#duplex conversion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyprfixate · 28 days ago

Text

for the taking :: [B.C] x [H.J] x [K.S] x reader

read on AO3

summary: of your three boyfriends, you like to push chan's buttons the most so that he'll really get things going. you sadly underestimate how wild things can get when you rile him up.

pairing: kim seungmin x bang chan x han jisung x reader

tropes: poly!skz mmmf foursome, porn without plot

smut warnings: mentioned free use dynamics, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, brat play, overstimulation x100000, pussy eating, implied mxm dynamics, dom jisung, soft dom/sadist seungmin, hard dom/brat tamer chan, mentions of safewords (it's not used), unprotected sex but it's a long established relationship, reader initiated slight cnc, dirty talk, reader is called a slut as a degradation thing. it's really just pure filthy, not a plot point in sight.

author's note: i didn't plan to write this at all. idk where it came from. enjoy anyway!!

word count: 8.7k

You're laying on your stomach in your bedroom. The lights are dim, music is thrumming from your speaker, and there's a candle on your wax warmer. It's a quiet, soft night, the kind that you don't see many of. There's always something going on in the duplex you share with your partners. It can be tiring, but in the quiet, you realize you sort of miss it. You fiddle with the green beaded bracelet on your wrist as you scroll aimlessly through your phone.

Then, the door across the hall slams.

Only you and Chan are home tonight, Seungmin and Jisung off God-knows-where for whatever reason. Chan was supposed to go out with them, but he had a project to finish for his job, the same project that had him losing sleep for the last few weeks. You may never understand what exactly goes into producing music, but from the way he stayed hunched over his computer 24/7, you knew it was complicated.

You're not at all surprised when you hear your door creak open slowly. You turn over, eyes catching Chan's as he stands in your doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a haberdash of house clothes, including a baseball cap, but you can still see the dark tint on his eyes.

You feign innocence.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “Taking a break?”

“Something like that. What're you doing?”

You shift your phone to the hand with your bracelet, holding it up and giving it a little shake. His gaze hardens even more. “Just on Instagram.”

His eyes are trained on your wrist, just like you wanted. He recognizes the bracelet. Of course he does– he and the boys bought it for you after one of your many, many conversations. You give a little smile. "It's cute, right? The green matches my t-shirt," you say sweetly.

It does, but that's not the only reason you're wearing it.

You're wearing it because they know that green means go. Or yes.

Or take.

"Did you need something, Chan?"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to push up off of the doorframe and make his way over to you. You decide to roll onto your back to see him better, and by the time you're situated, he's standing over you, arms still crossed.

You gulp.

"Um, hi," you breathe out. Nervousness was not part of the plan. "I– Did you... need something?"

He drops one of his hands and grips your ankle, and where the skin connects you feel like you've been electrocuted. Your body comes alive immediately. You can only watch as he barely strains a single muscle as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

"Put your phone down," he instructs. He reaches the soft part of your thigh and pinches, lips curling into a smirk when you yelp.

"Channie, I—"

"I said," he repeats, a little harsher this time, "put your phone down."

You do as you're told, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He keeps pulling until your entire lower half is hanging off the bed. With your legs spread like they are, you're certain he can feel the pulsing coming from between your legs.

He hums.

"You know why I'm here," he says lowly. It's not a question.

Despite the speed of your heart, you blink up at him dumbly, fighting against the wave of arousal that licks down your spine when he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you manage.

Both of his eyebrows are up now, his expression seemingly surprised for a second before it fades. He nods lightly, almost as though contemplating what you've said, and then he releases you and takes a step back.

Your heart drops for a second. You think you've messed up somehow, or maybe your tone didn't come out right. You're about to backtrack, but then he's back, hooking his fingers into either side of your waistband, and with one simple tug he has your pajama pants completely off.

If Chan is surprised that you're not wearing any underwear, he doesn't show it.

You gasp when the cool air hits your lower body, and you watch as he smirks. He returns his vice like grip on your ankle when you start to squirm under his gaze.

"I see you still like to pretend that you have some ounce of control in this relationship," he deadpans. He tugs you back down the bed when you try to wiggle away. You're embarrassed that his strength doesn't seem to be affected by his sleep deprivation. "Come on, baby. You know better than that."

You fight back the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face at his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie. "Why're you bothering me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I can't focus," he says smoothly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was working. About how much easier work might be if I could fuck you to clear my head."

"That's too bad," you shrug, hoping he can't see how you're clenching around nothing. "I was busy."

He hums absentmindedly, letting the hand on your ankle travel higher. He runs his fingers up your calf, then your knee, until finally he hooks the inside of his wrist behind it, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and try to snap them closed, but he only has to shift a bit so that his other hand is on your opposite leg, holding you open for him.

"Why do you always act like you're not dying for me to touch you, hm?" he asks, but it's rhetorical. He knows you don't have an answer. You never do. Even so, when you stay quiet, he huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Okay. I'm going to give you two options, because I'm feeling generous." He holds up one finger. "Option one, you admit you're just being a brat, I'll fuck it out of you, and then we can both go back to what we were doing. Or–"

You whine as he abruptly leans down with your legs still in his hands, effectively folding you in half. "Or, option two, you keep it up, and I can tell the boys to come home. Then we'll make this a lot longer than it needs to be."

Chan is dangerously close to your face now. The brim of his hat is touching your forehead. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of both of your shirts.

"So what do you want, princess?" he asks, voice dripping with honey.

You shiver. His gaze is so intense you forget how to breathe. At your silence, he yanks you further into him, pressing himself right up against your uncovered cunt. Even through his basketball shorts you feel the unmistakable heat of his erection.

"I said, what do you want?"

Fuck.

You can't take it anymore. You feel like you're burning with need. "I'm sorry, Channie," you whine out. You can see the fire in his eyes, the way he's so worked up already, and it makes you weak. "I'll be good."

He gives you a sweet smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against your mouth. You sigh into it, letting your body go lax so he can take control.

Despite your attempts, brattiness never lasts long with Chan. With Seungmin and Jisung, you love the challenge, love making them crack and beg a little, but Chan is entirely unrelenting. You know better than to get him too riled up, especially if you actually want anything to happen.

The kiss is a stark contrast to what you know is to come, and you know that it's on purpose. He always likes to give you the chance to back out, a way to change your mind. Bracelet or no bracelet, your comfort is still always his first priority. It's what makes you comfortable enough to tease him.

But when he pulls away from the kiss and you chase after his mouth, he only smiles.

"There's my good girl," he says. He releases your knees and presses a kiss against your cheek, and then the tip of your nose.

"Chan," you whine. Your body feels cold where his hands just were.

He only tilts his head when he looks at you. "Hm?" Then his gaze turns sinister. "Did you... need something, princess?"

Oh.

Shit.

"Wait,” You're scrambling up from your position. “Wait, please, Chan, don't–"

He hums. "You were so mean to me," he says, trailing a single finger down your cheek. "I don't think you deserve anything from me."

You attempt to sit up, eyes widening, but he's keeping you pinned down on your bed. "But I said I'm sorry," you whine. "Channie, please, I'll be good--"

He tilts his head again, pretending to think, letting his hand fall down your face to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"No," he decides, and he straightens up, taking a step back. "I think I'm gonna go back to work."

Before you can grab him, he's slipped away, nearly halfway to your door. "Sorry, babygirl. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The smirk on his face is proof he's anything but sorry. He gives you a fake little pout before winking and stepping out of your room, clicking the door closed behind him.

You're sat up on the bed, staring at the door with your jaw slacked. This is a new level of evil, you think. You hear his bedroom door open and shut, then the muffled sound of the track he's working on vibrates the walls.

It takes longer than you'd like for your wits to come back to you, but when they do, you're both utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly impressed.

He's teasing you.

There's a part of you that's tempted to just give in, to make your way across the hall and apologize. Chan is stubborn, but not unreachable. You know if you march into his room, you could get on your knees and make him relent in seconds.

But fine. He wants to play dirty?

You can play dirty, too.

It's less than an hour later when you hear the front door open and shut, the sound of Jisung and Seungmin's voices carrying up the stairs. You hear takeout bags and the jingling of their keys, and then–

“We're home!”

You make no effort to move, waiting to see if Chan will leave his room first. Besides, you're still working through some of the details of your plan.

If you stay in your room, Seungmin would come upstairs to check on you first. You know he'll fuck you good, but it takes time to warm him up. By the time you start getting anywhere, Jisung will get to Chan, who might do something stupid like tell him that you were being a brat, and then he'll come in and ruin the whole thing.

No, you need eager. You need impulsive.

You need Jisung.

You pad to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking your head out. Chan's door is still closed, the track he's working on still pumping through the speakers, so you take the opportunity to get the ball rolling.

You make your way down the hall and to the top of the stairs, where you can see Jisung standing in the entryway of the kitchen. The two have already shed their jackets and shoes, and Seungmin is now busy unloading the food they brought back into the fridge. His back is turned to you.

Bingo.

"Hey," you say softly. Jisung's head whips up, eyes brightening as he spots you. He says something you can't hear to Seungmin before he's jogging up the stairs towards you. He scoops you into a squeezing hug.

"Hi my baby," he says happily, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "How was your day?"

You giggle in the hug. "It was alright. Kind of boring. How was yours?"

"We had fun," he says. He sets you down and leans against the wall next to you, reaching and catching your hand in his. You deliberately give him the hand with the bracelet, but he doesn't see it. "I missed you though."

"I missed you, too."

Jisung grins. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then he furrows his eyebrows when he looks at you, like he's just noticing something.

"Is that my shirt?"

“Is it?” You look down, feigning surprise. "Oh, yeah I guess it is."

He hums, tilting his head. His eyes trail to your hand, and he finally seems to notice the bracelet on your wrist. "That's weird. I could've sworn I saw it in my drawer this morning."

You shrug. "Maybe you're just losing your mind."

He grins, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against your open palm. "Yeah, maybe. Or are you trying to tell me something?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him. "Am I?"

His smile turns sly. "You are, aren't you?"

Jisung doesn't wait for a response, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you down the hallway back into your room. He kicks the door shut behind him and spins to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

You squeal when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing against his mouth. His kisses are hot and eager– there's no break for breath as he moves across the room with you. You don't even pause when he lays you down on your bed, hand sliding “his” t-shirt up your body.

You shiver when he brushes against your thigh. His hands are cold from outside, and the contrast against your warm skin feels like electricity. He smiles in the kiss and squeezes the skin tight.

Your own hands find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer into you. Through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing, you can feel the hardness of his body all pressed against yours. He shifts against you and the friction makes your nipples harden right under him.

His hands leave your thighs. They wind their way up your torso, feeling you up all along the way until he finds the stiff peaks that called his attention. He runs his thumbs over them, drinking up every sound you make. One of your hands cards into his hair and you tug.

He groans at that, finally pulling away from the kiss with a grunt and instead trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point and you buck up into him in surprise.

You feel him laugh against you.

"You're so cute," he says into your neck. He mouths over the skin before biting down, hot wet tongue immediately after. A bruise, then.

"Sungie," you gasp out. Your back arches off the mattress as his hands wander all over you. You've always loved how naturally his mouth works its way around your body– he knows just where to kiss, what spots to brush his nose over. Like he's learned the entire road map to your pleasure.

Maybe he has.

He mouths down your body, pausing and sucking on your breasts before leaving wet, soft kisses down the expanse of your tummy. When he gets to your core, he shifts his kiss-trail over to your inner thigh.

"Do you know how hot you are?" He murmurs. "Like all the time. Holy fuck. This is my shirt, princess. My shirt. Don't you know that drives me crazy?"

You do. It's precisely why you grabbed it.

His tongue meets your skin in an agonizing, slow stripe along your inner thigh. The higher he gets, the more your legs tremble around him, until finally his lips close around your clit.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your head lolls back against the bed and you let out a breathy moan. He hums against you, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he holds your legs up. Your hands are shaking, but one winds its way back into his soft hair, and you tug.

He moans at that, a sound that sends vibration up through your whole core. He takes a hand away and brings it down, letting his thumb just press lightly against your entrance. Even in the slightest sense of pressure, you arch further into him, wanting more, more, more.

He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue joining, and when you look down and see his blissed out expression between your legs, you think your heart might jump right out of your chest.

In all the times the boys have taken you apart, they've never made you come this quickly. You're not sure if it's because of the moment with Chan earlier, or because you've been thinking about having one of them fuck you all day. All it takes is two large fingers, pushing and stretching inside of you while his mouth moves so perfectly around your throbbing clit for you to snap. You come with a sob, your thighs pressing against his head.

If there's one thing Jisung certainly loves, though, it's eating you out. He could spend hours between your legs, kissing and sucking and licking until you're boneless and spent. So there is no sign of slowing in his rhythm, even when you wriggle from overstimulation.

"Sung," you moan. He responds by pinching your thigh, sucking hard on your clit so your yelp turns into a moan.

Distantly, you register the sound of footsteps that pause right outside of your door. You hear knocking, but not on your door, and you realize Seungmin has finally come upstairs, likely to grab everybody for some quality time after a day apart.

You almost laugh at how well this is working out for you.

Jisung slides his fingers back into you, and your attention is split between straining to hear what's going on in the hallway and the blinding pleasure you're feeling. He curls his fingers up and you find yourself gushing on his hand, your own fingers tangled in his hair so tight he can barely move.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he murmurs against you. He almost sounds giddy. "Did you miss me, baby?"

You can't even form a response, only able to whine as he fucks into you with his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit just fast enough to make you tremble. Your orgasm is coming on strong, and you feel like you're floating above your body, every touch electric, every movement monumental.

And then–

"Ah, so that's where they are."

Your eyes snap to your now-open door. Your other two boyfriends are there, and you make direct eye contact with Chan just as your second orgasm reaches its peak. You arch up off the bed, gasping into the air as your body trembles, and Jisung keeps his mouth on you, sucking hard and making your vision go white.

After a minute, he finally slows his pace, pulling away and finger-fucking you slowly and deep. He would never stop completely, especially not now that everyone's in the same room. His voyeurism is likely cranked up to 10, and you know he'll be pouty and whiney for the rest of the week unless he gets to watch one of the other boys split you open on their cock.

From the way he's looking at you, you feel like it'll be Chan doing the splitting.

Seungmin, ever the sane one, pretends to roll his eyes. "So this is why neither of you were answering my texts about movie night? This couldn't wait?"

"Well, she was wearing my shirt and nothing under it," Jisung says, grinning up at him. He gives your clit one last suck before kissing it and propping himself up, fingers still buried to the hilt inside of you. Your brain feels foggy as you stare at the three of them. You can still feel yourself gushing on his fingers.

Seungmin notices, eyes glued to your cunt as he walks over. You see his faux annoyance dissolving. "Fuck, she's really wet, isn't she."

Jisung grins. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh. "Yeah, I think she missed us."

Chan scoffs. He finally makes his way into the room fully, and you can see where his cock is straining against the fabric of his shorts. "No. She missed getting fucked."

He stands at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Jisung's hand as he continues to move inside of you. "Did you tell Jisung what happened earlier, baby?"

Jisung huffs out a little laugh, half lidded eyes going back to your face. "Hmm. No. She didn't."

A chill runs down the length of your spine. Fuck. It sounds like Chan got to them first.

"Chan said you were being a real big brat earlier," Seungmin hums. He pulls his eyes away from your center and finally looks at you. "Is that true, angel? Were you being bad for Chan?"

You shake your head, eyes going doe-ish as he gets closer to you. You realize you need to change your plan and do it quickly. It takes less than half a second for a new idea to come: Seungmin is the softest of the three of them, at least in sexual situations. If you can get him on your side you might have a chance.

That thought flies out of the window when his hand makes its way around your throat, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart." His voice is deceptively soft. "Don't you think Chan already spoke to us?"

You fight back a gasp at the sheer betrayal, but decide to double down anyway. "Wasn't being bad," you manage. You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "I didn't do anything!"

Seungmin squeezes again, harder, and you really do gasp this time. "Then why did we both get a text from Chan earlier saying you were being mean to him? Hmm?"

"He said he came to blow off some steam and someone," Jisung presses his fingers directly against that squishy part inside of you, "Was being all bratty. Telling him to leave her alone."

It's at this moment that you realize all your planning was futile. You've fallen right into their trap.

You try the Seungmin strategy again, panting as you look up at him. "Minnie, please," you whine. You can't think with Jisung hitting your spot like that. "I wasn't– I–"

He tilts his head. "Oh come on baby. I think you're just lying to us now."

Your chest heaves. Jisung has chosen now to dive back into your cunt, tongue swiping up your slit and circling around your clit. Your brain is too scrambled to think of any other ways out of this situation, so you resort to what you always do:

Pleading.

"'m sorry, Minnie," you rasp. "Didn't mean to– Didn't mean to be bratty."

Seungmin softens only slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" You're gasping around your words. "I promise. I just wanted to make him mad, wasn't trying to be mean."

In all of your begging and the relentless fervor of Jisung's tongue, you barely notice Chan making his way to the other side of your bed. Seungmin's grip loosens around your throat, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he takes in your words.

"Hm. What do you think, Chan?"

You turn to look at him. He's shed his shirt somewhere along the way, and the hard musculature of his stomach is glistening with sweat. He climbs onto the bed and situates himself so that he's behind you with your head in his lap. You're expecting his hand to replace Seungmin's around your throat, but instead he reaches over you, gripping the hem of your shirt and sliding it up over your chest until your breasts are on full display. Seungmin immediately sinks down to his knees and takes your nipple into his mouth.

You're a gasping, whining mess, eyes rolling back until all you can see is white. You feel Jisung sling his arm around you to keep your body still.

Above you, Chan lets the shirt go and switches his focus to your hands, pulling them up and holding your wrists together in one hand to keep them above your head.

"I think," he murmurs, using his free hand to caress your face, "That if she wants to cum so bad, we should let her."

Your heart drops. To the untrained ear, it sounds like you've won, but you know better. You know Chan, and you know he has something up his sleeve. But when you look up at him, he's looking down at you with a sickly sweet smile.

"If she's sorry," he continues, "She'll behave. Right, babygirl?"

You can't speak. The dual sensations are sending you to the moon. The hand caressing your face grips your jaw tight, keeping your gaze locked on him.

"I asked you a question, princess."

As soon as you open your mouth to answer, your orgasm crashes into you without warning. It's the third one in a row, and you feel much like a washcloth that's been wrung out. Your movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and even as you continue trying to respond to Chan, your voice is not coming out.

"Jisung." He says simply.

The boy in question pulls away from your cunt with a satisfying pop. He's absolutely pussy drunk, eyes half lidded and tongue rolling over his lips to savor the flavor of you. If it were just the two of you, he'd keep going, but amongst the hierarchy of dominance, Chan has been, and will always be, at the top.

"I think she's ready now, yeah?" Chan rubs his thumb against your skin. "Fuck her good for me."

When orchestrating your own plan, you looked at Jisung’s eagerness as something to work in your favor. You hoped he would get you riled up enough for you to scream his name a couple times and really make Chan mad. But now, as he shimmies out of his sweats and boxers, taking his thick length in his hand, you feel nervousness tickle your gut.

Seungmin has pulled away from your nipple, reaching down to hold one of your thighs up. He's murmuring sweet nothings to you as he holds you open for Jisung. The latter is poised at your entrance, stroking himself and watching you with hungry eyes.

You tip your head back to look at Chan again, and he only smiles down at you.

"Channie," you whimper out. You can barely speak, you're so overwhelmed. "Please–"

"Shh," he coos. "I know, baby. But this is what you wanted, yeah?" His hand moves from your jaw to your mouth, pressing a finger against your lips. You suck it in without thought, letting your tongue swirl around him with your cheeks hollowed out like you would on his cock. "I just want to see you take Sungie's dick. Be good, baby."

You almost choke when Jisung thrusts into you. You're already so wet and so sensitive, and his cock is stretching you so wide, pushing deep inside until you're sure you can feel him in your stomach. He gives you no time to adjust, that eagerness coming full force as he fucks right into you.

"God, she's still so tight," he breathes. One hand finds purchase in the dip of your waist, the other moves to the thigh not being held by Seungmin, folding you up and spreading you open to give him more leverage as he fucks into you hard.

Seungmin hums, trailing kisses along your leg and the side of your neck. "Feel good, angel? You like having Jisung's cock inside you?"

You can't even respond, mind blank as Jisung plows you deep. Your back is arched off of Chan's lap, head pushed back as his finger keeps your mouth propped open. You're a dumb, drooling mess around him, and despite the soft smile on his lips, you know it's wrecking him.

To prove your point, he digs his nails in one of your palms, a stark contrast to the way Seungmin's hand is gently rubbing up and down your body, playing with your nipples and caressing your sides and stomach.

It's all too much, the sensations are overwhelming, and you're so wound up from earlier that you already feel the orgasm building. You mewl pathetically, eyes watering as you look around for someone to have pity on you.

It's Chan who catches your pleading gaze, but he only raises an eyebrow.

"You're gonna cum again? Already?" he says. It's not condescending or snarky, rather genuine disbelief and curiosity. His finger leaves your mouth and you let out a dry sob as trails of spit drip down your chin.

Jisung doesn't hear this– or can't, rather. He's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops, breathy moans leaving his mouth as he does. He's babbling nonsense, things like how tight you are and how well you take him in. You know he's close too, because his hips have gone erratic in their rhythm. Yet somehow, he gets faster.

The knot in your stomach feels heavy as lead. This orgasm might genuinely take you out.

"Please," you rasp. "Please, please, I can't–"

Chan shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, but baby, I thought you wanted to cum?"

"I do," you whine. "Want to so bad but 's too much. Too much, Channie, please–"

"No. Shut up and cum, princess," the grit in his voice is back. "Cum on Jisung's cock. Be good for us."

That's all it takes for you to snap. You let out a broken cry as another orgasm rocks through your body. It's even more intense than the others, pulling all of your muscles taut so you sit up before slumping back into Chan's arms. You barely register the way your hands flex uselessly above your head, writhing in Chan's grip. You can only vaguely feel Seungmin kissing your cheek, whispering little encouragements in your ear, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look when you cum.

And then Jisung is grunting, snapping his hips against yours one last time before spilling into you. Your walls spasm around him as he cums, milking him dry and causing you both to whine into the air.

In typical Jisung fashion, he's still rutting up into you after you're both well past overstimulation. The pressure in your cunt throbs throughout your body, tears springing into your eyes. You're very close to abandoning the little bit of pride you have and begging him to stop.

It turns out you don't need to, because as if on cue, Jisung finally pulls out and Seungmin lets go of your legs, standing up. You nearly sob at the loss of his gentle contact, so you don't even notice he's taking off his clothes until he's standing where Jisung was, hands gripping the soft skin of your thighs to hold you open.

"Aw, baby," he says softly. He runs a hand up your leg. "You did so well."

You pout, a sob bubbling in your throat when you realize their plan now. They're gonna drag as many orgasms out of you as they can, overstimulation be damned. The thought makes your clit throb, and that alone makes you whine. It's all too much.

Despite knowing you're already so wet and lax and malleable, Seungmin reaches down to rub at your clit in an attempt to open you up.

"Min," you cry, squirming at his touch. Your cunt feels tender, and even though the first set of tears are long dried up on your cheeks, fresh ones start to come. "Minnie–"

"Shhh. It's okay, angel."

His words are gentle and reassuring, but when his eyes catch yours, all you see is darkness.

Seungmin's gentle dominance has a limit. He doesn't get all stern and mean like Chan, or desperate like Jisung, but there's only so long he can last before that other, darker part of him surfaces, the one that gets off on hurting you, on seeing you in pain and feeling good from it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the part of him you'll be dealing with.

When he finally sinks his cock inside you, it's slow, and the moan that he lets out vibrates through his length and right into you. Your neck seems to give up, dropping you right back down in Chan's lap less than gracefully. It gives him better access to you, and he leans immediately to attach his mouth to yours. He alternates between soft kisses and hard bites that will surely bruise in the morning.

Seungmin is only a bit longer than Jisung, but he's so damn girthy. Every tiny thrust he rocks into you sends shivers down your spine. Your skin feels like it's on fire and you're not even kissing Chan back, basically panting into his open mouth.

"Prop her up, Chan," Seungmin grits out. "Wanna watch her while she cries."

He gives you one final peck, and then the hand that's still holding your wrists lets go. It takes a second, then both hands are under you, lifting you up off the mattress until you're sat up on his lap with his chest against your back. He crosses your wrists against your chest and holds them in one hand, and then the other snakes up and finds your throat. His hand is way bigger than Seungmin's, and he's not as gentle when he squeezes and forces you to look back at him.

He doesn't look mad, or even turned on. He's smiling at you, like you're a particularly good puppy. "Good girl. Gonna give us a big one, yeah?”

You barely have a moment to understand what he's implying before you feel a hand on your clit. Both of Seungmin's hands are occupied, so you're not sure why it surprises you to see that it's Jisung's deft fingers on you. He's standing behind Seungmin, one hand on him and the other on you.

It feels like your eyes are bulging out of your head. The touch is gentle, but it still feels like you're being hit with lightning bolts. You're too spent to even buck up at the contact.

"Oh my God," you choke. "Oh, oh, I–"

“That's it,” Chan purrs when you cum again. He kisses whatever skin is closest to his mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw. Your head feels light, the only thing keeping you grounded to the bed are their hands on you. You feel like you're going to faint, and Seungmin's eyes are only egging you on.

Your body trembles so violently, Seungmin is forced to pause in his motions to hold your knees and keep your legs from buckling in. Your vision is blurry, but you can see Jisung has a steady grip on Seungmin's hair, effectively holding him in place.

"Good girl," he breathes, those big brown eyes trained on your face. "You take him so well."

His words send shivers down your spine. Jisung is always more coherent and in control after an orgasm. You know if Seungmin was today's focus, Jisung would likely be spitting all kinds of nasty, filthy words in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on you. All it takes to get you going is a good stare.

He taps at your clit with his free hand. You jump, moaning loudly at the contact, your back arching off Chan's chest and into Seungmin's body.

"She's good. Keep going," Jisung murmurs, pulling his eyes away from yours to look at Seungmin. He pulls a little at the hair on the nape of his neck, causing Seungmin's cock to jump inside you.

They work in tandem. Jisung's hand keeps circling your clit in the same soft rhythm, and you're not sure how but it's making you even wetter and more loose. You're a mess of moans, not knowing whose name to scream when they all have their hands on you. It's dizzying in the best way.

Seungmin has started rolling his hips into you with more vigor, the soft sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The dark shroud over his eyes is back as he stares down at you. "Feels good doesn't it," he grunts. "Look at your little cunt fluttering open for me like a good slut."

You feel another sob bubble out of you, this one accompanied by tears, but it dies in your throat when Chan's grip on you gets even tighter. All you can do is pout and whine.

"Aw, look at the little crybaby." Seungmin starts to fuck into you in earnest, his own moans getting higher in pitch. You can tell by the way Jisung's grip in his hair tightens that he's close. "C'mon angel. You're being so good, you can take it."

"Minnie," you rasp, barely able to speak. "Please–"

"I said take it." He’s looking down, watching where your cunt is sucking him in with each thrust. He thrusts into you particularly hard, and your entire body lurches forward, causing you to gasp. "And if you can't, you know what to say. You know your word."

You do. Somehow, under all the begging and pleading, you're actually insanely giddy with want. It's all part of the little game you play, so you just pout pathetically at Seungmin as his hips snap harder into yours.

"She's not gonna say it," Chan sing-songs. He uses the hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, giving him perfect access to more of you. He nips at your skin. "She likes being treated like this. Like a little toy."

It's all too much. Every inch of you is on fire, the room feels like it's a thousand degrees. Chan's mouth on your neck, Seungmin's cock deep in your cunt, and Jisung's fingers–

It's like something snaps.

A knot you didn't even realize was in your stomach explodes and your vision goes white. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've experienced before. Your brain completely melts, your hearing dulls, and you can feel the drool running down your chin. You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time.

"Oh shit," you hear Seungmin groan. Your cunt is spasming around him. His thrusts become harder, sloppy. "God, fuck–"

He cums hard inside of you, hips jerking as he chases the aftershocks. You've gone completely limp, barely able to move at all as Chan continues to bite at your neck.

The hand on Seungmin's shoulder drops. "That's so hot," Jisung mutters, almost to himself. He's lost some of his in-control voice. "Wow, baby, you should be bratty more often.”

If you could see straight, you'd probably laugh at that.

Seungmin pulls out slowly, and when the head of his cock leaves you, you let out a tiny mewl. You're overstimulated to the point that you're numb. Seungmin smiles softly as he rubs the inside of your thigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, I know. It's a lot. But you're being so good for us. I think it's Chan's turn though, hm? Wanna make him feel good?"

"Give her a minute," Jisung chides. You hear a sharp intake of breath and you know he's likely yanked on Seungmin's hair again. "She's about to pass out."

You can feel your limbs slowly returning to you, the fog clearing in your head. When Chan moves the hand from your throat, you breathe deeply, taking in gulps of air as moves his hand down to rub against your tummy. Jisung and Seungmin are bickering somewhere around you, and you let yourself relax in Chan's hold.

"Do you want to finish now, princess?" His lips are warm against your ear. "We can be done. You don't have to take me.”

It's a very tempting offer, especially with the way you can hardly remember what day it is. You could easily take it and call this all done. The four of you have almost certainly been at this for more than an hour now, and they've wrung six orgasms out of you. They're sweet enough to offer to call it a night.

But then you think about Chan, and how, despite being the reason this all started, he's barely done anything. Hasn't tasted you, hasn't shoved his cock down your throat– He's usually not one for letting go until you've milked him dry at least twice, and you can't stand the idea of him having that buzz under his skin all night.

So you shake your head.

"No?" Chan laughs, almost like he's surprised. "Really? You still want to finish with me? Are you sure, princess?”

He's giving you the same offer he gave you earlier. An out. Making your comfort the first priority. The thought alone is what gives you the strength to nod against him.

"'m sure, Channie."

"Oh, fuck, okay." His grip around you goes a little slack as he moves, pulling you away from his lap and laying you back into your bed. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your mouth. It feels like he's thanking you, almost.

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling. You want to look into them for hours.

He barks something at Jisung and Seungmin, and the bickering stops immediately. You hear shuffling around you before Seungmin takes Chan's empty space and Jisung appears at your side. They're pressing soft kisses to your face and praising you as Chan works his shorts and boxers down. When his cock springs free, he lets out a hiss of relief.

The sight of him alone makes anxiety rear its ugly head. You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken the opportunity to tap out, or if maybe you should use your safeword, but then Jisung is grabbing your hand and pressing kisses against it, squeezing you and keeping you tethered to the present.

"You can do it, pretty girl," he murmurs in your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. "You did so good for us, just a little longer."

Chan catches your eyes, and he smiles again, reassuring. His hand runs down your body and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and hooking your calf over his shoulder. "Gonna go easy, baby. I know it's a lot."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies, and your hands are shaking a little bit when he ruts himself up against you. You're so open from the others that when his head catches on your entrance, it nearly slips inside.

Your back arches as you moan, and then his cock brushes against your entrance with purpose and it feels like you're going to split right open. He rocks into you again, pushing in the barest inch and pulling right back out. You whine and shift your hips in an attempt to escape.

"Come on, be a good girl now, princess." His voice has gotten lower, lust taking over. "Relax.”

His eyes flit up from where you're connected to look at you, and in one move he pushes right inside of you.

It doesn't hurt– you're way too wet and open for that. It does feel like your stomach is being forced open, however. Like his cock is pressing against all of your internal organs. You arch up off of Seungmin's lap and he pulls you back to him quickly.

Chan groans, bottoming out inside you. His eyes are closed as he lets himself bask in the sensation, hips rocking shallowly. You're thankful that he doesn't move immediately, but even the barest amount of movement feels like too much, like you'll come apart at any second.

You barely feel it when Jisung slips your hand into his. It takes you a minute to realize it's because your brain has been reduced to nothing. Your body has melted into the bed, your muscles are lax, and there's an emptiness in your brain filled with nothing but static and Chan's name. You don't think about anything at all, can't form a single coherent thought. You don't feel the kisses on your throat or the way Seungmin's hands have taken residence on your stomach. The only thing you feel is the overwhelming pressure in your cunt as Chan slowly pulls out, leaving just the tip, before pushing all the way back in.

He builds a rhythm quickly. Seungmin is holding you tight to his body, as though he's scared you might float away, and you appreciate it because it gives you another sensation to focus on. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, eyes rolled back into your head so far all you see is white.

The sound of Chan fucking into you is absolutely obscene, a mixture of your juices and the remnants of the cum still leaking from your hole. He fucks you slow, but hard, snapping his hips into yours so hard it almost feels like you might get a bruise on your thigh.

Jisung is watching with hungry eyes from your side. He's not touching you at all anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding to do much else other than stare with his jaw slacked. Seungmin takes over for him.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's it angel, look at you." He moves the hand on your stomach and lets his thumb rub circles on your clit. You feel like you're going to pass out. You don't get time to beg him to stop before you feel that same hand move to your mouth, and two fingers push past your lips.

"Here, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes fixed on your lips as you suck his fingers. "That's you on my fingers, baby. Isn't it good?"

You moan around his hand, head spinning both at the taste of yourself and the intrusion of Seungmin's fingers in your mouth. He's not fucking them into you with any kind of rhythm, just shoving them in there until you're dribbling around his hand. He hums happily when he pushes in more and makes you gag, kissing away the tears the spill over.

Chan grunts, head falling back. "Min, again, please, she just– fuck, she–"

Seungmin doesn't need to be told twice. He repeats the motion again, making sure his fingers go far enough so you're choking around him. This time, when you splutter and gag, you can feel it when you clench down on Chan and his cock pulses in response.

"Oh my God," he moans, thrusting into you again. "Oh my god, baby, you're so good. You're doing so fucking good–"

Between the movement of his hips and the feeling of Seungmin's fingers down your throat, you're not quite sure you're still on this plane of existence. Everything is spinning around you, your cunt is throbbing, you can hear Jisung moaning somewhere, but you don't know from what.

You can feel Seungmin's lips pressed against your forehead as his fingers fuck your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head again. You're so lightheaded, so far gone, you can barely remember your name.

It's when Chan starts to thrust faster that you come back to your body with a jolt, mind filling with white hot heat. The pleasure has long since lost it's edge, and you're a moaning, writhing, teary mess again. The coil in your stomach starts to build for the seventh time, and you're pretty sure your brain has gone empty. The only thing you're able to focus on is Chan. Chan, Chan, Chan.

"Almost done, angel." You register a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, and then another on your forehead. You think the voice belongs to Seungmin. Maybe, if the way he eases his hand out of your mouth is any indication.

Nothing is making sense anymore. It all feels like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Chan's hips falter, and his hand slides up to your throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. Just rests it there as his orgasm approaches, hips snapping against you at an erratic rhythm.

"Sweetheart." His eyes flutter open with strained effort, but they remain locked on yours. "Can you give us one more, princess? Hm? Can I get you to cum on me too, please?"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes your body feel hot. You want to tell him yes, that you're close, so so close, but all that comes out is a weak noise that you're not even certain you made.

Seungmin seems to get it though, because he slips his fingers down between your legs, finding your clit again. He rolls it between his fingers with one hand while his other reaches up and settles on your jaw. You feel Jisung's tongue flick over your nipple and your world draws to a pinpoint.

Chan curses above you, fucking into you at an almost punishing pace. "Yes, baby, let go for us. That's it. We got you."

It feels like someone's stuck a vacuum in your brain with the incoherent way you're thinking. The sound of his voice saying your name in that desperate tone is all it takes, and suddenly you're floating out of your body, ears ringing as the pressure inside you bursts. Your eyes roll back and the clinging remnants of an orgasm wash through your body. It feels more like an aftershock. You're only vaguely aware of the way Chan moans, loud and throaty, when he finally spills into you.

It takes a couple minutes before the two of you come back down to earth. You can't move, and even though you know Seungmin is holding you tight, it feels like you might drift right off the mattress and float up into the clouds.

Chan pulls out slowly, and you shudder when you feel a trickle of his cum leaking from your hole. It's not long before your eyes droop shut from pure exhaustion. You think you might pass out right on the spot.

The room gets kicked into gear pretty quickly after that. From what you can tell in the hazy state you're in, someone grabs a wet cloth to wipe you down with while someone else finds you a new t-shirt (and panties this time). They dress you like you're a doll, maneuvering your limbs and telling you you're good, you're so good, they love you so much.

Then you're scooped up into a pair of arms while the distant sounds of sheets being pulled off the bed floats up to you. They take you out of the room.

"You did so good for us, baby." The owner of the arms whispers against your ear. From the cadence in their tone you're pretty sure it's Jisung. "You were such a good girl for us, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."

You think you nod against him, but you can't be sure. You hear him kick a door open, and then he sets you down on a bed and you register Seungmin and Chan coming in.

"Okay," Jisung murmurs, going through his aftercare list out loud. "Fresh bed, fresh clothes, we got her some water."

You feel the bed dip behind you. "We got it, but she's gotta drink it, though," Chan chimes. There's fondness in his voice as he scoots closer to you. "Come here, baby."

You let yourself go limp, and a content smile plasters on your face as your boys fuss over you and make sure you're comfortable. They're so gentle, despite what just transpired, and they all take turns pressing kisses against your head, your cheeks, your nose.

When you've all settled into the bed, you feel three pairs of arms around you, holding you close, and you feel insanely lucky for all of it. You snuggle deeper into someone's chest, humming absentmindedly in that dreamy, fucked-out headspace.

"Thank you," you mumble, pressing a kiss to whoever you're snuggled against. You think it's Jisung from the way they nuzzle into your cheek.

"Of course, princess," Chan replies, his voice vibrating against your back. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you smile again. "You're our good girl, even when you're a brat. We'll always take care of you.”

You don't bother replying, simply allowing yourself to sink back into that fuzzy state. You're about to slip out of consciousness when you feel Jisung's nose against your cheek.

"You really do need to be bratty more often, though."

You hear a dull thump as Seungmin smacks the back of his head, and you let their hushed bickering be the lullaby you need to lull you into sleep.

#stray kids #hyprfics #skz chan #skz x reader #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #skz seungmin #skz jisung #poly!skz #skz smut #skz jisung smut #skz seungmin smut #bang chan x reader #seungmin x reader #skz seungmin x reader #jisung x reader #skz jisung x reader

2K notes · View notes

purerae · 1 month ago

Text

— DUPLEXITY;;

fem!reader x coworker!yanderes

— who knew attempting to bond with your co workers would lead to a fucked up love triangle?

prologue; quit your job! If dying was an option right now, Y/N would take it with a gleeful smile.

Sprinting through the woods, her ears ringing, she slams her grimy, broken hand against her head over and over. Her knees, bruised to a swollen pulp of purple, threaten to buckle beneath her. A deep, unprotected gash dressed painfully across her back, its edges rotting, every movement tearing at the poorly dressed wound.

Ignoring the piercing whine in her ears, her heart froze at the sound of shuffling drawing closer. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving forward. An ear striking screech bursts from the girl’s throat, desperate to catch the attention of any passing drivers or hikers.

How could she be so foolish? It’s four in the morning, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, with two freaks relentlessly chasing her.

Her scream was a terrible mistake. It brought her no closer to freedom instead only closer to her pursuers. Their shouts echo behind her, filled with words she can’t—and doesn’t want to comprehend.

Pleas, threats, and bursts of anger escape from their mouths but the only thing that Y/N had her mind on was getting her brother and leaving this shithole. Y/N ran and ran, but to her dismay and an almost comical cruel sense of bad luck , Her vision was slammed with a wall ruined with graffiti that was now taunting her from her inescapable future. Her breathing slows as she stumbled back, desperately praying for anything that could save her. Surely they weren't close, she put in all this effort, they cannot be close! With trembling caution, she moved backward, her steps deliberate and silent. She avoided every brittle branch and insect littering the forest floor, straining to make as little noise as possible. Her back pressed into something soft yet unyielding, carrying the earthy scent of firewood mixed with the sharp tang of blood that she’ll always loathe. Y/N’s breath hitched, frozen in her chest as the sound of heavy breathing enveloped her ears from just behind.

‘Fuck.'

“You can’t run from us. It’s two against one, cutie.”

Even with her back turned, she could picture his smug, shit-eating smirk. A chill ran down her spine as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, trapping her. God, she wished she had a bat so she could beat him till he was a lifeless piece of flesh that she could point and laugh at. Too bad that would never be possible, even if she had a weapon to begin with. Deep down, Y/N knew there was no escaping this. But with every ounce of strength her battered body could summon, she let out the loudest scream she could muster; a semblance of hope in her body that somebody could save her. It tore through the cold night air before everything turned black. The last thing she heard was another man's footsteps approaching them, and two voices she made an oath to never hear, conversing. All she wanted was a fucking pay raise.

- Y/N buttoned her blouse with a giddy smile, rushing around her room in search of the shoes she’d bought just for this day. "I can't believe I got the job! I'm so excited, this still feels so surreal." she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she grabbed her phone, waiting for her friend’s response. "Girl, I'm happy for you!” her friend shouted over the line, her voice barely cutting through the loud music and chatter in the background. “Just work hard, and you’ll be promoted to detective in no time! My little Sherlock Holmes~” Y/N scoffs out a laugh before she shakes her head at the chaos on the other end. Normally, she’d lecture her friend about hosting a party at seven in the morning, but today, she was too nervous and way too excited about her first day to care. "Ahaha, Yeah I don't know about that... I'm still in shock that I got the job to be the assistant, let alone be the main thing. I just hope the person in charge of me is nice." The E/C-eyed girl replied looking at the ceiling , nervously biting her nails whilst walking back and forth in her room.

"Don't stress about it! I'm sure they'll be nice, babes. And you should ju-" Y/N’s friend was abruptly cut off by a guy shouting in the background, his voice carrying over the music: “Ayra! Get back to the party already!” "Hold on a sec Noel! Im talking to Y/N" she yells back with an obvious scowl on her face… Well, Y/N was almost positive that she displayed one based on the tone of her voice. "It's fine! You go do your shit, I gotta’ finish getting ready." "Okay Okay, message me after your shift ends. I wanna know everything~!" The bubbly girl says as she mimics a kiss sound. Despite Ayra not being able to see Y/N, she smiles with a soft gaze at the phone before hanging up. Staring into the mirror, she carefully assessed her outfit. A sleek black blouse layered over a white undershirt paired perfectly with a matching black pencil skirt. Light makeup enhanced her features, and her neatly styled hair framed her face just right. She smoothed her clothes with her hands, beaming widely as she twirled in front of the mirror. Y/N gathered all her essentials, carefully packing them into her bag before stepping out of her apartment. She locked the door with a quick twist of the key, then paused to double-check it twice…just to be sure; it was a habit she had done ever since she lived in her parents home.

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the ground floor. Knowing the ride would take a while, she lived on the second-highest floor, after all, she pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 7:15 a.m. Perfect. With the bus journey to the department taking only 30 minutes, she was right on schedule (which was always a struggle for her.) A grin spread across her face as she opened her email app and tapped on the message from the 'Warrens Department.' Her heart fluttered nervously as she re-read the letter, scanning each line to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important. As she scrolled to the bottom, her brows furrowed. There, tucked away, was a link she hadn’t noticed before.

'Shit I must've missed this' She thought with worry before quickly clicking the link, silently thanking her instincts for prompting her to double-check the message. The link was a profile of the detective that she would be working with. Looking at the picture, she notices that he was a very conventionally attractive male. The formally dressed girl squints her eyes before assessing the man that her eyes laid upon.

Xavier Allette, it read. Twenty-five years old, with five years of experience as a detective.

‘Holy shit, he became a detective at 20? I was still in university then.’ Y/N’s thoughts wandered briefly as she reminisced about her own journey, a flicker of envy stirring as she compared herself to her boss.

Letting out a breath of relief that she didn't know she had; The assistant was expecting an old cruel man as her boss, but to her luck, it was someone of a similar age to her. And, as a bonus, he wasn’t bad to look at either.

Y/N knew better than to judge someone based on their appearance, but as her cheeks warmed, she couldn’t help but blush at the handsome face staring back at her from the screen. A straight pale face, with a clean-shaven look. His hair was a wavy deep black, tussled formally. Eyes sharp and matched with his extremely dark hair. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the absence of a glint or any sign of life in his pupils. ‘I’m overthinking it,’ she told herself. ‘He’s just posing for the picture��. It had to be her psychology degree kicking in, making her analyze every feature of his face like a subject in a case study. Xavier’s nose was strikingly defined, and his lips were full, holding a slightly warm tint that gave his serious expression a subtle softness. Though he was wearing a suit, anyone could tell the detective worked out as his jaw was sharp and his shoulders were broad. It was clear that he took good care of himself.

The only other information displayed on his profile was a list of the cases he had worked on and details about his educational background. 'Maketa Academy?!' That was the most prestigious high school that Y/N had ever heard of. You could either get in with a scholarship or a lot of money. Unfortunately for her, she had been neither crazy smart nor crazy rich, so attending a place like that had never been an option. Y/N couldn’t tell whether Xavier had gotten in through wealth or intellect, but either way, it was impressive. Her train of thought abruptly halted as the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival on the first floor.

Turning off her phone, She exits the building before walking a short distance to the bus so she could arrive at the destination where she was going to be working.

'Please be nice to me, Warrens Department.'

Y/N rushed out of the bus, the clock read 8:00 am. The bus kept on delaying because of the traffic that the driver faced. The 15 minutes that she was hoping she had left to spare, disappeared all because of not getting a driver's licence! Cursing at herself, she ran to the building that was two minutes away. She could get there in ten seconds, her stubbornness is saving her life today.

The girl stared in awe at the building for a second. It was massive and incredibly modern. A large sign labelled Warrens Department was placed right in the middle of the building. Shaking her head, she scans the key card that came into the mail a week ago and fixes any loose hairs before walking into the building.

8:01 am, Already a minute late, though not much of a difference, she didn't want to disappoint her boss on the first day. Power walking to the reception she sighs shyly before speaking up. "Hi!" Her voice cracks.

'Oh my god, first I'm late, now my voice cracks, I should just quit my job and leave this e-' "Hello! Who’re you? I've never seen you before?" The ginger girl behind the desk questioned loudly. Her light southern accent peeked through. The red-haired was incredibly short, her face caked with pink-themed makeup matching her formal pink outfit. Y/N thought the receptionist was cute and seemed nice too! If she wasn't too busy stressing about being late, she'd love to be her friend. "I'm the detective's new assistant— Xaviers Allette's assistant." Y/N rambles, hands shaking with nerves.

"Y/N L/N?" The receptionist questioned with eyebrows raised, Y/N nods quickly and shows her key card to the lady. "I'm Abigail!" her smile drops, "Also, you should probably head over to his office quickly, Mr Allette hates tardiness.. a lot." It was now Y/N's turn for her face to drop, she mumbles a quick thank you before running off.She stops in her tracks as she realised her stupid mistake. "Hey Abigail, what's his room number?" Y/N spoke rushing back to the desk. Reaching halfway, the red-haired girl puts her hand out, ordering her to stop running back. "It's on the second floor, room 11, hurry!" She yells, shaking her hand. The late assistant puts a thumbs up as a way of saying thank you before completely ignoring the elevator and rushing up the stairs. Turning left she finds the room that is the lead detective. On the door, a silver plate is shown with 'Room 11' and 'Xavier Allette' engraved onto them in a fancy font.. It was clear that his room was the biggest on the floor.

Wiping the sweat off her hands and re-checking herself on the reflection of the plate, she checks the time.

8:05 am.

Y/N knocks on her boss's door. The door opens automatically, she notices the man that was just on her screen almost an hour ago, sitting down with his eyes furrowed and lips pulled into a frown. His eyes were fixated on his computer screen, fist propped against his chin. The assistant looks around while patiently waiting for him to say something.

20 seconds passed and all that she could hear were the sounds of him typing. the h/c hair-coloured girl clears her throat.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Y/N L/N, and Im p-"

"You're late." A deep, harsh voice cuts her off.

A/N : New story :p !! i really like the plot for this one and will have a masterlist out for it soon!

635 notes · View notes

xephyras · 6 months ago

Text

' A Second Reflection '

MDNI. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: i fear i possibly cooked with this? idk, i wrote it in like 2 hours. first cillian murphy centric smut kinda goes hard.

btw: that new M. Night Shyalaman movie ‘Trap’ sucks. It's basically slutty Josh Hartnett being a dad with mommy issues and everyone not doing their job.

Second, yes, this is fucking diabolical and will in fact be better because I am amazing at writing darker shit.

Third, yes, this is because I watched Red Eye again on my Roku at 1 a.m in my duplex. (Sorry to my upstairs neighbor if you heard my tv.)

warnings: DUB/NONCON. dead dove do NOT eat, 18+, evil!dom!stalker! jackson rippner and sub! reader. jackson rippner is an actual villain, not bastardized, rough sex, unprotected p in v, breeding kink from rippner, dumbification (once again my weakness), heavy degregation, spit kink, biting kink, just overall really mouthy rippner, major power play kink, size difference if you squint, bruising, hickeys, break in, choking, hair pulling, slapping, mirror kink, blood kink, also, jackson rippner is like lowk pathetic bcz, yk... men whining.

word count: 4.18k

NOT proofread, I apologize in advance for any errors or mistakes!

"Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

Darkness filled the room you sat in comfortably, your dust-covered mirror shimmering softly in the cinnamon candles you had lit a few minutes before. Duvet covered pulled up to your chest, and legs shuffling under with a comfort that always seemed to await you, you felt entirely serene.

The day was as usual boring, mostly spent inside working from home, taking a few calls, and mellowing around in your pajamas. These days seem to muddle together into one big mix, but it was nothing you fret over. It was rather comforting compared to the busy streets which bustled from the early hours of dawn to the peak of the night.

Only thing you would say that pinched wildly at your relaxation like a child on St. Patrick's day seeing a person not wearing green, was the overwhelming feeling of a set of prying eyes on you. However, this had become realtively common since you played that damned mirror in front of your bed.

You commonly had liked to rearrange your room; especially on the late nights where your shitty sleep schedule caught up, giving bursts of energy late at night. Hence, you assumed it was your paranoia playing a hopscotch game with you.

Nevertheless, you found the serenity of your window open, blowing a soft wind in, rather comforting. Leaving the blinds open often to let the orange sunset light in, you simply would stare until it went dark at times. Being on the first floor of your home, too, passerby's were actually much more fun to look at than you realized. ‘People-watching’, as some would call it.

However, in this night specifically, the warm breeze flushing onto your shoulders felt rather omniscient of some warning it communicated. You didn't get it, but something irked you. To deprive yourself of your own time, you simply read a book, traveling your mind into the world of your favorite reads.

Conversely, your brain pried at you. Thinking it was simply a lack of sleep, especially because it was now around a quarter after midnight, you set the hard book down. It was a hot night, you might as well have left your window open. After all, it was a safer neighborhood.

After blowing out the residue of your melted candles, you covered the rest of your body with the duvet. Serenity at last, you thought. Gently shutting your eyes, you simply wandered off mentally.

Despite being a rather heavy sleeper, you woke within a few hours to a sense of hefty paranoia. Your eyes couldn't even adjust at first to the darkness and the heaviness of them. Wiping your tiredness away, you peered into your mirror questionably.

The window you leave open, which usually shines in the dim moonlight, was almost blocked? Almost like a shadow. Slowly turning your head to your window to assume it was just your brain, you suddenly saw.

With your heart and sleepiness practically leaping out of your throat in a stiffled yell, shoved the covers off you, preparing to defend your every move. It wasn't just a fucking dark shadow, an entire, short, but rather wide looking silhouette of a man stood quietly, almost mannequin like, against your window sill.

“What the— What the fuck. What the fuck?!” You suddenly screeched out as loud as your throat could allow, the burning of your vocal chords was anything but sensational.

A deep chuckled emerged from the silhouette, shoulders bouncing somehow in a threatening manner. He held something in a pocket of a sweater, of course.

“You need to calm down before I slit your goddamn throat right here.” He suddenly sneered.

You were absolutely frozen, eyes wide with tears you didn't feel even forming. Hands bundled into fists in front of you futily, shaking like you were about to have a seizure.

He stood entirely still once more, practically observing you like some doctor. You decided haphazardly to stand onto your mattress, trying to get a better advantage of higher ground, more area to attack if he did decide to run at you.

“You— need to get the fuck out! Now!” You screamed at the end, trying to not simply break down sobbing. With purpose, your eyes scanned across your room for some weapon.

“I said calm down!” He suddenly grunted out, stomping with one long stride towards you. His palm latched itself to your ankle, dragging you from your sudden position, your head hitting the wall as you fell onto your spine.

A burning familiar to that of a minor concussion filled your senses, a stiffled sob leaving your throat as your vision filled with a dark white, if even possible. Ringing filled your ears as you felt yourself get dragged practically to lay on your stomach, facing your mirror.

He suddenly muttered almost to no one but himself, “You know, you're fucking pathetic. Can't even hold a good fight. All you do is sit—”

A grunt left his throat as he forced his sweater off, tosing it to the side. “And do absolutely nothing. You're a lazy bitch, you should be grateful I’m doing this.” He whispered into your ear, his stubble tickling along your jaw.

Desperately despite your mingling pain in your brain which seemed to radiate to your neck, you flipped yourself to your side, hands raising to try and fling themselves at him. You simply found his hand, calloused and rough, gripping a lump full of your hair, tangling it into his hand. He shoved your head into the mattress, unable to move.

“Stop fighting me, it's useless, whore.” He cursed out to you, a hint of lingering amusement in his poisoned words.

He certainly was talkative. “God, finally able to touch you after so long. You know, I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to do this.” He chuckled out, his voice was unforgivingly soothing while his hands gripped your head like a vice, and forcing the other to grope, pinch, and slap at your back and ass.

Wanting to have his fun, of course. “You need to do more. You're too… lazy. Maybe I’ll fuck a good baby into you, make you mine.” Sneering his voice next to your jaw, licking suddenly. The mixed smell of his aftershave and mahogany-esque cologne was all you tried to focus on.

Your head was utterly pounding, a slight ring in your eardrums forcuing yourself to feel even more of a head ache. Along with his snagging hand forcing you to the bed, and other groping you grotesquely, all you felt was utter pain and despair.

With as much energy as you could have put, you screamed out. Surely someone in this blasted neighborhood would hear. Screaming your pleas of help, Jackson tugged on your hair tight, snapping your neck back and cutting those yells off with a simple yelp into the air like an injured dog.

He dragged his hand from your lower back to your neck, shaking and wet from your tears which stained where he previously pushed you down. With force, he grabbed your neck tight, cutting your blood, but not air off.

“For someone so fucking lazy, only thing you can do right now is put your vocals to use? I will stab you right here and make it look like a suicide. Do yourself a favor and stop gambling with your life.” He enunciated, using his lips to drag themselves along the surrounding area of your ear.

A choke left your throat as the blood rushed back to your brain, the dazy and numb feeling leaving your pained head. You simply felt yourself get flipped to your back, finally being able to see some of the man's face.

He was unfortunately one of the most handsome men you had seen. A sharp jaw, stubbled beard he kept recently, piercing blue eyes. God, why did he have to be doing this?

“Stop it! I'll give you money! Please just stop!” You rasped out with desperate sobs, feeling yourself tears reach to your collarbones. Your nose was running heavy, and lips soaked with your own drool . You didn't care. You were focused enough the fact this man was in your home, hurting you.

His demeanor seemed suddenly much more gentle, but falsely. Like a lion acting gentle as it slowly prides itself up to its prey. His knees trapped around one of yours, holding you tight. With one of his hands, he held your chin now.

Leaning into your wet and puffy face as he smirked, he finally tantalizingly reached his lips to your jaw. “The more you plead, the harder I’m gonna get, and the longer I’ll use you.”

Finally leaning back, he raised his hand to your cheek and slammed it down, hard. A sound only described as a clap released itself along your bedroom walls, swinging your head to the side. Pain radiated harshly though your cheek, hot and burning.

He chuckled at this and leaned down his lips to your heaving neck, using his hands to stabilize himself on either side of your head. Wanting to have a bit of fun with his food so to speak, he licked. Starting at your collarbone, leading itself up to your jugular with silent breaths.

When he did reach, he bit down harshly, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to severely hurt you. A loud shriek left your throat like some horror movie character, your hands flinging up to pull his hair away and desperately claw.

A pained groan left his throat, but he smiled. Finally getting a better view at his face, teeth slightly pink from your neck and his silky hair feeling like knives in your hands suddenly, you realized couldn't even fight him.

Pausing his actions, he developed a nasty sneer of his face, suddenly spitting a glob at your cheek, grabbing your wrists tight enough you knew it'd bruise. Crashing them down into the bed beside you, he dipped his head down once more to your bleeding neck.

Teeth sank into your skin like marshmallows in an out, ranks of pain radiating from your tailbone all the way to the top of your head like you were in a house fire. All you could hear was the ringing of your blasted ears, his heavy breathing and whines, and the shuffle of the duvet.

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He hummed out, licking up the residues and admiring your skin like some sort of art project he made, one he'd surely put on the fridge.

“You know…” he finally leaned back, resting on his knees which trapped you into his touch.

“I've been watching you for a while—before tonight.” Jackson hummed contently, his raspy whisper leaking itself into your ears like honey.

“Especially because… you don't know when—” he spoke, getting up to close the open window. You knew you should've taken it as a chance, but you were frozen. He adjusted your whimsy curtains above it.

“—when to close your goddamn window. It's been such a joy to watch you, you know that? Every morning, you laying in your bed practically refusing to get up… all the way to laying yourself down, leaving it open to feel the breeze.” He chuckled finally at his last words, almost as if to nonverbally stupidly you.

Your head was pounding, the previously persistent ringing now dying down to a simple static noise, deep in your brain. Choked sobs left your throat, your chest heaving with every breath. Barely even being able to see due to the cloudiness of your wet tears, you blinked frantically.

“My boyfriend will be home so—” you attempted to sneer out, getting cut off with a vocal scoff.

“You need to learn how to stop lying, baby.”

Almost as if tantalizing your stupid word choice, he grazed his fingertips up and down your torso, riding your tank top up slightly with every stroke. His breath—you noticed—was heavier, his chest rising and falling every movement.

With a solid hiss, he forced your tank top off you, to which of course to his not-so-very-big-suprise, revealing your bare chest. After watching you for a while, he noticed you would most of the time wear either nothing, or a tank top, maybe paired with some underwear, usually black or navy. Rare occasions, maroon.

A deep chuckle poured out his throat as his rough hands went to your breasts, cupping and kneading them like dough. It hurt, clearly because he had no intent of making you even feel anything. He just craved you like a wolf craved a little sheep. Cries of pain left your throat, trying to claw your hands at his to no avail.

Your hips and legs wouldn't budge as he sat right on them, your head hurt too much to move, your arms like noodles from the sheer anxiety and shock you felt. To this, he laughed in a false-lit pity. Pinching at your nipples, he made sure to leave you as sensitive as possible, with intent to make you cry even more.

Exult filled his icy eyes as his hands dragged themselves down your belly, massaging your sides and hips like fresh bread. It tickled, somehow—the way he moved his hands now around the waistband of your underwear.

They were a deep navy blue, however looked black in this dark room. Shakily exhaling, Jackson dipped his fingers across the line of your clothing, before quickly pulling them clean off, the fabric resting on your shaking legs.

Another shrill howl left your raspy throat, trying to wriggle your hips out of his body weight. He bellowed back quietly in mock, anger mustering his tone. Another hard, cranial slap landed on the side of your head.

“Shut the fuck up.” He berated now; amusement present.

“I’ve always dreamed of this… even nights I didn't sleep.” he cooed out, coaxing one of your hands to his crotch.

You sneered out a messy cry as he pressed your hand to his tented pants, feeling his cock practically throbbing. His breath left his lips shakily as he forced your hand to feel him. Conversely, he kept his hand tight on your hips, not covered finally.

Finally smacking your hand back, he shimmied off the pants he had on after unbuttoning them. He didn't care to pull them all the way down, why not make it a quickie—you know?

“You look like such a whore right now…” he cooed out almost an octave higher, those threatening eyes gazing daggers at you.

An idea suddenly formed in his head as he looked up to himself in the mirror across from your bed. A toothy smile like a sharks spread across his jaw. Piercing his eyes back down, he grunted, flipping you into your stomach once more.

“I want you to see your stupid fucking face while I use you.” he blazed out, sharply snapping your head up by a chunk of your hair.

Your face was a mess. Puffy red eyes, red nose and cheeeks. Entirely wet with tears and snot. Not to mention, you looked absolutely devastated, which was expected, but not this bad.

A choked wail left your throat as you heard his pants shimmy down slightly, and felt his boxers, and clothed cock resting against your pussy. In response, he cooed under his breath. His hand pressed harshly into your lower back.

“It's a shame I haven't done this sooner, you cry like a fucking animal… it's so beautiful.” He mewled out to your face in the mirror rather than looking down at you.

Tearing down his boxers finally, you could hear his cock spring free and tap lightly on his stomach. He was of course hard, more than he had ever felt in a while. hence the fact he'd get off almost nightly thinking of you. Fucking into his fist with throaty groans, imagining it was your cunt instead.

A hearty sigh left his chest as he stroked himself a few times, the precum on his tip shining in the dim moonlight which simmered through the window. He made sure he was slow with his movements, not wanting to end this too fast.

“Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out once more, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

You let out a few whiny sobs, knowing you couldn't get out of this situation. Your scalp burnt. Gazing your eyes up to his face, you saw nothing but lust, and focus. The worst part was you knew he could get away with it.

“Please no— no, no, no, no!” You babbled out with purpose.l

"No, no, no, don't do this!” he mocked an octave higher, looking down to his leaking cock.

“Just sit still, you'll be fine, bitch.” He scoffed.

Lining himself up to you, he spat down on his cock, stroking himself a few more times to give less friction while he fucked you. Emitting a slight grunt, he finally leaned himself into your pussy, feeling your walls and savoring every inch he dove in.

A loud wail left your mouth, you felt like you were practically being split into 2 as he finally bottomed out. His cock was big enough to press hard against your cervix, the feeling was uncomfortable. Desperately, you tried to wriggle your hips off; nevertheless, he held your hips tight.

“I said be still, dumbass.” He hissed out, landing a loud spank on your ass, surely leaving it red.

“God, you feel so—” he enunciated his words, thrusting sharply into you. “So… fucking tight.” He finished his words, chuckling in the air at the end.

Placing his other hand on your hip and holding you steady, he started a rhythmic pace, slow and drawn out. Despite the slowness, he practically pounded into you as hard as he could, savoring your small cries with each stroke.

Craning his neck back to the ceiling, he gently shut his eyes and let his jaw fall open, babbling on in pleasure. A small curse left his lips, his eyes dipping back down to your ass which shook slightly with each thrust.

“Fuck… oh my God, you feel so good. You feel—” he enunciated his words more, sharply picking up the pace, the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the bump of your cervix was intoxicating to him.

The pain was slightly settling down as he kept thrusting into you, your body naturally making yourself wet to lessen the friction. Almost shamefully, you couldn't lie and say it didn't feel good.

If anything, it felt phenomenal. After that pain settled, the feeling of his cock driving into you so deep—deeper than you'd ever felt—was shamefully pleasureful. Despite head still throbbing with his hand tight in it, and the fact you're still a sobbing mess, you couldn't help but whine out in this twisted pleasure.

You were ashamed, but it was better than feeling any sort of pain. To the sounds of your little cries turning into whimpers of pleasure, he laughed heartily, spanking your ass once more just to watch it shake.

“See? Now that you're being obedient, I don't have to hurt you anymore, bitch.” He leaned down, tantalizingly whispering.

As he kept his head next to yours, you couldn't help hear his heavy breath and the slight mewls leaving his throat, deep and pathetic, almost. From your hips, he ran his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your arch further down .

Darting out his tongue, he licked your jaw slightly, reminicsing his gaze over your bruised bite marks that finally stopped bleeding. Landing his tongue on your jugular once more, he planted rather soft kisses. Much better than biting, anyways.

He continued to kiss around the back of your neck and the sides, the stubble tickling you. The mix of this ticklish feeling and his hips pistoning into yours finally started to postpone your crying, leaving you in a whiny state.

“God, you really are a whore, huh? Getting fucking used and you're over here whining like a little puppy.” He slammed his hand down once more, making you yell loudly.

Grazing your eyes to the mirror, the sight you saw was definitely one you'll remember, both for the horrifying reason and one of the fact this man looked utterly pathetic for you. Higher sounding breaths, head dipped to the back of your neck with kisses, and hands kneading our ass.

His eyes pierced up to the mirror, making eye contact with your still wet and puffy eyes. Smirking softly at you, he turned his head from the mirror to the side of your face. Linking his lips with your earlobe, he started speaking.

“See how slutty you look right now? You love this…” he spoke in such a tantalizing way it made you shudder.

You could barely even keep your head up, resting it on the plush mattress as you kept letting you your small moans. Each thrust was pure and plain pleasure. Shockwaves sent up your spine and fogging up your brain.

It could've been the mix of anxiety and your head hitting the wall earlier, but you could barely do anything but moan out in bliss mixed with agony. He leaned back up, flicking his hair back with a jerk of his neck.

The idea popped in his head to reach his hand down finally under your hips, keeping one on your ass to hold you steady. Delicately, he rubbed slow, intricate circles with his index on your clit. Back arching further down with pleasure, you let out an almost pornographic moan.

“Oh, you like that…” he cooed rhetorically, cocking his head to the side as he observed your reaction almost clinically.

His hands moved almost masterfully on your clit, the nerves sending an overwhelming pleasure over your entire body. Your legs shook diabolically, toes curling. Trying your best to stifle how good it felt, you bit down harshly on your lip, feeling your lower stomach arise with a familiar feeling of pleasure.

A sudden, quiet moan left the bottom of his throat, an octave higher than any of the words he'd spoken to you. He even sounded hot, and it tormented you. You could tell he was close to cumming by the way his hips stuttered slightly, how vocal he was getting.

“Fuck… I didn't expect you to feel so— so good." he whined out, dipping down his head, holding your ass tight as he probably could've. It hurt, but not as bad as being bitten or slapped.

He quickly leaned his head back to the ceiling, mouth agape with small whines leaving his throat. With his hand still on your clit, you could actually feel yourself getting closer. The way he looked in the dark in that mirror was somewhat driving you crazy. Yet, you dared not look at yourself, feeling a shame that you think will never be cured.

“Oh— God… fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled out incoherently, suddenly burying his hips into you as deep as he could've gotten, dipping his torso down to bite harshly on your shoulder.

Somehow that was the tipping point for you, feeling that bite and his warm spurts of cum burst into you, foreign and good. Feeling your brain go numb and your mouth agape, your legs trembled heavily.

With that, a loud and drawn out whine left your puffy lips, your hands gripping the duvet sheets as tight as they could. He stood still besides the feeling of his cock still twitching inside of you.

His chest heaved heavily, pressing against your back tight as he popped his hips into you a few more times, just to fuck his cum into you. Leaning back up with a shaky groan, he examined the damage he did to you.

Bruised ass and hips, bites all over your shoulder and neck, slight blood, your crying face in the mirror, and despite all that: he made you cum. He was actually rather proud of himself for that, even though he swore he would just kill you after.

Biting his lip and pulling his cock out of you, stuffing himself inside his boxers once more, he began to speak.

“You're pathetic.” He hissed.

Buttoning his pants back up, he tore himself off that bed, leaving you alone in it. Picking up that sweater from off the floor and the knife he had stuffed in it, he examined you once more. He darted his eyes from the shiny knife to your body, shaky and limp, yet still crying.

“Can't even move now, huh? I dumbed you down real good…” he stepped over you, dragging the knife up and down your spine, watching the goosebumps it gave you.

“Too bad I can't kill you. Your cunt feels to good.” He whispered to your ear.

With that, he stuffed the knife back in his pocket and swung your bedroom door open. He would of course rather just leave through the front door. Turning back to your body, he chuckled.

“I’d prefer you leave your front door unlocked rather than your window.”

another a/n: i deeply apologize for how nasty this is! enjoy and take dark smut crumbs, my fellow jackson rippner lovers.

159 notes · View notes

lilbitdepressed27 · 8 months ago

Text

Tara Carpenter/Fem!Reader

Summary: Part two of They Find Your Dog

Warnings: none

WC: 1.8k

Author's Note: requested by @perfectartisanwerewolf hope you like it dude. Sorry for any mistakes

After everything finally settled down. It hade felt like everyone could finally let out the air they were holding in. It was almost a year since the last ghostface incident. Everything that followed had been chaotic. With everyone suing the NY police department and actually winning. It was no surprise that it took a bit of time to move on. You, Tara, Sam and by extension Danny had all moved into a nice duplex house. With the money you, Tara and Sam got from the law suit. It was more than just affordable.

Getting together with Tara, romantically. It was bound to happen. You both moved in together just as roommates. But that had quickly changed after just a week of living together. Before you finally found the courage to ask her on a date. Then from there. Everything just fell into place. Tara's room became a guest room and she now slept with you. You honestly couldn't be happier.

Sam. Living right next door had been settled knowing her sister needed privacy as well. But she still had wanted to be close to her sister so, moving into a duplex house was the best option for Tara and Sam. Sam moving in with Danny had also happened with the help of Walle. Sam had really taken in how Walle was with Danny. And if Walle trusted Danny. She felt more comfortable being with Danny.

You had taken what Chad said that day very serious. Getting in contact with Walle's old trainer. Who also had a few different puppies in training. Getting every single one of your friends one. A boxer for Chad, an American Staffordshire for Mindy, a Rottweiler for Anika, Dobermann for Sam. Ang beautiful white cane corso for Tara.

The process wasn't easy and it sure wasn't quick. Which was why you had to wait a bit for things to settle down and for everyone to heal. Finding the perfect moment to bring up the conversation. Which happened to be a warm Fourth of July. With everyone getting together.

You had taken Walle with you and he had gotten along with every single one of those dogs.

"What are you smiling about?" She knew you were hiding something. She wasn't blind. The smile on your face was so cute and judging by the way Walle looked her. It almost seemed that he also knew about the secret.

"Nothing." It was drawn out in such a teasing way. That smile turning in a teasing one. She wanted to know but she could wait. She was patient.

Her arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind you. You leaned back, head tilted back, her lips gently nibbled on your ear. "Come on tell me."

You absolutely loved her kisses. Since getting together, she couldn't stop kissing you where ever she could reach you, and you surely weren't complaining. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Y/n there's someone I would like for you to officially meet."

You had been busy helping Danny make the burgers and hotdogs, when the voice of Sam pulled your attention away from the grill. There standing next to Sam was Gale Weathers and Kirby Reed. You never really personally met Gale or Kirby officially. Only briefly seeing Kirby at the hospital after Quinn, Ethan and their dad were arrested.

"Oh hello, it's nice to meet you Ms.Weathers and Detective Reed." At the two new people arriving at the party. Walle stopped playing with Chad to be by your side. Wanting to make sure the two new people were safe to be around.

"It's nice to finally meet you. So this is Walle." Gale asked, she had been astonished that this dog was able to sniff out who was ghostface. Sam had told her how Walle was around the last three ghostfaces. Kirby had also told her Walle was able to sniff out that Quinn was never really dead. She had just gotten away before they could actually catch her.

"Oh yeah! This is Walle. It's okay buddy." You gently patted him showing him that it was okay. He went to sniff out the two older women, the two letting him. Looking completely amazed at how the dog was acting. Sniffing them out, only relaxing when he was sure. Returning to be back on your side, a smile on his face with his tongue sticking out.

"Good boy. Go play." And like that he was off playing with Chad again.

"Fascinating, do you know where I can get one of him?" Although Gale was joking. Part of her was being extremely serious.

Tara had watched how you spoke with Kirby and Gale. You had been gushing about how you've read just about every book that Gale has written, although you did in a way scold her for writing bad about Sam. Gale had looked like scolded child. It was a funny sight to see. It caused her and Sam to smile. You were a complete nerd as you went back to talk about her books.

Gale had also asked her own questions about you and Walle. She couldn't believe one person could take down ghostface so quickly.

"Oh that wasn't me, that was Walle. If he doesn't trust someone, I don't trust them. Simple as that." You had answered the question right away. If anything Walle was the one to take down ghostface.

The more Gale spoke with you, the more the idea for a new book came along. To write about how a companion could not only be great company, a companion could also be the one to save your life. When you told her about the incident at the park her mouth dropped. She remembered reading something similar. That article had been a popular article for quite a while. She just never imagined it would be the same dog as the one rolling in the grass as he tried to take the rope away from Chad.

The conversation was flowing and she could see why Sam and Tara trusted you so much. It was until your phone rang. You had quickly excused your self before you left the backyard going back into the house.

Tara trusted you, there was no reason to doubt you but part of her couldn't settle her nerves. The secret you were keeping had made her a bit nervous.

When you came out with a bright smile her nerves settled just a bit. "Uh guys."

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Looking at you. You felt a bit nervous with all the eyes on you but you pushed through. "Okay, uh I know things have been a bit, crazy. And I don't know how serious you guys were about this but I went with it anyway. Um I didn't know Gale and Kirby were gonna be here. So I had to make a few calls. And I wasn't really sure if you'd guys like it or oh god, you guys aren't allergic to anything right?" The question was now directed to Kirby and Gale. Who both shook their heads.

The more you spoke the more you got nervous. And Tara wasn't the only one who noticed. Walle was quick to be by your side.

With a deep breath. "I got you guys something. I'll be right back. Please stay here." Like that you were gone inside, Walle right behind you.

"Okay what's with her?" Sam asked the moment the door slid shut. She was a little worried, especially since Tara had filled her in on why you had Walle in the first place. At first she had thought Walle was just a well trained dog. She never would have guessed that he was also a service dog. As much as she tried to deny it, she did worry and may have been a bit more over protective towards you. Especially when you would be out running with Walle for too long. Apparently she wasn't the only one either. Cause Tara did as well.

"I don't know but I trust her. She was like this when she tried to hide my birthday present from me. Her excitement and nerves kinda got the best of her and she blurted out the moment I asked what she was hiding." You had been so angry with your self that you couldn't keep her gift a secret. It was literally the day before her birthday. You were so adorable.

"Oh my god was that why she was pouting when we go to your house?" Anika asked with a laugh.

Tara nodded with a laugh as well.

"Okay guys. I didn't really think this through." You mumbled to yourself. You had asked Mac, Walle's old trainer, to hold and take them through the side gate. Every single pup was so well behaved. You knew they would love them but you were still a bit anxious.

"Chad, I would like you to meet someone." Chad raised his eye brows confused but still gave you all his attention. Since he had been the one with the idea. You figured he would be the first one.

"Rex come here buddy." The brown boxer was quick to get to your side. You had the back gate open, and once he had the signal he was quick to make a he line to Chad. The dogs had been given a piece of clothing so they could get familiar with their new owners scent.

"Oh my god!" Chad dropped to his knees as the dog was quick to lick Chads face.

"Mindy meet Oliver." At the sound of his name the white and brown American Staffordshire came to you, you petted his head. He then made a beeline to Mindy who also dropped to her knees to great the dog.

"Dude!" She laughed the pure happiness in her tone.

"Anika meet Benny." The black Rottweiler ran straight to Anika. Anika let out a small squeal of excitement as the dog ran to her.

"Sam this is Alex." The brown Dobermann made his way to Sam. Sam had also looked shocked and yet her eyes filled so much graduated.

"Tara my love meet Duke." The white cane corso. Stood next to Walle who was happy to lead Duke to Tara.

You also called out Hudson and Wilson. The two Dutch Shepherds were brothers. Taking one of the dogs to Kirby. "This is Hudson." Turning your gaze to the older woman. Gale stood to the side watching everyone enjoying their dogs with a small smile on her face.

"Gale this is Wilson. Here's a companion that is trained into keeping their owner safe. He's trained by the same man that trained Walle."

Gale tried to blink away the tears as she looked down at the face of the dog who looked at her with a smile on his face.

"Thank you Y/n."

You beamed with pure happiness as they all enjoyed their companions. You felt a sense of accomplishment. Walle stood beside you, looking up looking as happy as ever.

"We did good buddy."

The rest of the day was spent playing with the dogs. Loving the way every one bonded with their own dog.

#tara carpenter x reader #fem!reader #scream #tara carpenter #x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader

98 notes · View notes

magics-neptunes-things · 6 months ago

Text

Blue Words (One Love 8)

Hi guys!

Some of you asked for it, so this is the new chapter for One Love.

Please be aware that this chapter isn't the happiest of all I wrote for this series, but I tried to add some fluff in it.

Also the Title is from a french song called "Les mots bleus" and this is the only song with the world "blue" i could find, with Lucy going to Chelsea. (Still hating it)

Thanks again for reading me ♥

TW : Angst, Sadness.

(1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7)

London has always been a city who was foreign for Ona. Even when she was living in England, she was in Manchester and all the teams here were just opponent. Unless Laia Codina who came there in 2023 and Mariona who will be here now, she doesn’t have friends here. There are Laia and Leila in Manchester still, but she didn’t have any reason to come back in England since she left for Barcelona.

Well, it was before.

Because now, Lucy is going in fucking Chelsea, a team she hated all her life. It would have been better in her eyes if Lucy went in Arsenal, at least she will be with Mariona. But no, she’s wearing blue and Ona can’t get used to it.

When Lucy received another call from the Barcelona’s staff, they were both in Cuba, their day just finish after strolling in the city during the afternoon. They were enjoying the swimming pool of the hotel, Ona inside water while Lucy was happily drinking a Piña Colada, sitting on the swimming pool with her feet in it. Ona understood very quickly that the conversation isn’t going the way Lucy hopped.

Because the English woman really wanted to stay in Barcelona. She loves the city, the people, the team, the league, the wins… And she loves Ona, of course. She never decided anything in football while thinking about her love life, but this time she wanted to do it. Life chose to be different though.

Lucy didn’t take a decision without talking to Ona before. Lucy wanted to play as much as possible, she’s not young anymore and she knows that her months are counted. She’s not stupid. But Barcelona couldn’t promise her that, now that everyone came back from the respective injuries. Lucy could have accepted less money if she was still able to play as much as she wants. But it wasn’t Barça’s plans. So, after a long discussion with Ona, she didn’t accept Barcelona’s offer, with sadness.

Only one day later Chelsea came to knock at her door, and after some adjustments, she said yes. It wasn’t ideal to be that far from Ona, but it’s better than Mexico or the USA who wanted her too.

Between their trip in Cuba and Ona’s training for the Olympics, Ona managed to find some days to come with Lucy in London to look for a flat.

They managed to find a duplex on the last ground of a building near a park, for when Lucy will have to walk Narla. It seems pretty good to be honest, but Ona has trouble to imagine Lucy here. She always has known her in Barcelona, in a sunny home. Not a rainy and grey one. It makes her sad, without any reason.

Ona putted a brave smile on her face during all her trip with Lucy, not wanting to damage any memories they could have here. Their time is counted after all.

She met some of the Chelsea players and she doesn’t really like them. She doesn’t like the way Millie Bright seems to find normal for Lucy to be here. She doesn’t like how some of the other girls are all flushed when they see Lucy. She talked a little bit with Julia Bartel who was playing in Barcelona while Lucy was talking with some of her teammates from England, but it was hard to keep smiling.

The day after, they went to Ikea to buy some furniture for Lucy’s flat, she already made come what she will need here with a boat. She bought a lot of candles from their favorite shop in Barcelona to have a little piece of Barcelona in London.

She took advantage of Ona getting a shower to put the last details of her decoration, before they have to leave to go to a party organized by Niamh Charles with a lot of Chelsea’s players. Lucy asked her if she wanted to go, and Ona returned her the question. When she saw Lucy hesitated, Ona mumbled something about creating a bond with her teammates and they decided to go.

But Ona would rather have time with Lucy only. Once again, she chooses to put Lucy’s feelings before hers.

She has the same false smile on her face all night, talking from time to time with some of Lucy’s new teammates, working on herself not to stick with her girlfriend all night. She knows how the English are different from the Spain about touching and everything.

“She will be great in Chelsea Ona, you will see. We’ll take good care of her.” Millie Bright told her with a big smile at some point in the evening.

Ona just smiled, asking herself what the blonde meant by that. She knows that Millie is straight or at least engaged with someone, but it’s still sound strange in her ears. She talked the most with Aggie Beever-Jones and Jess Carter, munching some vinegar crisps.

Lucy went to check on her several times during the night, but Ona always told her that she was fine, with the best smile she could give her. But Lucy isn’t fooled by Ona. She knows very well when her girlfriend is pretending, and it breaks her heart every time that Ona assures her she was fine and that they can stay a little bit more.

But at some point, Ona just feels overwhelmed. She’s not angry, or sadder than before. There is just too many feelings for her at that point and with the noise, the music and people blasting it’s just too much. She just has to cross Lucy’s eyes for the English woman to understand that it was time to go home.

“Come on” Lucy just says, reaching her hand for Ona to take.

The Spaniard oblige, following Lucy who pretends to be tired with the move and everything.

“Hope to see you soon again, Ona” Niamh smiles at the Catalan when they went to her to say goodbye.

“It will be hard but I definitively want her wagging in London for me” Lucy smirks, grabbing Ona by her hips to kiss her temple.

“Alexia will kill me if I wear a Chelsea jersey” Ona points with a small smile.

Lucy snorts and they say their goodbyes to the last people before leaving the heath of the flat. It feels good to breath fresh air, Ona closes her eyes two seconds while breathing intensely before turning in Lucy’s direction.

“Uber or walk?” Lucy asks.

“Walk? If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not”

Lucy smiles at her and Ona smiles back. Her smiles grow bigger when she feels Lucy passing her arm around her shoulders, and she let herself go against the bigger frame of her girlfriend.

“Better that way” Ona whispers, grabbing Lucy’s fingers with her hand.

Lucy hums, her lips stroking Ona’s hair softly. She can feel the younger girl’s trouble, but she doesn’t want to push her buttons and forced her to talk to her. But she feels like Ona might explode at some point, and it’s not in her habits to shut down her feelings like that.

She choses not to insist to much with Ona, using a small talk during their trip to her flat. They know Mariona is getting her things done during those days too, except that her girlfriend was already in London to find her a good flat. Even if it will be at St-Albans, Ona is glad to know that there is at least some people Lucy knows already.

She’s happy to find back Lucy’s flat, even if it doesn’t quite feel home, at least it’s Lucy’s.

“Are you tired or do you want to watch something with a last drink?”

“As you wish Corazon” Ona shrugs.

Lucy looks at her several seconds before deciding for a movie and a drink. She makes some tea while Ona is looking at something they can watch, grumbling when she realizes that a lot of the series they are watching in Barcelona aren’t watchable here.

“What did you make a choice?” Lucy asks with two fuming cups of tea. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Friend’s” Ona grumble, before throwing herself in Lucy’s front when she sits next to her.

Clingy Ona isn’t really new, but Grumpy Ona is, Lucy thinks. She play with her girlfriend’s long hair for several minutes, watching television with an absent-minded air.

“Are you ok?” Lucy finally asks.

“Sí, porque?”

“Because I don’t have the feeling that you are. You’re grumpy like an old man.”

“No, I’m not” Ona pouts.

Her face is so cute that Lucy can’t help but laugh a little. She hopes that it won’t make Ona even more grumpy, so to avoid that she starts tickling her.

“Yes, you are!” Lucy smirks while tickling her girlfriend.

Ona tries to resist the urge to laugh, but Lucy knows how and where she’s ticklish. It doesn’t take her more than ten seconds to have a laughy mess writhing under her.

“Stop, Lucy please” Ona manages to pronounce between two laughs.

Lucy finally stops and she looks attentively at Ona while the younger calm her laughters. She lets her take her breath, stroking softly and lovingly her cheeks. She lets five other seconds pass, during which she looks deep in Ona’s eyes.

“Come on, Bonita, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Ona sighs and look away, making Lucy frowns. She’s usually the one who is struggling to let her feelings and struggle out, not Ona. Ona talks to her, explain to her her thoughts without any fear to be judge or mocked.

“Hey” she adds after some times, turning delicately Ona’s face in her direction. “Come on, it’s me. You can tell me everything, you used to do that. Don’t shut yourself from me, please.”

Ona blinks several times, biting her lip, before finally deciding to open her mouth. She can’t refuse anything to Lucy when she talks to her this way.

“It’s just… I don’t know” she frowns in turn. “I knew what will happen, but this weekend is like the concretization of all of this. And I know that I push you to accept this offer, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to let you go.”

Lucy wants to talk, but she realizes soon that now that Ona has started to talk, she needs to get everything out.

“It’s hard to know that you will be here after everything we had in Barcelona. I hate coming home to have a reminder that you’re gone, I hate to see Coco looking for Narla, I hate not to find the toothpaste tube open with its plug next to it. I know it’s not your fault, but I miss you and it hasn’t even started.”

She really wanted not to cry, but she can’t help the tears rolling on her cheeks. Of course she knew, it doesn’t mean that it’s an easy moment to live. They were so delighted when Ona signed her contract in Barcelona, so far away to think that they will be in this situation again several months later.

“And this weekend, I really wanted to help you settle down and make your flat cozy and comfortable and lovely, but it’s like that damn sadness couldn’t leave me alone. It’s your flat, not ours. It feels so strange.”

Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, when she wipes harshly her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. Lucy needs to swallow the lump in her throat before talking, so she wipes herself Ona’s tears, way more softly than her, to have a distraction.

“I miss you too” Lucy mumbles before sitting, because she was still half lying on Ona. “It’s hard to imagine my daily life without your mess in it, but I swear on everything I have that I will come in Barcelona as soon as I have a day off, Ona. And I know you will come too.”

She stays silence for several seconds, during which Ona nods at Lucy’s words. Of course, she will come. Even if it’s mean catching a cold every weekend while freezing in the stand.

“And for the flat… Come on” she says suddenly, standing and grabbing Ona’s hand.

The Spaniard doesn’t have any other choice than following her to her bedroom. She frowns when she sees that Lucy has installed other frames, probably while she was showering before leaving for the party.

“This is the jerseys we swapped after the World Cup, but I thought it will be better to frame them together”

Lucy looks Ona when she gets closer to the jerseys while she’s talking. No one knows that they swapped their jersey that night and if someone just take a look at the frame, it won’t be easy to understand. But they both know and it’s enough.

“This one is a mix of the pictures we took when we won all our cups last year” she points another frame.

Ona gets closer of this one too, just to see a mix of official pictures of both of them, but unofficial pictures too. There is for example no way in the world that they posted picture of them kissing with the Supercopa cup, Lucy grabbing Ona’s waist while the younger has a bottle of beer in hand.

“And those are what I wanted to hang on other rooms too” Lucy adds while rummaging in one cupboard before taking out several other frames, of different sizes. “This one is for my nightstand (she shows a picture of them in Cuba), those are for my living room (there is a picture of Coco and Narla playing in the snow, one of them in Stani’s wedding, a selfie taking at Minorca and another one when Lucy’s family came to Barcelona to met the Battle) and I wanted to put that on my fridge (four photobooth pictures taking at Manchester, the first time Lucy came after they got together). Oh and this one is for the bedroom too (a picture of Ona with Lucy’s niece and nephew, playing on the beach).”

Lucy looks thoughtfully at the pictures before raising her eyes on Ona, almost shyly. Ona is still crying, (or again), she doesn’t even know. But this time, she’s smiling softly.

“You are not living here, but you are still part of that place Ona. No matter where I am, you are still with me. Forever.”

Ona almost crashes in her arms when she went for a hug and Lucy seriously think about writing to Jonatan because damn, those arms sessions for Ona worked maybe a little too much.

“I love you, so much” Lucy says again, Ona’s face in her neck. “I’m leaving Barcelona but I’m not leaving you. It doesn’t change the plans we made. I still want to marry you, we will have those little Ona running around in the house and everything we talked about”

“I want a little Lucia too” Ona objects weekly.

“My brother would probably say that it’s a terrible choice, but everything you want Bonita.”

Taking a big breath making her shivers, Ona finally leaves Lucy’s neck. She’s not crying anymore, and Lucy kisses her face almost ten times before talking again.

“I need you to talk to me when you are struggling like that. Can you promise me you will do?”

“Only if you promise too” Ona answers, looking at her expectantly.

Lucy rolls her eyes, which makes Ona smiles softly. They both know who will need to work the most between the two for that.

“Promised” Lucy finally says.

“Promised back”

Lucy kisses her on the lips that time, savoring Ona’s taste and Ona’s body against her. They didn’t talk about it, but Lucy will miss the lazy mornings in bed and having Ona around her like an octopus with messy hair. Ona stilling her clothes too. Talking about that…

“And I will leave half of the dressing for your clothes too, for when you will come to see me”

Ona smirks.

“I was hoping to leave every time with some of your clothes”

Lucy laughs this time and grab Ona’s face with both of her hands to kiss her one more time.

“Time to go to bed? I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Yes please” Ona mumbles.

They take turn in the bathroom, Lucy going to turn off the TV and the lamps in the living room before going in her bed. Ona follows her soon after, crawling under the sheets to snuggle against Lucy.

“We will be alright Ona, I swear” Lucy whispers in the dark.

“I know. I trust us” Ona whispers back.

She left her loving position to be able to kiss her.

“I’m going to miss the fan’s speculations about us being together after every game though” Ona smirks.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have an idea for that.”

Ona raises an eyebrow, questioning Lucy that way but the English woman just shake her head with a devilish smile before kissing Ona again. She managed to make her forget about what she just said, but the O. Battle jersey from Spain is definitively coming this week for her to wear during Spain’s first game in the Olympics.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #lucy bronze #lucy and ona #lucy bronze x ona batlle #ona batlle x lucy bronze #lucy bronze imagine

100 notes · View notes

notsocooljess · 2 months ago

Text

dreaming of conversations we'll have tomorrow

hi there! i have finally finished this one-shot i've been working on for way too many months it's inspired by apartment by modern baseball (you can listen before without spoilers!) i hope you like it! :)

“Dude! Are you almost ready or what?” Finnick yelled up the stairs of their shared house.

“Just putting my shoes on,” Peeta mumbled in response.

Peeta wasn’t really in the mood to go out. He had a hellish week: a twenty-page midterm paper, a three-hour exam, and a painting for his art elective (which his professor swore wouldn’t take him more than three hours to complete, but his perfectionist tendencies made it take closer to ten) all due within a span of two days. Peeta would’ve preferred to just crash on the couch and catch up on the last few weeks of Abbott Elementary episodes he’d missed, but Finnick was invited to a party at Annie’s apartment. Finnick had gone on a handful of dates with Annie, and he wanted to impress her, so he insisted Peeta and their friends come to help him do so.

“And who else are you forcing to come?” Peeta asked Finnick when he was first told of his new Friday night plans.

“Thresh and Marvel,” Finnick replied, mentioning two of their roommates, “Thresh is the brauns, Marvel’s the brains, and you’re the funny guy. A perfect group to show me off.”

“So what are you?”

“The triple threat, obviously. Throw in a dash of charm and a whole lotta good looks and here I am,” Finnick finished with his award-winning smile.

“Interesting. Sounds to me like you don’t really need us then.”

“And I’m buying all of your guys’ beer, so you can’t complain.” Peeta let out a relenting sigh, and Finnick responded with a triumphant slap on the back.

Now, with exhaustion looming over him, Peeta really wished he had the personality of a dead slug. Then, maybe, he’d get to stay home like their roommate Cato, who couldn’t be trusted to help anyone make any sort of positive introduction.

Despite Peeta’s need for sleep, the walk to the party wasn’t too brutal. The crisp autumn air felt nice on his skin, and the sky was so clear that the stars helped illuminate their path.

“Look alive, boys,” Finnick jeered as they approached the apartment, the top floor of a run-down duplex. He shot Peeta a quick look that indicated he was doing anything but. Peeta scrubbed his hand down his face to wipe away the tiredness etched into his features.

Keep reading here :)

#katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games #everlark #everlark fanfiction #modern au #one shot #jess writes

32 notes · View notes

yourpicasso25 · 7 months ago

Text

I will tell you a secret...

It's an easy but important one. So, question: Put 2 (or more) French people at a table. What are they going to talk about?

Fashion? It would depress most of us, especially not rake thin women 40s or older (and swimming costumes are NEVER to be mentionned, it's bordering on hanging offense)

Politics? first, we're irritable and sorta cranky by nature... but we're not crazy (mostly. Sorta)

Any ideas? (no peeking, and tell me what you guessed in the comments)

Done?

So let me tell you: Put 2 or more French people around a table, and what they will talk about is:

What they are eating right this minute, what they ate (any day any time from yesterday to 25 years ago), what they will eat in the more or less distant future.

Food (and drinks because they are related... no seriously) is a very VERY important business in France.

And one key element of that are the markets

Most small towns have permanent markets, mostly build in the 19th century in glass and iron structure like the Pavillons Baltard in Paris

There are permanent foodstall, jams and delicacy homemade cakes ans speciality local produces (and fish, of course!)

Then there are Market days. Twice a week.

And those are IMPORTANT days, people.

Because it's the place where you find the best produce, the tomatoes that graw up 2 miles away and the local honey that you can be pretty sure is actual bee vomit and not artifially colored glucose sirup (I was sooo angry when I learned that one)

So I'm giving you TWO markets. The everyday, business as usual one AND the market day one when everyone goes there with a couple of baskets to refuel both stomachs and conversation topics.

Next is this place, a big old town building

It has a shop downstair shop and a local on the first floor (I'm thinfing Yoga), a NPS lodging, an a big duplex appartment... with terrace, if you please.

The owners are well traveled, and settled in Voegel because they couldn't even dream to have that kind of flat in Paris (more like a broom closet)

There is an office, a VERY teenage girl bedroom with all sort of pop idols posters (mom despair... what happened to her little girl? Puberty, m'am), the aging (NOOOOO!) couple bedroom and a smallish but aquequate bathroom.

And a somewhat messy kitchen.

I'm getting vibes of a couple of 50 ish, Bobo Parisien, quite artistically inclined and maybe a bit snobbis, with limited artistic success so dad works as local newspaper photograph and mom mans the shop and gives yoga classes on the side.

Their daughter litterally CAN'T WAIT to leave that backmater island do go to University on the continent.

Isn't it funny how history can repeat itself sometimes?

#sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 build #sims 3 screenshots #vogoel les mouettes

48 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 7 months ago

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4002

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

10. Acquired Taste

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

youtube

Bucky:

Bucky typically has two avenues, when it comes to acquiring new product.

1) Conduct recon, establish a relationship with her/him (though usually her), lure to a secluded location, incapacitate (usually via roofies)

2) Conduct recon, stab & grab on site (needle, not knife—jesus he’s not a monster)

Each avenue presents its own advantages and risks. Relationships and dates take more time and work, they don’t guarantee he’ll get the access he needs, and he runs the risk of someone else in the victim’s life learning about him before they’re disappeared. Stab & grab is by far his preferred method, but he has to be extremely mindful of security footage. Everything’s recorded these days, and in a city like New York, people live in each other’s pockets. Which method Bucky chooses usually comes down to how isolated the candidate’s life is. Carlo made his pick for who Bucky’s got to pay him with, so Bucky drives into the city early Monday to begin his reconnaissance process on Erica Buccanetti. He spends that Monday through Wednesday 7am-10pm, learning all about her.

Erica is twenty-nine. She’s a short, white, “curvy” woman of middling education who works at the DMV. Her job alone makes her deserving of what she’s going to get, Bucky thinks. Erica works Monday through Friday, gets in at 8:55, eats lunch at her desk, and clocks out no later than 4:50 every day. Erica goes to a gym after work and runs on the treadmill until she looks miserable and exhausted. Erica takes the train home to her duplex in Alphabet City, where she has a cat and drinks wine and…

Bucky tosses his binoculars aside, exasperated. “Dammit.”

Erica has three housemates. Fuck.

He can’t do a stab & grab when there are roommates, certainly not three. It’s too risky. Now he’ll have to put in the extra effort to try and run into her somehow, strike up a conversation, get a date or three.

He puts the car in gear and speeds down the block, eager to get on the highway and get home to Steve. He tunes the radio to an 80’s station he likes and taps out the beat as he navigates traffic.

This is the last time, he swears to himself, the absolute last time he lets a client pick their target. It’s too much pressure on Bucky, having to succeed with that one specific girl. Better to have a handful of potentials going, scoop up the one who makes herself the easiest victim. It’s not like most of them don’t do a bang up job of it.

Twenty-some years of “stranger danger” and true crime shows are usually enough to cement the “it won’t happen to me” mindset. Sometimes they’ll even find the right moment to throw out a lame, faux-suspicious “You’re not a serial killer, right?—haha just kidding!”

Bucky thinks it’s a hoot. Obviously these bitches don’t follow the eastern principle of karma.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he gets in very late, after midnight. But he still pops down to check on Steve. He brings them both a drink, hands Steve his, then slides down the far wall to sit. “Ugh.”

“How was your day, honey?” Steve asks. Sarcastically, but at least he’s making jokes.

“Long,” Bucky says, tipping back his old fashioned. They both like them. Maybe it’s become one of their things. “So for this payment, I let Carlo pick his girl,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed as he rolls out the tight muscles in his neck. “Stupid.” Steve is quiet for a long time, and Bucky suspects he’s staring at him. He doesn’t open his eyes to find out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Just … wondering about the logistics of it, I guess.” He’s quiet for another long moment, the ice clinking in his glass telling Bucky when he takes another sip, and then another. “So … are you bi?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “You date them to get to them. Does that mean you’re into women?”

“Well …” Bucky is, but … “I prefer men,” he says. “By far. But the clients want women, so that’s what I supply. It’s pretend, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, sensing Steve’s judgment and not liking it. “I pretend to date them. Briefly. If I have to.”

Steve shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Seems kind of mean, to me.”

“It’s not!” Bucky scowls, straightening up from where he’s been sitting slumped against the wall. “I’m totally nice to them!”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, until you start harvesting their parts for food.”

Bucky glares at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Yeah maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve sniffs and looks away. “Not exactly great to hear all about how my boyfriend’s a serial killer.”

Bucky brightens up some at the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’m not, you know. A serial killer.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high. “Oh really? So what would you call it when you kill people, ya know, serially?”

“I don’t get a thrill out of murdering them,” Bucky insists. “I keep them alive as long as I can.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that so much.”

“I keep them comfortable!” Bucky defends. “This is a nice place! I give them gourmet food, they’re on tons of pain meds. They don’t feel a thing.” Steve isn’t even looking at him now, and Bucky’s mood sinks. “... They’re not nice people, Steve,” he says darkly. "They deserve a hell of a lot less than what I afford them.” He watches Steve for a reaction, but doesn’t get one.

Steve just tosses back the end of his drink and fishes out the cherry. He pulls it off the stem with his teeth, chewing it while staring Bucky down. “Done,” he says, pushing the glass in Bucky’s direction.

It’s like he’s saying the conversation’s done too. Bucky sighs and shoves up to standing. He goes over and picks the glass up and gives Steve a long, rueful look. “Eileen,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“The woman in the other room." He nods out towards the hallway. “The one you saw. Her name was Eileen. And that’s whose kidney I had for dinner the other night.” Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Bucky smiles placidly. “Yeah. Good old Eileen. She was thirty two you know. Divorced but seeing someone new. She had a daughter. Cute kid: Tracy. She’s like, seven, eight? Has freckles and pigtails, likes Pokémon.” Bucky shrugs, then lets the mild expression slide right off his face. “Eileen was letting the new boyfriend rape her.” He gets satisfaction from the way that Steve’s eyes widen further and his lips part without a comeback. “Hm, yeah.” Bucky throws back the end of his drink and crunches down on the pieces of ice that float into his mouth. “So, Steve, when I tell you that you really shouldn’t feel bad for these people? You really shouldn’t.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can think of any other arguments. It’s good, Bucky thinks. It’ll give him time to think. Bucky didn’t come to grips with all of this overnight, after all. He can’t expect Steve to, either.

Steve:

In the basement, Steve has lots of time to think. In fact that’s all he does other than sleep. He thinks about the chances of anybody ever finding him here, figures they’re probably low. Bucky’s done this before, maybe dozens of times. He knows how to get away with it. Steve thinks a lot about that, about how there are a bunch of rich as fuck cannibals out in the world, just existing and merrily eating people. How Bucky eats people and thinks that it’s totally fine. How he likes the taste of eating people. It’s nuts.

Steve does wonder, sometimes. What’s it taste like? He feels halfway sick with himself when the thought occurs, but it does occur. It must taste good, he thinks, to warrant such effort and risk. It must taste really damned good. At least to Bucky and his rich friends it does. Steve is sure he’ll never find out for himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

He thinks about the women who came before him, about how they must’ve felt, trapped down here while Bucky slowly sold off their meat. How many have there been? Steve wonders. And what were their crimes that got them sentenced to this? How did Bucky know they were bad? Steve can’t figure it out, but he also can’t forget what Bucky told him so seriously about Eileen the other night. It sits in his mind, coloring his memory differently. Now when he thinks of Eileen lying on the floor of her cell, begging him for help, he doesn’t feel as much pity for her as he used to. He doesn’t feel as much horror when he remembers her limbless torso wriggling pathetically under the sheet.

Bucky could be lying of course, just making it up so that Steve will accept him more readily. But somehow Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’d had this look in his eyes when he said it. He’d looked vindictive, and vindicated. Steve shivers as he remembers it. Bucky truly does not have any compunctions about what he does, and he expects Steve to come around to it. Steve doesn’t think he can do that. He’s just hoping against hope that he can pretend long enough to convince Bucky. Long enough until he can get his chance for escape and take it.

He thinks about Carlo, working on the cell down the hallway. Steve doesn’t see him much at all, just hears the sounds of his tools whirring, the smell of fresh wood being sawed, concrete being poured, him taking a piss in one of the other cells' toilets every few hours.

At first Steve does wonder what he might be able to say to try and entice the man to help him escape. But he settles on a big fat nothing. There’s nothing Steve could offer him to get him to take that risk, no way. And it’d be too big a gamble to try anyways. He doesn’t want Carlo to alert Bucky to his attempts at scheming, which Bucky warned Carlo would do if Steve acted up. So Steve keeps his mouth shut when the man arrives and departs each day.

Carlo doesn’t say anything to him. He probably figures that Steve’s dead meat anyway.

Steve considers that maybe he is, and Bucky’s just lying to him to keep him calm. Maybe Bucky tells all the women that they have a chance for survival, if only they’re good and don’t act up.

It’s fucked, but Steve imagines Bucky doing it—taking little pieces from him until there’s nothing left to do but put an end to him. He imagines Bucky kissing him lovingly, then injecting something into his veins and harvesting his internal organs. He imagines Bucky working in the attractive kitchen upstairs; humming a tune, cutting Steve up, pan searing his kidneys and eating them with a Beaujolais.

Steve wonders if he’d taste any different than everyone else Bucky’s ever eaten. Probably not.

Stringy, he thinks, looking down and assessing his arms and legs and torso with a novel sort of appreciation. Steve’s so thin and so tough, he’d probably make a horrible meal.

Bucky:

He plans it out meticulously, just like he always does. But even after all these years (fifteen, to be exact) he still gets that nervous feeling every time he makes his move. Stab & grabs don’t get to him nearly as much. Those are easy, impersonal. It’s the women he has to introduce himself to and flirt with and feign interest in and good intentions for that cause the nerves. He’d call them butterflies, but that seems cruel to compare his meet/capture/kill nerves to first date nerves. When he met Steve, it was a whole other feeling. What he’s about to do now isn’t the same, it’s not innocent like that, and he doesn’t need to pretend that it is.

Bucky knows he’s actually like, the perfect guy for this. He’s good looking and a natural flirt, excellent at making conversation and getting people to like him and to want to open up to him. Women tend to feel instinctively safe around him, so normally he’s guaranteed success in the “meet cute” department. It’s just that ... well …

He’s getting on in age these days, alright? He’s a—very damn handsome—37 years old now, and unfortunately for him, his clients’ tastes tend to stay the same, meaning the pervy old leches keep wanting their women rare at 20-ish. Bucky still has a very high success rate, but there’ve been a few college-aged girls who he approached wrong and they turned their noses up at him.

But he dyes his greys now, okay? He does the whole skincare regime, does Botox (conservatively—he’s got taste). And he’s learned to dumb himself down a bit when he’s going after the younger ones; talk a little smoother, a little less cultured, dress more age-appropriate. Turtlenecks apparently send off the wrong vibe. Unless the girl is into the whole Daddy thing, then it works in his favor.

Anyway, it’s not that big of an issue. All he has to do is flash his car or casually wear a Rolex on a date and even the most dimwitted or discerning potentials fall all over him. Bucky could give straight guys lessons, he swears.

He drives into the city wearing joggers and sneakers and a too-tight tee shirt, hair artfully tousled and earbuds draped around his neck in show. He goes into the gym, into the locker room, spritzes water around his hairline and the neck of his tee shirt, then bumps into her outside—when she’s on her way in, not out. No woman feels sexy after a workout (at least not the kind Erica is torturing herself with)—and exclaims in concern when she stumbles. Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! He grabs her forearm and lets the other hand brush over her waist as he “makes sure she doesn’t fall”. Are you okay?

Her eyes catch on his smile and his biceps right away, so Bucky's confidence is bolstered. He spends the next twelve minutes flirting with her, telling her his name (James), and how glad he is that he at least bumped into the prettiest girl at the gym (not true). Her eyes light up when he mentions that he’s a doctor, and shortly after that he’s typing his burner cell number into her phone. I put myself down as ‘handsome stranger whom you’re definitely gonna call’.

She titters at his joke and smiles, obviously tickled pink as they’re saying goodbye. “Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll call you. Maybe we could meet up for drinks or something?”

“Great!” Bucky shoots her a wink to seal the deal and jogs off down the block. He stops once he’s around the corner and starts walking at a normal pace back to his car. He hums a tune to himself, pleased at how easy that’d been. Now he can get home and probably not have to go out again until Saturday. If Erica’s as easy as he thinks she is, he shouldn’t have to go on many, if any, other dates.

Steve:

“Hey.” Bucky knocks on the doorframe as he slides it open. He steps in, head tilted, cautious smile playing at his lips.

Unfairly handsome, Steve thinks. Those women don’t stand a chance. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you’d still be awake. Wanted to say goodnight.”

“You get her number?” Steve asks. Because he knows that’s what today was—bump into Erica day.

Bucky seems wary, but he comes in and engages anyway. Steve almost feels bad for him. “Yeah,” Bucky says, toeing at the carpet. “Taking her out on Saturday.”

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. “‘Taking her out’, yeah.” He sees the hurt flash across Bucky’s face though, and feels bad about it. Ridiculous, but he still feels bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away. What else is he supposed to say? I understand? He can’t say that when Bucky’s holding him prisoner in his basement. Steve’s literally chained to the floor right now.

He sighs again, disappointed. He’s never been so disappointed in anything in his life. He fucking aches with it. Enough to cry, sometimes, if he thinks enough about Bucky’s smile over a martini glass, his bad dance moves in Steve’s apartment, his body in Steve’s bed. What they'd had together, how it'd felt like they were building something, something to look forward to. Steve bites his tongue so he doesn’t start tearing up when Bucky’s standing there. He doesn’t want to look like another weak victim, even though he knows he is. “You seemed like such a nice guy,” he murmurs, not looking at him.

Bucky comes over and kneels down in front of him. He looks so sad. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to palm the side of Steve’s face. He hums when Steve lets his eyes slip closed and leans into it.

Crazy, what a little bit of isolation will make you feel, Steve thinks.

“I miss you, Steve. I promise you this isn’t going to last forever.” When Steve just breathes silently, Bucky strokes his thumb over his cheek. Steve shivers. “Hey, would you want to go on a date with me?”

Steve’s eyes open. “What?”

Bucky smiles softly. “A date. You’ve been so good this whole time, and I miss you.” He leans forward and pecks a kiss to his lips. It’s brief, but it still makes Steve’s lips tingle. “I miss spending time with you.” Bucky’s eyes flick over his face. “So how about it, huh? You want to come up and just hang out one night? I can make us something. We’ll have drinks, maybe watch a movie?”

Steve blinks, feeling so odd at being asked a question like that. One of the things he thinks about to pass the time is what he and Bucky might be doing right now, in their new relationship, if Steve hadn’t opened the basement door. “A movie?” he repeats softly. The idea of getting to leave this boring room for anything is tempting. Steve wants to escape of course, but even if he knew he couldn’t, he still thinks it’d be nice to get to do something. Even if it’s with Bucky. “Yeah,” he breathes, hopeful. He hasn’t been allowed upstairs in days, not since he took a shower. “M-maybe I could …” he cuts himself off, remembering how Bucky had taken advantage of the last time, how he’d touched him. And Steve was weak. He’d let him do it.

“Maybe what?” Bucky asks, looking so kind. He always does, like he’s just a kind, caring guy who also happens to keep Steve chained in his basement. “Steve? What were you going to say?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Mm, nevermind.” He doesn’t need a shower. “Nothing.”

Bucky seems unhappy about whatever Steve’s not saying, but he doesn’t press him any further. He takes a deep breath and stands back up. “I won’t be out so late anymore,” he tells him. “Just a trip or two more to the city. You can have your real meals back again, no more of this junk food.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s left him with plenty of snacks these past few days, but Steve has missed the hot meals. He’s missed seeing Bucky three times a day, even missed the attention Bucky gives him when he’s eating. “Okay,” he says.

Bucky stands there for a long minute, staring at him. Steve keeps his eyes on the carpet but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. Eventually he hears Bucky sigh, then leave through the door. Steve looks up to try and catch sight of him on the way out, but he’s already moved on down the hall.

That night Steve falls asleep thinking about what it’ll be like, once there’s another person in the basement with him.

Bucky:

Bucky meets her for the aforementioned drinks. He’s dressed nicely, in a black button down and slacks and nice shoes. He wears the Rolex, because Erica’s got three housemates so flashing his wealth at her can’t hurt. He greets her with a smile and a hug at the bar, and they both settle in and order their drinks. Bucky asks her about her life, quickly figures out that she’s body conscious and makes sneaky little comments about how he likes a woman that doesn’t slip right through his fingers. She eats that shit up, and before Bucky knows it, she’s excusing herself for the bathroom and leaving her third cocktail behind.

Too fucking easy.

Bucky picks up both their drinks and informs the bartender that they’ll be moving over to that table in the dark corner over there. The bartender gives him a nod, and Bucky nods back. He can’t have the guy seeing it, when he slips the roofie in her drink.

He’s learned to crush them up into a Splenda packet. It masks the bitterness and then if he does get caught, it just looks like he’s sweetening the drink. Erica returns from the restroom and he flags her down to their new spot. “More privacy,” he purrs at her, and she giggles and sits down next to him.

They continue to flirt and talk about pithy little topics until he can tell that she’s starting to feel the effects. “Hey,” he says, not wanting her to be stumbling before they leave the bar. “I know this is fast but… I dunno, I just really like you.” He says it all bashful, like he’s embarrassed of himself, and she eats that up, too. “Would you maybe wanna go back to my place? We could have another drink, talk and listen to some music, or…”

He trails off, and she gives him an enthusiastic, “Sure, okay!” sloppy at the edges from how the drugs are creeping into her system now. She hasn’t realized it yet. Bucky has to get her out of this public place before she does.

“Great,” he says, smiling. He offers her his arm like a gentleman (and to make sure she’s steady enough on her feet to not draw attention), and she simpers and holds onto him and they head out. Bucky sees her recognizing the type of car that he drives as he opens the door for her and she gets in. She tucks her lips in like she’s trying to keep herself from outright grinning, which makes Bucky chuckle as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts his door. “Buckle up,” he tells her sweetly. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She giggles and obeys, and Bucky thinks about how she’ll probably be so easy, in the basement. Girls like her just want to be loved and approved of so badly. She’ll probably go from the Depression stage to Acceptance so fast, it’ll make his head spin. He’s glad. It’s always easiest for those girls. They suffer the least. And despite the fact that Bucky knows about Erica and her little brother who died under “suspicious circumstances” in 2009, he still doesn’t want to torture her. He’s not a sadist.

He’s karma.

She’s still conscious when they get on the highway, enough to look out the window and make a cute little confused noise. “Mm. You said your place’sin Tr’becca?” she slurs.

Bucky smiles and pats her hand. “Yeah. But I’m taking you somewhere else.”

It’s cute, how she pouts and tries to protest that. Bucky’s almost tempted to say something right then and there. But he doesn’t. He always likes to save the Big Reveal for when they’re settled in their rooms and fully sober. He likes to have a drink in hand, be relaxed in something comfortable. Really settle in for the show.

“Just close your eyes,” he soothes her, watching her fade out. “We’ll be there soon.” She passes out and Bucky smirks, thinking about how she’s about to get hers.

Because Karma’s not a bitch.

It’s a plastic surgeon who likes to cook.

youtube

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

💖To be added to any of my tag lists, please use This form (it's easy!)

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

@scottishrosefury

@not-that-syndrigast

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@kathy-2005

@stuckysgal

@thenewmissescullen

@sapphirebarnes

@Yoruse

@autumnrose40

@alexakeyloveloki

@gretasimp

@kandismom

@ivoryangel1290

@mrs-rogers-barnes1

@iloveshawnieboi

@m0k0k0

@sousydive

@sapphirebarnes

@kandis-mom

@juicyfruit-22

@bloodrosefuryao3

@laylamikaelsonbarnes

@leighta

@drfellow

@era

@smlmsworld

@mrsstuckyboo

46 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Very nice 1890 factory loft conversions in Worcester, MA. 2bds, 2ba, $395K.

Enter the sleek modern black kitchen.

Love the brick. It's so interesting, architecturally.

The open kitchen is a decent size and has all the appliances. Full-size microwave tucked into the island. Look at the big exposed beams.

Then, step down to the dining area.

I wasn't aware that it's a duplex. Much cooler. On the other side of the stairs they have a smaller dining table. I would eliminate that.

The living room is in the corner, surrounded by brick walls.

It has a cozy feel.

Bd. #1 is very large.

It has walk-in closet.

And, a 3pc. en-suite.

Bd. #2, located down the spiral stairs, is very private.

Down the stairs they've located the washer/dryer. Not thrilled with that.

The bedroom's nice, but I don't think I'd want the washer/dryer in my room.

And, this is the en-suite. Love the sink bowl. I would've preferred one bathroom to have a shower, in lieu of a tub.

The halls are bright. My apt. is new and there are no windows in the halls.

Large parking lot.

Picturesque bridge over the Kettle Brook. (The building is called Kettle Brook Lofts.)

Nice.

The nearby Kettle Brook Conservation Area.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1511-Main-St-UNIT-C204-Worcester-MA-01603/90139223_zpid/?

#industrial lofts #converted factory #factory conversion #lofts #historic lofts #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $400K

187 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 2 months ago

Text

The Hotel Chelsea (also known as the Chelsea Hotel and the Chelsea) is a hotel at 222 West 23rd Street in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan in New York City. Built between 1883 and 1884, the hotel was designed by Philip Hubert in a style described variously as Queen Anne Revival and Victorian Gothic. The 12-story Chelsea, originally a housing cooperative, has been the home of numerous writers, musicians, artists, and entertainers, some of whom still lived there in the 21st century. As of 2022, most of the Chelsea is a luxury hotel. The building is a New York City designated landmark and on the National Register of Historic Places.

The front facade of the Hotel Chelsea is 11 stories high, while the rear of the hotel rises 12 stories. The facade is divided vertically into five sections and is made of brick, with some flower-ornamented iron balconies; the hotel is capped by a high mansard roof. The Hotel Chelsea has thick load-bearing walls made of masonry, as well as wrought iron floor beams and large, column-free spaces. When the hotel opened, the ground floor was divided into an entrance hall, four storefronts, and a restaurant; this has been rearranged over the years, with a bar and the El Quijote restaurant occupying part of the ground floor. The Chelsea was among the first buildings in the city with duplex and penthouse apartments, and there is also a rooftop terrace. The hotel originally had no more than 100 apartments; it was subdivided into 400 units during the 20th century and has 155 units as of 2022. The idea for the Chelsea arose after Hubert & Pirsson had developed several housing cooperatives in New York City. Developed by the Chelsea Association, the structure quickly attracted authors and artists after opening. Several factors, including financial hardships and tenant relocations, prompted the Chelsea's conversion into an apartment hotel in 1905. Knott Hotels took over the hotel in 1921 and managed it until about 1942, when David Bard bought it out of bankruptcy. Julius Krauss and Joseph Gross joined Bard as owners in 1947. After David Bard died in 1964, his son Stanley operated it for 43 years, forming close relationships with many tenants. The hotel underwent numerous minor changes in the late 20th century after falling into a state of disrepair. The Krauss and Gross families took over the hotel in 2007 and were involved in numerous tenant disputes before the Chelsea closed for a major renovation in 2011. The hotel changed ownership twice in the 2010s before BD Hotels took over in 2016, and the Chelsea reopened in 2022.

Over the years, the Chelsea has housed many notables such as Arthur Miller, Bob Dylan, Arthur C. Clarke, Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, and Virgil Thomson. The Chelsea received much commentary for the creative culture that Bard helped create within the hotel. Critics also appraised the hotel's interior—which was reputed for its uncleanliness in the mid- and late 20th century—and the quality of the hotel rooms themselves. The Chelsea has been the setting or inspiration for many works of popular media, and it has been used as an event venue and filming location.

Over the years, the Chelsea has become particularly well-known for its residents, who have come from all social classes. The New York Times described the hotel in 2001 as a "roof for creative heads", given the large number of such personalities who have stayed at the Chelsea; the previous year, the same newspaper had characterized the list of tenants as "living history". The journalist Pete Hamill characterized the hotel's clientele as "radicals in the 1930s, British sailors in the 40s, Beats in the 50s, hippies in the 60s, decadent poseurs in the 70s". Although early tenants were wealthy, the Chelsea attracted less well-off tenants by the mid-20th century, and many writers, musicians, and artists lived at the Hotel Chelsea when they were short on money. Accordingly, the Chelsea's guest list had almost zero overlap with that of the more fashionable Plaza Hotel crosstown. New York magazine wrote that "people who lived in the hotel slept together as often as they celebrated holidays together", particularly under Stanley Bard's tenure. Despite the high number of notable people associated with the Chelsea, its residents typically desired privacy and frowned upon those who used their relationships with their neighbors to further their own careers.

The Hotel Chelsea has housed numerous literary figures, some of whom wrote their books there. Arthur C. Clarke wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey while staying at the Chelsea, calling the hotel his "spiritual home" despite its condition. Thomas Wolfe lived in the hotel before his death in 1938, writing several books such as You Can't Go Home Again; he often walked around the halls to gain inspiration for his writing. William S. Burroughs also lived at the Chelsea. While living at the Chelsea, Edgar Lee Masters wrote 18 poetry books, often wandering the hotel for hours. Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (who lived with his wife Caitlin Thomas) was staying in room 205 when he became ill and died in 1953, while American poet Delmore Schwartz spent the last few years of his life in seclusion at the Chelsea before he died in 1966. Irish poet Brendan Behan, a severe alcoholic who had been ejected from the Algonquin Hotel, lived at the hotel for several months before his death in 1964. Many poets of the Beat poetry movement also lived at the Chelsea before the Beat Hotel in Paris became popular.

Other authors, writers, and journalists who stayed or lived at the hotel have included: Henry Abbey, poet Nelson Algren, writer Léonie Adams, poet; lived with husband William Troy Sherwood Anderson, writer Ben Lucien Burman, writer Henri Chopin, poet and musician Ira Cohen, poet and filmmaker Gregory Corso, poet Hart Crane, poet Quentin Crisp, writer and actor Jane Cunningham Croly, journalist Katherine Dunn, novelist and journalist Edward Eggleston, writer James T. Farrell, novelist Allen Ginsberg, poet John Giorno, poet Maurice Girodias, publisher Pete Hamill, journalist Bernard Heidsieck, poet O. Henry, writer Herbert Huncke, poet Clifford Irving, novelist and reporter Charles R. Jackson, author Theodora Keogh, novelist Jack Kerouac, writer Suzanne La Follette, journalist John La Touche, lyricist Jakov Lind, novelist Mary McCarthy, novelist and political activist Arthur Miller, playwright Jessica Mitford, author Vladimir Nabokov, novelist Eugene O'Neill, playwright Joseph O'Neill, novelist Claude Pélieu, poet and artist Rene Ricard, poet James Schuyler, poet Sam Shepard, playwright and actor Valerie Solanas, writer Benjamin Stolberg, publicist and author Richard Suskind, children's writer William Troy, critic; lived with wife Léonie Adams Mark Twain, writer Gore Vidal, writer Arnold Weinstein, librettist Tennessee Williams, playwright Yevgeny Yevtushenko, poet

The Chelsea was particularly popular among rock musicians and rock and roll musicians in the 1970s. These included Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols, who allegedly stabbed his girlfriend Nancy Spungen to death at the hotel in 1978; after Vicious's death, their room was split into two units to prevent the room from being turned into a shrine. Numerous rock bands frequented the Chelsea as well, including the Allman Brothers, the Band, Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the Byrds, Country Joe and the Fish, Jefferson Airplane, Lovin' Spoonful, Moby Grape, the Mothers of Invention, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Sly and the Family Stone, and the Stooges. The Kills wrote much of their album No Wow at the Chelsea prior to its release in 2005. The Grateful Dead once performed on the roof.

[Chris Stein]

#NYC #New York landmarks #the Chelsea Hotel #Leonard Cohen #famous places #stories

28 notes · View notes

writers-potion · 10 months ago

Note

Hi, I am trying to write a homosexual book that takes place in the 20s. I am unsure where to start and how bad the 20s was for homosexuality so if you have any tips it would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Homosexuality in Historical Fiction

I'm going to answer this in two parts: (1) Tips for writing queer historical fiction, and (2) the 1920 gay culture.

Get Your Language Right

Vocabulary is key to capturing how homsexual people identified themselves and interacted with one another at the time. Consider:

The kind of language/code used at the time. For example, gay men in the 1950-60s would have spoken Polari to skirt UK’s strict anti-homosexuality laws. This might mean your characters say seemingly ridiculous things like, “Bona to vada your dolly old eek!” (good to see your nice face)

Authenticity vs. Sensitivity. We don’t need to perpetuate old slurs just because they were used “at the time”. Would the readers of today (your target audience) be accepting towards use of such language?

Is it really necessary? Just like in the case of foreign languages and dialects, it may be better to just refer to the code/secret language being spoken rather than overdoing it in dialogue. Also, does your character identify themselves as a part of this community at all?

Balance Between Struggle and Hope

Often in historical LQBTQ+ fiction, if the conflict is badly written, the readers are just going to feel angry and frustrated. Because:

Even the likable, otherwise reasonable characters won't be able to accept homosexuality easily, often opposing it downright.

Homosexual characters may be confused, struggle with self-doubt and self-hatred (which can't be fun to read, obviously)

The norms of the time make any “resolution” rather disappointing (compared to modern times).

Your goal is to juggle between these strong negative emotions to convey the central message and let hope shine through. Linger too much on negativity and your novel will be dark, but treating these themes 'lightly' will make you sound shallow.

So, treat oppression just as you would write a physical antagonist. It's powerful and a possible life-threatening opposition to the Lead, but it has flaws, loopholes and needs time to regroup before it hits our Lead again with increased force.

+ General Tips

Beware of giving your characters hindsight. As a writer, we know what happened both before and after the time period the characters live through, but they don't! The characters not being able to predict what comes can be a good tragic element.

The word “homosexual” wasn’t coined until 1869, and didn’t become common parlance until the early 20th century. From at least the very early 17th till the mid-19th century, the most common term for women was “tribade,” referring to the act of tribadism (scissoring). Some people used the term “fricatrice.” In the 18th century, “lesbian” and “Sapphist” started to become more common terminology. Men were called sodomites and pederasts (a word which didn’t have the paedophilic connotation it does today). The word “homophile” was coined in 1924 and was most commonly used by gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

“Gay” didn’t take on the almost exclusive meaning of homosexual until the 1960s, and even then, it was still used in the old sense of “merry” more than a few times. Only in the 1970s did it finally emerge as the most popular, mainstream word.

Less suspicions were aroused by a lesbian couple living together for decades than a gay male couple. Many people assumed they were just two very close spinster friends, not that it was a Boston marriage. There were many more questions about why two men would want to live together.

To avoid the very real risk of jail, lobotomy, conversion “therapy,” or the loonybin, sometimes a gay and lesbian couple would enter a ménage à quatre. Though it appeared on the surface as though two straight couples lived in the same duplex or right next door, they were actually just lavender cover marriages. Some had children (through various means) and co-parented.

Photo booths were seen as a safe space where a same-sex couple could kiss, cuddle, and embrace without fear of arrest or public suspicion.

Some lesbian couples were able to adopt children as single women, in jurisdictions which permitted that. More daring couples underwent artificial insemination and then went abroad to give birth, coming home with “adopted babies.”

Similar to the handkerchief code in the BDSM community, some gay men signalled to one another with red neckties and green carnations. Parisienne lesbians signalled to one another with violets in their hair.

There’s a long history of gay bathhouses, dating back centuries. Since male homosexuality was illegal and severely punished, a bathhouse was among the few places it was safe to meet potential partners and engage in sexual activity. Even the very real fear of police raids didn’t deter patrons. Manhattan, Paris, and London were home to many famous (and luxurious) gay baths, but there were plenty of lesser-known ones in other cities.

While not everyone was lucky enough to have a lavender ménage à quatre, many people had individual lavender marriages. Sometimes the spouse knew s/he was serving as a cover, sometimes not.

There were also more “traditional” ménage à trois marriages, composed of the lavender couple plus the true same-sex partner all living together. Sometimes these arrangements were composed of a bisexual plus a partner of each sex.

People did NOT casually out themselves! They could only confide their secret to other confirmed friends of Dorothy and extremely radical allies who had proven they could be trusted and wouldn’t turn on them.

You don’t have to make your straight characters raging, violent homophobes, but it’s completely unrealistic and historically inaccurate to show them all immediately, unquestioningly, lovingly accepting their friends’ homosexuality if the secret comes out. They might agree to not let anyone else know, but the friendship would probably be over. Other people, a bit more open-minded, might eventually reconcile but never be able to completely shake the belief that their sexual orientation is unnatural, strange, or wrong. Some people might only come around after decades of estrangement and realising gays and lesbians are just like everyone else.

To avoid discovery, some lesbians called one another by male names in their letters. Some liked those nicknames so much they continued using them in real life.

1920 Gay Culture

The United States - The Roaring Twenties

As the United States entered an era of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity in the years after World War I, cultural mores loosened and a new spirit of sexual freedom reigned.

Harlem’s famous drag balls were part of a flourishing, highly visible LGBTQ nightlife

"Pansy Craze”: gay, lesbian and transgender performers graced the stages of nightspots in cities

lesbian and gay characters were being featured in a slew of popular “pulp” novels, in songs and on Broadway stages (including the controversial 1926 play The Captive) and in Hollywood—at least prior to 1934, when the motion picture industry began enforcing censorship guidelines, known as the Hays Code. Heap cites Clara Bow’s 1932 film Call Her Savage, in which a short scene features a pair of “campy male entertainers” in a Greenwich Village-like nightspot. On the radio, songs including "Masculine Women, Feminine Men" and "Let’s All Be Fairies" were popular.

On a Friday night in February 1926, a crowd of some 1,500 packed the Renaissance Casino in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood for the 58th masquerade and civil ball of Hamilton Lodge.

Nearly half of those attending the event, reported the New York Age, appeared to be “men of the class generally known as ‘fairies,’ and many Bohemians from the Greenwich Village section who...in their gorgeous evening gowns, wigs and powdered faces were hard to distinguish from many of the women.”

The tradition of masquerade and civil balls, more commonly known as drag balls, had begun back in 1869 within Hamilton Lodge, a black fraternal organization in Harlem. By the mid-1920s, at the height of the Prohibition era, they were attracting as many as 7,000 people of various races and social classes—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and straight alike.

London - Balls and Adverts

Like other large cities at the time, London was home to many drag balls and nightclubs where the gay community could express themselves.

"Lady Austin's Camp Boys" (1933): At a private ballroom in Holland Park Avenue, west London, 60 men were arrested in a police raid after undercover officers had watched them dancing, kissing and having sex in make-up and women's clothes. But despite facing a lengthy prison term and disgrace, the organiser, "Lady Austin", told officers: "There is nothing wrong [in who we are]. You call us nancies and bum boys but before long our cult will be allowed in the country."

Other gay men found partners through personal advertisements, which could be an equally risky strategy.

In 1920 the publisher of a magazine called the Link and three gay subscribers were each sentenced to two years of hard labor on charges of indecency and conspiring to corrupt public morals.

Some adverts even appeared in the national press, such as the Daily Express, although they were not quite so blatant. People would ask for 'chums' of their own sex and offer to take people on holiday.

One man responding to an advert in the Link wrote that he was "very fond of artistic surroundings, beautiful colours in furniture and curtains, and softly shaded lamps and all those beautiful things which appeal to the refined tastes of an artistic mind". He added: "All my love is for my own sex", and wrote that he longed to give his love "in the most intimate way".

Gay adverts often had references to Edward Carpenter, Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman, or would say 'I have an unusual temperament'.

Berlin - The Weimar Republic

The Weimar Republic, Germany’s first parliamentary democracy lasted from 1918 until 1933 and was a time of progressive cultural renaissance from cinema, theater and music, to sexual liberation and a flourishing LGBTQ scene.

Berlin was home to around 40 known queer bars, a number which had doubled by 1925. The cabaret bars and clubs like Eldorado were packed to the brim with lust, tassels, glitter and flamboyance.

Drag shows were the norm and stars like Marlene Dietrich (a Berlin-native) and Josephine Baker who were icons for the queer community, performed regularly in Berlin’s lavish halls.

Kiosks sold an array of well known queer publications like Die Hoffnung (The Hope), Blätter für Menschenrecht (Leaflets for Human Rights), Frauenliebe (Woman Love), and Das dritte Geschlecht (The Third Sex).

As homosexuality was still illegal, Berlin’s Tiergarten and other parks, Nollendorferplatz as well as train stations and the infamous octagonal public bathrooms

Underground spaces flourished.

Here's a list of books with an LGBTQ+ POV character, set at least partly in the 1920s:

Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix

Dead Dead Girls (Harlem Renaissance Mystery, #1)

In the Field

The Lady Adventurers Club

Last Call at the Nightingale (Nightingale Mysteries, #1)

A Good Year

The Last Nude

The Sleeping Car Porter

Once a Rogue (Roaring Twenties Magic, #2)

Slippery Creatures (The Will Darling Adventures, #1)