there for a reason. If he isn’t listening to you, give him a good lashing.”

Sorrel didn’t like the sound of that at all. As someone who had been subjected to the other end of a switch (she lived in the country, after all, it was bound to happen eventually), she knew how badly it could hurt and she didn’t want Tilikum to have to feel that. But still, she nodded, not wanting to anger her trainer. He already always looked frustrated with her as is.

“Good luck,” The trainer called after her as the horses were led out onto the track by escorts. “Don’t disappoint us this time.”

Passing that threshold, Sorrel realized she and her horse were no longer Sorrel and Tilikum.

They were Sorrel and Killer Whale.

Cheers erupted from the stands as the ten horses in the race were walked out onto the field. Sorrel had told herself to keep her eyes forward, to stay focused, but she found herself looking all around the track stadium to try and find the only people she wanted to see. It was hard to discern the mass of people, but she hoped they were here this time.

The escorts led the horses up to the starting gate as the announcer spoke loudly to the crowd, introducing the racers. One by one, each horse was walked into the stalls in order. Tilikum-- no, Killer Whale had no problem getting into his designated spot, number six, but once the door shut behind him loudly with a clank and squeal, that was when he began to act up.

Killer Whale began nervously neighing and backing up against the gate. Tilikum was starting to slip out of his race facade, which really wasn’t something Sorrel wanted to happen. Not during a race. Not again.

“Shh, shh,” Sorrel whispered, leaning down to speak into her horse’s ear. “It’s okay. It’s--” She cut herself off with a yelp as the chestnut stallion to her left rammed against the metal grating separating the two of them, startling Killer Whale further.

The clamor was starting to get to Sorrel, too. The stall was so small and it was so noisy from all the rattling iron and horse cries. She felt like she was suffocating and, without realizing it, she found herself becoming shortened of breath. All the dust was choking her. The smell of metal and horses burned in her nostrils.

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out…

“Holy shit, kid, are you alright?” The man to her left, the one with the chestnut stallion who hit into her grate (he apologized, at least) asked.

“She’s fine,” Said the young man to Sorrel’s right- the same young man who had harassed her in the jockey room. “Let her work herself up. Maybe then she’ll realize this isn’t for her.” He laughed cruelly.

His taunting words registered in Sorrel’s ringing ears and she grit her teeth, stamping down her panic attack. It just kept bubbling to the surface, so she finally gave up on calming herself and rather turned to her horse.

“Come on, boy,” She whispered, almost hissed through her clenched teeth as her anger mounted. “Calm down. It’s okay. I’m with you.”

Just when she thought she had Killer Whale settled, an ear piercing ringing sounded from above and the gates flew open.

The horses jetted from their stalls, and Killer Whale took off.

The sound of the hoofbeats was hypnotizing. And it only got more and more hypnotic the closer and closer Sorrel and Killer Whale inched towards the competition.

Sorrel leaned forward, keeping her balance with ease, her legs an iron band around Killer Whale’s girth. She could feel the powerful muscles bunching and releasing, the heat and sweat leaching through her pants, searing her skin.

The herd of professionals was galloping, yet Killer Whale ran just as fast. He twisted to the right, to the left, his body never straight. Sorrel felt like she was riding a wild, plunging river, a torrent that tossed her, battered her, until she hardly knew where she was.

It was incredible.

The first horse they passed was a deep red color, then a chocolate brown one, then one the shade of bloody mud.

“Easy, Tilly, easy,” Sorrel said to her horse. “You’re doing great, buddy. Steady on.”

Killer Whale snorted and urged himself forward without his rider’s command. Almost sensing his need to speed up, Sorrel obliged and finally lifted herself fully off of the saddle, leaning forward and adjusting her weight so it would be at the front. Practically standing up on this sprinting beast’s back made a strong sense of vertigo wash over her, and she thought she might fall off, but Killer Whale’s increasing speed brushed away her worries.

Sorrel’s grip may have been tight on the reins, but Killer Whale was controlling himself. He weaved through two horses almost perfectly, despite them never training with moving obstacles, only the occasional stock-still ones. He knew to angle to the right to avoid getting his legs tangled up in an opponent’s and banked a hard left at the next turn that was so sharp it cut off the rider in front of him.

They both crossed the finish line for the third time, starting the final lap. Sorrel was still shouting in glee when, suddenly, something slammed into Killer Whale’s side on the last leg of the race, ramming him right against the wall where one side of the stands were situated above. Sorrel yelped as her shoulder and side were grated painfully against the metal as her horse was pushed further against the structure. She turned to see the man from the jockey room glaring at her from his raging red horse, Knock Your Socks Off.

“You’ll learn one way or another, little girl!” The man spat, “This isn’t for you!”

Sorrel grunted and she heard Killer Whale screech a furious neigh. He whipped his head to the side, baring his teeth and rotating his ears back. His anger was a cold, deep, dark thing that Sorrel knew about well. He once kicked down a barn door just because he was pet in an area he didn’t want to be pet in. That being said, Sorrel has taken a lot of time to learn his mannerisms and techniques to calm the beast.

Now was not one of the times to use those.

“You don’t belong here!” The man hissed.

Sorrel grit her teeth, feeling the scrapes already tearing open on her shoulder thanks to the wall. Even over the sound of hoofbeats and horses, she could still hear her trainer’s words ringing in her ears.

“It’s okay to use your whip. It’s there for a reason.”

Sorry, buddy, Sorrel thought before yanking on the reins to get away from the man and unholstering her crop. The sound of it cracking against Killer Whale’s side echoed in her head.

That was her biggest mistake.

Killer Whale screeched. He sped up with a burst of speed, then began to have a fit.

Sorrel helplessly cried for her steed to calm down, but her yelling only seemed to spur his frenzy further. He whipped his head back and forth, turned in every direction, reared and bucked until, finally, Sorrel came loose from his back and was flung to the dirt.

Sorrel lay dazed on the ground for several long seconds. She was winded, confused, and very disorientated. She struggled to breathe as several other cries of horses sounded around her. They must have gotten spooked by Killer Whale’s tantrum.

And then, a hoof came crashing down onto her stomach.

Now, Sorrel had felt pain before, that in itself wasn’t anything new. Once, when she was ten, she had gotten stung by a hornet while at a birthday party for her younger cousin. At the time, she thought that was the worst pain anyone could ever go through. But now, five years later, with 1100 pounds of pure muscle pressing into her abdominal cavity, she would have much preferred the hornet.

Sorrel couldn’t scream. She couldn’t even wheeze as the horse that had stepped on her charged onwards, the edge of its hoof catching on her uniform and flesh and taking some of it with it. Another hoof came down on her, then another, then another, then another, until it felt like she was caught in a hurricane that had raindrops made of thick keratin. She tried to curl in on herself, tried to protect her organs, but they hooves kept coming and she couldn’t move and she was so fucking scared.

Through the dust and black spots that began to appear all along her vision, she saw Killer Whale, and his eyes were stark white and full of rage.

Pure rage.

She could see it now. That wasn’t Killer Whale looking back at her. It wasn’t even Tilikum. It was a horse she forced into racing because she wanted them to be a duo. And he hated her with every inch of his being.

I’m sorry, dear friend.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are up for the fifth race here at Hartford Stadium. Once again, Maxwell Gingham and the incredible All That Jazz bring up the front in a crowd favorite.

And they’re off!

With the gate up, Blazing Berry and Knock Your Socks Off tie for the front, but All That Jazz is not far behind. Donut Tell Daddy right there. Too Close For Comfort a length off the pace. Killer Whale is in front of When Lightning Strikes, but All That Jazz trails the leader by only three lengths. Blazing Berry leads by a head. Dime-a-Dozen hangs tight with jockey Richard Bride aboard. Rookie’s Gambling Chance is challenging the rest of the pack.

Into the next turn, Blazing Berry still controlling the pace, with All That Jazz close behind. Knock Your Socks Off content with third place at this point. Fly Me To The Moon falling off a bit. Donut Tell Daddy and Too Close For Comfort are in good position in the second group. Killer Whale mounting a challenge, but it could be too much. He’s making a bold move on the outside and looking for a way in around the bend-- Look out! Killer Whale’s rider goes down! Jockeys do their best to avoid a pile-up! All the horses go through, but the rider… Oh dear-- oh god! Stop the cameras! Stop! Someone get help down there! I don’t think she’s--”

Sorrel had not been looking forward to dying. Not one bit. There were still so many things she wanted to do. She was supposed to become the world’s best jockey, become famous, finally be loved by her parents… She wasn’t supposed to die, not this soon, not this early.

But she could safely say that she was looking forward to not being in pain anymore. Death, at least, would provide respite from the awful way she went out. She would no longer feel the crunching of her bones, the tearing of her flesh, the ripping of her organs, the spilling of her own blood, the pounding of the hooves of her enraged horse who wanted nothing more than to pummel her into the dirt. It would finally all be gone and she would be at peace.

But she wasn’t. Because when her eyes opened and she found herself lying on the track, sprawled in mud that was mixed with her own blood, she was met with the unbearable agony of invisible hooves smashing her organs and had to roll over to vomit blood all over the dirt.

For a long time, Sorrel cried until it felt like she couldn’t breathe- and then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Not really. But she could still feel pain and her lungs felt like they were being ripped right out of her chest, her rib cage crumpling inwards to pierce her heart and diaphragm. She gurgled on her blood.

It was dark. The track was dead. She was dead. The only people around were a few stragglers who must have worked at the stadium. She tried to get up to run to them, but she couldn’t stand up. When she looked down, she saw that her right femur was sticking out of her thigh. She threw up again, then settled for crawling.

“Help me,” Sorrel begged, dragging herself to a group of three people speaking in hushed whispers. “Please, please help me-- it hurts-- I want my mom--”

But her pleading went unnoticed. It wasn’t until her hand phased right through one of the men that she truly realized what had happened.

Sorrel curled into a ball again, weeping even more. The pain grew unbearable. She thought death was supposed to be peaceful.

The group left, eventually. The moon rose high in the sky. Its glow caught on something lying listlessly in the dirt of the track. Sorrel crawled over to it.

The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. That was what it said, and reading it made Sorrel feel even more sick. She forced herself to not throw up this time, though she could feel the blood slowly filling her lungs like a thick red tar.

Sorrel accidentally stained the dusty pages when she flipped through the book. Her gloves were coated in a fine layer of dust and blood. Her uniform was the same way, she realized, slathered in the muck of her own fluids and dirt from the track. Hoofprints trodded up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, marks to remember what had happened, though she was sure the trauma would never leave her brain, even after death. Her helmet was cracked down the middle, but still firmly strapped to her skull. It did its job, it seemed, because her head hurt the least amount out of every spot on her throbbing body.

She read through the book with cloudy eyes. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. She wanted to lay down and never wake up. She wanted the pain to go away. She wanted her mom.

Eventually, she managed to find a passage with directions to some place called the “Netherworld,” and she was in little room to question anything at that point, so she followed what it said.

She didn’t have any chalk to draw a door, so she had to settle for her own blood. She hobbled to one of the stadium walls, which took forever because her small intestines came out at one point and made her have a screaming fit for five minutes straight before she was able to stuff them back into her abdominal cavity and continue her journey. When she finally got there, she slicked her already-filthy hands with the blood from her many, MANY wounds (god, those horses did a number on her, didn’t they?) and sloppily drew a red door on the wall. She added a doorknob, which ended up being too large because she had slammed her hand down in the reaction to the pain of her small intestines trying to slither their way out of her again, then knocked three times while hugging her stomach with one arm, trying to keep her organs in where they belonged. Slowly, the door opened up to her and she was bathed in green light.

It did little to comfort her.

The myriad of dead people through the doorway did even less.

Sorrel spit blood, then let her guts fall out as she sank to her knees.

She was so tired.

It was official: Sorrel hated being dead. And it wasn’t simply because she was dead, no, she could have dealt with that if the afterlife was cool like it was in Coco or something, but this-- this fucking sucked.

She was lonely. Even though the Netherworld was built like a regular society- a society that glowed green and sheltered walking corpses, but a society nonetheless- there were no people for her. Nobody ever wanted to talk to her, no matter how hard she tried. And even though she was only a “few dead days old,” she was already thinking about giving up because how the hell were you supposed to make friends in hell? Surely that was what this place was. That was what she got for being born into a family that was above middle-class.

It was also just so confusing. Why was she in debt? Why did she need a job when she was fifteen and, you know, DEAD? Why was there an economic system in the underworld? What was all this paperwork for? WHO WAS BEETLEJUICE???

She couldn’t wrap her head around any of it. And that was saying a lot because her head was the only thing apart of her that was completely intact after The Accident.

She tried to get help, tried to ask questions, but everyone else looked at her in amusement or disdain whenever she did. It was the same way whenever she expressed any form of pain or didn’t understand something or let her organs fall out on accident. It was like they were expecting her to instantly know everything there was to know about being dead and if she didn’t, she was beneath them and wasn’t worth their time.

Funny. Her parents were the same way.

And then, there was the pain. It always came back to the pain.

Some days, she could deal with it, really. Some days it was only a dull pounding in her stomach or soreness in her chest. Some days it was only her legs, other days her shoulders, and other other days her sternum.

But some days, it was all over. And she couldn’t handle it.

This was how Those Days usually went: Her stomach began to throb and ache an hour after waking up. Joints and muscles started swelling two hours in. At three hours they’d go numb and heavy, forcing her to strain her body just to keep moving. Four hours in, feeling would return in the form of deep, slicing pain that lingered long into the day. After that, her bones would begin splintering, her organs would try to shove their way out of her, and her lungs start to hemorrhage.

The pressure and pain her death put on her very being was constant. Oh how she wanted to be rid of this deep-seeded agony that was not only tearing her body apart, but her second “life”, too.

The way the shock from each throb made her fingers start to go numb if she had a grip on just about anything for too long, and she didn’t even know if she would be able to speak when she opened her mouth. The way her spine, heavily trampled and damaged from the hooves, knotted up until it felt wooden. The way her guts sloshed in her stomach like soup on some days, leaking viscous fluid that wasn’t really blood out of any opening they could find, forcing her to hug her middle or be shamed with them spilling out of her already-soiled uniform. The way her limbs screamed when she flew with an agony that seemed to echo in her more than her joints at some point. The way she would lie in the bed of her lonely Netherworld apartment and try not to shriek along with every muscle in her body, the way her body didn’t even seem to belong to her anymore.

She ached when she was lying down.

She ached when she was standing.

She ached when she was doing her job.

She ached on days she did nothing and she ached on the day that Breather in black came by with her father.

She ached because she ached.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she sometimes found herself making a litany of her pain. A whisper of suffering that she tried to focus on so she wasn’t focused on the actual feeling. Anything but the feeling.

But if that wasn’t bad enough…

The fact that she had to constantly deal with what felt like physical torture day to day wasn’t enough of a burden for one person. She had also been burdened with being an eyesore and a disappointment, though that wasn’t really new. She could feel the scorn and disgust the other dead felt when they saw her. Sometimes, that was worse than the pain itself.

It was just discomfort. All the time. Even things like getting up in the “mornings” (she still had no idea how time worked down here) and sleeping couldn’t be taken for granted. There was nothing good about her body.

It rocked to a rhythm that felt like it was being conducted by her very soul, but it did nothing to ease the fire in her veins.

She wished it was fire. That was what she had thought it was, at first. A little while ago.

Fire burned, but not in the same way. Fire was detached, impersonal. It didn’t care what got in the way. It burned and charred and devoured everything in minutes and went on its way, leaving the scorched corpses in its wake. Fire was powerful and murderous but it wasn’t torturous- the man who had gone up in flames because he smoked in bed proved that to her because he seemed to be doing just fine. Sulfur on the other hand…well, falling into a burning pool of that stuff was a different beast entirely.

Sulfur clung in a way that fire did not. It wrapped its monstrous hands around you, drawing you in closer, exposing more of you to its touch until it framed each piece of you intimately, until it was every much a part of you as your skin was.

Fire would leave. Sulfur stayed.

It stayed even after your death. It made you burn until you lost yourself, until there was nothing left except the fiery red afterglow and the screams inside of your head. It branded you, so that you and the whole fucking Netherworld knew that you were being burned. Being roasted alive. Being cauterized, like an open wound. You were something that was wrong, something bad, something that needed to be fixed or punished.

Mama has the switch. Can she get me down here?

Sorrel would have much preferred fire.

The sulfur had burned her consciousness away, seared her eyes until all she saw was black spots. Filled her lungs until her chest felt like it was an open furnace. Blistered through her stomach and chest and legs and arms and back until they became a sick rendition of what they were supposed to be, like one big fucking cosmic joke. Sorrel was so sick of being the fucking punchline.

But, in the end, it didn’t really matter much one way or another because she suffered in silence. She strained herself to keep her body functioning so none of the other dead would get annoyed with her. She forced herself to go to work because she was a people-pleaser at heart and didn’t want to disappoint anyone. She tortured herself just to keep people who didn’t even care about her content, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not anymore. She was in too deep to do anything now.

This week had been especially brutal. The bruises stamped up and down the front of her body seemed to be at war with the cuts from the hooves, determined to see what could make her hurt more. Her lungs were bleeding extra today, too, and she kept accidentally spitting blood into people’s faces when she talked to them. She ended up spraying the wrong person, a woman with pale blue skin and deep purple brittle fingers and icicles hanging from her frosted hair (hypothermia, Sorrel guessed), because she was shoved backwards with enough force to send her careening into a desk in the office she had been bustling through. The edge of the table stabbed into her lower back, making her entire body tense up. When she tried to sidle to the side, a bloody apology dripping from her lips, her right femur suddenly snapped beneath her weight and she crumpled to the ground. Despite her training herself to not react to any pain she was in, she couldn’t bite back a scream this time.

There was a reason why broken femurs were so severe.

The hypothermic woman leered down at her squirming figure as if she were a worm she found nibbling on her corpse. “You’re a disgrace to the dead.” She spat.

Sorrel gurgled on her blood in response, digging her fingernails into the gash in her thigh where the bone was trying to inch its way out to freedom.

The hypothermic woman sneered in disgust. A cloud of freezing fog puffed out of her nostrils as if she were a terrifying ice dragon. Shaking her head in contempt, she wiped her face, then walked away, leaving Sorrel to reset her femur on her own.

Sorrel looked at the fallen stack of paperwork she had dropped in dismay. Juno wasn’t going to be happy with this one.

All things considered, Miss Argentina was quite lucky. Compared to the rest of the Dead, she had a rather simple, easy-to-deal-with death. Not to say that slashing open her own wrists with a razor blade wasn’t painful, but “living” with it in the Netherworld was like living with carpal tunnel syndrome- it was manageable.

Certainly more manageable than whatever the hell was going on with the horse girl in one of the offices.

Miss Argentina knew a lot of people. One of the perks of working in maintenance, she supposed. So she had seen this specific Dead before, quite a few times, actually, the most notable being when the goth Breather and her father stupidly decided to come down for a visit, but she never got around to talk to the child.

Until now, of course.

When the “work day” finally ended and Miss Argentina was leaving for her apartment, she heard it. The whimpering. It reminded her of something a sick puppy would make or maybe a kitten with an upset stomach. Whatever it was, it was distressing, but also very intriguing, so she followed it deeper into the building. Stepping into one of the offices that was rank with blood, she found where those papers she had been looking for were.

Slightly sticking out from behind a table, Miss Argentina saw the little jockey sprawled on the floor, a fresh staining of blood seeping into her already-bloodied horse racing uniform. She was twisted into an awkward position, similar to how the corpses in those crime shows she used to watch when she was alive would be in- face-down with her arms tucked into her and her legs folded inward and knees pointing sharply to the side. Inching closer, fuelled by morbid curiosity, Miss Argentina realized why she was in such an arrangement.

The femur was sticking out of her right thigh.

Miss Argentina couldn’t help grimace. When she was alive, she had a friend who broke his femur during a sports accident. He had to go to physical therapy to simply learn how to walk again. Death and the supernatural body, at the very least, saved this child from that, but the pain she had to have been in… No wonder she was lying on the floor.

Miss Argentina had heard about what happened to this little one. Trampled to death by horses. And she would admit that she got a laugh out of it at first, because what kind of death was that? But it quickly became less amusing when she saw the state the girl was in when she first showed up two weeks ago.

Hoofprints stomped all along the front of her body, uniform ripped and bloody, cuts and bruises all over, crunching bones when she moved and spilling organs that constantly tried to escape her abdominal cavity like restless snakes and gushing blood from her mouth. What made it worse was how little she was. A young jockey that died in the middle of a race. She couldn’t imagine what that had been like for her.

The jockey didn’t stir when she stepped towards her, and Miss Argentina rationalized that she must have fallen asleep. Or blacked out, which seemed way more likely because that exposed bone looked worse and worse the closer and closer she got.

She knelt down to the jockey and gently shook her shoulder.

“Honey?” Miss Argentina called out. “Wake up.”

The jockey gasped, sharply drawing in a useless breath of air, which quickly thickened with blood and came back out red. Miss Argentina grimaced and wondered if she should pat the girl’s back to help her get the gunk out of her throat (you were supposed to do that, right? or was it just a myth? she never thought to test it when she was alive), but thought against it when she saw the hoofprints on her back. She grimaced again. Did this child have any spot on her body that hadn’t been beaten mercilessly by horses?

The jockey eventually stopped leaking from her mouth and looked up at her dazedly, blood dripping from her chin in a dark waterfall of red. She squinted at her, then turned her head to the accumulating puddle beneath her head.

“Sorry about the floor,” She croaked, and her voice was hoarse, but high and youthful.

“It’s alright,” Miss Argentina assured her. “Are you okay?”

The jockey blinked at her slowly, as if confused as to why she was checking up on her. Miss Argentina could understand why, though. There was a reason she had told Lydia that everyone was alone in the Netherworld- nobody liked meddling in the affairs or business of others.

And yet, here she was.

“Yes…” The jockey said slowly, sounding unsure. She tried to sit up, but froze when she moved her legs and looked back at them nervously. She bit her lip when she saw the state of her femur, but didn’t say anything.

“Are you sure?” Miss Argentina asked.

“Yes,” The jockey said again, this time less unsure, but much meeker. She ducked her head to avoid Miss Argentina’s worried gaze and the rim of her helmet fell into her eyes.

Miss Argentina frowned. She watched as the jockey twisted around and managed to sit up, bracing herself against the table she had been laying beside. She pushed her femur back into her thigh with a horrible grinding-crunching sound and was very clearly struggling not to scream.

“Sorry,” The jockey whispered after a moment. Her hands were still resting on her thigh, and her gloves (Miss Argentina thought they may have been white at some point) were soaking up a new layer of filth as blood drooled agaisnt them.

“What for?” Miss Argentina tilted her head. “You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetheart. I promise you that.”

“Y-yeah, but--” The jockey sounded anxious, like she was afraid of being yelled at for simply expressing discomfort. “The Dead-- I don’t wanna be weak, but-- it hurts. Everything hurts. And I--” She caught herself. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Miss Argentina frowned. She reached out and lifted the jockey’s head with one hand. Using the other, she pushed her helmet back and saw that her eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel. There were tears gathering inside of them. The jockey stared up at her in shock, then leaned into her touch like a kitten seeking warmth from its mother.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Miss Argentina murmured to her. “It’s okay. You aren’t going to get in trouble for hurting. Everyone else are just uptight a--” She looked the jockey over, taking in how young she really was. “Jerks.”

That got a giggle out of the jockey, which quickly became wet with blood. She covered her mouth and swallowed, then pulled her hand away. Miss Argentina couldn’t imagine having to deal with a chronic bloody mouth.

“Okay,” The jockey whispered. She sniffled. “Sorry. I mean-- I apologize a lot. Sorry. Oh--”

Miss Argentina laughed. She felt endearment grow in her heart for this ragged, bloody child.

“It’s quite alright, honey,” Miss Argentina told her. She stood up and extended a hand down to the jockey. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

The jockey took her hand and was pulled to her feet. She staggered for a moment, then steadied herself, wincing slightly. “No, ma’am.”

Miss Argentina raised an eyebrow. “‘Ma’am’?” She echoed. “That’s new for me.”

The jockey blushed shyly. “Sorry. Raised to be well-manered and all…”

“No, no,” Miss Argentina was quick to assure her when she began to get nervous. “You’re a very sweet girl. It’s a nice change of pace from everything else. But you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

The jockey gave a light laugh. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. I was, like, bred to be the perfect, polite daughter.” She said. “But, ahh-- no. No, I don’t have anywhere to be. Usually I just sit in my bed after work and try to turn out the sound of screeching horses in my head.”

Miss Argentina blinked worriedly. “Why don’t you tag along with me? You look like you could use some good company.”

The jockey perked up. “Really?”

Miss Argentina smiled at her warmly. “Really.”

It could be a start to make the pain go away.

#i just. i love her so much #baby girl #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fic #the jockey #miss argentina #lydia deetz #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: abuse #bloodhorse

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hongism · 3 years ago

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hi caly boo its ur 🌊 anon! i finally finished the most brilliant darkness and oh my lawd i’m in spain without the s. to put it shortly: U DID NOT DISAPPOINT BESTIE, and it seems unreal that u and ur mind and this fic even exists bc every moment is just polished to perfection, while simultaneously every character is polished to a sort of imperfect perfection(?). i have so many questions and things to say idek where to start, and tho im not good with words and even worse at deciphering hidden meanings, here are just some of my thoughts that i remember from the story.

hello my dear!!! eee im gonna answer separately since i think i’ll be very long-winded as usual but first of all thank you so much :(( this fic is actually very full of subliminal messages and hidden nuances that are weaved throughout which i think could be quite confusing so i apologize for that! if i had managed my time better, i would have adjusted when i started the fic to account for managing those aspects of the fic but alas i’m terrible at time management and i suck so. anyways.

first of all, ngl halfway into the story i lowkey forgot this was a wooyoung fic bc SANNN and also bc wooyoung appeared like 3 times lol. even after it finishing all that, i still had my doubts as to why this is a wooyoung fic, or more like why is san this significant in a wooyoung fic. im still a bit slow on these pls forgive me and im just curious why u made it like that.

i think yeah the most interesting thing about this fic is the emphasis on san over wooyoung. and when looking over it yeah i could have switched san and wooyoung’s characters and called it a day, but wooyoung really in my mind acts as the integral turning point for decisions made in the story.

the goal with the fic wasn’t really to be hyperfocused on the pairing itself, but rather the emotions and thought processes of each character (aside from wooyoung). wooyoung was kept intentionally mysterious and a bit set apart from the rest of the fic because his role in story was moreso an abstract of hestia, the goddess of the hearth and home. wooyoung’s character appeared in times where y/n was struggling with the thought of home or adjusting to the new changes in her life! wooyoung’s pairing itself was actually intended to be solely platonic at first, but as the story went on i thought having mc develop feelings for him added another turning point in the fic!

moving on, the second biggest question i had is the whole hestia!wooyoung and cafe aurora situation. i did a bit of reading on hestia and only found out that she was the goddess of hearth, which might explain the fireplace and the kind of homey feeling to the cafe. and ‘cafe aurora not really existing to most’ part, which was already hinted at wooyoung randomly disappearing, mc never seeing the cafe before or wooyoung only bringing people he wants into it. i get that him inviting mc must suggest her significance to him, but why was he so adamant about his friends not mentioning him or the cafe to mc before that? wooyoung is quite a mysterious character i think, and given that this fic is supposed to be about him, it’s a bit odd that there’s still so many things left unknown, but its kinda cool that way nonetheless and im guessing u would also like to explain that further outside of the story too.

i think my biggest regret about this fic is the fucking summary.... i wrote that summary well before i even started writing the fic thinking it would go in that direction but it didn’t. and since this fic was for a collab, i left the summary as is because i genuinely cannot for the life of me figure out a better one. but i’m trying to figure out a better one. but i really fucking hate the current summary because it’s not at all what the fic is truly about and i hate it.

however, i don’t hate the fic itself, and the reason why i don’t is because i got to play with both my writing style and how i displayed the story. for this collab we were asked to pick a greek god and one of the seven deadly sins, and i selected hestia and sloth. and initially i had intended to have sloth be represented by the reader’s depression, and wooyoung be a more ‘real’ depiction of hestia. i shifted gears very early on in the fic but what it became is moreso abstract realizations in the characters.

san’s character is meant to be this idea of sloth, and it’s mentioned several times that he doesn’t want to move forward, he wants to go slow, he wants to stop moving so fast through life, and those things point to him being a depiction of sloth

wooyoung’s was harder to encapsulate in a more abstract way but you hit the nail on the head really with the homey feeling of the cafe. beyond that, mc talks about just naturally feeling at ease and comfortable with how things are with wooyoung and being around him, and he takes up this role of being the likeable, warm, cozy, comforting character. it all comes to a head in the last scene where he brings both y/n and san into the cafe.

and again wooyoung’s character is meant to be most mysterious and abstract, but if i had had more time to fully flesh out the fic, i think i would have liked to touch more on him. at the same time however i left it more open-ended and open to interpretation. the significance in him inviting mc in and not being mentioned by the others sooner is twofold. one; the others never really had any reason whatsoever to mention wooyoung. he was a friend outside the circle who never joined in with them when mc was around. i personally in my own friendships don’t mention friends outside the circle by name or anything, just kinda vaguely talking about them unless im certain the people know who this person is. the concept of wooyoung having to invite mc in was more nuanced and vague as well, intentionally so, but that was moreso meant to represent this idea of ‘you can’t make a home somewhere where you aren’t invited’ so y/n couldn’t fully make a home of the place she was in without being invited in and welcomed in, but again that’s something i wish i had more time to fully flesh out.

the hongjoong speech about love (and also the interaction with seonghwa after that) deserves a standing ovation of its own 👏 unfortunately, or not, im not actually going through the emotional turmoil regarding love the same way as hj or mc to be able to fully relate to his words, but the whole ‘if you dont love what u see in the mirror then u dont love it’ mentality really hit me hard, and i’d like to hang onto that when i make decisions in the future haha thank you wise caly! seonghwa and hongjoong’s story is also beautiful, and just like mc said, the more i look at it the more it hurts :’)

the hongjoong speech about love was meant to be something very jaded and specific to his worldview. it actually isn’t wholly how i view love personally, but it was a perfect description to how both he and y/n perceived the love in their own lives. mostly thanks to their own emotional turmoils. the mentality of the mirror quote is something that i think i also struggle with, which is why i included it. it’s hard to do, but even in friendships, i think it’s necessarily to stop and look at the person you were before this relationship and then the person during this relationship. if you don’t love the one you are now, then maybe it’s a sign to reflect and see the bigger picture, so that was a lil reminder to myself and i’m glad it touched you as well!!!

“do you love him, or do you love the idea of being in love with him?” - haha i see what u did there (or maybe i didnt please dont laugh at me if i didnt). its still so good everytime i see it bc i keep finding myself loving just the idea of things time and time again even when this makes total sense to me oof :/

heh yeah again with the more abstract concepts this one was more direct and ‘cliche’ but i fully wanted that cliche in the fic because i thought it suited the situation where mc was constantly struggling with a version of san that she thought she loved vs the version of san she got every time they were together

despite how enlightened she seems to be, mc still made the same choices, and i wanna smack her for it and pat her back at the same time. and maybe also bc of the fact that she feels so differently for the two men that i feel like no ending could really justify her decision, so ending in the vague is probably the best. your ending might kind of allude to someone more than the other already, and tho i still don’t think he’s the best one for her based on just my pov on love, i kinda agree with you. but again, this raises the question of, why a wooyoung fic and not a san fic?

and yeah the whole knife in the chest at the end of it all is that she was still too scared to face the music so to speak. but really i would say she made the same choices up until the conversation on the balcony with san. and you’re absolutely right, the reason i chose the ending the way i did was because either way, there’s no justification. and actually although it might seems like i was alluding to someone specific, san being in the cafe at the very end was moreso to represent that as much as they fought, he still very much loved her and wanted to be loved by her. it was kinda an open casket ending there were no nails in the coffin, the choice between wooyoung and san still stands and an argument could be made for either of them! i think this is a fic that i could see myself revisiting one day with two endings - one for san, and one for wooyoung.

something i didn’t mention earlier about wooyoung’s character being left intentionally mysterious was that he was representing a new and budding love. the honeymoon phase where you’re falling for someone you don’t even really know. you are the reader aren’t meant to really know who wooyoung is because of that beyond what you read about him, so his past and such was left out intentionally to represent that idea of ‘hey wow im in love with a stranger!’ whereas san was this gritty love that’s bad for you. and there are pros and cons to each just as with anything!!

so,,,, why a wooyoung fic and not a san fic? well i picked wooyoung for my collab so he was one of the main focuses of the fic regardless of which direction i took with it. as for why wooyoung wasn’t more forward, i already answered that but !!! i view it as both a wooyoung fic and a san fic. both are highlighted characters with main pairing roles!

i literally just woke up to write this and am going back to sleep ahaha so i apologize if this makes no sense. i somehow felt like i’ve read so much yet so little at the same time, maybe bc there are still so many things i havent fully made sense of, and that’s where i hope you come in and enlighten me. i still stand by my word that this fic deserves so much more recognition despite the lack of explicit smut bc of how much more you’ve explored through character building. love you caly and thank u for working so hard <3 — 🌊

no worries my beloved i hope you go back to sleep and get lots and lots of rest!! and i hope my response helps enlighten the not so clear things as well dgjdklfg but really thank you so much. it was a long fic and hard to get through at times, but as a whole, i’m proud of it and what i created, so thank you for recognizing my efforts and appreciating them 🥺

#🌊 anon #fic; the most brilliant darkness

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Sleeping In The Hallway (Biadore) - Whiskey Neat

A/N: I’m back sooner than expected! I’m really trying to fill the list of like 30 prompts I’ve made for myself but I’ve been running quite low on motivation lately. I can’t promise my next fic will be out soon but I’ll always be around. Hope you enjoy this one!

Summary: Adore is drunk and Bianca is mad at her.

TW: vomit (nothing graphic)

Adore was in the middle of downing shots at the bar when her phone vibrated in her pocket. After messily reaching for it, the device slipped though her fingers, tumbling down to the floor.

“God I wish Bianca was here to pick this up for me” Adore thought as she stumbled off the stool and crouched down, feeling around on the sticky floor for her phone. “Where is Bianca anywa- oh fuck.” Adore panicked, as she picked up her phone and saw a text from Bianca on the screen.

Willow: Guess you’re not coming back tonight. Hope you had fun with all your FRIENDS!*insert alcoholic drink emojis*

“Bianf Im so sorey i come baxk noe” Adore typed out in a rush, slamming some random bills down on the counter before stumbling toward the exit of the bar.

On the short walk back to the hotel, Adore had time to put her thoughts together, as together as her drunken brain would let her, that is. How could she have lost track of time like this? She was supposed to meet Bianca back at their shared hotel room at midnight so they could spend some quality time together before they would have to part ways tomorrow. She checked her phone again. It was currently 2am. Another text from Bianca simply reading “Don’t bother.” also showed on the screen.

She really fucked up. Not only had she missed out on quality Bianca time, but once she reached the door of their room the realization hit her that she had also forgotten her room key.

After trying the handle, only to find it locked, Adore knocked a few times and waited. To her dismay, she was met with silence.

She tried knocking again to no avail.

“B?” She whispered, leaning against the door. “Can you let me in? I lost m’key.”

No response. By now, Adore was growing frustrated. Bianca had texted her less than 10 minutes before and she knew the older queen never fell asleep this fast, which could only mean one thing…she was ignoring her.

That assumption was very correct. Bianca was indeed still awake, listening to every word from where she was laying comfortably in their hotel bed. Was she being immature for not letting the younger queen in? Probably. But was she going to open the door for her at any point tonight? Absolutely not. If Adore wanted to be irresponsible and spend her night drinking instead of following through on their plans, then she could find her own place to sleep.

“I know you’re not fucking sleeping! Open the door!” Adore whisper-yelled, a bit too loudly. The alcohol in her system was quickly excelling her frustration to a level she didn’t know how to contain.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now!?” Adore continued, resorting to kicking the door with the toe of her sparkly doc marten boot.

After being met with more silence, angry tears started welling in her eyes.

“C’mon Bianca! This is my room too! You can’t just leave me out here!” Adore whined, voice breaking.

Silence.

“Don’t do this to me…” she sobbed, falling to her knees as her drunken state wouldn’t allow her to stand anymore.

After being met with silence yet again, Adore shifted to curl up on her side on the dirty hotel carpet, continuing to sob loudly.

A short while later, a familiar presence entered the hallway.

“Adore? What’s happened?” The Australian accent asked with worry.

Adore removed her hands from her mascara-streaked face and looked up to see Courtney kneeling in front of her.

“Bianca hates me!” she cried, sitting up and throwing her arms around Courtney.

“I’m sure that’s not true Adorm, why do you think that?” The blonde asked, rubbing her back.

“C-Cause she’s mad at me and she won’t let me in and I’m a fuck up and-and-“ Adore explained, working herself up into hysterics again.

“Hey, it’s okay….breathe….breathe…” Courtney coaxed, guiding the dark haired queen through some deep breaths.

“How bout you stay in my room tonight and we can deal with Bianca tomorrow, okay?” The Aussie offered, helping Adore stand up.

Adore nodded and wiped her nose, allowing Courtney to basically carry her down the hall to her room.

Once in the room, Courtney guided Adore to bed. After downing a bottle of water, Adore had passed out, leaving Courtney awake to send one simple text to Bianca.

“You’re babysitting this hangover in the morning. Not me.” She sent, attaching a picture of the sleeping queen next to her. With that, Courtney switched off the lamp and went to sleep.

*the next morning*

Adore could feel the nausea coming on before she was fully awake. She rolled over and groaned, trying to ignore it, fearing that her head might actually explode if she had to open her eyes to make a run for the bathroom.

She managed to drift off for about 5 more minutes before her stomach lurched dangerously and she absolutely HAD to get up and make that dreaded run for the bathroom.

Halfway through vomiting up all the alcohol she had consumed the night before, she felt a hand brushing her hair back and holding it out of her face.

When she was finished, Adore whimpered miserably, resting her forehead on the cool porcelain bowl, feeling awful and gross.

“You’re okay…” Said a gravely voice from behind her.

The voice didn’t belong to Courtney like she had expected. Instead she turned to see that it was Bianca who had been holding her hair back. Adore froze and fought back the urge to vomit again as the memory of last nights events came back to her.

“What are you doing here?” Adore croaked, feeling slightly embarrassed of how rough her voice sounded.

“Courtney told me you were here.”

“Yeah, but like what are you doing…here?” Adore asked, motioning to where they were seated on the bathroom floor.

“Helping you?” Bianca stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Thought you were mad at me…” Adore said, turning back towards the toilet as another wave of nausea came over her.

“Mad? No. Disappointed? Very.” Bianca replied, pulling Adore’s hair back once again.

“M’sorry….” Adore mumbled when she was finished.

“I just wanted to spend time with you. We’re not gonna see each other for what, 2 months after this?” Bianca admitted, handing Adore a bit of toilet paper to wipe her face with. “So when you stayed out to drink, something you can do on any other night, it was just really disappointing since we already had plans, you know?”

“I know…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I really did plan on coming back but then I lost track of time and-“ Adore cut herself off to clear her dry throat. “Can you get me some water please?” She asked with a pout.

Without a word, Bianca exited the bathroom and returned moments later with a bottle of water.

“Thanks” Adore told her, chugging half of it before continuing. “I lost track of time, and I know that’s a shitty excuse but I’d never do that to you on purpose. I’ve been trying to not drink so much lately but last night was just….yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Mistakes happen, I get it.” Bianca said, pulling Adore in against her side for a hug. Adore rested her head on the older queens shoulder and they sat like that for a bit.

“I can’t believe you were gonna make me sleep in the fucking hallway” Adore half-joked a few minutes later.

“I can.” Bianca deadpanned, holding back a laugh. The situation suddenly becoming funny now that everything was okay between them. “Now can we get off this floor? Courtney and I brought breakfast.”

“Only if you let me borrow your key so I can go brush my teeth.” Adore said with a smirk.

Bianca handed said item over to Adore. “You better not lose it. Otherwise we’ll both be sleeping in the hallway.”

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #bianca del rio #courtney act #biadore #angst #fluff #whiskey neat #tw vomit #submission #canon compliant

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p1nkwitch · 4 years ago

Note

I have plenty of questions about your fanfics I don't even know when to start. Can I just name every one of them and send you star with it?

But please tell me something interesting funfact behind Heart Machinations? Also were you at some point considering bad/different ending?

i think i would never finish writing if you did send me all of them even with the star, i ramble a lot and go on tangents, but if you send them like 3 fics per day i can make it i promise.

Ok to start! Nope! This was the story where i literally envisioned the ending first and had to go backwards to write it. The ending was solid.

But for fun facts!! Oh boy.

This entire story begun with the idea of a one shot, with a slight different plot, it would have ended with Peter as an old man uploading his mind like he promised Elias in the fic and coming back as an Ai, to stay with Elias for as long as they could. I ended up switching things arounf in my head until i ended up with the image.

The thing that started this entire fic.

Peter floating in space with Elias declaring his love.

I was forced by the entire story to find ways to keep them from confessing earlier than intended. God did i regret having to put it so later, because the mental flips i needed to justify them not realizing, were driving me up to a wall.

Another thing that i was not aiming for, but ended up liking was the TimPeter, i didnt aim for it to be a plot point, i didnt even ship them, but i wrote them so well i actually hesitated. Not to the Elias romance with Peter that was a given, but i hesitated to actually make a policule out of everyone.

In the end i decided to go for my original plan, but it had been a posibility.

Most of the relationships surged as the soty progressed, because i realized if it was only them it would get boring so i started to shuffle characters and relationships and it worked far better than i intended.

Now the other interesting tidbit.

Was that originally i was intending for Elias to be the actual big bad, a la Glados in portal. Elias tricks Tim and Peter into thinking Jon went rouge and he got Leitner killed so Peter connects him, Elias pretends things are normal but sends him off to rrepair something outside, once Peter is safe he uses the gas to kill everyone who is not going to be sent to do experiments in the hidden labs.

Martin opens the door for Peter makes him help by trying Elias like the original one did to get himshut down. He realizes and hurt tries to attack him, Martin uses the portal door and Peter still tries to hold unto Elias, but they ended up slipping and going into space.

The Simon plot point was always going to be there, same as the oxygen and confession.They apologize and everything.

In fact Peter was never supposed to realize Elias was killing people until he takes over. I realized it would be impossible to keep him in the dark for so long along with the not confessing so i had to give one up for the story and i was set on my ways.

The more i developed them, the more i started to change the plot to fit better with the new narrative wanting it to be more satisfiying.

Something else that i changed in the story, was that after Leitner dies, Gertrude was supposed to come to check the station, Elias sees her and gets her killed. It did not pan out of course, because i considered it would be too out of nowhere.

When i realize the story was sort of getting shifted i went with the idea to switch the notSasha on its head. Which created lovely Pasha!! Whom i love a lot.

Another thing that i had to develop because i grew very fond of it were Missy and Titania. Particularly Missy, since Titania was a stand in for the vast in some ways. Missy was needed to provide Peter some form of love, since yes, i made the Lukas terrible people, but a child still needs some love to grow and i wanted someone to help with that since Simon couldnt. I love her a lot and honestly wish i could use her in more stories because she is a great character. I know people dont really are in it for the original characters but she is dear to me.

The honest to god most fun i had during the story was writting the chats between the characters and the moments where Elias and Peter where being horny for each other. Peter freaking out silently about the things Elias said, while Elias was being the most horny creature in the station was delightful.

My favourite parts were also writing Elias realizing that he ruined Peter, that he had caused his misery, i wish i could have gone harder on those. Because they are a great part of his motivations. He starst not caring but the more he falls in love, the more he realizes how much of a horrible person he is and how much he is hurting Peter. I love that, i put it before but i like making characters go though bad stuff to get them to the good, to get that catharsis after all the bad.

I wanted to do a bonus. Where Peter does go to Simon’s funeral and everyone has to sit there while Android Simon was just chilling giving his own eulogy.

One thing i sort of chikened out of, but left crumbs around was the plot point that ogElias and Micheal Shelley were dating. Thats why Elias had the picture and writings about him. They split due to Gertrude and Elias defending JON4H. Its why Elias could keep Helen so easily to raise her. She calls him uncle, because they had broken up and he felt he didnt deserve to take that from Micheal.

Currently they made up and since Elias was single they are patching things up, Helen was thrilled.

This is also the story where the cats appear. And im so glad for it.

Captain was an idea based on the au of another fic i love Timeline of Theseus, i just pictured Peter getting the cat and voila. (No, there is no cat in there, but it would had been so funny) They were foils, Elias has a lonely cat and Peter a beholding one. They fall in love. I like that.

Thats all i can remember now. Nikola was always also a plot point, i mean who else would make androids but the puppet herself! Since ideally i intended for Elias to get a body, it was supposed to happen.

I went off, but i really did have a lot of ideas and scrapped ones that i figured no one would see. Im happy i could just leave them out to the world!!

So yes ask away, but as you can see, i sort of go off. Thanks for asking!!!! I hope its what you wanted. Sorry if it goes all over the place.

#ask #i went off im sorry #but seriously i had to scrap so many ideas #and adjust them later

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lipstickbisous · 4 years ago

Text

the rei brown series (2/3)

OUR LOVE REMAINS.

notes: here’s the second part!! one more after this haha. not much of a plot to these just meant to put you in your feels. butttttt, i did write this from the experience my mom had in the icu when she was a nurse.

this one is your p.o.v. and is a little bit longer but not much

i DID NOT KNOW if anyone would get offended by “latino” or “hispanic” so i used both im sorry.

LISTEN for better understanding.

also u guys REALLY LIKED the din fic so i guess...more of those?

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: while rethinking all of the choices you’ve made in your life, memories of a certain person begin to flood in.

warnings: MORE ANGST ahahaha, childhood nostalgia, fluff ending

word count: 3.3k (these are not long chapters)

masterlist

you weren’t sure what time it was (you knew it wasn’t too late) and you hadn’t bothered to check as you stumbled through your doorway, one arm holding grocery bags and the other, your purse and papers from work. your hair had been stuck in the ponytail you threw it up in since the morning, but now, it was pulling at your scalp and giving you a headache.

managing to balance on one foot, you flipped the light switch in your entryway and watched as the first floor of your house illuminated in the night. the tiny dog you’d adopted a few months ago came padding out on the wood floors from the dining room, his tongue stuck out with loud pants to relieve himself of the texas summer heat.

with a small “hey, bub,” to your pet, you placed the groceries on the kitchen counter and slipped off your clogs, throwing them at the bottom of your stairs so that you could be reminded to take them to your room when you went upstairs. for now, you reached into the glass cabinet and grasped a dark bottle of wine. the label read a fancy word in french, but growing up in kingsville, you’d never bothered to learn the language of love. you grew up in that rich latino and hispanic culture.

this house had memories threatening to let it crumble, you knew that, but even after your parents had moved into a smaller apartment due to medical reasons and the fact that they couldn’t afford the house, you couldn’t bring yourself to move out of this town and just ditch them there--now the house was in your name. you didn’t know why it was so hard to leave--you’d been able to leave for university, but when you came back the summer after you’d graduated, something stuck. now, it had been twenty years and you had made no attempts to even leave kingsville.

you popped the cork of the wine bottle open and instantly met that musky historic smell of the red alcohol. you had seven wine glasses in your cupboards, but you never had any friends over. you might occasionally invite a few girls you knew in high school, but if you were to hang out with people, it would be at a bar on friday and saturday nights. you watched as the wine splashed around the glass and when it was filled to your satisfaction, you pushed the cork back into its place and left the bottle on the counter.

as you made your way into the living room and collapsed on the couch, the little dog you called yours jumped up onto the high furniture the best he could due to his tiny legs. you searched your couch for the remote, pulling over the cushions and pillows before finding it buried under the arm. you switched the tv on and and flipped through the channels before settling on fifty-one. your dog curled up next to your lap and closed his eyes to sleep.

you didn’t for what you were sure was the next two hours. the movie that had been playing before ended the beginning of a new one had started until you realized your glass was empty and dry and your eyelids were getting heavier. you leaned your head back before rethinking how the day had gone. you’d shown up to the hospital for work at the crack of dawn and spent the next twelve hours wheeling around patients, taking diagnostics, and carrying their dirty dishes.

it definitely had not been the job you imagined when you were ten. you’d played doctor with your stuffed animals and plushes before but in those scenarios, the patients had been obedient in kind. unfortunately, fate had not been so kind and, while sitting in front of the television with an empty wine glass in your hand, your fingers grazing over the sore spot on your wrist. it was sure to be bruised, the one on your calf had turned purple and yellow in the past few days. you hissed when you applied just a bit too much pressure.

i spent four years at a college i hated to have this. you’d put it all on the line to have this job. you thought that by being a nurse in the fucking icu, you’d be saving people everyday. instead, you were groped, spat out, and ignored by everyone there. you deserved a glass of wine every night.

you knew that this was not healthy at all and that you were intoxicating yourself with far too much alcohol but the way your back ached, your calf bruised, and your head pounded drowned out whatever warnings your brain sent you.

suddenly, you managed to catch sight of the atomic clock sitting on your kitchen counter. bright crimson letters read “1:30 am.”, and with a far too heavy sigh that awoke the small dog next to you, you set the glass on your coffee table (you’d grab it in the morning when you weren’t so sad) and flipped the tv off before sauntering up the stairs. even at your age, you had still been terrified of the dark--you could barely walk down to your basement without a flashlight and by yourself--but you found that you were perfectly fine walking in the pitch-black of your upstairs hallway. your dog was quick to follow behind you, jumping onto your bed and waiting for you as you emotionlessly entered your bathroom and looked at your reflection.

who the fuck were you? how much time had passed and yet here you were, in your fucking childhood home all alone? you’d found love with many men over the years, but you hadn’t expected them to last--and they hadn’t. what had you done? had you left some sort of imprint in the world at all? you were never one for kids, everyone you knew was well aware of that, but how were you supposed to live on even when you were dead? in reality, abandonment and loneliness was your worst fear along with--

oh god, you thought in a shriveled voice. you’re gonna be forgotten.

one part that hurt the most was the news. you’d gotten better at keeping up to date with pop culture and politics, and the pablo escobar situation had you worried for one reason and one reason only--javier peña. you’d seen him on the news, the DEA agent who had made it his responsibility and top priority to catch the famous drug lord. it was nice to see that he had gotten somewhere while the only time you’d ever really traveled was to paris for a christmas and then LA to see an old friend who you didn’t even talk to anymore.

this was your life now. mindlessly wandering around your house after work, eating microwaved leftovers and carry-out from the diner.

god, that diner. it had been one of your favorite locations in the shitty town you called home--had been. the first time you went, you were suspicious due to the fact that the actual building was a different restaurant owned by a criminal before it was a diner, but javier had practically begged you to have a late dinner with him after an afternoon spent skipping your last few periods and driving around the outskirts of town in his truck. the wind had been blowing through your hair and you hung your head out of his window, letting your arms wave around, and you could’ve sworn you had felt him looking at you.

that was the moment you were in love with javier peña.

you knew that you had been lying to yourself up until that moment because since the first day you met javier when driving past their ranch and stopping to look at the horses, you’d been in love. you couldn’t even think about how many days were spent writing poetry about him that now seemed stupid and childish. you’d told yourself it was an outlet for your feelings, but you had really written it because you were too much of a bitch to come out and tell javi. maybe that hadn’t been your fault--you’d witnessed, first hand, javier rejecting a girl in sixth grade. you watched her nod and tell him “oh, that’s okay” but then run away into the bathrooms. javier had continued on to tell you about a new foal on their farm.

you remembered the horses. you missed them too. if it hadn’t been them roaming about in the pastures, or the great stallion that caught your attention while on that family car ride, you would’ve never met javier. you weren’t sure if he judged you for it or not, but every time chucho needed help around the farm, and javier was too much of a brat and a teenager to do it, you had gladly offered. so, chucho peña had put you in charge of the foals. there was one in particular, a small one with a white coat, that had piqued your interest. there was a day, one in the middle of the summer if you could remember correctly, where you and javi had just run out to the fields while the rest of the horses stayed in their stables. javi had been excited since his father had gifted him with a new camera, and he had spent all day taking pictures of--and to this day, you still didn’t notice it--only you.

while brushing your teeth, carefully placing a small dot of paste on your toothbrush, you began to scrub in small circles. how long had it been since you and javi had last talked? even then, it had barely been a conversation. a simple exchanged of very few words, a goodbye that went misheard, and that was it. when you had called his home phone the next morning, instead of javi replying like he always did, it had been chucho’s voice instead, muffling an annoyed “hello?” but when he heard the exhaustion and lightness of your voice, he carefully explained that javi had already left.

you hadn’t felt heartbroken--not at first. in fact, there was barely any sadness in that tired head and upset stomach. you were infuriated. how could he? how dare he? he had been such a coward that he couldn’t even say goodbye and it angered you more than you thought it ever would--not that you had ever thought about javier leaving before because he said he wouldn’t even consider it. and now, he had left you alone your fucked up hometown that you’d always told him you hated so much. then, about three days alone without javier (which was something you weren’t used to) you’d realized that there was a large possibility this could’ve been your fault.

had you been a bad friend recent to his leaving? yes, you had been acting distant, but it was due to normal events, such as school and...the fact that you were hopelessly in love with him. it had been harder to talk with senior year ending and college coming up, but you hadn’t never thought he could just turn himself away like that. never.

and not once had javi tried to contact you. he, of course, knew your number by heart, but after all these years, he’d probably had hundreds of girls phone numbers--in fact, you were sure that if hadn’t been a DEA agent hooked with the most dangerous man on the earth, you would’ve expected him to be married already. you had gone to the wedding. you’d seen how the church was decorated, how each and every guest wore plastered smiles--just the idea of seeing javi made you giddy and you’d worn your best dress you could find. even after returning from university, javier didn’t visit or call. you also remembered hearing lorraine sobbing when her groom didn’t show.

javier was not the type of person to stand someone up. you didn’t know what he was like now, but as teenagers, if he ever had a date (which wasn’t often because even if you didn’t know it, he was hopelessly in love with you) he would arrive five minutes early.

the one time javi did have a date, you stayed home and watched one of his favorite movies while crying. you hated to admit that the next day, when he admitted to you he didn’t like the girl that much, you were excited.

suddenly, you remembered how this was completely your fault. you had always blamed javier for never calling or writing, but then you realized that you had never made the attempt either.

“fuckin’ hell,” you whispered and washed off your toothbrush. as a nurse, you didn’t normally cake yourself with makeup, but you did wear the average concealer, mascara, and lipstick or gloss. you took one look at your reflection and noticed that your mascara was currently running. when did i cry? you asked yourself and exited the bathroom, not bothering to remove your makeup.

your room was next door and when you walked inside, your dog was patiently waiting next to your nightstand and- god, did i leave the fucking light on again? you felt like slapping yourself until your head was straight because it wasn’t right to think about someone you haven’t seen in twenty years.

you slipped off your pants, leaving you in expensive panties you’d gotten for no reason at all. you threw off your scrubs, discarding them onto the floor with a light air sound and replacing your shirt with a tank-top. your bed had been so perfectly made that it almost annoyed you. you threw yourself onto your bed and began to rub your eyes. it wouldn’t matter if you messed up the mascara because there was nothing to mess up.

hoping the sleep would rid you of the horrible thoughts, you flipped the lamp next to your bed off and pressed a pillow to your cheek. the small dog at your feet curled up rested his eyes. you did the same.

it would’ve been physically best for your health if you had gone at least six hours of sleeping without any interruption, but one moment in the night, the phone on your nightstand began to blare its ringtone. your eyes shot open and began to burn slightly from a sudden awakening. the sound had scared your dog, who jumped to the ground in protection of whatever the source was until he realized it was the telephone. you groaned with heavy eyelids and looked to the clock. two-twenty five am. as soon as you went to answer the call, it went to dial tone.

more frustrated than before because you really just wanted to sleep, you groaned and flung yourself back into bed. of course, now you were awake.

but then, the phone began to ring again. it had seemed louder this time and your dog barked in the most un-intimidating way possible before you threw a pillow at the spot next to him to get him quiet. you held the phone close to your ear and spoke a tired, “hello?” the line was silent and at first, you were terrified because you could’ve sworn you heard someone breathing. another one of these. “hello?”

part of this was exciting to you. while it was extremely frustrating to be awoken a few hours before you normally rose to get ready for work, your mind was racing during the silent pause between you and this stranger. who could it be? perhaps it was chucho telling you that javier could be coming home, but you cursed yourself for thinking of that man and dismissed the idea. maybe it was your mom calling to tell you how your father had gotten better and, for now at least, the cancer was gone.

“(y/n)?”

―

while the reason behind it remained unclear, you had always loved airports. the cleaning-product smell, the diverse people, the small restaurants, even the feeling of the carpet--or the feeling of that when in an airport, you were going somewhere.

it had always been about going somewhere. javier knew this since fifth grade, that you had always wanted to just leave kingsville, texas. maybe you would move to new york, or philadelphia, or even go to london and paris. they had been silly daydreams due to reading too many of your mother’s travel books, but paris had always looked so nice. maybe even visit mexico--you’d already been well immersed in the culture.

but that wasn’t why you were here. you were here for something that was long overdue.

after the phone call that night, you javier had made sure to call each other every other day at ten o’clock pm. there had been some days where you had to stay late at the hospital or javi was chasing sicarios and didn’t get home until midnight--those nights, you would either fall asleep or just call the next day, but you both had made a good schedule. it definitely hadn’t been the same as when you were teenagers, and you didn’t expect it to be. his voice was much deeper and raspier (you knew it was because of the cigarettes, you could practically smell them through the phone) and his voice wasn’t as...lively anymore. you felt that you couldn’t say much, though, because the years had been rough to you as well.

he had told you everything. your thoughts on how he was living was wrong--he told you of the countless informants and prostitutes, how the colombian sun was definitely hotter than the texan sun and even to him it had made a difference. when you both had too much to drink and were passing back funny stories, his was that he had grown a mustache. you had laughed at that one because if you could imagine the clean-shaved, teenage boy that javier once was with a mustache, it was a hilarious thought.

all-in-all, it had still been painful to talk to someone you knew so well like they were a stranger. at first, you had asked yourself if he’d changed but you caught yourself in the stupid thought. of course, he had changed. it had been twenty fucking years and even you had noticed the faint lines starting to appear around your face.

it had taken almost half a year of phone calls, missed and attended, happy and sad to be where you were now.

the airport bustling had also been one of your favorite things too. the countless and various voices all coming together to make a white noise that was so distinct.

you were standing near the entrance, watching as families reunited, lovers embraced, and yet you stood alone. it had been over ten minutes since when javier was supposed to show. if you were being honest with yourself, what did you expect? he would just appear out of thin air in the middle of a crowd? you hoped the flight from bogotá had been peaceful and well. there hadn’t been any storms passing by, baggage loading problems, or anything that could possibly delay the plane, so there was no reason for javier not to be there.

unless...you began to think and it had been too late to stop yourself from completing the thought. maybe he just didn’t want to.

like when he rejected that girl in sixth grade. like when he left you alone in kingsville. like when abandoned his bride at their own fucking wedding.

suddenly, you felt angry. your blood was boiling, your hands felt hot, the hair on your neck became irritating, and the winter heat of texas began to scorch, even in air conditioning. you ran a hand down your face, feeling two beads of sweat trickle down a path to your chin. your foot, which had been tapping for the past now fifteen minutes turned on its heel as you made your way to the glass doors.

your car was just outside. you wouldn’t even have to walk that far, and then you could drive home, cry yourself to sleep, and call javier about this some other time.

“(y/n)!”

tags: @pascalisthepunkest @javierpenaspinkshirt @gummiishark @cyarikaaa @larakasser @pedropasscals @honeyedspace @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 5 years ago

Note

hey! thank you for everything that you do! you are awesome. im just wondering if you any fic were Stiles is fae? thank you!

We sure do. - Anastasia

till the moon has taken flight (to the waters and the wild) by WindyRein

(5/10 I 1,426 I Not Rated I Steter)

It's not fair! But he knows already that life isn't fair, doesn't he? He can feel the bitter smile curling his lips.He, if there is such a thing anymore, floats and is torn apart and doesn't exist. (but that would be kind, wouldn't it?)

Bloody Secrets by cywscross

(1/1 I 3,085 I Teen I Steter)

Stiles has silver in his veins.

Peter could’ve done without finding out this way though.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 3,352 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Dance Under the Moonlight by Therapeutic_Steter

(2/2 I 3,440 I Mature I Steter)

Fae!Stiles saving Peter from Pack's stupidity and washing his hands of them. Please?

The Other Side by Green

(1/1 I 3,769 I Explicit I Steter)

Stiles doesn't know anything about his father, only what his mother told him, that he's human. Despite her words, Stiles has had his doubts. So when the queen sends him through the veil, he's nervous and isn't sure what to think.

Seven Years Falling by InfiniteAlexisA

(1/1 I 3,880 I Not Rated I Sterek)

“I don’t mean to!” Derek yelled throwing his hands in the air.“DON’T YELL AT ME!” Stiles screeched, his entire body going up in flames.This is what Derek gets for dating a fire elemental.

we're not so different (you and i) by colferstilinski

(1/1 I 5,621 I Explicit I Sterek)

For many of the fairies that lives here, Utopia is their sanctuary—haven, in other words—and why shouldn't it be? It never rains on this stretch of meadow, the clouds in the skies always pink with interest and it smells like the breaking of spring every dawn and dusk.

Stiles detest it, the least to say.

It’s too much and he hates swinging along with the status quo with the other fairies. Yeah, with their blooming shades of colours and the shimmering, silken tunics they don on and fuck, the limitless sparkles. There’s even a new trend going on with the younger generation where they gather allium blooms to form a flower crown, oh—with added glitter!—and it makes Stiles wants to roll his eyes.

Or the fic in which Stiles is a fairy and wants to escape the horrendous, boring world of fairyland to have an adventure. And by adventure, he means meeting Derek. The plant. Or... not-so plant.

Cold Iron by the_problem_with_stardust

(5/5 I 5,641 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek thought the disaster that ended with Kate Argent almost burning down his family home was a relationship worst-case scenario. So, when Dr. Deaton reveals that his current girlfriend is not what she seems, Derek is ready to swear off romance forever. In an attempt to escape his well-meaning (but insanely overbearing) family, Derek volunteers to take over remodeling the small cottage that was left to the Hale siblings in his grandmother’s will. Connemara is nothing like California, and Derek feels like his luck just might be looking up.

salt and a waltz by The Byger (Byacolate)

(1/1 I 7,433 I Explicit i Sterek)

"Not that lubed-up Q-tips aren’t the sexiest thing in the world, but I kinda want to know what it’s like, you know. To be impaled on your huge dick without actually being impaled.”

“It was about to get sexy there, but you shot the mood right in the face.”

In which Stiles is a faerie and Derek is sick and tired of not being able to fuck him.

Don't You Wanna Be My Sky? by WhoNatural

(1/1 I 9,420 I General I Sterek)

Stiles got ratted out by the Realm Guard for sneaking off with Scott a total of seven times before his dad buckled, promising sabbatical once Stiles reached Faehood, and enough Earth culture in the meantime to have him talking like a born-and-bred Californian teenager.

He just didn’t have the tan.

(Or, in which Stiles is a Frost Fae sent to the Earth Realm on the Fae version of Rumspringa and immediately falls head-first into a Coffee Shop AU)

No Love in Idleness by Elpie (Horribibble)

(2/2 I 11,687 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles is the sole grandchild of none other than Robin Goodfellow, the most mischievous faerie ever to wreak havoc among the Folk and Man alike. To the people of Beacon Court, he is at best a merry wanderer of the night.

At first, Ser Derek is inclined to agree, but the little bird on his shoulder has quite a bit to say about that.

Trees are always a relief after dealing with people (except when they aren't) by ravelqueen

(1/1 I 15,889 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek Hale decides to become a hermit before he reaches 25. Too bad he picked Beacon Hills as his retirement home.

(Or the one where Stiles is a wood nymph/pixie/human hybrid who falls in love with his new grumpy werewolf neighbour)

Broken People Get Recycled by poemwithnorhyme

(1/1 I 16,389 I General i Sterek)

Nothing is ever just calm in Beacon Hills. No, something always has to go wrong, and this time, it's Stiles' turn in the spotlight. That doesn't mean he has to like it. Post S2 AUFae!Stiles

The Magic's in the Coffee by xxxillusionxxx

(8/8 I 17,596 I Explicit I Sterek)

Ever since the tall, muscled, leather-clad werewolf had begun his daily coffee routine at the Skullery—a horrendous name in Stiles’s opinion, but his boss was a skeleton who thought he was terribly clever—an impromptu competition developed among the baristas.

When Trust is Everything by hellbells

(12/12 I 27,913 I Teen i Sterek)

For a secret to remain true then only one person can know it; if not then it will come out. Beacon Hills is the converging point of several secrets all wrapped up in the supernatural. For Stiles, the unravelling of several will let him find peace, love and safety in the arms of his true mate. The only question is can he trust a Sourwolf and his pack well enough to show his true self.

It just might be the one thing between Beacon Hills and safety!

(Or observe the really awkward distrustful courtship between a Sourwolf and a hidden Fae Mage)

A Little Bit of Sunshine by 100KlicksAway

(21/? I 29,600 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles woke with a start, dreams of pixies flitting around his head. He’d dreamed… He’d dreamed that he was a wolf? Or…. He wasn’t sure. Something with fangs… His mouth had been dripping blood in his dream, and when he woke, he could still taste the thick copper taste coating his mouth.

Stiles has been working hard for the pack since Scott was bitten. They leave him out more and more frequently, though, until Stiles realizes that he's strictly unnecessary. Then, the pack's activities throw him into danger and he ends up in a shitty situation with no one helping him.

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills. He doesn't care anymore, he just... Needs out.

The Last Chills of Winter by LeeHan

(1/1 I 42,525 I Explicit I Sterek)

“He didn’t magically charm me,” Derek shot back in his defense.“Oh, so he just regular charmed you?” Laura said with a smirk.“What? No,” Derek growled.“Was he hot?”“No! He just—“ He just had a laugh like a sun shower. Fuck.

We Follow Darkness Like a Dream by GreenasCole

(10/10 I 51,106 I Mature I Sterek)

When a mysterious note is left on the Stilinski's door it leads Stiles and his best friend Scott out into the woods on quest for answers about Beacon Hills's most infamous tragedy. After a surprise encounter with a monstrous wolf the two boys are hurled into an ancient and terrifying world, only for Stiles to discover he was secretly a part of it all along. Will he manage to survive the insanity of Fae politics and avoid the enemies that are suddenly crawling out of the woodwork to find a place in this new world? Or will the very revelation of his existence be the catalyst that plunges both worlds into war and chaos? And why can't Scott just stop teasing him every time he catches Stiles looking at their new "friend" Derek too long?

Laughter in the Dark by Starshaker

(13/? I 56,148 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles is a fae. A trickster spirit with too much curiosity for his own good and a knack for getting into trouble. When he's just trying to help things don't go to plan and coincidences don't seem to end up for the better.Trapped, isolated and aching to get home, though it's better than what Gerard would have had planned for him initially, Stiles learns to deal with his new set of circumstances.

The Fairy's Wolf by kuki

(57/? I 90,602 I Explicit I Sciles)

In a world where non-humans mingle with humans in public schools until they became of age, about high school age, going instead to a specialty finishing school, a young halfling fae fights to stay with his friends. His fear of losing touch with his best friend, a young Alpha werewolf, has the pair pushing their relationship to the edge; and their relationship has the world on the brink of war.

-or-where I apparently ship Skittles hard now, hate myself with this work load on top of my school work, switch up species because f-u that's why, make up mythology, and try to give Derek a nice life.

Where You Still Remember Dreaming by yodasyoyo

(15/15 I 95,612 I Explicit I Sterek)

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Balto.”

“What’s yours?”

“Stiles.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. That isn’t his real name. There’s no way. But now he thinks about it, he has a vague memory of someone, probably Uncle Peter, telling him that with the fae, names have power. “I’m Miguel,” he says.

“Lie.”

“Are you trying to tell me your real name is Stiles?”

Stiles runs his tongue across his teeth and considers Derek carefully. “Fair enough,” he says, “Miguel it is.”

Grabbing his groceries and pocketing the change, Derek turns to leave; he’s nearly at the door when Stiles calls out, “By the way, Miguel, if you’re interested, it’s two for one on bags of kibble at the pet store down the street.”

Derek doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate, just raises a hand and flips him off on the way out.

#teen wolf #sterek #sciles #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #scott mccall #derek hale #fae!stiles

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

Text

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

I have requests and ideas for all of the prompts, so no more requests from this card will be accepted. I’m planning on writing and posting all of these within the month of December and probably a bit into January. If you don’t want to see these stories, block the tag #false bthb, if you would like to be tagged in future stories shoot me an ask!

This prompt got away from me a bit so it’s split into two parts. The prompt comes into play in the second part. Requested by @atlasistryingherbest I hope you enjoy it, the second part will be up tomorrow!

General tagging: @im-an-anxious-wreck (you're gonna be tagged in mostly bthb this month as that's the project I'm working on, so if you'd like this changed to only the multichapter fics or general one shots please let me know. Thank you again for the interest!)

My Sunshine Part 1

Summary: Patton thinks he’s finally caught the break he needs when he finds and falls in love with Roman. Ignoring the warning signs until it’s too late Patton ends up losing more than he had dared to gain.

Warnings: more for part two but story contains human trafficking, implied non consensual sex and starvation

Prompt: Denied food as Punishment

Ships: Royality, Patton x Roman

WC: 4, 166

Patton skirted around another group of students, clutching his rather heavy school bag and trying not to bump into anyone in his rush to his bus. The college campus wasn’t exactly large but the crowds remained a nuisance no matter how small the classes were. Seeing the bus start to pull up to the sidewalk for its hourly trip into the downtown area he quickened his pace, desperate not to miss it again. Thankfully getting to the back of the waiting line with time to spare he took a breath and finally managed to zip his bag closed, hoisting it over his shoulders and looking around to see if he could recognize anyone from his classes.

Having just moved into town for school a month ago Patton didn’t really have any friends yet, just people who would occasionally ask him for a pencil only to not give it back- but that was fine! Whenever he ran out of pencils to give he could just ask them for one and he would know they’d have one since he had given so many of his away. If nothing else he figures a missing pencil was as good an ice breaker as any to start a conversation with somebody.

Lost as he was in his thoughts he immediately snapped out of it when he caught sight of one of the cutest men he had ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to cover it when he saw the stranger laugh at whatever the person next to him was talking about and reach up to push longish, curly hair out of his eyes. The stranger seemed to suddenly become aware that he was being stared at, turning his head and somehow immediately locking eyes with an extremely flustered Patton. Offering a king smile and a small wave Patton was sure he turned at least ten different shades of red before he managed to tear his eyes away and trip up the stairs to the bus to plop tiredly in the first empty seat he could find.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned at his own stupidity, lamenting the fact that he had been caught ogling someone he didn’t even know or recognize from any of his classes. He had seemed so nice though, not even seeming fazed at being stared at- though with such a confident air that he seemed to have Patton thought maybe he was used to it by now. All he could hope was that he’d never see the stranger again and if he did he wouldn’t remember Patton as that creepy guy in the bus line who probably looked half dead for as much coffee he consumed to keep up with his life.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much he grimaced as he hoisted his pack up yet again as his stop came into view, dreading another afternoon spent on his feet trying to hear people’s orders and write them down correctly while the general noise of the restaurant made it a challenge to get his own forcibly friendly “Hello, what can I get for you?” to be heard. Shuffling off the bus with everyone else he quickly jogged down the block and around the back of the restaurant he worked at, swiping his apron on in the same motion of throwing his bag down and scooting it under a table and out of the way. Smoothing his hair bag and rubbing what he hoped was most of the tiredness from his eyes he put on his best smile and waltzed his way out onto the main floor, tagging out his shift swift for which he was barely acknowledged before they gestured to a family just getting comfortable for him to service.

Squaring his shoulders and taking one more deep breath he began walking over to them. It was just a five hour shift, he could handle a five hour shift.

-----

He could barely handle a five hour shift.

Frowning down at his bag that contained his barely started on homework his fingers fumbled with the knot of his apron as he desperately tried to work it off. Huffing in frustration he bent his neck painfully to get the top part off and shimmied hip hips while yanking the bottom part until he was finally able to kick it into a wall. Dragging a hand over his face he snatched it up and hung it up rather aggressively before getting his bag and hurrying out the back door to catch the bus back to his run down apartment. The ride was as uneventful as ever but he almost missed it when he finally reached his apartment only to see a corner of an envelope sticking out from under the door that would undoubtedly contain the rent bill he would have to scrape together enough change to meet again.

Although he was grateful to be away from his family and that he had been able to get into college in the first place it was an expensive path in life that he had to work hard at two jobs to maintain, still barely managing to scrape by each month. Since switching campuses to be closer to work opportunities it had only seemed to get worse. If he had a roommate it might be different, at least taking some of the financial burden off his shoulders but he didn’t know anyone in this town enough to ask and he definitely didn’t want to invite people he didn’t know into his life with an ad in the newspaper calling for a roommate- who knew if they’d even pay rent or pick up after themselves or leave his things alone. No, Patton was a little too paranoid for that. Flopping face down onto his couch he wormed his way half under the back cushions and seat cushions until it was just a little too tight and sighed contently, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he gave his legs a rest. His stomach growled not ten minutes later however, making him groan and debate whether making something would actually be worthwhile. Realizing he still had work to do anyway he carefully got up and rolled up his sleeves, wondering if that frozen pizza in the freezer was still good.

A little while later with pizza in one hand and a pencil in the other he worked his way through his math and science homework, stacking them to the side as he made way for the english paper he had yet to start. He was still trying to work through basic classes before he got to...whatever it wsa he would decide he wanted to major in, though sometimes he was intimidated but the already nearly overwhelming workload he had to tell himself it would all be worth it. He just had to smile through it and push through until he came out the other side with a bright a nd shiny degree and an even brighter future. Of course, that optimism could only take him so far as he stared at the book report he was supposed to be at least outlining, a quick glance at the clock telling him that if he wanted to shower, now would be the time if he didn’t want to be late for his stocking job. Working at a warehouse form one to seven in the morning definitely wasn’t ideal but it paid well and it was just enough to keep him floating while he worked his way through school. Wincing as he stood up on wobbly, half asleep legs he dumped his plate in the sink and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before he had to be at the warehouse for his shift.

Stumbling out of his apartment complex still struggling to get his jacket on he happened to look up and see an unfamiliar car parked across the street. I wonder if someone else is moving in, he thought, squinting in the darkness of the early morning to try and make out details. He thought he saw movement in the drivers side but the beeping of his watch let him know he had a very limited amount of time now to get to where he was going, so turning on his heel he booked it to the warehouse a few blocks down, any other thoughts drowned out by the apprehensionsion of the promised monotony to come.

-----

Patton was dead on his feet by the time his shift ended and he made it back to his apartment. Making side eyes at the couch wit his notes still scattered on the coffee table he shook his head and went down the short hallway to his bedroom instead, peeling off his shirt and pants as he went and flopped onto the box spring, flopping his arm around for his treasured dog plushie before curling onto his side and beginning to snore within minutes. When he woke up to his insistent alarm five hours later he groaned and threw the plushie at the offending machine to no avail. Stretching out his stiff muscles he reached over and pressed the button to get the thing to shut up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Another day, another...well just another day really. He had half an hour to make himself somewhat presentable and make coffee, maybe try to scratch out part of that english outline before heading off to class and repeating the daily routine of rushing around and catching quick ten minute naps when he could. Thankful today was Wednesday, meaning he had two more regular days and then Saturday he only had to get through his warehouse shift before he was free for the weekend. He made a face at the dust clinging to nearly every surface in his room.. Maybe he’d use that weekend to clean a bit.

Coffee brewing, face washed and toast wolfed down he did actually manage to get a quarter of his outline done before he had to gather everything up and leave. Taking a thermos of caffeine for the road he made it out in record time to catch the bus, idly noting the car from last night was still parked across the street, though it was clearly empty now. A dark blue Sudan with tinted windows from what he could. Shrugging he went to wait in line with everyone else; what he wouldn't give for his own car.

----

It wasn’t until the following week that he saw the car in a different place, this time parked in front of his restaurant. The only reason he really noticed it was because he had honestly been wondering when the thing would be toed considering it never seemed to leave the same spot from across the street. Shrugging the fleeting interest off he quickened his pace and got his apron on, shimmying the bottom part over his head since he hadn't got the knot undone and bending his neck forward to properly don the front loop. Smoothing himself out while shoving his bag under the table and fishing for his notepad and pen he stretched his face into yet another believable smile and pushed his way out of the kitchen and to his shift switch, only to freeze in place when they gestured to a table with a lone figure sat at it.

This cannot be happening, he thought with dismay. At the table sat the very stranger who had smiled at him after catching him staring last week. He was just as cute as ever and had a relaxed, easy smile on his face that Patton instantly felt himself melt for. Now is not thee time Patton, he scolded himself as he straightened his apron and walked over, palms sweating an embarrassing amount with knees he hoped to God weren’t visibly shaking.

“Hello, what can I get for you?”

The man looked up and his smile only grew wider as he cupped his chin. “Have we met?”

Sputtering, Patton clutched his notepad to his chest as he struggled to string a coherent thought together. He knew! He knew and now he’d get to tell him what a creep he was and-

“I’m certain I would have remembered the name of a person as cute as you if we had.” The man leaned forward practically purring. “Patton is it? That suits you.”

Patton barely heard the other half of what was being said to him, the word “cute” bouncing around in his skull too many times for him to properly concentrate on the actual conversation. He turned his incredibly red face away from the others gaze, not quite sure what to say back, thankfully the man saved him from having to respond by finally leaning back and taking the menu up again. “I’m very sorry, where are my manners? I’m keeping you from your job aren’t I?”

He was but heck if Patton was going to agree with that statement. The kinder he was the more this person might tip, and besides, he actually was very cute especially up close. He didn’t mind a bit of casual flirting especially since the other didn’t seem to have anything against him.

“You’re fine sir! I um- I don’t mind.” That being the closest Patton could get to actually accepting a compliment he quickly moved on. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes actually! I’d like a chicken sandwich with tomato and a chef’s salad on the side.”

Nodding, Patton looked back up from his scribbling. “And to drink?”

“Water would be lovely.”

Taking the menu, he nodded again. “It’ll be right out sir.”

“Thank you, Patton.”

The use of his name set him on edge for a second but he quickly brushed it aside. He was just being nice, sure maybe overly nice- but this was the first full blown kind of conversation he’d held with someone who wasn't his landlord or boss in weeks. If the stranger wanted to use his name that was fine. He’d just have to learn his!

Busy as the restaurant was in the afternoon he was slightly disappointed he hadn’t seen the man leave but made his way over to the table to start cleaning up while he had a free minute. Lifting the check book his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the tip that was left. A solid fifty dollar bill lay next to the receipt, and on the latter a phone number was written along with a name.

“Roman.” Patton breathed out. He realized he was holding a third month's rent in his hands, he could get groceries this week...proper groceries! Like...Patton pursed his lips in thought, maybe fruit and vegetables? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bitten into an apple that hadn’t gone completely soft from sitting in the cafeteria for far too long. With stars in his eyes and a name in his heart he pocketed the tip and went about the rest of his shift in a daze, not even noticing the dark blue Sudan still parkly in the parking lot as he made his way back home.

----

Roman was absolutely charming- in every sense of the word. After their first phone call where Patton had thanked him endlessly for the very generous tip they had been texting and calling nearly nonstop. The flowery, flirty way he spoke, the way he looked at Patton like he was hung on the moon, even the way he said his name like he was cradling something precious, it was almost too much. Patton’s workplace had become a regular place for Roman to eat, always sitting at the same place and getting there seemingly right as Patton’s shift started. Tired still though he was, he found the monotony broken at last by a welcome smile to greet him every day of the week, and he was absolutely living for it.

Patton was ecstatic when Roman asked him on a date the following week, securing Saturday as the day they’d meet up at a different restaurant and hang out. He felt like he was floating, like finally something was sliding into place and everyday that it got close to the weekend just made him even more motivated to finish his shifts and homework so he could talk to the one who had so quickly captured his attention. The days flew by, and when Saturday finally came he rushed through his shift at the warehouse to go home and sleep, wanting to be well rested for his first date in years.

-----

Despite his excitement, Patton ended up oversleeping and rushing in vain around his apartment, throwing together a haphazard outfit consisting of a soft blue, non-work polo and light jeans. Sliding his feet into his usual tennis shoes and running quick fingers through his hair he could only hope that was enough as he ran out of his apartment and down the stairs to the street below. The restaurant wasn’t far thankfully and he was able to jog there in no time at all, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a sweaty mess to the other man who always looked impeccably out together. Spotting him at a table on the far side of the joint next to the windows Patton made his way over and sat down nervously.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I overslept and I tried to hurry but-”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” Roman lain a hand on top of Patton's leaving him to fight to contain his blush. “I wasn’t waiting that long and besides, this place has a lovely view.”

Turning to look out the window, Patton had to agree. The restaurant had a wonderful view of the local park, families playing with their children or pets as the Saturday afternoon wore on. He watched the families almost wistfully, almost but not quite missing his own as he watched one play hide-and-seek while another helped their child across the monkey bars. He was so enraptured by the sight before him he didn’t notice Roman’s gaze turn calculating before his easy smile slid back into place, placing his chin in his hands as he joined Patton in people watching.

“Someday, when I leave this town, I’d like to be settled with a family like that.” Roman’s voice brought Patton out of his own thoughts, making him turn to his date with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have someone to take care of and love, and have them love me back. It sounds perfect doesn’t it?”

Patton flicked his eyes away for a second before smiling again. “It does. To be stable and settled down with kiddos, that’s the life I want.”

Seeming to sense his hesitation Roman cocked his head to the side. “Got a bad experience with families?”

“I-” Patton again was slightly put off by the stranger's forwardness and apparent skills of perception but he brushed it aside, finding it nice to be listened to. “My family and I didn’t get along very well I guess. We don’t talk at all now.”

Roman’s eyes flashed as he nodded. “I understand that. My family doesn’t talk to me much anymore either. It happens.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Patton looked away again as the waitress walked over with water and menus. Quietly thanking her Patton skimmed the list of items searching for something cheap. Settling on a club sandwich with a side of coleslaw he closed the menu just in time for the waitress to come back. Taking their orders she quickly left them alone once again, Patton trying desperately to hide a yawn behind his fist.

“Am I boring you already?” Roman said teasingly, and Patton’s face burned in embarrassment.

“It isn’t that I swear I-”

“It’s okay! Tired from work, I take it?”

Patton nodded gratefully and scratched his neck. “I work two jobs with school and I just- I’m a mess.”

Roman chuckled and shook his head. Hardly! That’s quite admirable of you actually, you work so hard for what you have.”

Patton smiled a bit at the table, blush dying down a bit as he breathed. “I guess so yeah.”

“Well I know so!” Patton flinched slightly as he raised his voice but Roman didn’t seem to notice as their food was placed in front of them and they dug in.

“We should really come here more often, this was exquisite!” Patton’s eyes shot up as he heard that. We? More often? Did that mean-

“You think entirely too loud for my liking my sunshine. Please forgive my forwardness, but would you like to do this again sometime?”

Patton beamed at the other man, twisting his fingers nervously under the table. “I’d love to, Roman.”

-----

The next couple months went by in a blur, having dates when they could manage them and extended phone calls when they couldn’t. Then a weekend finally came when they could go out again, deciding meeting at the same restaurant was fine since it was so good last time. Thankfully Patton wasn’t late again, sliding in a chair across from Roman and taking the menu in his hands.

“Hey Roman!’

“Hello my love, it’s good to see that smile again.” Face heating quickly Patton hid his face behind his menu and ignored Roman’s soft chuckles, deciding to order the same thing for simplicity's sake. Giving their orders and receiving their drinks left the two alone and Roman took the opportunity to lean forward with a serious expression, making Patton squirm nervously in his chair.

“Patton, I have something I want to ask you, and you can absolutely say no if you wish to.”

Pressing his lips together Patton nodded for him to continue.

“I know how hard you work, what with two jobs and school on top of that; you’ve told me you sometimes struggle to meet the rent. We’ve been dating for a couple months now and I was wondering, would you like to move in with me?”

Taken aback by the question Patton could do nothing but gape at the other man, silence stretching between them as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.

“I understand the hesitancy but I feel like it makes more sense. I could pay most of the rent while you contribute the rest, we could trade off making dinner, it’s a bigger apartment I’m sure so you could get out of that run down building. Plus it's closer to your campus so you wouldn’t have to take the bus, and I could always drive you to work.”

“Roman- that’s incredibly generous of you but I can’t ask you to do that.” Declining drove a stake through his heart but Patton was determined to stay firm. He wasn't a charity case, and even if the answers to nearly all of his problems were sitting right in front of him he knew he had to refuse.

“Patton, you aren’t asking, I am.” Roman looked imploringly into his eyes. “You do so much, let me take care of you.”

Biting his lip, Patton looked back at Roman nervously. This was an incredible thing that had just landed right in his lap- he wanted to say yes so badly but what if they didn't work out? If they broke up Patton would be on the street, he didn’t know anyone besides Roman and his bosses and the latter he knew wouldn’t think twice about some poor college student living on the sidewalk. Plus he felt like the relationship was moving so fast, though he didn’t really have much to compare it to other than little high school flings so maybe he was just paranoid. But it was so difficult to keep up with the rent, and if he had the security of Roman- not quite the roommate he had imagined but definitely better, maybe everything was finally looking up.

Squeezing Roman’s hand he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Only if you're sure and I’ll of course help out around the apartment in any way I can!”

“I don’t doubt it my love.” Their food was placed in front of them, as Roman nodded. “We can move you in today if you like. It wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Smiling giddily Patton nodded. Yes, everything was certainly turning around for the better.

-----

As they left the restaurant with Roman leading him to his car so they could start packing up his apartment, Patton nearly froze on the spot but managed to keep walking like nothing had happened. He climbed somewhat nervously into the car he had been seeing outside of his apartment, outside of his restaurant and even sometimes outside of the rather remote warehouse where he worked. He shut the door to the dark blue Sudan carefully and buckled his seatbelt, pushing the buzzing in his ears aside as he settled in his seat and listened to Roman’s idle chatter.

Everything was looking up. It would be fine.

This work is also available on AO3!

Part 2 here

#false writes #false bthb #bthb #bad things happen bingoo #patton sanders #roman sanders #unsympathetic roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic

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