#bo's what the fuck is this tag

[jojasimp]

I did a week-long thing where I documented every single YouTube video I watched, along with what day and time I watched them. Why? I don't know, but here are the results analysed by four categories.

Length of video

The longest video watched was on Wednesday, 12:35 AM with a duration of: 5:36:55

The shortest video watched was on Monday, 4:08 PM with a duration of: 0:06:58

The total amount of time spent watching this week was: 22:40:12

The average duration of the videos I watched this week came out to: 1:15:34

Style of Content

All the videos I watched this week fell into one of three categories:

Informational: 3 (~17%)

Commentary: 2 (~11%)

Gameplay: 13 (~72%)

The amount of time I spent watching each category is:

Informational: 3:46:54

Commentary: 1:29:38

Gameplay: 17:24:12

Creator of video

The videos I watched this week came from the following creators:

AstralSpiff: 7 (~39%)

The Queer Kiwi: 2 (~11%)

EasySpeezy: 2 (~11%)

CallMeKevin: 2 (~11%)

SpooknJukes: 2 (~11%)

Night Mind: 1 (~6%)

Atmospheric Gaming: 1 (~6%)

Awe: 1 (~6%)

Out of all the creators, the most time was spent watching AstralSpiff, with a duration of 13:39:26

Date and time of viewing

The amount of videos watched this week goes as follows:

Monday: 3 (~18%)

Tuesday: 1 (~6%)

Wednesday: 3 (~18%)

Thursday: 5 (~28%)

Friday: 4 (~22%)

Saturday: 1 (~6%)

Sunday: 1 (~6%)

Dividing the day into four sections, this is how many videos were watched within each time slot

12:00 AM - 06:00 AM: 9 (~50%)

06:00 AM - 12:00 PM: 1 (~6%)

12:00 PM - 06:00 PM: 5 (~28%)

06:00 PM - 12:00 AM: 3 (~18%)

Author's note: I could break the last category down by hours, minutes, and seconds like I do every other category. However, I am lazy and I don't want to. Do with that what you will. Also, if the numbers are wrong, no they are not. I hate math and I don't know why I did this to myself so I will not be taking corrections, thank you.

[raventrigonsdaughter]

ngl i hope that when Janey appears she's actually older, maybe not like, Shawn levels of old but an adult, i'm starving for a woc protagonist in there and it would be amazing to see her integrate with the main crew while cooper struggles with their new dynamic

ALSO Amandla Stenberg is my current fancast cause i'm still missing The Acolyte :,)

[bonnieisaway]

WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT THAT - I KNOW IT WAS ONE OF MY MUTUALS - WE HAD A REALLY LONG CONVERSATION ABOUT HOW SEVEN ALWAYS WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE KILL IN THE PAST, AND WE GOT ON THE TOPIC OF THE GIRL IN WHITE AND YOU SAID THAT YOU THOUGHT SHE DIDN'T MEAN FOR SEVEN TO DIE BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T GO THROUGH THE HEART NOTICBLY MORE THROUGH HIS CHEST/STOMACH AND I SAID I WASN'T SURE IF WE COULD REALLY GO OFF OF THAT BECAUSE WE HADN'T KNOWN MUCH OF HER CHARACTER NOR WHY SHE DID IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE WE NEED TO SIT DOWN AND REDISCUSS THIS BECAUSE SEASON FOUR SPOILER THING UNDER CUT

I WENT FUCKING FERAL WHEN THIS WAS SAID because like obviously the question is when the hell did that poison get put in him because I feel like , Seven wouldn't have taken it himself? Like he wanted to move on and he was willing to fight all of Xuanwu for the girl in white but I think he would've known he had to do that face on and that poison would only, inevitably, put them in more danger?

And I can't think of another shadow killer or the leader that would want this- EVERYONE wanted him dead, Green Phoenix presumably didn't care because evidently the shadow killers DIDN'T go after him last time or were afraid to, otherwise he would've used his plan earlier, the leader NEVER gets off his ass, and there would've been no point erasing his memories if he was wanted dead.

I feel like the logical conclusion here - at least I'm assuming between the moment he was stabbed and washed up nobody else saw him, and prior to the fight he hadn't seen anybody else who'd have done this nor discussed it - is that the girl in white had it on her blade, right? Like wasn't she also wanted dead? Seven was protecting her and that's the whole reason he was wanted dead, so killing him would've gotten her killed too and I feel like this shit is waaay too much to pull a sort of long-con to get him killed, but even if she WAS supposed to kill him as some sort of long hidden plan, maybe she might've loved him anyway and CHOSE this form of mercy? Because erasing his memories would effectively 'kill' him? Or was it that they both wanted this to end so badly but she chose the impulsive way out, getting herself killed and a merciful, forgetful end for Seven that had a fighting chance of letting him live on without her?

But also the symbolism when they show it confuses me.

So this eye was a new thing in season four and it ONLY ever really is shown around the leader of the shadow killers, when he's on his being-an-eldritch-horror shit, but my thing is WHAT purpose would he have to do that to Seven? Like yeah, he ordered him dead, but HOW would he even get that done and what reason would he have? Like, it was kind of presumed the leader had gone out on a limb and chosen SPECIFICALLY Seven for some unnamed reason, to a point that even Redtooth was fuckin annoyed about it (probably because to some degree Redtooth envied him but let's pack that away for another day) so I don't know WHY this eye is here

There's also a crow here which I would assume was ALSO for the leader's spybird if it wasn't for Blackbird's whip right next to it? But like, Blackbird doesn't seemingly have an unsettled score with Seven. He wanted him to die, yes, and he said "painfully at my hands," but that's like, how everyone dies to Blackbird. And their entire fight, there was nothing brought up about something in their past or between these two, everything was only about Blackbird's past and his tramua, which almost sounded like he felt like he needed to be this anti-hero killing Seven because of the order and would let Shimen take the reward.

There's also a really faint hand here? I don't know what else to attribute it to other than this hand:

back in season three, which this sequence was VERY much a long allegory about Seven's nature and that he's had a very, very short time to live the life he wanted and that he's basically being fucking dragged through life at this rate, though noticeably the hand here in season four has a red, glowy texture on it (aside from the rest of the texture near it) that's seeming to me either be blood or also another sort of imagery for the poison in him

but also there feels like there's a larger image here, too? It's really hard to make out because I can't really tell if it's just the shading , or a stylistic choice, but the bottom right is noticeably a different shade and has an outline and the inside has a wood-grain like texture? But I think also this might just be a sort of outline - given where it starts on Seven's shoulder - that's supposed to look like a gaseous, poison cloud coming from him. just AAAAAAAH oh my GOD there's so much to think about from this 20 seconds alone kill me

[gildeddlily]

this is literally me being excited about the new star wars show I just watched going on any social media and only finding people hating on it for the dumbest reasons

[baellielurk]

once again i'd like to ask my artistic motivation... what the fuck

[lokilaufeys]

SPOIL ME WHY WHAT HAPPENED why are you upset about Din???? o_o

din djarin got what he always wanted and became a side character in his own show

[ehlnofay]

arabella returning to a place she tried to leave and interacting with the friends she drastically screwed over like everything is normal is one of my favourite things to write. and I know that sounds oddly specific but I have had cause to write it thrice

[basofy]

idk whats with me lately have whatever all of these are

yes

[psyzook]

I ship them because it’s funny. Then it grew on me and here we are.

girl if the speech din made to bo-katan was romantic then what the hell was that entire speech he made to boba fett. "i gave you my word, i'm with you until we both fall" is WAY more romantic than "these are the reasons i serve you lady kryze" like bro. be for real.

[umbransovereign]

bro ive been retired from tumblr for like 6 years now i literally walked into here with my tail between my legs and my stupid ass forgot we tag shit here i am no longer fluent in this language

[sleepingdeath-light]

hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!

Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)

thank you for requesting, anon!

reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo

there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag

this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

billy lenz

billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)

but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur

it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors

how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down

how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless

the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for

all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner

you were his dream-girl through-and-through

his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes

his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments

of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely

and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times

bo sinclair

although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame

it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that

tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in

god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group

but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)

his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation

and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before

in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home

but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)

brahms heelshire

you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny

you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up

you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family

but, to brahms, you were perfect

the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule

and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go

his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies

loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”

is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you

like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his

and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head

and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him

carrie white

carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl

everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed

god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness

tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to

those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)

those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes

those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above

and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you

how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass

how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole

you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible

jennifer check

you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well

date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup

she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on

she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”

will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv

gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though

50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice

loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner

buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times

she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken

makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to

michael myers (any)

initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else

you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you

and he did. for well over a month

even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up

but you never did

even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way

you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable

and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally

after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you

at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy

he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is

he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there

and you oblige

and he doesn’t hurt you

the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal

thomas hewitt

everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess

you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense

your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change

those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools

your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest

but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you

your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you

he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil

and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier

so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house

vincent sinclair

you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions

your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards

definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw

more artistically inspiring, barbie like even

it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently

but then your personality endeared you to him

you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart

hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)

and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum

even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks

you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto

all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose

it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company

and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to

so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum

and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)

[dansformations]

"My brother's stench"

Tags: Possesion, gay to straight, fart/burpkink.

Rewrite by me.

⬆️ (The couple before the possesion)

"Bro, please wash my boyfriend's body. I'm begging you."

My brother had always been skinny. So when he saw my boyfriend's big, beefy body, he was jealous. He was so jealous that he decided to cast a spell on him and possess him.

So now I am forced to live with that idiot inside my boyfriend's body. He's acting all gross, doing things my boyfriend would never do; He's flexing my boyfriend's muscles With that damn cocky attitude and downing beers by the dozen. All he does is scratch his smelly balls and watch football all day. It's gross to see my boyfriend acting so... straight.

"Sure, bro... Eventualy." He scrawled his ass and smelled his hand. "This still smells like spring." I watch him with disgust while he says, "For real, take a whiff," trying to put his hand on my nose, i yell and fight his hand.

"Fuck you!" I was full of rage. But his only response was

"Look, some spring breeze." Then he lifts a leg and lets out a big, loud, smelly fart.

PPPPRRRRRRRRRRRFFFT

"What the fuck!" I said, covering my nose, "That's the grossest fart I have ever smelled."

"Thank you," he said while laughing with my boyfriend's cute laugh, but in a lower, dumber tone.

He takes pleasure in my disgust. I just know it. Sometimes I try to not show it; maybe that way he will stop doing it, but he just finds the way.

The other day, at breakfast, I said nothing when he talked while eating or when he farted in the middle of the meal just to laugh and keep eating. I thought that was enough for him to stop trying, but when he finished his gross breakfast - just cold pizza from the fridge and beer- he smiled, took me with my boyfriend's arms and pushed me up against the wall just to let out a deep burp

"OOOOOUUURRRP!" and then blew the fowl stench into my face.

When he watches sports on TV, he will lift his butt to one side, laugh, and yell "Protein fart!" With that damn dumb voice as he lets out a long, groaning, hot stench that makes my eyes water. He's turned my sweet boyfriend into a disgusting monster.

With each day that passes, I'm scared that I'm never going to get my real boyfriend back. I don't want to live with my big, smelly, oaf of a brother anymore.

Today I arrived at the apartment, and I saw a girl leaving the place. "Oh no, he didn't..." I open the door just to see my boyfriend's body getting dressed.

"DID YOU JUST FUCK A GIRL IN MY BOYFRIEND BO-" he interrupts me.

"I can't believe he used this to fuck," he says while slapping his buttcheeks. "Instead of this,"  he says, touching his bulge.

"I swear to God, if you don't give my boyfriend his body back, I'm going to kill your real body," I said to my brother.

"Do it. That way, I'm staying here forever," he says while looking at 'his' muscles in the mirror. "Wouldn' complain"

"AHHHHHHH," I just scream, not realizing there were even tears coming from my eyes. "Why don't you just leave me alone? If you are staying with my boyfriend's body, do it; I give up, but just not in front of me. Leave."

He looks at me a bit concerned for the first Time since he stole my boyfriends Body.

"Ok, let's make a deal," he says. "I will give your boyfriend's body back." My eyes get illuminated. Just for a second, then he says "But if you lend your body to my buddy Logan, he doesn't have a place to stay; when he does, he's moving to his body and to his apartment, and so I am; we are going to be roomies."

"No way I am letting your gross friend take over my body!" I told him, terrified.

"I thought you wanted your boyfriend back."

"I do! But-"

But he interrupts me.

"Thats the only deal I'm making, Lil Bro." 

...

"Bro-UAAARRRRP," says Logan in my body between burps "I can't get over how good your broski body is. There were bunches of girls looking at me today!, Well... maybe also cause I was farting in public, but you know how those protein farts are."

"I know, and can you believe they were wasting those bodies fucking each other?" My brother says, and Is so morbid to see my boyfriend body saying It.

"What a bunch of losers." Logan says, I say.

This has been a hell, just a week since my brother's friend, Logan, took over my body, and I have been able to see, hear, smell, hear, and feel everything Logan does, but not control anything. I'm like a parasite in my own body.

I feel my terrible stench but can't make my body go to take a shower, and it seems like Logan Is on the way for a third day without one. I can feel his gas on comand everytime they do their 'protein farts contest' and I cant do anything besides lifting a leg to liberate all that stench.

"But we are not losers, Bro," my brother says. "Why don't we call some girls to have a great night?"

Oh no. Oh no. I can feel all that Logan feels in my body. He cant be with a woman. I try to scream, to yell to say no. But when Logan opened our mouth, the only thing that came out was: "OUUAAAAAAAARRP," a loud, smelly burp. "Hell yeah, Bro."

"Also," Logan keeps talking as he and my brother pose together—in mine and my boyfriend's bodies—for a picture for a Tinder profile. "Shouldn't we start to look for our apartment?"

"Sure, bro... we will, eventualy," he says, looking straight into my body's eye, and I just know he's talking not to Logan but to me.

________________

Hope you enjoyed.

This Is a longer version, re imaginated by me of one of my favorite transformation caption ever:

[penisbutterjellytime]

Got to the end. Behold... the Rook I finished with

The pouty elf...

more elf screeshots

Okay after 7 hours Veilgaurd has finally downloaded

[glossykissies]

thinking about what reader i’d pair with soldier boy and it only feels right he gets handed spoiledbrat!reader. bratty, high maintenance, pouty. soldier boy might’ve been a god-like supe with damn near all the power in the world, but at the end of the day he was also a man… and you were packaged to him like a god damn fantasy.

it was so conflicting to him, you were simultaneously everything that got him off in a woman all while challenging his beliefs. feminine, soft, supple, pink and glittering — sure, but also you had the craziest attitude, you swore like a sailor and you were demanding. it made his fists clench, and dick swell.

the first time he’d been introduced to you with the boys, having found yourself wrapped up in their world — you were the only one in the room who he detected not an ounce of fear from. you. the little thing in the corner leaning on her hip, more interested in her nail bed than the banished supe.

immediately, and much to butchers irritation (he was pushed for time, and trying to stay on track here.) soldier boy focused his attention on you, taking a draw of his cigar from the couch in the hide-out apartment.

“and who’s this pretty little poodle? you fellas let a fan tag along?” his voice is smooth and rumbly like wheels on gravel and you raise a perfectly plucked brow.

“please.”

he hums out a chuckle, not hiding the way his eyes drag up and down your body. he was used to just taking what he wanted, his time being one of those things.

“so if we could just—” hughie steps forward cautiously, attempting to regain the supes attention to get things back on track but is immediately silenced by soldiers boy lifting a hand, eyes still on you.

“no really. what’s the deal with strip-club-barbie? i have met all of you cock suckers but she’s new. if she’s not a welcome gift, what the fuck is she doing in here listening in?”

“shes one of us.” butcher gruffs, shuffling in his chair, antsy to start explaining his diabolical plans.

“yeah? what’s her thing? you fellas passin’ her around in whatever fuck-dungeon you hole up in?” he teases, and before anyone can say anything — you’re defending yourself.

“jesus christ, get with the fucking times, old man.”

soldier boy smirks, and a tense silence falls over the room — half expecting to watch you get thrown through the thin walls of the apartment at record breaking speed. surprisingly, after he’d taken an amused and analytical gaze your way — he leisurely turned his attention back to butcher. “alright, out with this plan. don’t have all day.” he drawls, taking another drag. you roll your eyes at the fact he literally has nothing else to do, and you’re sure he notices.

most of your interactions went that way after that. soldier boy would make some kind of demeaning or misogynistic comment, you’d snap back, he’d either be amused or weakly threaten you. it was like clock work, but seem to put everyone on edge every single time.

there were many times the boys thought you were done for, hurling names and insults at him when he’d caused them more harm than good — only to have him stroll right past you, uninterested in your girly tantrum and not even struggling to totally ignore you. sometimes you would irritate him, only to get a “brats like you need to be put in their place. i’m warning you.” and maybe he’d smirk because he could just sense your little clit twitching.

there was even a time all of you had to pile into one car, getting away quickly after a mission gone south. you were the last in, and there were no seats left for you.

“just fuckin’ get in would ya?” billy commanded loudly, trying to keep an eye on the oncoming commotion. soldier boy smirks, completely suited up, damn near taking up two seats in the backseat and pats his thigh, spreading his legs.

“i am not sitting on him. someone get in the trunk.” you argue, crossing your arms all spoilt.

“just grab her!” hughie exasperates from the passenger seat, used to your ways. without hesitation, soldier boy yanks you into the car with ungodly strength, pulling the door shut as they drive off. you wriggle and fight until he’s got you situated — the mountain of a bulge pressed up against your panties beneath your skirt, legs spread a little on his lap.

you give him a sulky look over your shoulder, and despite the chaos in the front of the car — he’s utterly relaxed and unbothered by everything that just unfolded. in fact, he leans back with that same smirk — adjusting his hips, nudging the fat lips of your pussy open through your panties with his bulge. he watches your eyes nearly roll back like a baby-doll.

you turn back to the front, irritated and overstimulated, breathing all heavy and mad. never in all his years has he seen a woman fight against her urges like you were. he puts his hands on your hips and you dig your nails into his skin, sustaining no damage. you scratch harder, tearing and attacking him like a baby kitten and he gazes happily out the window, unmoved.

you try to chime into the conversation up front, try to stay tuned — but everytime butcher carelessly flies over a speed bump you’re being practically forcefully dry fucked by the supe. you’re sure he could even feel you leaving a wet patch — and surprisingly, when you all pile out the vehicle solider boy doesn’t bring it up. the gratification of flustering you enough to keep him happy.

the breaking point comes when you’re appointed to ‘babysit’ him back at the hiding apartment. literally no one else is free, but they need someone there to make sure he’s where he needs to be. there’s nothing you could do to stop him from leaving, but whilst he agreed to stay there — you were sticking around to make sure he keeps his word, strictly told to alert one of the boys if he exits.

“look, i’m sorry. i would take your place but i have to help annie.” hughie stresses apologetically as they walk you up to the building.

“i’ll be fine.” you roll your eyes, more irritated that you were missing your nail appointment for this shit.

“and keep that mouth in check, yeah? i don’t fancy scraping your intestines off the walls so keep a lid on it today.” butcher warns, sending you a look before you run off.

when you walk in, he’s chowing down on a burger. so american.

“well if it isn’t my favourite.” he drawls, more interested in the TV.

“whatever. i’m here to babysit you.” you sark, setting down your purse and rifling through it for your phone charger, spotting the pink wire tangled at the bottom of your bag.

“babysittin’ huh? you certainly had the sitting part down last time i saw you. maybe today we can work on the baby part.” he chuckles at his own joke, bringing the mouth of his beer bottle to his lips.

“shutup. you know i had no choice.” you don’t know why you get so defensive, strutting over to block his view of the television — staring down at the hulk of the man resting with his feet up.

“that why i could feel your little pussy throbbing? beggin’ me to help her out? christ, maybe if you got some dick you’d quit bitching all the time.”

maybe he was right.

it’s how you end up blubbering on your back with the backs of your knees in his huge hands.

“shit, maybe i’ve been missin’ a trick with this young pussy stuff. fuckin’ perfect.” his heavy cock brushes your folds as he stretches your legs up into a humiliating pose, not caring for your sniffles and angry pouts. he pushes your knees up higher with an intrigued smirk. “you’re flexible, huh? what, were you a cheerleader in high school or something?”

“are you gonna fuck me or what?” you whine, so needy and petulant that it makes him smile.

“you modern girls. no patience.” he slaps his cock on your folds and you flinch. “relax. only polite to knock before i enter, right?”

[usermischief]

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale ♚ Tags: canon divergence, getting together ♚ Words: 2883

ao3

---

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

---

Click.

Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. “Fucking hell.” Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else – even exorcising this damned place – worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around – and found out – with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.

Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.

A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy he’s found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood – aptly named Bobak, Bo for short – and who has refused to leave Stiles’ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely won’t be happy about his lifestyle – flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around – Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stiles’ life less, much less, lonely.

Bo barks again.

Stiles quirks a brow. “What? It’s not dinner time yet.”

Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stiles’ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. He’s going to miss Bo’s floppy ears once he’s grown into them.

Before Stiles can follow him, there’s a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence – maybe he should just get an electrician this once – and turns to the front door. It’s not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isn’t usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else – not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldn’t finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.

He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him – aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.

Derek’s never been lurking around here, though.

Well, not until today, that is.

And Stiles’ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derek’s supernatural hearing and all.

Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. “Hey.” He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. “Can I- do you-” Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. “You wanna come in?”

“I bought dinner,” Derek says at the same time.

They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stiles’ neck grow uncomfortably warm.

Luckily, Derek cuts it short. “I’d love to.”

Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was – when? Stiles doesn’t really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, he’s been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad it’s really gotten in the past four years.

“Looks good,” Derek remarks, almost curious in the way he’s taking everything in. “You did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. “Teenagers and haunted houses.”

“Werewolves too?”

If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesn’t show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. “Werewolves especially.”

Stiles snorts and crosses the room. “I expected you to be smarter.” He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, he’s got to figure out the new logistics.

“How’d you do it?” Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.

Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesn’t know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.

Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as he’s greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. “Very carefully,” he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. “And lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isn’t that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think he’s suicidal or are very happy to help.

Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “The demon or the house flipping?”

“Ah.” Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. “That’s why you’re here.”

Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. He’s probably used to people jumping at his command.

It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“I just did.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, “I meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever you’re around me.” He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, “unless, of course, there are other reasons for that.” He’s got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, there’s no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case he’s rejected. Two months tops, and he’s out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.

Derek’s lips twitch.

Good. So, Stiles didn’t exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, it’s impossible to hide anyway.

“Tingling?” Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.

Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek’s gaze drops to his neck then back up again. “You’re a poor conversationalist.”

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. “Geez, D, you can’t just ask people why they’re making you feel weird.”

A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. “I can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.”

Fair point.

However, “I literally exorcised this fucking demon.” Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.

Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didn’t outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how he’d prefer this evening to go. He sighs. “I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.” Stiles doesn't miss as Derek’s expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-” he waves his hand around. “Thought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?” It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.

But that’s something nobody else needs to know about.

Derek straightens.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. They’re very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time – time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their target’s defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if he’s learned anything from his own possession, it’s how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.

Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. “Of course, I could.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. It’s one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.

Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derek’s hand, locking eyes with him again. “Awfully confident there, buddy.”

His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.

Focus.

“You don’t scare me.”

Derek stops directly in front of him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isn’t necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him – as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.

Fucking werewolves, seriously.

“Cute,” Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. “Still not scared, though.” They’re probably both aware that’s not entirely true, but he’s never been someone to back down from a challenge. “You gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.” Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, big guy.”

Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so – and Stiles can’t help but watch his mouth move. It’s fascinating. Every time he’s seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didn’t think he could chuckle, much less laugh.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Beautiful even.

His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. “You’re not very attentive.”

“Oh, really?” Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. “How do you think I’m finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. I’m actually the most at-”

Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stiles’ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derek’s hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.

Stiles’ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesn’t quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.

Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.  

The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. It’s probably best to be upfront.

Once more, he clears his throat. “I’m not staying.” He crouches down and can’t help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. “At least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next… target, I guess.” He runs his fingers through Bo’s soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.

For the first time in years.

Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that he’s a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesn’t need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because he’s loaded. So, he’s either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town… or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles won’t lie — he’s not only a handful, he’s also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. They’re not entirely wrong.

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that he’s not planning on leaving soon. “But maybe I can convince you to come back.” 

Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.

This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. “So, you stalked me because you like me.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. “I never stalked you.”

Bo barks.

“He says you’re a liar.” Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. “I think you followed me around, but didn’t know how to approach me.” Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.

Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sally’s diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.

Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.