#fic: the drain

[foliosriot]

The Drain — Chapter One

pairing: noah sebastian x ofc (grey)

summary: the concrete jungle is incredibly dangerous and a scary place to live. but grey has made it her mission to provide whatever light and aid she can in such a dark place. even if it means catching the attention of someone at the top of the food chain.

warnings: stalking if you squint ig. mentions of bl00d. brief mention of ab*se.

tags: @concretenoah @circle-with-me @malice-ov-mercy @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @cncohshit @lilhobgobbler @bngurngheart

masterlist. the drain masterlist.

It’s been about a week since Vivian discovered the note, and Grey has been panicking every moment of every day.

Every corner she turns she fears someone will reach out of the shadows and drag her away. She fears leaving her apartment, and even turning on the Angel’s Light every night like she is used to. She doesn’t want to make the target on her back even bigger.

But, as expected, the fear and panic is always drowned out by Grey’s need to care for the Concrete Jungle’s occupants. Her need to help as many people as she possibly can will always be stronger than her own terror or anxiety.

Even now, as she goes about her nightly routine by helping anyone who is drawn in by the comforting glow of the Christmas lights, Grey can’t help but feel like she is being watched. And the feeling isn’t coming from the last couple people resting on the fire escape. No, it’s coming from somewhere else. But from where, she can’t tell, as the night has taken hold of the city and darkness overwhelms everything in its wake.

“Make sure you find somewhere safe to sleep tonight.” Grey is currently helping wrap the arm of a boy who had sliced it open after jumping over a broken fence as he ran from his abuser. “But there is a shelter a few blocks that way if you’d rather do that, okay?”

The boy looks up at her, his fluffy orange-red hair falling into his eyes. Tear stains run all the way down his ruddy face and disappear under his jaw.

“Thank you, Angel,” the boy, Jace, murmurs in a broken voice.

“Oh, no, no need to thank me,” she replies with an awkward smile. The nickname has always rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. But still, she resists the urge to correct her patients who call her that, especially now. “This is what I love to do. I love helping others.”

Jace looks like he wants to say more but bites his tongue instead.

Grey finishes helping him and lets him go on his way with a plastic water bottle and a small bag that contains a granola bar, an apple, and a string cheese. He thanks her one more time before he shimmies his way down the fire escape, and hurries in the direction of the shelter Grey had mentioned.

The final patient of the night, Georgie, hobbles towards Grey. Georgie is one of her regulars, a homeless man in his fifties who happens to be one of the sweetest people Grey has ever had the pleasure to meet. He says he has a shelter of his own somewhere close by, but only comes to her when he struggles to find food for himself and his dog. His dog, Cleo, sleeps soundly at the foot of the fire escape.

“Hi, Georgie,” Grey greets him with a genuine smile. She reaches behind her to grab one of those little food bags, like she had just given to Jace. But she also fills another one of those bags with some dog food and a few chunks of chicken.

“Hiya, Grey,” Georgie says with a lopsided grin. He looks thinner every time she sees him, so it’s nothing new to see. But there’s something about this visit that tells Grey he’s not doing well.

“How are you doing?” Grey asks him, handing him the bags of food and two water bottles. “Find any cool sticks recently?”

“Can’t find a single damn stick worth adding to my collection these days,” Georgie huffs, his tone annoyed but clearly joking.

Grey chuckles lightly. “Then you haven’t tried Miracle Park,” she tells him. “I took a walk down there a few weeks ago and some mighty fine sticks that I know Cleo would love to fetch.”

The whole reason Georgie collects cool sticks in the first place is to play with Cleo. Cleo loves playing fetch, and since Georgie doesn’t have the money to buy her any real dog toys, he scours the city in search of the best sticks he can find. And Cleo loves joining him on his journey.

“Is that so?” Georgie hums to himself. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind. Well, thank ya, Grey!”

“Any time. Stay safe.”

Grey watches as Georgie fumbles his way down the fire escape slowly. He manages to get back to the sidewalk, and Cleo rises at his presence. The dog happily wags her tail and follows after her person down the concrete.

Grey smiles to herself watching them go. She’s glad to see Georgie with a smile, because there are times when she has seen him frowning and unable to joke with her. So it always warms her heart whenever he is so jovial and happy.

Once Georgie and Cleo vanish into the night Grey gathers her things. She goes to turn off the Angel’s Light and her spine tingles with that same sensation from earlier.

Someone is watching her.

Eager to get back inside and go to bed, Grey makes her way through the open window and begins putting all of her supplies away as fast as she can. A light breeze blows into the bedroom while she finishes up.

“I gotta hand it to ya, this whole setup you have going on is pretty impressive.”

The sudden voice nearly scares Grey out of her skin. She whips around, the box of gauze still in her hands. Fear immediately sluices through her at the sight of another person standing over by the very open window. Judging by just the voice and body she assumes it’s a man. He’s covered head-to-toe in black clothing, including the balaclava that obscures his face. She can barely make out his pale skin that is half hidden by the coat hood pulled up over his head.

“Who are you?” Grey hisses, even though she is terrified out of her mind. This masked stranger standing in her father’s old bedroom with her has planted her to the very spot she stands. And right about now, she really wishes the bowie knife wasn’t on the other side of the room.

The man has one of her many medical encyclopedias in his gloved hands. He flips through it lazily without acknowledging Grey.

Grey’s hands are trembling as she watches the man close the thick book and put it back on the bookshelf in front of him. He steps away and wanders around the room at a leisurely pace, ignoring Grey’s presence.

“You’ve made this into your very own triage room, haven’t you?” he muses. He strides by the blood pressure machine that is drilled in to the wall, another shelf stacked to the brim with various medical supplies, and the old bed frame and mattress she had converted into a proper hospital bed, white sheets and everything. “Like I said, impressive.”

The man sits down in the armchair. Then he’s reaching behind it and the bowie knife is in his hand. Grey curses herself as her heart is pounding wildly from inside her ribcage, making her pulse throb almost painfully. Her veins are on fire as she watches him with the eyes of a hawk. Every single one of her instincts are screaming at her to do something.

But what?

“Who are you?” Grey repeats with a shaking voice. “And what are you doing here?”

Grey watches as the man relaxes in the chair, his legs spreading wide like he owns the fucking place. He rolls his neck with a sigh before speaking.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he says, almost in a bored tone. He twirls the knife in his hand. “But what I’m doing here does matter. I’m here about that note you got. I come alone.”

Shit.

Is this one of those people Vivian had warned her about? Someone part of that violent gang that basically controls the entire city?

Grey can feel a panic attack brewing from just below her sternum.

“W-What note?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know the note I’m talking about.” He turns his face towards her. “I have a message.”

The man rises to his feet, the knife still in-hand. He slowly approaches Grey and ends up backing her into the wall behind her. Her grip tightens on the box of gauze the moment he halts. And god, he towers over her by at least a foot. But now she can see his eyes, and they are the blackest pits with an unknown light from within.

“There are others coming after you.” He speaks so softly his words are nearly inaudible. “What you provide the Concrete Jungle is valuable, and we know that. They know that.”

“What?”

Grey surprises herself with the sheer terror and shakiness of her own voice. There are more people coming after her? But why? What could she possibly offer to be considered so valuable?

The masked man continues to stare down at her for a few more seconds before vacating her personal space. He begins making his way back towards the window.

“Consider this protection,” he tells her from over his shoulder, his voice no longer so quiet. “With me being here like this, it tells others I’m laying claim. So you should be fine for the time being. Just don’t do anything brash or that would catch their attention even more, alright?”

“W-Wait, what?! What the fuck are you talking about?”

Grey continues to throw question after question at this mysterious man, but he keeps ignoring her until he is stood outside on the fire escape. He looks back at her, now that she is only a few feet away from the window.

“Keep an eye out. I’ll be around.”

And without another word, the man jumps from the fire escape and disappears down the dark street below.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[akemisalem]

every time i look at this picture i start crying laughing. why in the world did they make oboro so fucking big LMFAO, he should be playing basketball instead of being a hero

[freeuselandonorris]

it's just self-defence until you're building a weapon

(lando/oscar, mondayverse. 10.7k, rated E)

Oscar’s still in the car, fumbling with his belts. Lando remembers it, from Miami. His fingers hadn’t worked properly, shaky and thick with blood. He’d sat there for ages, unable to move, heart crashing about in his chest. Scared that getting out of the car would somehow make it less real, once he had to share it with the fans and the team and the cameras. Lando’s chest aches, like maybe someone pulled the belts too tight. Oscar had better be savouring the fucking moment. He should have told Oscar to make sure he did that. He’s been meaning to say it. -- Mondayverse: race win Oscar edition

read on AO3 (archive-locked 🔐)

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

[koipepo]

"weaponized handsomeness to lure the unsuspecting" Cassian honeypotting imperial pervert sickos confirmed

[johnslittlespoon]

tough and sweet boys are cuddling btw. at this very moment. kiss is mere hundreds of words away. sweating profusely.

[mispatchedgreens]

he's not panting for plot reasons this time. you'll find healing springs debauchery and other xianxia staples in @thestoriesthatweweave's fic 'flowering in the eastern wind' here! <333333

alternately tinted versions under the cut!

[padfootagain]

THE FIRST DRAFT IS DONE!!!!!!!!!!

I'm crying, at this point...

The first draft of the Prof!AU Love in Verses is officially done!!! All 44 chapters are complete!!!

The posting schedule will be posted next week!!!

[cringefailvox]

“Now, with that out of the way, it’s time for you to rest, pet.” “If you’re expecting me to succumb to exhaustion, you will be waiting an eternity. Not even a bullet to the skull can put me down at this point.” Lilith smirked. “You will sleep for as long as your body and your mind require.” Oh, dear. That was a command.

the one in which alastor's seven year absence was spent napping, and it actually solved a lot of problems

[kuvwrlds]

victoria neuman is a WOMAN KISSER SHE KISSES WOMEN i know this for a FACT

[foliosriot]

The Drain — MASTERLIST

A Noah Sebastian x OFC Series

Current Status: ONGOING

Summary: The Concrete Jungle is incredibly dangerous and a scary place to live. But Grey has made it her mission to provide whatever light and aid she can in such a dark place. Even if it means catching the attention of someone at the top of the food chain.

Warnings: constant discussion of murder/death. guns and other weaponry. blood. ofc struggles to grieve. medical terminology and medications. mental illnesses and health issues. sooo much angst. fluff. eventual smut. 18+ only MDNI or i’ll block you!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Intro — Chapter One

[pawapoppet]

gay people with drip

[feedgarf]

i saw your fic earlier today and i can't get it off my mind, so i drew it

please ignore my abysmal drawing skills and have this little doodle

eeeEEEEEE im so glad you liked it. AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ART

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[phaltu]

a lesser man

Having fallen victim to one of his own wife plots, Shang Qinghua tries his best to hide it from the one man who'd have no interest in helping him (...right?!)

Thankfully, Mobei Jun cannot smell Shang Qinghua’s complication on him. He can, however, see the ruddy pink that stains Shang Qinghua’s cheeks. Shang Qinghua is made to pour through a bunch of scrolls, looking for some oblique information on territories while Mobei Jun watches and Shang Qinghua tries to act like he’s not thinking unwillingly about Mobei Jun putting him on the desk and giving this whole master-servant play another go. Mobei Jun raises an eyebrow as he looks down at Shang Qinghua like he’s grievance manifest. It’s unfortunately incredibly hot to Shang Qinghua, something that he will never admit attracted him even from before. “What is wrong with you?” Mobei Jun asks with a frown, and Shang Qinghua keeps his eyes focused on the papers in front of him because if he looks up at Mobei Jun right now, it’ll be with a look of sexual desperation so strong that he’ll be embarrassed into his next three lives.

READ HERE | Completed for SVSSSAction's Gotcha 4 Gaza

[occatorcreator]

It's done!

Don't Pour Acrylics Down the Sink is complete! I'm so happy!

And just in time for Scribbles's birthday today, too!

Thank you all who followed the fic and who have been giving me lovely comments and kudos. I hope the ending is satisfying to you c: