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westhly · 1 day ago

Text

chapter 01.

hwang jun-ho x female! reader — squid game

summary ₊✧ you had previously joined the 'squid game' to pay off your debt, when you were given the chance to go back out, unlike the majority you didn't go back to the game and went to the police station to complain about this nonsense. coincidentally on this journey you met a policeman who you will now be with. that two years later you didn't expect you would meet him again and help him and gi-hun's gang to search for the island.

Cold dawn. Air smelled of humidity from the rain. In the alleyways of Seoul's Dobong neighborhood, high-rise buildings connected by electric cables, and signs with flashing lights. Your steps were fast. The danger of almost tripping on the wet ground reminded you of the wounds on your knees that were already scabbing over. You could have sworn you still felt the pain. You pulled the zipper of your hoodie up to your nose and looked up at the still rainy sky.

Where were you going, or rather what were you doing? Your mind was replaying the scene of the events over and over again. There were the screams of hundreds of people dying in front of your eyes, their blood splattering on your face, masked men touching you as they changed your clothes, a room that looked like a mental hospital. Worse, those men you didn't know knew everything about you. Where and how did all this happen? In the middle of nowhere. Where there was no one.

You swallowed to pass the lump in your throat. A burning sensation appeared in your eyes. All this was not normal. Especially the unjust killing of people who had joined the game just to pay their debts, their bodies burned and thrown away as if they had never existed. You cursed again that your heart wasn't strong enough to take it all. You could have been one of the dead. You could not remain silent. You couldn't accept such a death.

During the game, everyone was given a choice. You could either continue the game or get the hell out of this place. Without thinking, you chose to press X and leave this place. Even the reason for your debt was shit. You knew what would be waiting for you if you went back to where you were before you joined the game. You even considered staying in the game for a moment, but you knew you couldn't. The votes were tied, and you felt nauseous with nervousness as an old uncle voted for 001. Fortunately, he chose X and everyone left.

About an hour earlier you had been thrown out on the street with a man and woman you didn't recognize by the 'strange' pink attendants in the game. You were blindfolded, feet and hands on the cold ground with no clothes on. At least they could be understanding after what had happened. You were grateful that a woman used her pocket knife to get you out of that situation. You really was. If you hadn't persuaded her to help you in your quarrel with the man next to you two, Seong Gi-hun, you were sure he would have died of cold. Well, he should have been grateful to you too. At least that's what his eyes said.

Your gaze met the police station you had been to several times before. You clutched the game entry card in your pocket and stepped towards the police station. Before entering the door, you looked around. What if one of those masked guys was watching you. You went inside. The sound of the door opening caught the attention of the policeman sitting inside. You walked towards there without thinking.

“I'll make a report. Urgent, please.” Your breathing was ragged because of the cold outside and walking. You rubbed your face with a trembling hand. You began to tell the story, from masked men picking you up in their car, to playing ddakji with a man, to people forcibly playing children's games in the middle of nowhere and brutally slaughtering them when they lost.

But the officer in front of you seemed to find your words too absurd to be true. And as if overwhelmed. “So you're saying that a bunch of weird men gathered hundreds of strangers in a playin field, made them play a game and just shot them to death?”

“Exactly.” You began to stir with the excitement of the moment. “They mercilessly gunned down more than 200 people.”

“What was the game?”

“Red light, Green light.” A few of the officers looked at you strangely. But they seemed interested in the conversation. The sitting officer even thought for a moment that you were drunk. “The children's games? And they shot everyone who got caught?”

Anger mixed with sadness would overtake you. “How many times do i have to tell you?!” As the seated officer straightened in his seat, another cop jumped into the fray. “Miss. So where is this place.” He said it in a mocking way.

“I don't know. T-this.” You were adamant in your complaint. “This is why i came to here-”

“Look. Someone suddenly offered you a ton of money to play some games, so you went. They made you play Red light, Green light and they shot everyone who got caught. But when you said you wanted to leave they let you go. And you don't know what they look like or where this all took place? Am I right?” He scolded you.

You felt ashamed. But you didn't think the cop was wrong. You had no evidence except the invitation. You nodded your head in the affirmative. “Right.”

The cop leaned back and exhaled deeply. “What's your name?”

"(Name Surname)."

He became serious. “If you need help, we can contact a medical institution for you.” He folded his arms. “You using anything?”

That was it. You raised your voice. “What do you think I am, a drug user, a liar?” Too many people's lives were at stake, too real to be a lie. And you had come all the way here for their safety and your own, was it for nothing?

You quickly put a business card with a circle, a triangle and a square on one side and a phone number on the other side on the table, clutching it tightly. “This is the business card they gave me.” I kept shouting, “You can call and find out! You'll see.” You blew angrily at the hair sticking to your face.

Aftrer that it was hopeless for you. The cop calls the number and says unconvincingly that he wants to play some games. A woman answers the phone and starts to sound confused. Then she called him a pervert before hanging up. You believed the cop had misdialed. With a grunt of disbelief, you dialed the number again directly on your cell phone, which had almost turned off, but the line was now disconnected.

They'd covered their tracks. And they thought you were out of your mind. great. What could can you do? You had to put it behind you and at the same time do something about the debts you had to pay.

You took one last look at the officers and left the card you didn't think you needed.

When you were about to leave, you hesitated. You noticed a man leaning against the wall right by the door. His eyes were locked on you with interest. He had heard the conversation all along and had memorized it. He had also noticed the business card.

You locked your eyes with that man with the serious expression. A familiar feeling suddenly took over your body. He looked big and tall, with slanted eyes. Was he thinking about you? Was he a cop too? Or was he anyone else? After a longer than usual stare, you pulled your eyes away from him with a look of curiosity. And you left. Thinking you'd never see him again.

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“Why do you need that lunatic's name, Detective Hwang?” Cop asked.

Jun-ho smiled slightly as he took a deep breath. “Well, I caught a glimpse of her. I think she might be an old acquaintance.”

“Really? What was her name?” His face looked like he was trying to remember.

The other police officer jumped into the conversation. “(Name Surname)!”

“Do you know her.” The police officer asked again.

Jun-ho nodded and his eyes lit up in anticipation. “Yes i think so, could you get me her address?” He asked hopefully.

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As the cold water ran down your body, thoughts of the game flooded your mind again. It had happened, it was gone. But there were too many questions to ask. You had entered the game hoping to get out of this place. Maybe you'd go to college or get a real job. Go back with your family. Whatever. You closed your eyes and let the cold water would wash away your thoughts.

The sounds from the nightclub reached your room. The first thing you did after you got out of the shower was to put your clothes on and clean the wounds on your knees. You didn't forget to bandage them so they wouldn't get infected.

You dried your hair in a hurry. You took a painkiller for your head that ached from lack of sleep and what had happened. You couldn't sleep yet, you had to get back downstairs to your work for the day. What a beautiful life. You took a deep breath. You slipped the pocketknife you kept in your drawer for safety into the pocket of your shorts, just in case.

You were stuck where you were when you about the opened door. You blinked your eyes a few times. Maybe from lack of sleep? No, it wasn't. You approached the door and hesitantly held out your hand. To business card stuck in the doorway.

You pick up the card. Different number, same place that they pick up you.

You remembered. The square symbol is the man with the mask. He was babbling about the chance for you to come back. A sarcastic snort escaped your lip. Maybe this could be proof.

You quickly pocketed the card. After one last look around, you went downstairs.

Purple and blue neon lights made the place look like a dizzying sight. You were trying to pass through the sweaty dancing bodies that filled the venue. When you finally reached the drinks section, you hurriedly called out to the barista standing behind the counter. “Is he here?”

“Not yet.” He grinned, leaning his arms on the table. You looked into his eyes curious to hear more. “Don't worry, he didn't notice your absence, he went out of town for two days. He'll be back tomorrow.”

You could only forced a smile. "Cover for me a little longer. I'm sorry I'll be back." You called out before you left.

You slipped out of the crowd and went outside. The rain had started to sprinkle. It bothered you. You had just taken a shower.

The front door of where you lived was the entrance to the nightclub, and the back door was the exit for the people who lived in the hotel. As soon as you got out, you turned right and walked towards the entrance to the street.

Until.

A man was standing there, holding a black umbrella. His footsteps slowly approached you as you walked towards the street. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

"(Name Surname)?"

You frowned. Just before you opened your mouth, he showed you his police badge. You stepped back, a look of concern on your face. Had he found out about this place? Maybe about the work you had to do?

You eyed him carefully. "You recently filed a report at the police station." You tilted your head so he could continue. "That they were kidnapping people to make them play games. And that people were being killed there."

At first you didn't know what to say or how to continue the sentence. You just nodded your head. He believed you, and now he was here. In front of you.

He collected his words and leaned closer. "That business card you had, my brother had the same one." The business card in his back pocket made itself felt. You were sure a lot of people were back in the game now.

"So," you finally said in a quiet but surprised tone. "What are you going to do? Officer." You hesitated to ask the question.

"I have to find my brother." Your eyebrows raised. Oh, so he was on his way to find his brother. You understood. But in this case, if you help him, will the police help you, or will you help the police?

"(Surname). We can help each other." His came closer and stopped right in front of you.

You thought. You would accept it without blinking for the people who died there and maybe even for those who would die. But something inside you created a breaking feeling. You didn't understand what it was.

You always stood up for people, maybe because no one stood up for you? Was that reason bullshit? This opportunity that came your way filled your mind with thoughts.

You looked over your shoulder at the building you lived in. How would you feel if you walked out of this place and started a new chapter? A peaceful life. Maybe it was time to do something for yourself.

"Officer." You called out confidently. Your eyes slowly met his. At least for your own good. "I would like to help you."

"If you promise to help me get out of here," you said.

The rain had already begun to increase in intensity, and you sniffed from the cold as the drops fell on your head.

Did your offer make him back down? No. You both knew that wasn't possible. No matter how determined you were, he was just as determined. You could have sworn that electricity passed through his eyes as the two of you exchanged glances.

He looked at you solemnly and covered his parted lip. He didn't answer, but when he held his umbrella to you in the rain so you wouldn't get wet, you both knew you two were partners now.

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i write to develop my little writing skills, and to get this man the recognition he deserves. also english is not my first language. anyways i just know hot girls love hwang jun-ho 😍

also thanks to @togadoga for idea. i am motivated by your likes guys I hope you liked this mini fic 🥹🙏🏻 there are scenes you will like even more in other episodes, just trust me.

WHAT DID LANA DEL REY SAAYY let's get in the back of your cop car officer.

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andivmg · 2 days ago

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is it bad i wish people would give examples of how dream is “manipulative”?? because the examples I am seeing right now are just him over explaining himself

tw/ drama, sa mention

i can give you one example but you have to bear with me here, it’s kind of hard to explain through text and i can’t give full context because it would drag other people into it and i don’t want to be messy.

edit: i added a division here bc i don’t want to see all that when scrolling through my blog lol

the following screenshots are taken from a conversation we had in july 2023, where he messaged me after 7 months of no contact and basically tried to make me apologize to him after he ghosted me. i have since blocked him and deleted his number (i had to dig through my friends’ group chat to find these screenshots). the conversation was extremely long and if i wanted to dissect it fully i’d have to make an hour long video on it and and tbh, i don’t care that much so this is what we’re working with.

for at least some context: the “she” being referenced is a former mutual friend who informed me that he had a gf the whole time we were talking (i have since learned that might not have been true but with him who tf knows). The name blocked out is her boyfriend, who is his friend. and the block of text covered is just him yapping and name dropping too many people. also i guess to give him some grace, he had just gotten surgery and told me he was high off pain meds, which is why he was messaging me.

here we go

“your memory is wrong”

this is referencing the day i was told he had a girlfriend. that day, the girl and i went to get our nails done and during that time, she informed me of the situation. as you can see in the message, i had texted him saying that we had those plans that day. he never replied to it. like seriously, that was the last message i ever sent him before blocking him a few weeks later. so, in this context, him saying my “memory is wrong” is textbook gaslighting.

“i swiped to look at to give you the chance to bump it, which you never did.”

now… huh?????? tbh i’m still confused about this bc he’s basically admitting that he didn’t reply to my message after saying that he didn’t ignore me. so, contradicting himself there and making it seem like it was my fault that he didn’t respond.

“you can unblock me on snap”

as we know, he has a history of having conversations with girls and other people exclusively through snapchat in order for him to say whatever he wants because the messages disappear. i guess he had a point there bc here we are. you could see this in his favor, but i see it as a way for him to avoid any accountability whatsoever for the shit he says. he was trying to move the conversation over to snapchat, i guess to avoid exactly what is happening now: evidence of him being a slimy little shit.

“I was the only one actively trying to keep you in the friend group despite even backlash from others for it”

now this one just pissed me off at the time. after getting out of an abusive relationship (which all of our friends knew about btw) everyone continued to hang out with my ex instead of me because: a) clout and b) they had been friends with him longer. here, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me this huge favor by still talking to me and “keeping me in the group” (which he didn’t btw). now, at this point he already knew about my sa, he knew about all the shit that happened in the relationship, and he still wanted me to be in a friend group with the man who put me through all of that, his other friends, who made super weird sexual comments about me on multiple occasions, and other people who enabled all that shit. then, he tried to make it seem like he was doing me a favor. insane and manipulative.

i hope this helped, anon. i kinda had to relive some shit in order to provide this for you but i think it’s the only example i could give from my situation in which he was being manipulative. i think these are pretty good examples and i hope it wasn’t too confusing without all the context.

#andianswers #cw drama #cw sa mention

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writtenbyhollywood · 2 days ago

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Lee byung hun but situationship maybe? Pretty please 🙏

having a situationship with lee byung-hun

a/n: thank you for the request! I actually really loved this idea

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byunghun0712

liked by from_jjlee and others

byunghun0712 #미스터션샤인 #mrsunshine

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leebyunghunfan this is the first time I don’t see @/yourusername like his post

user1 @/leebyunghunfan probably because of the way he’s looking at the girl in the first picture

user2 interesting post…

yourstruly @/user2 bffr they’re just coworkers

user2 @/yourstruly are we looking at the same pictures ?

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriendsuser and others

yourusername book date with the bestie cuz men ain’t shit

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randomuser wait happened?? is she talking about byung-hun??

ilovedilfs @/randomuser I really hope not

girlblogger y’all are overreacting. they never said they were together

ohfish @/girlblogger they’re prob just hooking up

yourbestfriendsuser hoes before bros

liked by author

userr12 I just noticed she unfollowed him omg…

yourusername

liked by byunghun0712 and others

yourusername if you don’t want me DON’T ACT LIKE YOU FUCKING WANT ME

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yourbestfriendsuser he don’t know what he’s missing out on

byunghunandyn I’m seriously wondering if they’re together or not

user_ @/byunhunandyn was the caption not clear enough for u?

iconiccuser we’ve all been there girly

user55 @/iconiccuser the strongest of soldier fr

user91 I get this on so many levels

user32 no way. He liked the post as if this wasn’t about him😭

yourusername

liked by byunghun0712 and others

yourusername im someone who forgives and forgets

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user1 STAND UP GIRL

marrymebyunghun who can blame her

byunghunswife @/marrymebyunghun I mean look at him

ynfan we get it dw

user31_ you’ll get out of that phase

ynfan4ever @/user31_ if my bf gave gifts like that I would forgive him without hesitation

user31_ @/ynfan4ever THEYRE NOT EVEN TOGETHER

ynfan4ever @/user31 YOU DONT KNOW THAT

user76 and the crowd is...confused?

byunghun0712

liked by yourusername and others

byunghun0712 cheers 🍻

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user12 guys… she’s following him again

byunghunfan @/user12 NOOOOO

stormshadowsabs leave my man alone

ynsfan @/stormshadowsabs tell him to leave our girl alone

hayyleee raw.

dilfenthusiast let's make love

azeala.aa all 10 fingers

yourusername

liked by byunghun0712 and others

yourusername saw lisa live!!!

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ynfan1 gorgeous

user09 are they together?

randomuser @/user09 yes and no

leahhhh.hhh till the bed breaks

user45 ahhh omg ur a lisa fan!!!

yourusername @/user45 well of course!

fckmeleebyunghun the jealousy im feeling...

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriendsuser and others

yourusername maybe the single life suits me better

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user08 bad bitch

ynfan02 girl what happened now

user34 I’m getting used to this now

byunhunfan this is more entertaining than my life

user12 well what did he do this time

leebyunghunswifey @/user12 why do u assume he’s the problem? Maybe it’s her

ynfanpage @/leebyunghunswifey men are always the problem. you’ll understand that when you’re older

user10 u may have lost ur man but at least ur hot

byunghun0712

liked by yourusername and others

byunghun0712 💪

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yourusername biting my lip

liked by author

user75 HIS ARMSSS

user12 now why is @/yourusername in the comments

byunghunswifey @/user12 Frl what are u doing

userr09 @/yourusername is so luckyyy

user98 can she not make up her mind ?

ynfan y’all are taking this too seriously. so what if they’re hooking up?

user23 @/ynfan exactly like they wouldn’t be the first to do so

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#lee byung hun #lee byung hun x reader #the frontman #squid game season 2 #squid game #the front man x reader #the frontman x reader

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nerdyydragon · 2 days ago

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Also notable: I rarely see anyone say this about, like, romance movies (at least in earnest; there are soooo many other discourses about romance as a genre, but this isn't one I've seen).

Nobody says "noooo, don't go into the quaint little small-town café, Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist! No, you're so goddamned dumb for talking to the guy who literally collided with you walking in the door!! You're so effing stupid for allowing him to pick up the papers you dropped!

Nobody says "Character is ridiculous for not trying to avoid freezing to death by huddling for warmth in the cabin!"

Nobody says "but they should know better!" about romance plots, unless it's some "love thine enemy" thing where logically the character should know better than to fall in love with the tragic, handsome villain who just tried to have them killed/kidnapped/dethroned/etc., but even then. The characters in a romance plot don't somehow miraculously know they're in a romance, they just know that they've encountered a [charming stranger] [mysterious rival] [new understanding of their childhood bestie] [any and all trope pairings that apply] and that, as they go about their day, Shit Happens. Compared to other genres it might be comparably low-stakes because nobody's in danger of getting stabbed (maybe, who knows, it could happen), but they don't posses foreknowledge of the events because they're not aware that this sequence of events is something like "A Duke for the Holidays" instead of "just another goddamned Tuesday".

We know.

We're supposed to know.

While part of me rails against an easy reliance on trope marketing, primarily when it supersedes any and all notions of telling me what the gods-damned book is about, as an audience we are, consciously or otherwise, aware of tropes and trends and patterns. We know, as the audience, that in a small-town romance film Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist is going to break up with her boyfriend who never has time for her and shack up with the hunky father of two who works as a conservationist for a near-extinct, totally-not-made-up species of butterfly that only reproduces every six years under the light of a falling star, or something*. That's how the plot works.

Half the fun is figuring out how it happens.

Half the scare is figuring out how it happens, because horror, like romance, has a pretty defined end (though it isn't always death, but that's pretty clear from the beginning when that's the case).

I'm a spec-fic author. I'm working on a gothic sci-horror novel that, in its alpha stages, has scared the bejesus out of my reader to the point where she thinks the monster is going to appear in her house. She keeps feeling like she's being watched. We're 2/3 of the way through and she's paranoid to the point where she can't actually read the thing for long stretches of time even if she desperately wants to. I also write fantasy, and there are tropes and expectations that I rely on there, as well. But gods, I'm so tired of people (beyond the half-terror under a blanket "no, don't go in there!!!" response, without acknowledging that it must happen) not applying the same logic to horror protagonists as they do to those of other genres. They're not dumb.

Horror isn't dumb.

It's profoundly, utterly human in its terror.

And to the main point of the post: nothing Jonathan Sims (Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London) could have done would have averted the ending to his story. He's a brilliant mind cracking under strain, attempting to wrangle forces well beyond human comprehension that prey on his being a brilliant mind attempting to wrangle them. The Entities, on occasion, give him what he wants. He learns. He grows.

Until he becomes a monster himself.

There are so many versions of the story, littered with alternate choices and voltas and changes in patterns. "No" instead of "yes" that eventually becomes "yes", anyway, because it has to.

A big-city businesswoman, visiting her aging father for Christmas, walks into a coffee shop and runs headlong into her widowed highschool sweetheart after years away.

A gallant knight, stripped of his armour, raises a sword to protect the princess and slay the dragon.

A PI cracks a cold-case that's been haunting the local police for years after they stumble on new evidence, almost by accident.

Almost by a miracle.

A brave starship captain lays down their life to save an entire planet, millions of lives, because it is right, and at the last second is retrieved by advanced technology created by a society that cares.

Jonathan Sims does the best he can with the information he has, and he almost makes it out in the end.

Until he doesn't.

There is no other version of the story.

----

*I was being mostly facetious in this claim but a part of me actually really wants a low-stakes cozy romantasy in this setting. I can't write that type of stake to save my life (even my fanfiction has to have something life-threatening, so no butterflies for me) so if that prompt strikes your fancy, feel free to steal it and modify however needed. Just... let me know if you ever finish it.

JONATHAN ARCHIVIST IS NOT STUPID SQUAD I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU

#horror #romance #plot structure #Jonny is right and he should say it #writing #notes on writing

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wandaslittlebird · 1 day ago

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A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

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You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x you #wandanat x reader #wandanat #natasha x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #a room of your own

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 11 hours ago

Text

P*rn ☆ Chapter 5, Drive me crazy

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: This one is a doozy. I was a little stuck and I hope this makes sense. Next chapter will explain a little more about Sylus' life before moving next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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1 pm and you're just now making your first coffee along with your breakfast/lunch. You're not used to late nights anymore. Not like you were when you were still in school and partying. Well, "partying." Aka movie night with your friends and making stupid drinking games around the movies you were watching.

Lucky for you, it's Saturday. You've got a whole weekend left to fix your sleeping schedule. Fixing is a big word. Make it so that you've at least had seven hours of sleep before you get to work.

While lazily reading Tara's dramatic retelling of getting Kieran into bed, you notice a notification. One that usually only pops up when Red Crow, or Sylus, posts but it's Saturday. That's not his usual schedule. Frowning, you check the notification.

Red Crow liked your comment: "Raw, next question."

You feel as if you've just shat out your heart. "Cocky," you think to yourself as you tap the notification. It takes you to the comments under the video from last night and that's when you notice it... Your biggest nightmare.

You were horny on main instead of on your alt account and now he probably knows it was you. But now comes the real big question. Do you leave it there as a testament to your thirst for him, or do you delete it in hopes he hasn't noticed it was you to protect your sanity? You scroll a little through the comments and quickly notice that Sylus never likes any comments. "Shit, he definitely knows."

Still, you decide to delete the comment. If he saw it when he was drunk yesterday, then maybe there's a chance he doesn't remember or was just fucking around on his phone. The moment the comment disappears from your screen, there's a knock at your door. You're not sure who it could be. Maybe it's Tara. Did she leave anything yesterday? Or Kieran forced by Tara to apologize? But he would go to Sylus’ house for that.

By the time you're done wrecking you're brain, you're already opening the door and there stands the one and only Sylus. Suddenly there are no more thoughts in your brain, just the picture of Sylus in front of your door wearing grey sweatpants and a black tee that seems a size or two too small. You can see every muscle on his stomach and chest through the shirt. However, that's not even the best part. The best part is that he stretches and moves one hand behind his neck, making his tee rise up and showing the little happy trail that you've salivated over more times than you'd like to admit.

'Hey, sorry to bother you but I'm out of coffee.'

'Go to the store,' you grumble and try to close the door again but he pushes against it.

'Let me try that again,' he says, a playful but subtle grin on his lips, 'I'd like get to know you better over coffee. Preferably at your place.' It seems getting your brain fried is a regular occurrence when Sylus is around and you are suddenly awfully aware of how you look.

Yes, you showered this morning, but you aren't exactly dressed. You threw on a shirt and a big sweater over top with some absurdly stupid miffy pajama shorts. Your words get stuck in your throat and you only seem to be able to mutter out a weak: 'Why?'

He chuckles in response, the sound rumbling through his chest. 'You intrigue me. I'm curious what's going on in that pretty little head of yours.'

"He called me pretty," is the only thought that sticks and you want to hit yourself over the head for only picking up that part, but you remind yourself of the video he had made after meeting you. He must have ulterior motive. 'Nothing else?' A sly smirk appears on his face, like he had been banking on you asking a question like that. Like he had been practicing his response, and it comes out sticky as honey.

'Only with your willing participation.' You try to keep your bratty attitude but it's hard when he is so damn beautiful and so damn close and so damn hot. Goddamn!

'In your dreams, big boy,' you sass, 'come in before I change my mind.'

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There's a tense sort of feeling as you both sit on your couch with coffee in your hands. He keeps watching your movements, almost as if he's studying you or stalking his prey. It makes you feel on edge and at the same time, insanely turned on. To push him off balance, you decide to ask a question that had been hanging in your head for a while now.

'How'd you get into it?'

'It?' He's teasing. His lip quirks up into a smirk again. He wants to hear you say it, hear you say what he does, wants to watch your reaction to it. You feel strangely alien in your own space.

'Porn.' You try to keep a straight face, but you can feel your ears heat up the slightest bit, and he fucking notices. You can tell he fucking notices. He's noticed everything so far. It's so fucking hot and so fucking annoying at the same time. You can only imagine how attentive he would be as a partner.

'I was doing voice acting for a while and got hired for some smut books,' he explains like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's the same as any office job, 'and I liked reading those books and the reaction people had to my voice. So, I tried my hand at posting some pictures of myself to see if people liked my voice and my body. After that I kind of rolled into it.' He takes a second to study your reaction and then asks you: 'And what do you do?'

'Interior decorating.' He nods.

'So I should've met you before I started decorating my place.'

'I don't work for free,' you retort.

'Neither do I,' he says, that damn smirk on his face again, 'but your reaction was more than enough payment for that video.' You're sure you're bright red now.

'I didn't request your services.' Why did you invite him in? Are you that desperate? He puts his mug on the coffee table and takes yours out of your hands to set it down next to his. Then he leans over you, one arm on top of the backrest of your couch, the other gripping the armrest behind you. Naturally, you lean back a little bit, tilting your head up to look at his face. He doesn't look predatory, nor dangerous. In fact, you feel like if you would say no right now, he would go home in an instant. It's strangely comforting.

'See it as a free trial.' He is impossibly close, closer than a stranger should be. Then again, you're not really strangers, are you? You are to him, but he's been on your mind for quite some time now. He's toying with you, he seems to want you for some reason. Barely knows you but it feels so familiar, so nice. You feel desired and... sexy.

'A free trial for what?' You absentmindedly bite your lip. A low groan slips from his lips in response, and he shifts his position on the couch. With one swift motion, his one leg is kneeling on the couch while he pushes your legs onto the couch so you're laid underneath him, your back against the cushions. His lips are next to your ear now.

'Worship,' he growls and ever so gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. You whimper in surprise. He lets go and moves on to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbones. 'Pleasure.' The hand that was on the armrest moves to your waist, slipping under your shirt and you shiver. 'And sex.' His words sound like a promise. A promise you would offer up your life for. You feel breathless as he leans back a little bit to admire your figure. That damn smirk of his, back on his lips as he sees your lust filled eyes. He definitely knows that comment was yours. 'What do you say?'

'You don't even know me,' you manage to mutter.

'I know enough,' he answers and leans down to press a featherlight kiss on the corner of your lips. A strange surge of despair rushes through you and suddenly your hands are behind his neck, entangled in his grey hair, pulling him towards your lips. 'So needy,' he teases, readjusting his knee on the couch to be between your legs, 'I thought you were worried I didn't know you. You wouldn't want to take advantage of me, would you now?'

His lips are only a breath away from yours, his eyes stare into yours intently. You tell yourself it's just sex, yet there's something soft in the way he looks at you. Something you can't quite place, because he shouldn't be looking at you like that. You've only just met him. 'What are you thinking about?'

'Why me?' He doesn't have a quick nor sly response to that. You can tell you've caught him off guard. His eyes widen a little and his head moves away the slightest bit, but you can't tell if it's because you've just asked the dumbest question in existence or because he does not know either.

'There's something about you,' he tells you, his tone no longer teasing but as serious as he can get, 'it's intriguing and I want to find out what it is.'

'Because I gave you a hard on when we first met?' He cracks. His serious demeanor disappears for a second, as does the sexual tension when he sits up on his heel trying to stifle a laugh. The hand that was under your shirt is now on his face, rubbing his jaw to hide his smile.

'You've got a dirty mouth on you, sweetie,' he comments, trying to get back into it but you've already propped yourself up on your elbows with the cheekiest of grins on your face.

'Shouldn't you be used to those kinds of comments by now,' you say, trying to provoke him even more. Truly, you don't know what it is about him that brings your brat out but you don't hate it. It's fun.

'They're different when you read them on a screen,' he answers, sounding almost sincere. Almost. Only if you hadn't known what he proposed so sweetly just a minute ago.

'Maybe you take me out some time and I'll try to behave,' you offer, feeling as daring. This is all so new for you but it just flows. There's no good reason for why you feel this way and yet it's fucking exhilarating. You don't want any of it to stop, but your ovaries are running your brain right now and you can't trust them. Not when it comes to men. They've shown that to you before. You need a second to calm down before you engage in anything that could someday become regrettable to you.

Though you probably wouldn't have minded sleeping with him right here and now.

Sylus doesn't answer you, he just hands you his unlocked phone. You type in your number, already regretting it when you hand it back to him and see the grin on his face. You've just given him so much power to tease you. Well, you should regret it. You think you should.

In reality you can't wait for what's to come.

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sugarwarachan · 2 days ago

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title: better than most to say the least

pairing: dabi x reader (also on ao3)

wc: oops this is almost 3k

CWs: soulmate!au, fem!reader, slight angst if you squint, no condoms used (wrap it up in real life yall), Dabi's a little mean, reader's a little into it, the unbearable burden of being seen, i haven't written fic in years be gentle

Dabi doesn’t care about much. You can’t in the sort of world he inhabits. It’s much easier to scorch the earth behind you than to plan for good things to come. So he’s furious when he hears your voice, a real soft and low number, like a siren out in the fucking fog, say, “That’ll be ¥500.”

His brother laughed when the soul mark activated; even at the age of three, he’d known just how mundane the words were. Part of him had laughed as well; maybe you and he would laugh about it, too, when you met. The laughter died in his throat when he saw his father’s disapproving face.

He looks down at the packaged onigiri in something like disbelief. Your face is starting to express apprehension. He still hasn’t said anything, and it doesn’t even look like he’ll pay. He’s not surprised you’re weirded out, and fuck, something is pressing against his chest, like a buoy rising up, pulling him to the surface so he can finally suck down oxygen.

He feels fucking free, giddy with it. You’re real. He never once imagined you would be.

The grin that cracks his face must look a touch maniacal because your eyes widen, and he watches you press yourself against the counter as he says, “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, princess?”

He’s not all that pleasant to look at.

You know that’s not a nice thing to think, especially about your soul mate, but you can’t help that your first thought upon seeing the guy was holy fucking shit what happened to you?

A moment ago, he was glaring at you, and now he’s radiating a nervous energy that puts you on edge. It’s like he thinks you’ll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off you.

You’re no criminal, but you’re no hero, either. You’ve got a quirk that makes most people wary of you, so your nonsense detector is finely tuned, and fuck, your soul mate is definitely the kind of dude who ends up on the other side of those hero compilations your coworker streams on her lunch break.

“Not done talking to me, are you?” He pouts, pushing out his lips and pulling at the staples in his face. His voice is nice. It relaxes you somehow, even when every nerve in your body is shrieking in alarm.

“Where’s yours?”

This throws him. A part of you doesn’t like forcing his hand like this, but another part of you thinks this could be a really convenient trap.

“Your soul mark?” You tap the side of your wrist. “Mine’s along the radial bone.”

He reaches over the till to grab your arm, pulling you closer. You yelp in protest. His touch is hot, familiar. You’re grateful no one else is in the store right now. Explaining this to yourself is going to be enough of a hassle later on.

There’s a menace in his voice when he addresses you. “You think I’m a liar?”

You don’t, actually. Even without the soul mark you would take this man at his word.

“No. But you’ve been in here a whole lot, and I’m a naturally suspicious person. So, pony up and show me.”

You’ve gotta be smart about this. Heroes and villains alike would do a lot to get a person with your quirk on their side, and you’re not so naïve as to think that soul marks can’t be discovered and used against you.

He grins, and you feel it like a twist to the gut. This guy might actually kill you; you don’t really know. But something—the little bond between the tug of you that threaded your lives together the moment he opened his mouth—is already tugging at your brain for answers, for knowledge, all to better assemble who your soulmate is.

“We’ve gotta go somewhere safe for me to do that, doll.” He leers at you, and you wonder if he’s trying to intimidate, trying to imprint on your brain that, yes, he is, in fact, dangerous. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it.”

Fat fucking chance.

You don’t take him at his word. You call him every name he’s ever heard and then some, and then you close your eyes and hum, and a feeling like sugared caramel slides into his head. Fuck is he floating? he thinks before he crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

When he comes to, his head is splitting. He’s sitting in what he assumes is the store’s backroom, judging by the shelves lined with cleaning products. You’re on a crate watching him with an annoyed expression, lips kicked out in a pout. It draws attention to the fullness of your lower lip. He tries not to notice.

“You could have just shown me,” you grouse.

“And miss out on the chance to have you hit me with your quirk? What kind of masochist would I be then?”

He doesn’t know what you’re doing as a cashier, but it’s safe to say you’re hiding. He has no idea what you did to him, but just before he’d knocked out, he remembered the first time he mastered the flames, that sticky-sweet feeling of hope in his chest. He has no idea how you managed to dig that out after all these years.

You shrug, ignoring him.

“Too good to fucking explain?” he snaps.

You saw something vulnerable, so personal that not even the league knows he has those thoughts, those memories. If he could scrub them from your brain, he would.

“I can make you dream,” you snap back. “When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my own head. It worried my parents. They got me tested because they thought I was quirkless. The doctor said I had a minor empathy quirk. Nothing to worry about. What kid wouldn’t want the advantage of knowing how others feel?”

You clench your hands.

“I didn’t know if I could implant a dream into someone’s head, but I spun that dream the night before, and my parents were never the wiser. Up until the day they died, they never knew I’d planned out that scenario already and made that man lie to them.”

He’s floored. He can’t believe you’re willingly offering up such valuable information to him. What would Shigaraki do with you, he wonders, before a violent pain follows the thought. No, Shigaraki isn’t getting his hands on you. He doesn’t exactly know what happens to the things that kid collects for his master.

“Not at the top of the list for hero candidates?”

Your lips pull back in a sneer before you realize. You’re bad at hiding your feelings, he realizes, something that makes him feel oddly protective. You’ll need to get better at that.

He turns his hands out, palms up. A thin blue flame erupts. You jump, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“We’re gonna need to move, sweets. Neither one of us is exactly hero material.”

He takes you to a sorry excuse for a safe house because it’s just some guy on vacation who was stupid enough to leave a spare key behind, but it works in a pinch. He can’t take you to the league just yet. He already barely knows you, and there he would have to split your time with everyone else.

You’re standing in the doorway like a spooked animal. That you agreed to come is shocking in itself, but then again, he would have followed you into a coffin if you asked it of him. Maybe there was something to those soul mate stories Toga pretended not to read after all. He thought the whole bond thing was exaggerated, but maybe not.

He clenches his jaw and grabs a beer from the fridge.

“I’m not gonna fucking hurt you. You can take the bedroom,” he says, even though he wants you to sit next to him, to look at him, to share something again the way you had in the storeroom. But you’re already shuffling away, and before he knows it, the door shuts with a click, and he’s alone in the dark.

Confirmed villain.

It took you all of two seconds to search the web for League of Villains and/or criminal activity across the country, and bam, there he is, menacing even in blurry camera footage.

You stare up at the ceiling and wonder if you should be horrified at yourself that this confirmation changes nothing. He’s just your soulmate, for better or for worse.

And you’re a coward for sitting in here rather than performing the simple task of sharing a drink with him.

The blue glow of the television lights up the living room. He’s moved to the couch, long legs spread open, arms resting along the back. Desire drops low in your stomach at the sight, an almost innate need flashing in your body to climb into his lap.

He catches your eye and smirks like he can read your thoughts. You blush furiously. “Did you realize hiding doesn’t solve shit?”

“Shut up,” you retort, like a child, which makes him laugh. It’s a nice laugh. A little subdued, you think, but warm, hard-won. You don’t imagine he laughs often.

When you settle down next to him, he seems to barely register, but something in you knows he’s pleased. You curl toward the feeling like a cat seeking a sunbeam.

“Really, though. What made you come out?”

Looking him in the eye is a mistake. He has beautiful eyes, a cerulean blue that puts the sky to shame.

“I don’t like running from things,” you manage. You were wrong to think he wasn’t pretty. “What’s your name?”

He snorts. “You’ve gotta know it, doll, didn’t you spend ten minutes in there panic-searching for violent crime?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d still like to be introduced.”

“It’s Dabi.”

You raise a brow. “That’s it?”

“For now. I’ll tell you the real one later, okay?”

“Fine.”

He’s watching compilation videos of pro heroes, the footage flickering on the walls around you.

“This is what you do in your spare time?”

He shrugs. “Just what was on.”

You don’t believe that for a second, but it’s fine, because you’re a liar, too. You’d do anything to avoid painful topics, like the possibility that your soulmate already has plans outside of you that you won’t be able to change.

“You know, your words used to get me in a lot of trouble,” you say, to get you back into familiar territory.

He smiles, like that pleases him. You bet it does.

“Oh yeah? What sort of trouble?”

“Just the usual. Your soulmate has a potty mouth, your soul mate’s probably a villain…”

His shoulder tenses against you. You don’t remember scooting closer, but the sheer fucking heat of him is searing into your skin.

You want him. If you’re being honest, you’ve probably wanted him since he first appeared in the store. The part of you that doesn’t exactly abide by societal standards saw a kindred flame in him.

“That sort of thing used to bother me when I was a kid, I guess. But the older I got, the more I realized how much I liked them.”

Your hands ache to touch him. His thigh tenses alongside yours.

“What do you like about them now?” he asks.

You have a whole slew of thoughts in your head about them, the characteristics you assumed based on one little question, but for now all you can say is, “That you finally said them.”

He doesn’t know who moves first.

You tumble into his lap inelegantly, but he doesn’t care; he wants you closer. He’s wanted you closer since he arrived at this shitty studio apartment, has been trying to rein in the overwhelming feeling of possession swarming under his skin, but he wants.

He's a villain, and he’s never been good at waiting for what he wants.

His hands press into the meat of your hips, and he savors the little gasp you make. He’s hard as iron already and all you’ve done is settle your clothed cunt on top of him.

“You’re already fucking scorching, baby, can feel you through your fucking jeans,” he hisses, dragging you along his thigh. You whimper. “I know, fuck, I know, you’re driving me crazy, too.”

Your hands are everywhere, sliding over his scarred skin like you were born to it, fingers exploring the cool metal of his staples. You’re gentle but also not, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt in his entire life. You move to kiss him, your hips moving more and more, a desperate noise bubbling up in your throat.

“Please, Dabi, please.” You sound so fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you all that much. “I wanna kiss you, don’t you wanna kiss me?”

He smirks. A little brat, begging for kisses.

He does want to kiss you, has been staring at the plushness of your lips for the better part of since he met you, but his mouth aches today.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna kiss me now,” you’re saying, tongue licking and tasting and sucking at his neck. He bucks against you. “We can feel good in other ways.”

The whimper that comes out of him feels ripped from his soul. His arms cage you closer, one palm snaking up to cup your neck, the other under your shirt.

Neither of you talk as you make quick work of each other’s clothes, discarding them to the floor. He tries not to feel insecure as you take in his body. Over the years, his appearance is as much a part of him as his past. He can’t shed either, no matter how much he might want to.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think you were pretty at first.”

You look so devastated that he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t fucking care,” he says, pulling you to him and kissing you despite how much his lips ache, because fuck, he has someone, finally, and he’s so glad it’s you. “Just want you.”

He punctuates this by cupping your bare pussy with his hand. Just from grinding on him earlier, you’re slippery and warm, and his fingers part your folds easily. You sigh into his mouth as he rubs the pad of his thumb around the sides of your clit, huffing a laugh when your hips buck for more.

“Getting desperate for it, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you grit out. “Just fucking touch me –" you roll your hips forward – “like you fucking mean it.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll have you dumb on my cock before long.”

“Big fucking talk for a man who hasn’t even – “

He cuts you off by stuffing your pussy with two of his fingers, the stretch of it making you whine. You can feel the cool metal in the staples at the heel of his hand as he strokes, in and out, a steady and rough rhythm that feels impossibly good for it to just be fucking fingering.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without even seeing him. Splayed out on his lap like this, your tits bouncing as you shift your body closer to him, you bet you look like a fucking mess. But you don’t care, because he's right, no one has ever made you feel like this, and it’s important to you that he feels just as fucking good.

His cock curves along his stomach, weeping pre-cum and jerking up whenever your voice hitches. You think it’s so hot, how in tune he already is with you, how much he wants to please you, that you grab him in the palm of your hand and stroke, relishing the groan that rumbles in his throat.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” you taunt. His eyes flash, and before you know it, you’re both on the ground, his hips slotting in between your legs and his cock notching up at your entrance. He looks up at you, pupils blown, chest heaving.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’ll fucking murder you –"

He cuts you off with one quick rock of his hips. You burn at the stretch. He’s big, and it’s been a while, but he’s already moving before you have time to process that little blip of pain before the pleasure is overwhelming you. You squeal when he lifts your hips up, but it’s just to slip a pillow under you before he’s manhandling your hips and fucking into you like a man possessed.

His breath is hot against your ear, whispering a litany of confessions while he drags his cock in and out. It’s so purposeful, you feel every stroke of him in your fucking skull. His pubic bone grinds against your clit with every thrust, and before you know it, you’re chanting praises, begging him to let you come.

He knows the neighbors will complain, that the safe house is absolutely busted, but he can’t fucking care, because your perfect little cunt is squeezing him like a vice, and your eyes are so blissful as you come that he feels, finally, at peace.

“That’s it, princess,” he says as your orgasm shatters through you. “Make a fucking mess, just for me, god yes –"

He comes so hard that his vision whites out. All he can feel and hear and see and think is you.

He collapses on top of you, nosing at the baby hairs damp with sweat along your neck. He smiles. Maybe later he’ll take you to a bed and tell you his real name.

#sugarwarachanwrites #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya smut #mha dabi #mha x reader #league of villains x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha #boku no hero academia

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jedi-enthusiasm-blog · 3 days ago

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I mean they still coerce/steal children into joining them. And they left Anakin's mom to die a slave death. Like sure they aren't awful as an organization but they aren't always right?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too harsh on Jedi antis. Then something like this happens and it hits me that no, if anything I'm being too soft.

Let's begin with the obvious, out-of-universe part. It's very rude to come to people's clearly tagged posts and say something like this. I love the Jedi I see in the PT and TCW, and I should be able to make, at least, vaguely positive posts about them without having to see this in the comments.

Now, onto your argument:

"They coerce/steal children into joining them."

You'd have a hard time arguing this, even using only Legends, the continuity that's most critical of the Jedi.

Baby Ludi doesn't offer us much information beyond "the baby's family was reasonably but incorrectly pressumed dead". Even then, these type of stories are used to show what the public opinion of the Jedi was, not what the Jedi were actually doing.

Children of the Force (the comic) is another of these stories. The Shatterpoint novel, on its own, contradicts every single instance of the Jedi being baby-snatchers or not being allowed to know their birth families/culture. Shatterpoint was written by Matthew Stover, who spoke with George Lucas personally and knew George Lucas' vision for Star Wars, and had that aside from his own personal interpretations that may or may not align with Lucas', unlike many other EU writers. This puts Shatterpoint very high in Legends canonity tier.

Jedi Path is stupid even when reading it in good faith. Movies, shows and later books with more canonity contradict it, so not good for argument.

Anything written by Karen Traviss is bullshit because 1. she disagrees with the good vs evil narrative of a franchise intended for kids, and 2. she only watched the PT halfway through, as a child. That's not getting into how she tries to paint both sides of the Empire vs Rebellion war as bad. Let me repeat, she's presenting the original heroes as bad. She's not engaging with the narrative presented to her, so what she writes is something else with the names of the Star Wars universe slapped into it.

In TCW this is trope of baby-snatchers is invoked and defied. A planet believes the Jedi steal children (manipulated by a Dark Side cult, so the people's worries were born out of propaganda), the Jedi stop going there, and the arc ends with them making up and solving the misunderstanding. To add to that, Children of the Force (the episode) is about Force-sensitive children being kidnaped by Cad Bane, and ends with the Jedi giving the children back to their parents; one of them was in the middle of an adjustment period to the Order and the other's parents had refused to give their child up, and there is zero indication that either child becomes a Jedi in the future.

In the PT the only introduction into the Order is Anakin, and the Jedi refuse. Until they can't refuse because Anakin is in danger of being discovered and brainwashed/stolen by a Sith, the Jedi say no. This is not how you portray characters to want to paint as kidnapers. Also, Palpatine (y'know, the Sith who's grooming and trying to turn Anakin against the Jedi) doesn't bring up anything related to child-stealing. If the main villain doesn't make that point, not even to be subverted later on, it's simply not true.

Coertion is an interesting argument because… it's never brought up. Yeah, you read that right. Never. Not even in arguments against the Jedi done by villains.

Jedi are not kidnapers in any continuity. Fandom made that up. Can that make for some interesting story about shady situations? Sure, if you're into that, but it's not canon. If you're critizing canon Jedi, bringing this shit up immediately makes you lose the argument.

"They left Anakin's mom to die a slave death"

No, they didn't. This post talks about her death, but something important I want to add is that she'd been free for years at the time of her death. Also, who's to say they didn't try? Who's to say they even knew she was a slave? Qui-Gon brought Anakin to the Order and then he died.

In Legends they actually had a hand in her winning her freedom, too.

You proved my point. You can critize the Order (I'm the first person to say they aren't perfect and some of their choices should be critized), but creating a narrative about the Jedi stealing children that has no basis in either Lucas', Legends or Disney canon to dunk on them is not being critical, it's just slander.

Friendly reminder that if you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

"They told Anakin he wasn't fit to be a Jedi" Yeah, was he? He was unhappy the whole time, broke all their rules and eventually slaughtered them.

"They massacred the Sith Order" Yeah. Those "I'm better than everyone and everything and they all should kneel to me or die" people? I see no issue here.

"They fought in the Clone Wars as peacekeepers." Yeah. What was the alternative? Standing by as the clones, civilians and the Republic itself (the best government out those in the galaxy, although admittedly that's rather a low bar) were massacred by the Separatists? Yeah no. And peacekeepers ≠ pacifists.

"They forbid marriage." They are a religious organization, monks. Fobidding its members from marrying is pretty standard in monasteries. They also aren't celibate, friendship isn't discouraged at all and it's all but stated by Obi-Wan in TCW S6 that romantic feelings are perfectly allowed. Several of the Order's members practice their home planets' culture and religion and language (Barriss has a Mirilian Idol in her room, she Luminara Quinlan etc have cultural tattoos, many characters have accents which implies Basic isn't their first language and others don't speak Basic at all,etc). They have no dress code, they are allowed to drink, smoke, etc., even become part of other religions organizations (see Plo Koon)! Marriage being forbidden is nothing, literally meaningless next to the freedom Jedi have.

If you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

No, they shouldn't change their whole way of life just because you don't like it.

#star wars #pro jedi #an anti sneaking into my blog #in defense of the jedi #this is a pro jedi blog #nothing but love for the jedi #fandom salt #I'm being salty because come on

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iminyourwallsbabe · 1 day ago

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I have more Meljayvik thoughts

Okay first and foremost, Jayce takes care of both Viktor and Mel. Idk where this idea came from that he doesn't but *insert loud incorrect buzzer*

Like we're talking about a guy who basically screwed over all of humanity so his gay situationship could live a little longer. The same guy who, as a child, tried to shield his mother from the freezing fucking cold. Come on now.

Let me break down just how dedicated I think he is to this

So when it comes to Mel, she's a busy woman, girlbossing takes a lot of energy out of her. Sometimes, she'll fall asleep without wrapping her hair up. No scarves, no bonnets, nothing. So he went out of his way to not only buy her satin sheets to counteract it, but he will deadass go in and put the bonnet her himself. Does he always manage to do this without waking her up? No, but she appreciates the effort. And in that same vein, he also learned how to do her hair so she wouldn't have to keep doing it herself. If she wants ankle length 613 goddess braids he will sit there for the hours it'll take to do that I'm so serious. She'd never ask for that but again, it's the thought that counts.

And ALSO. When her social battery runs out at the end of the day, nobody's allowed to speak to her unless she wants them to. "Councilor Medarda-" NO. SHUT UP. SHE DOESN'T WANNA HEAR IT. SAVE IT FOR TOMORROW. GO AWAY. He will simply not allow it. Shit, he won't even talk if she doesn't want him to (usually she likes to hear him speak though, it's comforting).

Then there's Viktor, who requires a hell of a lot more maintenance even though he can handle most of it himself. Bro will forget to eat, sleep, drink, he'd forget to breathe if that was something he could stop doing for a long period of time without dying. Jayce will come in every now and then and give him at least a snack or something. Or, he'll just drag him out of the lab and forcibly take care of him. What's he gonna do? Stop him? Bffr. Get loved, bitch. He'll take his cane if he has to. And if he happens to fall asleep in the lab, he'll take him to bed or put a blanket over him at least. He knows how the cold makes his pain worse and would rather him be warm. That being said, his room is heated and stops at a specific temperature. Viktor was actually very impressed when he realized he did that and wondered why he never thought of it.

Anyway long story short he loves them and I can confirm that all of this is canon because the creator of Arcane, Mr. John Arcane himself, came to my house to tell me

#meljay #jayvik #meljayvik #headcanons #arcane #viktor arcane #mel medarda #jayce talis #fluffy

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bettystonewell · 2 days ago

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What Happened Last Night? - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After burning the Book of the Damned and escaping the Styne's, you all have a night of harmless celebrations back at the bunker. At least, it was harmless until Charlie suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, and the rest of your night became a blur. Friends to Lovers 18+ only

Word Count: 6,400

Warnings: Language, Dubious Consent (implied drunk sex), SMUT —————————————————————PREVIOUS || READ ON AO3

After some bacon, toast, painkillers, and more coffee to wash it all down with, you escaped the common area of the bunker to the confines of your room. With no white sheets, no clothes on the floor and nothing to remind you of Dean, it was a perfect, cosy haven to mull things over in.

Last night was still a blur, but his face at the table was not and the confusion and disappointment you’d seen in his eyes left you feeling less hungover and more sick.

A lump had formed in your throat and your stomach churned as you fought your memories to remember some order of events. What was said? Who’d instigated things, and how far did you get?

You couldn’t remember if you had slept with him or not, but it was something you’d wanted for a long time. Not just sex, but to be closer to him. And if that became a permanent arrangement, well, you wouldn’t be upset by that.

Would you go as far as to say you wanted a relationship with him? Probably not, but then again…

Oh god.

You had it bad. And now you’d fucked things up.

Fuck. What if you’d fucked things up?

What if he wanted nothing more to do with you or it had all been a onetime thing? Something to let off steam because of the mark or any other crappy thing in his life.

He had quite a lot of things…

But if it had been a one-off, and you didn’t even get to remember it? Well, that was crappy too.

Maybe you should move? Hah. That was a bit extreme. The bunker was your home too and had been for over a year. You wouldn’t move out for something like this, but maybe you could take a few days away? That’s all that was needed for the whole thing to blow over and for you to pretend nothing had happened, right?

Right?

No, you couldn’t do that. Not without talking to him first, anyway. You owed yourself that much, and you owed him that much, too. Especially after the look he’d given you and what he’d said to Charlie about sorting out your shit.

So, after giving yourself a few hours of mulling, you decided there was no time like the present - to sort out some shit.

You left your room and walked down the cold and sterile corridor. You stepped right up to his door square in front of it and reached your arm out to knock. But as your fist touched the wood below the brass-plated Aquarian star at the ready, you hesitated and withdrew.

Why were you doing this again? ‘Cause it seemed like a bad idea now. His door was closed and you assumed that meant he didn’t want to be disturbed.

Yeah. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

This could wait til later when his door was open. Later that night, or maybe tomorrow.

‘Definitely tomorrow.’

And once again, you were on the move. You spun back around on your heel in the direction you’d come from and took a step forward, just when room 11’s door clicked open and Dean called out to you.

“What’re you doing?”

Shit.

You’d stood there in the hall waiting too long. Damn hunter senses. He must’ve seen your shadow under the gap between the wood and the floor. Or heard the soft thud on his door from your knuckles.

He was leaning against it with his arms folded and his legs crossed beneath him when you turned back and it took your breath away. His flannel was missing and the form under his simple, black t-shirt was solid and defined.

“I um… Thought we could have a do-over,” you said. “Talk about last night.”

Last night…

Of all the things you recalled about last night, images of his bare chest showed up the most. Your fingers and tongue had been very up close and personal with it. Tasting the salt from his skin along with the alcohol he held on his breath.

You had it bad alright.

He must’ve known it, too. You saw the grimace on his face turn into a smirk when he saw how your eyes roamed. “But you changed your mind?”

This was great. Just great... Although at least he was open to talking with you.

He flicked his head to the room behind him without another word and that’s how you found your way back to his bed, sitting side by side at the foot-end of it with a safe distance between you.

His room was now neat. The white sheets you’d found covering you earlier that morning were folded and tucked in over the blanket, with no creases in sight. While the floor surrounding the bed was no longer scattered with clothes.

There was no evidence whatsoever of whatever had transpired last night. All gone like the words you’d spoken to him had from your memories.

“So,” you said.

“So?” Dean said back.

You noticed the way he slouched his shoulders and drooped his head. A far cry from the confidence he’d just displayed in the hall. Now his arms rested on his thighs and his hands clenched into fists. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was just as uncomfortable as you were, but why?

He hadn’t woken up in your bed. He hadn’t worn your clothes. (Not that he’d fit them.) And he had forgotten nothing - apparently. Yet he looked as uncertain as you felt when he turned to look at you again.

He was waiting for you to say something and by the right you should’ve. You came to him, after all. But through all the brooding you’d done, you hadn’t decided what to say. You had been so focused on trying to remember last night’s activities that you had forgotten yet another important thing.

Having no idea how to start, you did what you always did when you were clueless about what to do and apologised. “Ah. Sorry for bolting on you earlier,” you said. “I kind of freaked out a little when I woke up and I, well, I panicked.”

While it may not have been appropriate or the perfect solution, it seemed to work because he unclenched his fists and sat upright. “You really don’t remember?”

“Well… Bits of it. I know we started something. I just don’t know how far we got.”

And there it was. That disappointed look in his eyes you had seen back at the table had resurfaced, this time accompanied by regret.

What else could you say besides, “Sorry,” again? Your own screwed-up expression making an appearance.

“You think saying sorry makes it better?” he spat.

“Why are you so pissy?” you spat right back.

You knew it was the wrong thing to say, but you couldn’t help the words that spewed from your mouth. You’d apologised against your better judgement. The least he could do was say something kind in return.

“Pissy?” He sprung off the bed and spun around to tower over you.

Oh hell no!

He still had a height advantage, but you weren’t going to take his attitude sitting down and you stood up too. “You’re getting all offended because I don’t remember what happened. But newsflash, I was drunk. What do you expect?”

“Newsflash. You were drunk, and we almost had sex! It was lucky you passed out before anything really started.”

To say relief washed over you in that moment was an understatement.

You’d almost had sex, not had.

If that were the case, then that meant you hadn’t fucked up completely and your friendship with Dean was still salvageable (you hoped). There was also no longer any need to worry about asking awkward questions such as whether he had come inside of you or had used protection…

Nope. You were good in that department.

You’d passed out.

No wonder you remembered nothing. You’d been drunker than you realised and it was a wonder you’d recalled anything at all. ‘Stupid Charlie and her stupid drinking game.’ Though you knew when you saw her again, you’d be all smiles.

Nothing could get you down except for the look that marred Dean’s face. His eyes pierced through your short-lived happiness like a pin to a balloon and as it deflated, you muttered yet another, “Sorry. I don’t normally pass out like that.”

“Would you stop saying you’re sorry? Do you think I’d wanna continue when you were that drunk? And after what you told me.”

Shit. What did you tell him?

Oh no. No, no, no. That’s it. If you’d told him you had feelings for him, then you were moving out. Whether he reciprocated them or not, the sheer embarrassment was enough of an excuse to leave for good.

Just after you asked, “Dean. What happened last night?”

His eyes softened and his stance relaxed. “We continued the game. Where Charlie left off… Her last turn.”

Her last turn. Your mind scrambled through its cracks and corners, pulling the face of a drunken Charlie to its forefront. Her flushed cheeks and her words, “Never have I ever gone down on a guy,” replayed over and over in your head.

That’s when Sam had had enough and called it a night. Cas had been confused and followed him while Charlie, who found the whole thing hilarious, had made the excuse to use the bathroom and never returned.

Did you down the shot for that? Yes. Yes, you did.

And you asked Dean if he wanted to keep playing after, turning the tables on him when he’d said yes. He’d taken a swig to, “Never have I ever gone down on a girl,” and it had only gotten raunchier after that.

“It started flirty,” Dean said, confirming your memory. “But then it got more, I dunno, personal, and it stopped being a game. And then you said something about risking friendships and when I asked you what you meant, you kissed me.”

Nuh-uh. You called bullshit. “I was on the other side of the table.”

“You came around to me,” he retorted. “Sat yourself in my lap and grinded your hips a little.”

You didn’t miss the small pull of his lips and the flash of ardour in his eyes that betrayed his tone, yet, still you were quick to be defensive. “I did not.”

You had it bad, but you would never just act on it like that, would you?

Though as you strained your hardest to think back, your brain brought forward an image of your legs on either side of his and a twinge between them and the pit of your stomach that you’d felt then…

And now.

“Okay, maybe I did,” you said as you lowered your eyes, sweeping over what had been your denim seat.

Fuck. You horny little minx.

“Hey. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” Without even looking, you heard his grin. “Why do you think I offered for you to come in here with me in the first place?”

Because he’d wanted this too, you realised. And he must’ve been enjoying himself just as much as you had until you’d passed out on him.

“So, when did I pass out?” you asked.

Rather than answering, Dean walked around to the nightstand on the back wall next to his bed and picked up something small enough to fit in his hand. It crinkled under his touch, sounding more like the soft plastic of a candy bar than anything else.

Your suspicions told you otherwise though, and when he came back around and took your hand to place the object in your palm, you didn’t need to look at it to recognise the feel and shape of a condom still inside its wrapper.

There was the definite answer to your question about protection.

You tore your eyes away from the colourful package to see him looking uneasy. His hands were stuck deep in his pockets. “We hadn’t got that far,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle.

“I was getting prepared. I leaned over to grab that and when I came back to, you know, continue, you’d passed out… You woke up still wearing your panties, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Cause we didn’t take ‘em off.”

“But you dressed me? I was wearing your shirt when I woke up.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Nothing happened, though. I uh… We didn’t get past second base. Though we were getting there… I might’ve run my hand over you, and you know, you rubbed yourself over my leg, but nothin’ more than that.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He’d painted the picture well enough, and it explained why you were struggling to remember more than you had. “Uh… Thanks,” you said, giving him a meek smile that his face screwed up over.

“Yeah... Of course...”

Still holding the condom in your hand, you sat down on the bed, running your finger over the sharp edge and staring anywhere but at him. Embarrassment washed over you, and he appeared to share the same sentiment. Hah. The ever flirtatious Dean Winchester, confident around every other woman but you.

So why didn’t it make things easier? You were on a level playing field and yet tension still filled the air.

“So what now?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

Dammit. Why’d he have to answer your question with another one?

“I dunno. We almost had sex and I can’t remember any of it, but you do… Do you wanna pretend nothing happened or…?”

“Do you?”

There was a definite hitch in his voice that had you raising your head to meet his eyes. “No. You might regret what almost happened, but I don’t.”

“What makes you think I regret it?”

You raised your brow and shrugged. “Look at you. You’re not exactly screaming confidence right now.”

“Doesn’t mean I regret it.” His body language still said otherwise.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I’m getting from all this.” You sighed and hung your head again. This tension. All this movement back and forth was putting a strain on your neck. It was bad enough there was one in your heart.

“Hey.” He stooped down to crouch before you and placed a hand on your knee. His touch was as soothing and gentle as his next words tried to be. “Really. I regret nothing. I just don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

Taking advantage of? “You can’t take advantage of someone if it’s what they want, Dean.”

How could he not know it’s what you’d wanted? According to him, you’d been the one to start things off. Was that not obvious enough for him?

Of course it was.

Which meant this wasn’t something he wanted after all, and you had embarrassed yourself more than you’d thought. Fuck. You were so fucking stupid. What had you done?

You’d said and done way too much. That’s what you’d done.

“I need to go.”

Without hesitation, you brushed his hand off your leg and picked yourself up so you could make your way to the door, but a newfound grip on your wrist held you in your tracks. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I did. And now we have,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

But he refused.

His free hand pried the condom packet out of yours and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. He then stepped up to you, chest to chest and angled his head down to yours, watching you through an intense gaze. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

What did you want? You wanted him. How was that not obvious by now? Did you really have to say it?

“I…” you stuttered.

He leaned in close, captivating every piece of you. From his mouth and the warmth of his breath that escaped it to brush against your cheeks and lashes. To your beating heart that raced above a stomach that was bubbling with butterflies.

“Don’t forget you told me things last night. You might not remember ‘em but I do and I’m pretty sure you’ve been wanting something from me for a while… Now, what do you want?” he asked again before speaking lower. “Cause maybe I want it too.”

Maybe he wanted it too?

His words were a switch, and they forced you into action.

“You, I want you,” you breathed, closing the gap between you to press your lips to his.

Your eyes closed and his hands started roaming over your body. Fingers brushed over your cheek and combed through your hair up top. While lower, they smoothed over your clothes, sending shockwaves of need to the skin beneath them.

Dean’s bicep contracted under your palm while the muscles of his stomach and chest rose and fell below the other.

What a kiss. What a delicious, indescribable kiss.

So familiar, yet oh so new.

Every touch was pleasurable. Every nip and graze was precise. His taste, his scent, the small, inaudible sounds he made. It was all there in what brief memory you had from last night and it continued to keep you entranced as you allowed yourself to experience it again for the first time.

He placed kiss after sensuous kiss over your mouth, your neck and your collarbone, eliciting a quiet hum when he moved to that spot below your ear. Your hands raked through the tufts of his hair, from the short and spiky ones on the back of his neck, to the finer ones he kept longer at the sides.

His grin was huge when you pulled apart to catch your breaths but he still sounded sincere when he asked, “You sure you want this?”

Did he really need to ask you that now? At this moment, when you could be doing plenty of other things?

Yes, you wanted him. You’d wanted him last night and days, weeks, months, years before that. Since the moment you’d met, it was all you ever wanted and while you knew you may regret things tomorrow or the next day, you couldn’t deny yourself from the moment because it was right in front of you now.

“Yeah.” You smiled in earnest, watching his features as your arms snaked their way around his back to press yourself into him further. His chest was hard against yours and his groin, impressive. There was a distinguishable shape beneath the layer of denim and whatever he wore underneath it.

You couldn’t help the fresh round of warmth that spread across your cheeks and matched the yearning in the pit of your stomach below as his tongue invaded your mouth again. Running over every crevice it could reach as his hands came to the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingers up to knead any piece of skin they could.

With practised hands, they traced their path over the bruises from last night, gliding past your navel and manoeuvring under your bra, just as you recalled. Only this time, you felt the moment he’d unclasped it to give himself easier access to your breasts.

He pulled away from you only to remove your shirt and fully expose your chest to him. His eyes wandered over the marks below your collarbone and on the side of your hips with pride. “Never have I ever done that,” he said with a satisfied hum.

Huh?

He chuckled at your confusion. “You took charge of the clothes we lost last night, including mine.”

You groaned and buried your face in his shirt, feeling him shake against you. Fucking hell. Last-night’s-you was overzealous and needy. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s chuckle grew into a burst of laughter. His hands gripped your shoulder and forced your head to look up at him before he placed a simple kiss over your mouth. “No more sorries, alright? Never have I ever apologised during sex.”

“What?” You could see the humour in his statement, but why the fuck was he saying it like that?

“Just playing the game.”

He stepped back and removed his shirt in one fluid motion.

Well, hello Dean.

Until last night, you only saw him with his shirt off when you were helping him dress a wound, and half the time he had blood all over him - that was never attractive on anyone - but now you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Now. You apologised. You gotta take your bra off for that.”

“So, why did you remove your shirt?”

He shrugged and his muscles rippled through the motion. “My game, my rules. Bra off.” He nodded his head at the offending item.

That was enough for you and you did as you were asked. One strap, then you had it off with the next, and the second it hit the floor, Dean pounced on you.

Wrapping one arm around your waist, the other brought its hand up to cup your newly exposed breasts, while his head lowered so his mouth could wrap around the other, flicking his tongue over your hardening nipple and suckling with a tender pressure when it formed into a bud.

Boy, what a tongue. There was no way he’d done this last night. And If he had, you didn’t deserve to reap the rewards from it now.

The sensations he gave you were intoxicating.

His scent, even more so.

The gel from his hair that whisked under your nose, the motor oil on his fingers that danced over your skin and the whiskey that still seeped from his pores - vanilla and spice. It all added to the smell of gunpowder that always lingered in his room.

Releasing you with a pop, he raised his head to glance at you through half-lidded eyes. His expression had a carnal look to it and when he opened his mouth to speak again, confidence oozed from deep within him. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever?”

He nodded.

“Ah…” You had no fucking clue what to say, but those green eyes stared at you with such anticipation that rather than taking your ‘turn,’ you flung yourself at him instead.

Your hands caressed either side of his neck and just bare of planting your lips on his own, Dean’s arms swooped around your waist and thigh to lift you off the floor.

He carried you back to his bed with a hurried step and had you caged beneath him in the blink of an eye.

It was exactly where you wanted to be. Screw his game. Screw last night. You were sober and more than ready for him.

Arousal pooled at your entrance, separated by mere layers of fabric from his thigh. Without the heavy denim, he surely would have felt the wetness seeping through. The thick muscle pushed against you, encouraging your legs to spread further apart.

He might not have been able to feel you, but you felt him. His length was a solid bulge against the lower part of your pelvis.

He had to be thick. Long too. And you wondered how you managed to pass out when Dean’s ‘monster’ was well within your hand’s reach.

They now trailed over the smooth skin of his toned back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he pulled air into his lungs.

“You know last night you asked me to fuck you?”

Oh god. How eloquent of you. “I’m never drinking again,” you muttered under your breath.

“But drunk-you was so fun and honest… She told me she gets jealous when I hook up with other girls I meet at the bar, and d’you know what I told her?”

‘Hopefully to shut up.’ Drunk-you needed to learn how to filter better. As well as when to stop drinking.

“I told her I hate watching her flirt with all the douchebags she talks to...”

And with that last sentence, he had you captivated again. His body, his face. Those green eyes watched you with reverence and shined brighter than they ever had before with you. “Cause I want her just as much as she wants me”

Dean pulled away from you with a smirk and brought his hands to the fly of your jeans, helping you with them and the panties underneath. “I’m not just gonna fuck you, baby, I’m gonna take such good care of you too... And then when I’m done, I ain’t letting you leave this bed.”

Fuck.

It was finally happening.

Here you were and there he was, towering above you. A knee on either side of your leg and hand over your hip, gripping the extra flesh there with a welcomed pressure.

Dean was sex on a stick, and right at that moment, he was yours.

Before you knew it, a finger swiped through your centre and the calloused pad of another was on your clit.

“Fuck,” you inhaled with a hiss through your teeth.

It was finally happening.

“You’re so wet for me already. Bet you’ve been like that the entire time. Since last night? Or maybe just at my door?… I saw the way you looked at me.”

“Don’t get so full of yourself,” you jeered, and he chuckled. The sound reverberated through his chest and travelled to his fingers and brought out such delicious sensations to your core and further beyond it.

“You’ll be full of something soon enough,” he said with promise.

And you couldn’t wait.

Your skin was on fire. Your cunt was on fire, too. Attempting to clamp on something or draw Dean’s fingers in, and whether he knew it, that’s the next thing he did, pushing one thick digit up into you.

It curled over, skimming over the cushioned walls that lined your entrance with come hither motions.

You cried out his name when he found your sweet spot and grabbed hold of his wrist when he inserted a second finger to join it. All the while, he watched you with interest and a feverous gaze as his fingers worked you into a frenzy.

Expectations met with reality. No one, not even you, had touched yourself in this way in such a long while and the sounds he had you making were proof enough. Dean was skilled and every rumour you’d ever heard of him was true.

“There?” he asked when your back arched off the bed.

“There.” Fuck. Right there.

He flashed you a cocksure grin before shuffling backwards and lowering his head to join his hands.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Dean was down there and you weren’t prepared for that. You hadn’t shaved or paid particular attention to yourself to be ready for this. Drunk-you might not have cared but sober-you sure fucking did.

Your hands scrambled to pull him away from you and when that didn’t work, you attempted a retreat.

But he gripped firmer on your hip, never faltering with the other hand that continued to work on you. “I told you I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

His warm breath passed over your folds and it had your legs trembling.

“You’re so close, baby girl. So tight around my fingers… Wonder what will happen when I taste you,” he murmured.

Soon his soft, succulent lips surrounded your clit, and that’s all it took for the pressure boiling within to release. Your slicked cunt clamped on Dean’s fingers like a vice around wood as you cried out his name again.

He continued to guide you through it, even as he rose to face you. The same grin from earlier spread across his face and a newfound glisten surrounded it.

“How’re we doing up here?” he asked.

How were you doing? You were “Fan-fucking-tastic,” and struggling to regain a regular breath.

Your hands wrapped around his head, pulling him down to capture his lips with yours, awarding you a taste of yourself, but better still, another taste of him.

Despite being thoroughly taken care of, you still desired more. You needed to touch him, taste him and have him inside of you. So your hands trailed lower, running across his heaving chest and abdomen, to the rough denim that constrained him, palming him with one hand and attempting to move his belt with the other.

“Never have I ever gotten in here,” you said, earning you a chuckle and a swat of your hand.

“I’m taking care of you, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do the same for you.”

He considered you for a moment, but shook his head. “Maybe next time.” With a peck of your lips, he withdrew back, stepping off the bed to unbuckle his belt. “I wanna feel you wrapped around me now.”

You could get used to this. And you were going to hold him to that next time, but for now, how could you say no to those green eyes?

They stared down at you, travelling the length of your body with a hungry gaze. Your own doing the same to him.

You heard the clink as his belt hit the floor and you heard the shuffle as his feet stepped out of his pants. But your eyes? You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his erection sprang up against his stomach. It was standing unashamed.

“Like what you see?”

Fuck yeah, you did.

Genius Charlie and her genius game.

It was impressive, just as you’d thought, with a slight curve and a thick bulbous head.

You watched as he pumped himself and replied by sitting up and crawling over to him to replace his hand with yours. He was warm and heavy, and he grunted when your fingers curled around his girth to find the pressure he liked most.

‘There we go.’ You grinned when you were awarded with a soft moan and a thrust of his hips.

“I thought I was going to take care of you?”

“So did I. But you weren’t moving fast enough.”

Another moan escaped him - a deep growl from somewhere within his chest.

You wanted to see if he’d do that again, but his fingers pried yours away from him and he pulled you to stand with him on the floor. Your chest met his and his length met your stomach, while those same hands came round to grab your rear and pushed your pelvis into his.

The sharp edge of the condom wrapper dug into the thick flesh of your rump and you reached around to take it.

Dean released you to step back, watching as you got down on a bent knee to see him up close. His hand took one large clump of your hair and tugged, gentle but firm.

‘Never have I ever gone down on Dean Winchester,’ you thought. But there was a first time for everything.

You played your game in earnest, unbeknownst to him, opening wide to take the now-reddened tip into your mouth with one gulp.

“Fuck,” he said above you.

Your tongue flicked over the small slit, tasting the first drops of pre cum that had collected there. Not salty, or sour, or bitter, but something you couldn’t describe. To say it was unpleasant was a lie because it was Dean, and because it was Dean. Any doubt or reserve you’d had before last night went out the window.

And you went to town.

You sucked, licked and stroked him up, down and all over, listening to his sounds and any cues he gave you. When his hand gripped your hair tighter, you doubled your efforts of the current manoeuvre until he could take no more.

“Woah.” His hand pulled you back. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I was hoping to get past third and hit home… I don’t think I can wait another night to be inside ya.”

Neither could you, and you stood up again, handing over the small foil packages still held onto. “Then take care of me, Dean.”

He flicked his head towards his bed and you moved without question, sitting in the middle with your legs crossed. Unsure of where else to go or how else to sit. Should you lie back? Did he want you up on your hands and knees? Would he let you ride him?

Yes, your thoughts were fleeting, but your mind was a whirlwind of anxiety.

The kind that made you feel alive.

You were cold without his touch but heated with a need for him that only grew stronger as you watched him calm himself enough to put the rubber on.

Then his eyes met yours and he was over you within seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Never have I ever apologised during sex?”

He answered you with a kiss and you knew this was it. The main event that you’d been building to.

Finally.

Your hands took on a will of their own and moved to roam where they saw fit. A set of fingers traced his tattoo as you knew they’d done last night. The other moved further north, tracing over an arm and shoulder to wrap around his neck. It kept him in place for the time being, scratching fingernails through his dark blonde hair and over his scalp.

Both of his knees sat between your thighs while an arm kept you caged below him. Not that you planned on going anywhere.

His weight stayed off of you as a hand moved below to cup you above the tuft of curls that covered your entrance. He pushed a finger between the folds beneath and stopped to grace your clit with a few small circles before dipping further into your centre.

As much as you wanted things to move further along, you appreciated him making sure you were more than ready. He was big and while you weren’t inexperienced to think he wouldn’t fit, you knew there was a satisfying stretch waiting for you.

“Dean.”

“Mmm.” He hummed into your lips. His tongue mimicking his finger below. “You want something?” he asked when he pulled away to give you his full attention.

“Yeah. You.”

Your hand reached to grip him, being careful to not shift the condom that fit him snugly, and encouraged him closer.

His head dipped to nibble at the spot he’d discovered last night by your ear as the tip of his thick length caught at your entrance.

Your cunt fluttered in desperation, trying to clamp onto it or anything else. He was so damn close. And you hoped your impending orgasm was closer.

“Dean,” you breathed. Your body, gasping to fill the air into your lungs to calm you the fuck down.

“You think you’re ready for me huh?” He muttered against the crook of your neck. The coolness of his breath created a pleasant contrast against the heat radiating from your skin, and you bucked your hips in response.

The man was skilled, yes, you’d already established that, but the way he hit home in one swift stride had you reeling.

There he was, in all his glory. Thick, hard, and throbbing deep inside you.

The stretch, the fullness and the completion you had not been prepared for. ‘Fuck me.’

Or rather, thank drunk-you.

Thanks to drunk-you and Charlie. Because if it hadn’t been for the copious amounts of alcohol you drank last night, you would not be here right now. High on cloud nine, with Dean Winchester between your legs.

Finally.

His fervent kisses covered your mouth, and a hand splayed over your hair, intertwining thick fingers through thicker chunks of locks.

He still hovered over your tingling form and you had to wiggle your hips to get his attention. Your body was well adjusted, and you just needed him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said as he took the hint and set a pace you so desperately tried to match.

Fuck indeed.

Everything was right in the world. Stars aligned (and all those other fancy words you couldn’t think of in the moment happened too) as his hands wandered over your body and your legs glided up and down his. Any attempt to feel him on every part of your being, and encourage him to keep going. That was your ultimate goal.

Dean pounded into you and you taking it like a trooper. Whispering encouraging words and praises into his ears as he continued to fill you repeatedly.

“So good.”

“Harder.”

“Just like that.”

And of course his name. “Dean.” It came off your tongue with ease, as your own name did from him when he flipped you both over and pulled you back down.

This new angle had him deeper within you and once again, your legs trembled.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby?” he drawled.

But you couldn’t respond. The way he did that. And then that again? Man. He told you he was going to take care of you and damn well, he was.

The heat was rising, and you were trying to stave it off. You wanted to hold out as long as you could but it was proving difficult when a firm pressure began circling your clit.

Your head buried itself in his shoulder, attempting to distract your body and return the pleasure he was giving you but it was all too much.

“Dean,” you breathed. Shit. “Oh shit.”

Your movements stilled but your body did not.

It shuddered over and around him. Gripping his length and attempting to draw it in further.

“So beautiful. Coming all over my cock,” he said with a snap of his hips, never relenting, not even once as he chased his own orgasm.

He thrust again and again. Sweet, unrelenting friction that only extended your high.

And then it happened.

You felt the moment he spilled himself into the condom, the throb of his shaft, the tightening in his stomach and legs, and the groan that escaped him. “Fuck.”

Your sentiments exactly. The man was talented, and you were the luckiest girl alive to have experienced it almost last night, and again just now.

You had no regrets, and you looked into his eyes to see none from him either.

“How you doing down there?” you asked with a chortle to go along with your teasing tone.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said.

With still trembling legs and a shit-eating grin to match his, you lifted yourself up and somehow managed to bring yourself to flop onto the bed next to him. You snuggled into his side and he welcomed you with an open arm and another lingering kiss.

What happened last night? Who fucking cared. What happened after this was far more important, and you made a mental note to thank Charlie (with as little detail as possible) when you saw her later.

Nah, tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

PREVIOUS || READ ON AO3—————————————————————Thank you so much for reading! I’ll be slowly bringing my other stories over in the coming weeks 😚

Up next! - Another Notch on His Belt - 17/01 🇦🇺⏱️

(Dean’s POV - 18+ only - 1.2k words) Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night. A delve into Dean replacing intimacy with sex. If you’d like to be tagged, lmk.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #spn fanfiction #jensen ackles characters #x reader #fem reader #dean winchester smut #smut #no y/n #friends to lovers #who could forget having sex with Dean #never have i ever #one shots

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tobyisave · 3 days ago

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acting lessons

this is for my chapter 5 au... I tried to compose a toxic doomed yaoi saiouma essay in the tags just now but it went over the tag limit (mortifying) so I'm just going to paste it under the cut!!

////cw for suicide of course. also heads up my version of saiouma is almost completely one sided 👍🏼

#look.. in my mind there is no world where shuichi truly comes around on kokichi #but there is TOTALLY a world where he feels eternally fucked up and guilty about assisting in his suicide #and cant bring himself to hate anymore #cant bring himself to reject the casual but blatantly self-indulgent touches of the boy hes about to murder in the most excruciating way possible #just let him have his fun #let him squeeze your shoulder a little too long #its the least you can do when hes about to let his entire body be turned into an unrecognizable puddle of gore #you dont have to pretend you like it. he KNOWS you dont like it. just let it happen & soon enough itll be over and youll never have to see him again #youll never be *able* to see him again. nothing left of him to even call a body #fucking unidentifiable #god. #(to be clear i dont approve of that logic at all but i sure think shuichi would feel that way)

#its like oumota but worse because (to me) shuu has completely written him off by ch5 and doesnt even need the poison blackmailing to agree #its shuichis low point after all hes fully suicidal and thinks kokichi is the mastermind who destroyed humanity's last hope #he doesnt have time to recalculate his opinion before its too late #he agrees almost immediately #but the closer it gets the less he can justify it #like god this guy fills me with rage and we would never ever in a million years get along but hes also a warm breathing human being #and hes in love with me or something and i just agreed to kill him. EAGERLY! #to his FUCKING FACE #yes i openly hated him already. and yes he didnt even blink when i told him i could kill him #if anything he looked happy! #but god how could i just say that to someone? how did it get this bad? #and how is he still giving me finger hearts through the camera while we test out angles for his fucking DEATH VIDEO #maybe just maybe its because he really thinks this will save us. but maybe he just wants to die #and i dont even know if that makes a difference anymore #et cetera……..

#like i said im not a saiouma guy in the traditional sense but #i do like pathetic clingy kokichi x shuichi who hates himself for harboring genuine malice towards him #(justified malice) #but is too self doubting to take the reins and stop the horrible thing theyve already set in motion

#meeting the same fate as kaede because he THOUGHT he was agreeing to kill the mastermind #when in reality it was really just a cagey guy who was trying to do the EXACT same thing and made the mistake of going it alone #and now that guy who couldve been his ally is dead and he has to pretend hes ok and lie to his friends to derail this trial #for this stupid idiotic plan he let himself get blindly swept up in #that was never going to work in the first place #he knew it was full of holes he knew ouma was full of shit #he knew himself he knew he'd buckle under the pressure of the trial #but he didnt say a thing #it was so much easier to go with it. he just wanted it to be fucking over with #well its not over. the game continues and kokichi is dead and for what #didnt lift a fucking finger #fucking idiot coward bottom of the barrel piece of shit. GOD #i dont know man. it's just real kill yourself hours for shuichi after this one

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scheherazades-vigil · 2 days ago

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I *think* I understand what they were trying to do here. Disclaimer that I'm multiply disabled and blah blah so I'm inevitably biased in ways unknown to me, though presumably not the usual ones. Idk.

Basically, I think I get it, they just wild fumbled. I think this is due to the extremely erratic writing and— from the vibes I get, anyway —bc there are extremely good and extremely terrible writers in the room warring for dominance. Nah, more like the good ones trying to sneak shit in underneath the intended bulk of BS. I don't think the majority of s1 class warfare and oppression and police brutality were accidental or stumbled upon. I think they just deviously (mmm) talked people like Linke into it via horrible reasons to at least achieve smth of merit. Bear in mind this is a total guess; the vibes, ok? I mean, we already know stuff happened in the writing room before S2, and idk the extent of it, but it certainly seems to have made a giant difference. I'm not sure why else this mismatched MCU of a season even exists, otherwise (after said content of reasonable merit).

Anyway, my guess is still that there are some good ones sneaking things in, but even more inflated egos+writing changes made for greater difficulty in doing so? Such that the material got maimed, executed, burnt to ash, locked in separate lockboxes and scattered across the universe. SO MUCH is absolutely gross, don't get me wrong. But a lot of people have said it better than me already, s'why I'm not bothering.

Anyway, bear with me here cause cognitive impairment, developmental disabilities etc are catching up to me. Haven't even written in ages so gl me. I think they were going for smth like, "You are beautiful, and your unearned struggles do not define you, despite the horror of how they were forced upon you. I admire you for how you challenged that status quo and stood strong in the face of the oppression you should never have had to face. You're not just some 'Undercity cripple,' you are YOU and they could never take that from you. THAT is beautiful." Or smth. Ofc 90% of that would have to be improving subtext given the current text. But yeah, and then someone came in and went LOL BUT HE IS THO WE'LL BE GENEROUS AND FORGIVE HIS UNFORTUNATE EXISTENCE

I know this is high-key an absurd good faith argument, but like I said, vibes. Trust me I'm a really bad Janna main, ok? 😭😭 SHUT UP I'M TRYING TO FEEL BETTER lol

Sneaking back in to say I was partly inspired by the people sneaking in JayVik content and such, when Linke went to every length to no homo that. To the extent he revealed his complete obliviousness re acespec/arospec and it was gross.

Jayce's speech to Viktor was bad.

IMO

So, the final speech Jayce gave to Viktor about finding beauty in imperfection, and how our flaws make us human, that’s a fine sentiment but the specific examples he used ruined it. He used Viktors disease as an example.

Viktor was dying from a disease caused by Piltover mining in the fissures polluting the air. It was a preventable disease forced onto him by a corrupt system. He was slowly and painfully falling apart. “I can feel myself rotting” type stuff. Was he supposed to have appreciated that?

Jayce wants him to have appreciated the simple beauty of dying a slow painful death while your best friend is too busy being a councilman to be with you and your mentor is roadblocking your only possible cure. That was the imperfection that he was misguided to want to solve? The show is really saying Viktor was misguided, or not appreciative enough of being human, to not want to die young. He was giving up his humanity when he fought to live.

Viktor should not have just accepted it, that isn’t just part of being human. It isn’t a beautiful flaw you learn to love. He did nothing wrong by taking his life into his own hands and taking every possible chance to live. Even when no one believed in him.

I’m sure there are more charitable interpretations but that line really rubbed me the wrong way.

#arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane critical #arcane season 2 spoilers #but also sort of not arcane critical #idfk #excuse my absurdity plz

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rafes-juno · 8 hours ago

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My Brother's Best Friends; Slim Pickins

Pairing: Brother's Best Friend! Rafe x Brat! Female Oc

Summary: What happens when Rafe returns from college and turns Isla's life upside down? Will Isla be able to handle her brother's best friends? Are Rafe and Isla overcoming their rivalry this summer, or are their feelings brewing ready to explode? Secrets will come out testing Isla and her brother's relationship.

Contains: Enemies to Lovers, Brother's Best Friend, Harsh Language, Sexual Content, Drinking, Harassment, Mentions Of Blood. (18+ ,minors do not interact!)

WC: 3.905

Previous Chapter: 1

“So… you never kissed?” Rosie asks as she sips her drink, her eyes drifting between me and our best friend, Sunny.

I shake my head, just as disappointed as them. “No. Rafe came in and ruined it all, too. He talked about how I needed to stay away from Alex and said he was just looking out for me. " My eyes roll as I sip on my straw, watching the girls share a knowing glance.

Rosie and Sunny have been my best friends since elementary school. I don’t think there’s been a full day in my life where I haven’t seen at least one of them. We’re inseparable.

“Maybe we need to ask the cards?” Rosie suggests as Sunny digs through her bag to find her tarot deck.

When she drops the deck onto the table, I slump back. “Guys, I don’t want to do it if the cards are going to tell me something I don’t want to know.”

Truthfully, I think I’ve started to develop a crush on Alex. He’s been here a day, and I already can’t stop thinking about him like I’m a teenager again. Rafe’s words keep swirling around in my head, though. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes and ruin any friendships– but at the same time, Theo and Alex don’t seem that close.

“Maybe they’ll confirm that he wants you–”

I laugh, reaching for my drink. “I don’t need the cards to confirm that.”

Sunny starts to shuffle the deck, and I sit up straight, watching how quickly her hands move. Cards fly out of the deck and land on the table; some even land on the ground, but Rosie quickly picks them up and hands them back to the witch. Sunny hums and turns over the cards, her eyes full of mischief.

I notice the time on my phone and sigh, “I only have five minutes before Rafe is coming to pick me up–”

“Oh, Rafe, again?” Rosie teases, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Rafe again,” I mumble. “We’re shopping to pick up some stuff for Theo’s birthday party tonight. Only me and him seem to give a shit. I don’t see you two offering–”

Sunny cuts me off, “Okay, so you have the fool card first. New beginnings– a new chapter in your life.”

I smirk, “Does the new chapter begin with an ‘A’ and end in ‘lex’?”

Sunny ignores my words and stares back down at the cards. “Death card. Is Alex a Scorpio?”

I shrug, “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t think I know any Scorpio’s either.”

Sunny hums as she taps her long nails against the card. “Okay, so, a transformation of some kind. It could be during Scorpio season… or maybe he is a Scorpio.”

I open my mouth to reply, but she cuts me off and moves on to the next card. “The lovers. Self-explanatory.”

When we were fourteen, we entered a new store on the island. They sold all kinds of things, one of them being tarot cards. Sunny bought them and taught herself how to read them. Ever since we’ve relied on the cards for advice and guidance. Only recently has she started reading astrology, too. I rely on her to tell me when to invest in something new is a bad time. I swear, it feels like there's always something in retrograde or whatever.

“These are good cards,” Rosie comments. “Sounds like things could happen between you and Alex.”

Sunny pulls back her bottom lip, her head tilted. “Well– yeah. Maybe. I have a feeling it isn’t Alex, though.”

I laugh, lifting my drink to my mouth. “Well, who else could it be?”

Sunny shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”

She taps her finger against the next card. “Two of cups. Partnerships, relationships. Someone is coming in. I don’t know who, though. We need to find out Alex’s star sign.”

“I’ll ask at the party,” I say, sliding my chair out from the table and grabbing my phone. My screen lights up, and I see Rafe's missed texts telling me to hurry up and that I’m late. When I glance over my shoulder, I can see his car in the parking lot and his pissed-off face glaring through the open window.

We all watch as he opens his car door and climbs out. He rounds the car and crosses his arms, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Wow, has he been working out?” Rosie asks, her straw hanging loose in her mouth as she leans back in her seat.

I shrug, taking my time to grab all of my stuff as I keep my eyes on his. “I think so.”

It’s evident that he has been because of his black shirt. The material is clinging to his arms, chest, and toned stomach, and with the sweat dotted across his forehead, it looks as though he’s just got back from the gym.

“Hurry up, Isla! I don’t have all fucking day!” he yells over at me as I sling my bag over my shoulder.

“Calm down, Rafe. It’s not that serious.” I roll my eyes and turn to the girls, “I’ve never seen someone so eager to pick up a birthday cake.”

“I can hear you,” he says, opening the passenger side door as I wave goodbye to the girls and hop down the steps to the parking lot. I walk over to him with a cheesy grin.

I climb into his car, watching him slam my door shut with a low grunt. He walks around to the driver's side and clambers in, slamming his door as loud as he did mine. He merely glances in my direction as I pull the seatbelt over my body and click it into place.

He pulls out of the parking lot quickly, making me fall forward before falling back into my seat harshly. “Shit, Rafe. What’s the rush?”

“I have shit to do. Not that you’d give a fuck anyway, you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

I scoff, my eyes widening as I stare over at him. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s too hot, and I don’t want to go to the store and–”

“Maybe you wouldn’t feel so hot if you weren’t wearing all black. It’s like a million degrees outside.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Isla.”

“Don’t be a dick, Rafe,” I bite back with a smile on my lips. “Let’s just go to the store, and then you can drop me off at home.”

“Home?” he asks. “I thought you were helping me put up all the party stuff on the druthers?”

I sigh, throwing my arms down to my sides in defeat. “Fine! If you want to hang out with me that bad, all you have to do is ask, Rafe.”

He doesn’t say a word; he keeps his eyes on the road, and his jaw clenches. I settle into my seat with a satisfied smile, knowing I won this time.

He never used to be so mean and hostile toward me. I’ll never understand what changed.

He used to be kind. He would talk to me with respect.

I don’t think he’ll ever tell me what changed. I don’t think I want to know, either. If he hates me, then so be it. I’m not here to have a friendship with him, and I certainly don’t want any validation from him.

If he’s happy for us to act like this, fine.

I couldn't care less.

“Oh my god, Rafe! Look!” I exclaimed, pulling a string of fairy lights with plastic strawberries from the self. “Strawberry lights!”

He snatches the box from me and stares at the picture on the front. “I don’t get it.”

I snatch them back and throw them into the shopping cart, “They’re just cute.”

“They’re a waste of money. That’s what they are.”

I grab another three and throw them into the cart with a thud. “Fine, I’ll buy them with my money.”

He pushes the cart slowly up the aisle with his veiny forearms resting on the handlebars. His shoulders are slumped, and I can tell he’s bored out of his mind, so I plan to spend as much time here as possible.

“Do you think we need party hats?” I ask, picking up a plastic box full of them. “I think we do.” he looks at me from the side, his eyes rolling.

“No, we don’t. There are just a couple of us on the boat. All we need is cake, balloons, and two banners,” he says, taking the box from my hands and throwing it back onto the shelf.

I cross my arms in defiance before reaching for the same box and throwing it into the cart. “You aren’t the only one using your daddy’s money today, Rafe. He paid me a hundred dollars just for tutoring your sister for an hour yesterday. We’re getting the hats.”

I spot a pack of party whistles and pick them up with a grin, “Oh, and these. We definitely need these.”

He sighs, standing up straight as he rolls his broad shoulders back. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

I throw the whistles in and eye the fully stocked shelves for something that would really piss him off. I thought the whistles would send him over the edge, but apparently not. Although, I can’t imagine him using the whistle at the party.

His attitude is starting to piss me off. I understand he doesn’t want to be here; he only told me that four times on the way here. I knew I should’ve asked Alex to tag along. At least then, I’d have someone fun to talk to.

I watch him pull his phone out from his black shorts, and his fingers scroll on the screen for a few seconds before he clears his throat. “Okay, so we need–”

“Can we get these feather boas?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Rafe!” I sing, pulling the hot pink boa from the rack. “It’s fluffy.” I step toward him and drape it around his neck.

He tries to pull it off, but I hold my hand, keeping the material in place. “Wow, pink is your color. It brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, yeah?” he steps closer to me, pulling a yellow-colored boa from the rack. He drapes it around my neck and flicks up the side so it’s danging over my eyes, obscuring my vision. “This compliments your outfit.” For the first time today, there’s a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he reaches onto the shelf and hands me a pair of oversized sunflower glasses. “These will complete the ensemble.”

I hum, pushing the glasses onto my face. “Wow, is that a smile I can see, Rafe? Are you finally having fun?”

He scoffs, throwing his feather boa into the cart as his faint smile fades. “No.”

“Liar,” I sing, using the end of my feather boa to tickle his sun-kissed face. “You’re having so much fun with me.” He swats my hand and the feather away with a low growl.

I notice the pink pinata on the top shelf, shaped like a unicorn, and my eyes light up like a kid at a candy store. “Okay, we have to get that.” I tap Rafe’s shoulder and motion to the thing I need most. “Pick me up, I wanna grab it,”

“Pick you up?” his eyebrows are furrowed, and his forehead creased.

I nod, “You won’t be able to reach the one at the very back that’s probably in the best condition. Pick me up so I can grab it.”

He sighs, moving the cart out of the way as I stand before him. He hesitates briefly before grasping the curve of my waist with his big hands, causing my already-cropped t-shirt to rise. I feel the warmth of his touch bleed through my skin as he lifts me effortlessly.

He really has been working out.

“I can’t see,” I complain. “I need to get up higher!”

He groans in annoyance and hoists me onto his broad shoulder, holding me up there as I peer over the shelf to the pinata at the back, the most perfect unicorn calling my name. I feel one of his hands settle onto my thigh while the other grips my waist tighter, being sure I don’t fall as I reach across to grab my newest prized possession– which will be smashed to pieces by the end of the night.

“Got it,” I tell him as he pulls me back. I look at him with a smile as he carefully lowers me back to the ground, his hands still on my waist. “You're so helpful,” I coo, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek.

Just as I pull my lips back with a smile plastered on my face, an elderly lady passes by us, her head tilted as she smiles at us. “Oh, aren’t you two just so sweet.”

The look on Rafe’s face says it all as he steps away from me, his head shaking. Before he can say anything, I slip my arm through his and smile at the lady. “Oh, thank you so much,” I look up at Rafe and drape the end of my feathered boa around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

“We’re just buying party supplies for our… son.”

The lady’s eyes widen, “Son? You two look awfully young–”

I grip my fingers around his upper arm, feeling his muscles tense under the fabric of his shirt as I rest my head on his chest. “I know, but age doesn’t matter when you’re in love. Isn’t that right, Rafey?” I look up at him, flashing a knowing look as he glimpses down at me.

He eventually lifts his gaze back to the lady and forces a smile. “That’s right.”

The lady presses her hand to her heart and pouts. “How sweet. You remind me of my husband and I when we were kids.” she takes a moment, releasing a deep sigh before facing us again, her smile gentle. “I hope your son–”

“Tiger,” I tell her the name of our imaginary son with a sheepish grin. “Well, his name is Prince Tiger, but we usually just call him Tiger.”

Rafe nods, pulling me closer to his side as he lifts his arm and wraps it around me, pulling me into him. I try to ignore the fact that I can feel his strong arms tightening around me and the fact that his cologne is intoxicating.

“Oh, that’s a… lovely name,” the lady says, clearly uncomfortable now.

Rafe’s lips curve into a half-smile. “Thanks. It’s just a shame that I recently found out I'm not his biological father,” he looks at me with a challenge in his eyes. “Turns out my girlfriend likes to fuck other guys behind my back.”

The lady is pale now, her eyebrows raised and her mouth open. I’m mirroring her expression as I turn to face her once more. I clear my throat as I rush to find something to say to make Rafe seem like the bad guy.

I know it's over when my mind goes blank, and the lady scurries off down the aisle with her cart full of supplies, her feet moving faster than the cart.

I untangle myself from Rafe’s arm and shake my head. “You’re evil! You scared that woman away!”

He shrugs, grabbing the cart again, “I think you scared her away when you told her our imaginary son was named Prince Tiger.”

“Would you have rathered him be named after his daddy?”

Rafe turns the corner and the wheels of the cart screech against the hard ground. “I’m not his Dad, remember.”

“I hope you’re happy with yourself, Rafe.”

He smiles at me, the first genuine smile I’ve seen in months. “I’m happy, thank you.”

I follow him around the store for the rest of the shopping trip before we go to the register to pay. Even when I try to pull out my phone to pay for the items, Rafe beats me to it and puts it all on his card. I scoff, “I thought all this was a waste of money.”

He ignores me and hands me the heaviest bag with a smile. “This is all the stuff you picked up. I hope it isn’t too heavy for you,” he flashes the cashier a smile before picking up the cake and a few lighter bags. “Come on, we gotta start decorating.”

I sigh, feeling the bag's weight pull me down as I follow behind him, my fingers aching and my arms falling weak. It’s too hot outside to be carrying a bag as heavy as this.

“It’s heavy,” I complain as we walk through the parking lot toward his car.

“Not my problem,” he replies, walking faster.

I groan, my head falling back as I pick up my pace to catch up with him. When I reach him and the car, my arms feel like jello. I drop the bag to the ground and let out a heavy sigh as I watch Rafe load the bags into the car.

I reach down, searching the top of the bag for the water bottle Rafe so generously bought me. As I bend over, I hear a car honk behind me, startling me to stand straight again. I turn around, watching a guy I don’t recognize wolf-whistle at me. There’s a cigarette hanging from his lips. He laughs, “Give me a twirl, sweetheart.” There’s a sleazy smile on his lips when he says, “Want me to give you a ride?”

I ignore him, turning my back to him and his truck as Rafe lifts his head from the trunk of the car, his eyes darting between me and the truck.

“Fucking bitch,” the guy calls from the truck, throwing the remainder of his cigarette in my direction.

I turn to face the truck again, ready to tell him what I think, but as I do, I see Rafe storming with his fists at his sides. I watch wide eyes as Rafe grabs the guy from inside the car by his collar, pulling him from his seat. “What did you call her?”

I release a breath, my stomach churning from anticipation. “Jesus, Rafe–”

“Say it to me. Say it to my fucking face,” Rafe urges the guy, who’s now a sickly pale color. His mouth moves, but no words come out when Rafe aggressively throws him back into his seat. “Call me a bitch, do it.”

“I didn’t realize she was your girl, man. I’m sorry–”

Rafe takes a step back from the guy's truck, and I think it’s all over when he walks back to me. “Rafe–” he cuts me off by reaching into his vehicle and grabbing one of his golf clubs. My eyes are bulging at this point, and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop him because before I can fathom what’s happening, he’s knocking the guy’s brake lights out with the club.

“What the fuck!” the guy yells as Rafe rounds the front of the car, knocking off the side mirrors. There’s glass everywhere, and I notice how shards hit Rafe’s bare legs, grazing his skin.

People are watching with wide eyes, and the elderly lady from early is on the verge of a heart attack as she watches Rafe wreck the guy’s car.

Rafe walks around to the guy’s open window and points the club at him with his head tilted. “If you fucking look at her again, I’ll do a lot worse, alright.”

The guy nods profusely as Rafe pulls the club out and gives the car door one harsh hit, denting the metal with the club. Rafe walks away, his hands white around the club as he approaches me. “Get in the car.”

I do as I’m told and climb into my seat, my hands shaking as he throws the club into the trunk and climbs in after me, barely giving me a chance to put my seatbelt on as he vaults out of the parking lot.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, his crazed eyes darting between me and the road ahead of us as he picks up the speed.

“I’m fine,” my voice is shaky as I buckle into my seat and lean back, resting my head on the headrest. “Are you okay?” I ask him, noticing the blood dripping from his knee. “You’re bleeding.”

He nods, but his fingers are pale white, and he grips the steering wheel. “I’m fine. We just need to get to the druthers and set up. That’s all. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Are we going to get arrested?” I ask, gulping harshly. “My dad will kill me–”

Rafe faces me, his hands shaking as sweat builds on his forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But–”

“Nothing will happen. It’s fine. I’ll figure this out. That guy–” he points to the store that’s probably miles behind us now, “All of that was his fault. He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

I exhale a shaky breath, nodding in agreement. “I agree, but that was extreme, Rafe.”

He laughs manically, his head falling back against his seat. “It could have been worse.”

“Could it?!” I exclaim. “You nearly blinded him with the glass shards!”

Rafe glances over to me, a smile on his face as he laughs harder. “Okay, well, at least our son– Tiger, wasn’t in the car. The therapy would be crazy expensive.”

“Are you serious right now?” I hide my laugh by facing the half-opened window, feeling the cool airflow through the car.

I feel the sudden warmth of his hand meet my exposed thigh, and it’s like a bolt of electricity runs through me. I turn to face him, and the feeling runs straight to my heart, suffocating me as it takes all the air from my lungs. His eyes are on mine when I feel his fingers tighten on my skin, “It’ll be okay.”

There’s a quiet moment between us where nothing needs to be said. His palm is still on my leg, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was warming up to me again. Of course, when I think about it, his phone rings, and Theo’s name pops up on the car screen. It’s a searing reminder of what we’re actually doing here and why we’re working together. We’re not here to be friends. We’re here to set up for my brother’s birthday. His best friend’s birthday.

Rafe pulls away from me quickly and hits the answer button as Theo’s booming voice sounds through the car’s speakers. “Hey, man. Where are you?”

“Uh, I’m just– out.”

“Out? Where? Are you with Sofia?”

Ah.

Rafe shakes his head as if Theo can see him before replying, “Uh, no,” he clears his throat and shifts in his seat as I sink into mine, wishing for this car journey to be over so I can go home and get ready for the night. To see Alex.

Rafe changes the subject, “Are you still coming tonight? On the boat?”

“Yeah. Can I invite some people?” I know my brother well enough to know ‘some people’ actually means a dozen.

Rafe nods, “Sure. Just not too many, alright?”

I can hear the smirk in Theo’s voice when he answers, “Alright.”

🪽 Chapter Two of Brother's Best Friends as promised! Like, Comment & Reblogs are highly appreciated !!

🪽 Author: Matilda , Theme: Evelyn

🪽 Credits for dividers ( here & here )

#rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #harris dickinson x reader #harris dickinson #jacob elordi #rudy pankow

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